Kirsten slipped into a stim-suit and replaced the uniform blacks on top of it.
Nicole shuddered. “You’re gonna overheat.”
“I’ll be fine.” She clipped on leg armor and grabbed the chest plate. “Captain, I think something paranormal may be involved here. I don’t remember pissing off any corporations lately, and I can’t think of who might want to kill me this week.”
Eze laughed; a nervous sort of sound more worry than mirth. “You’re going to take some Division 1 backup with you.”
“Sure, as long as they are willing to get the hell out of there if things get weird.”
He nodded and went off to make the arrangements with his counterpart ‘across the hall.’ Kirsten slipped on the armored gloves, cinched the fasteners closed, and grabbed a helmet. She spun, finding Nicole armored up and tapping her foot.
“Wow, you didn’t need help getting it on. I’m impressed.”
Kirsten grinned. “Let’s go pull a plug.”
Drifting in silence, the black patrol craft angled downward and descended to the level of the fifth story. Sam’s trace flickered in the corner of Kirsten’s eye, a pulsing yellow line through the muted blues of a city map. Nicole gawked at a mass of twisted I-girders protruding from the side of a building abandoned before she was born.
“Missile?”
Kirsten glanced to the right. “Yeah, looks like it.”
“We’re gonna need thicker armor.”
“That happened thirty years ago,” said Kirsten. “The Steel Reaver uprising, when the military forced them out into the Badlands.”
Nicole stared at the dark grey shapes, buildings emerging from the low-hanging fog, and whistled. “Why did they sell cyberware to crazy people?”
“They probably weren’t crazy when they got―”
“This is a good plan,” blurted Nicole.
“―it.” Kirsten guided the car around a building, bleeding off more altitude as she flipped the switch to extend the ground wheels.
The women stared at each other for a moment.
Nicole blinked first. “What?”
“Just waiting for you to finish. You always talk over me when you get excited.”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do, and this time―”
“He won’t expect just two of us.”
Kirsten found the switches for the emergency lights above her head fascinating. I was gonna let you finish first. “Yeah.”
The next three minutes passed without conversation as Kirsten navigated through a gap in the wall of an old building. Parking inside an abandoned office on the third floor concealed the car, protecting it as well as keeping their presence here under wraps.
“You need any help with the helmet?”
Kirsten crossed her arms and tapped her foot, waiting for Nicole to finish putting hers on and look up.
“Guess that’s a no.” Nicole tapped the side of her head-armor twice until the HUD lit up. “I’ve been shot in the head too often, time for new electronics.”
“Once is too often.” Kirsten blinked.
“Naw, they had little class two pistols. Can’t get through this armor, but it was like getting punched by a doll.”
“You have strange hobbies.” Kirsten whispered, drawing the E-90. She found herself checking the charge meter to ensure it was at one hundred percent, which translated to about twenty-four shots. She raised her left arm and studied the tactical holographic map that shimmered in above it. “Okay, down to ground level, one block over, and underground.”
Nicole nodded, not speaking.
Kirsten led the way, followed by Dorian and Nicole. She found it strange―but reassuring―how ditz-Nicole could flip on a credit chip and turn into tactical-Nicole. Her thoughts returned to when she had gone off on that ganger, Sicario. It was anyone’s guess how much of that was acting tough or if she really would have killed the man for shooting at her, even after he was disarmed. She hoped the girl she had dormed with as a teen couldn’t kill so casually.
Two floors of debris-laden offices later, Kirsten struggled with a metal door at the ground floor. She grunted and shoved into it as hard as she could, but succeeded only in getting an inch of gap. Winded, she rolled away and caught her breath while leaning on the wall by where a fire extinguisher used to be.
Dorian walked through it, returning a few seconds later. “There’s a desk and six chairs barricaded against it.”
Nicole holstered her E-86 and cracked her knuckles. Palms outstretched, she glared at the door and concentrated. The door rattled, dust swirled about, and a faint creaking groan of stressed metal filled the air. The upper and lower edges of the metal door warped outward; Nicole’s telekinetic assault left her in a light coat of sweat.
“K… need a spike, say somethin’ that’ll piss me off.”
Kirsten stared at her. “Umm…”
Nicole’s eyes flicked to her for an instant, and back to the door. “I know you won’t mean it, I just need a surge of anger to move this damn thing.”
“Your parents wouldn’t have divorced if you weren’t psionic.”
A massive rush of air flooded down the stairwell as the door, and everything behind it, vanished. Seconds later, a loud hollow whump of the desk striking the wall of a building across the street echoed over itself several times, laced with the delicate sound of breaking glass. Clattering continued for several seconds as smaller bits of debris fell to the ground. When the dust cleared, Kirsten found Nicole staring at her, tears streaming down her face. The fatigue of such a psionic exertion did little to dull the accusatory look in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Nikki, You asked me. Come on, you know what my mother did to me for being psionic.” Kirsten stared down. “I wished all they did was divorce.”
“Yeah.” Nicole slid her hands under her visor and breathed. “You didn’t mean it. We were both problems ‘cause of what we are.”
“Can we maybe hold off on the sobbing on each other’s shoulder bit until after we get the moron who tried to kill me?”
Nicole nodded, wiped her hands down over her face, and drew her sidearm. She loosed a sharp exhale and found her usual pleasant expression. “Okay. Let’s do it, but you owe me an orange bomb.”
“The glass it comes in is the size of your helmet, that much alcohol would kill you.”
“Hah.” Nicole laughed. “You’ve never seen me drink, have you?”
“She’d at least wind up in a medical tank if you drank one alone.” Dorian smirked.
Kirsten made a ‘yeah, probably’ face at him, and led the way through the door and across a gutted lobby. A C-shaped clean mark on the floor indicated where the reception desk had once been. Nicole whistled again.
“Wow, they even stole the fake plants.”
“Likely scavenged anything they could get their hands on for survival out here,” said Dorian.
“Why don’t they just live where civilization still exists?”
“Who?” asked Nicole.
“Sorry, I keep forgetting you can’t hear him.”
Nicole blinked. “Who?”
“Dorian.”
The redhead went rigid as if ice water had just gone down her back. “He’s here?”
“Shh! Get down,” whispered Kirsten, as she followed her own advice.
A pair of orb bots across the street glinted in the waning afternoon sun. They circled the crushed remains of a steel desk, embedded in the wall of the facing building. Kirsten stayed out of sight, watching their motion as rendered by the tactical armor’s sensors. Amber wireframe lines projected on her close-up view of a solid wall.
“If they come in here, which they probably will considering the desk-shaped hole in the wall”―Dorian shot Nicole a disapproving smirk― “our hacker friend will know something’s coming. If I knock them out in the street, it will look like a system malfunction.”
Kirsten held up a hand. “If you zonk the bots, won’t that make him think Div Nine jammers?”
&nb
sp; “Or a Div Five EMP rifle.” Nicole went wide-eyed. “Those things are so cool!”
“Depends on how savvy our hacker is,” said Dorian, stroking his chin with one finger. “Both of those would have static on the display prior to shutdown. I drain the power, they just konk out. Unless he notices the lack of static, we’re made.” Dorian grumbled. “We have to risk it. If they see you two running for cover, it will be worse.”
Nicole tapped at a virtual keyboard over her left arm. “They probably have thermal, maybe motion detection.”
A woman’s voice, thick with accent and nervousness, filled her ears from the comm. “Agent Wren, this is Sergeant Fernandez, Division Six. We’re in position around you. We got one target on thermal, and bunch of EMF signatures.”
“Copy, Sergeant. Keep safe distance until I verify there is no paranormal presence here.”
“Roger, Agent. Don’t gotta tell me that twice.”
Kirsten jumped a second later at the sound of two heavy metal spheres clanging against the plastisteel road outside.
“He’s blind, come on,” yelled Dorian from outside.
Even knowing only she could hear him, Kirsten cringed at the sound of shouting. “Come on, it’s clear,” she whispered, grabbing the ridge of a blast hole and vaulting through it.
Dorian waited between two inert orb bots, standing in the shadow of the desk. Kirsten flattened herself against the wall, staring up at the crumpled metal jutting out overhead. She looked from it to Nicole.
What? asked Nicole, telepathically.
I didn’t think about how much it would hurt, I’m sorry. Kirsten glanced up at the desk.
Nicole gave her shoulder a light shove. My fault, I asked. Didn’t you want to save the sappy shit for later?
Kirsten held up her left forearm, checking the signal map floating above it. Yeah.
She put a leg through a window and climbed into a dim space filled with piles of disassembled office cubes. Off-grey cloth-paneled squares, disassembled cube stations, stacked almost to the ceiling in haphazard clusters created a maze full of rats only a touch smaller than an average feline. The creatures shifted to glare at her as if challenging the intrusion of their domain. As Dorian entered, their aggression evaporated and they scurried out of sight, swarming over each other and squealing.
“Stay close to me, please.” Kirsten gave Dorian a pleading look.
I thought we’d have gang problems here. Nicole lingered outside, surveying the area.
“There’s enough rumor about the Steel Reavers still being in this area that other gangs are afraid to try and move in,” muttered Kirsten, as she kept a wary eye on the floor for more rats.
“Why do you sound scared?” asked Nicole, sliding off the ledge to her feet inside. “Is there another demon here?”
“Big ass rats.” Kirsten pointed at the nest-piles.
“Rats?” Nicole jogged over and shook her head. “Seriously? You’re afraid of rats? They’re kind of cute.”
“Cute? They were bigger than the cat you seem to think I have.”
“I thought your cat died?” Nicole faked a pout.
Kirsten held a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture as she pointed at a thick black wire sheathed in an outer layer of fluorescent lime plastic running along the ceiling. The outer transparent layer contained a honeycomb pattern in metal filament. That’s gotta be his relay. I bet it goes to an obelisk transmitter on the roof.
Nicole pulled a knife. Kirsten grabbed her arm.
No, cut it and it will warn him we’re coming. If he was ready for us, his balls would be all over us. I don’t think he knows we’re here.
With a hand over her face to stifle the urge to laugh, Nicole winked. When we get outta here, you should surprise that Russian of yours. You need it bad.
Confusion lasted for the duration of one blink before she realized what she said. Dammit. Orbs. You know what I meant.
Kirsten frowned at the floor, noting a large amount of debris: planks, bits of old chairs, odd scraps of cube farm connectors, and a handful of old reassemblers. As she took her first step in search of clear floor, bright amber streaks of light came into view. Kirsten held her left hand up and made a fist. Nicole froze as Kirsten’s helmet swung around to face her.
IR triplines.
They may have been explosives or simple alarms, though Kirsten crept forward as if one misplaced boot would kill everyone in the city. Six devices and twenty meters of corridor later, she let herself breathe again. Less light made it to the interior hallway, a dark shade of blue painted with the images of bounding, grinning stuffed animals sitting on a cloud. The smell and flavor of mildew hung in the air, no doubt emanating from a patch of mold growing on the drywall around a sign indicating the day care center was to the left.
Past the life-sized cartoon animals, Kirsten followed the signal trace. The corridor veered right, heading along a series of floor-to-ceiling windows through which the ruin of the company day-care was visible. A first-generation nanny doll slumped against the far wall; dark green mold had grown through its primitive artificial skin to give it the appearance of a fuzzy zombie.
Nicole aimed at it. “If that damn thing moves, I’m gonna scream.”
“There’s no power in it. If it moves, you should scream,” said Dorian.
“Dorian said it’s got no power. I don’t feel anything either, so… it won’t move.” Despite knowing it was inert, Kirsten could not keep from staring at the dead machine as she crept through the room. She felt like a six-year-old staring at the evil doll in a rocking chair by the window, waiting for it to move.
A squeak cracked the air as Nicole’s boot found an old toy.
Kirsten almost fainted.
They went still.
What does this guy have that you’re so tense? Nicole’s eyebrows crawled together. I thought we were going after a deck jockey?
Kirsten lowered her E-90, trying to breathe. I don’t know. I guess the eerie emptiness has me on edge.
Nicole squinted. Are you sure you don’t feel anything spooky? You usually don’t get this rattled by empty rooms. Heck, the stuff you’ve seen, I’m surprised anything scares you.
Eyes closed, Kirsten reached out with her mind in search of any source of paranormal energy. Dorian’s presence shimmered like a light in the dark. Something else was there as well, something malevolent and close. Close enough to touch her. Small… weak… evil…
I don’t like that. You’re getting paler.
Nicole’s voice in her mind carried the shock of fingers snapped past her eyes. She jumped, spinning once. Her fearful expression melted into one of annoyance. I do feel something, but it’s weak. Could be a victim of the Reavers, maybe a Harbinger nearby. I don’t see anything.
Kirsten suppressed the urge to shiver. She did not want to say it aloud, or even telepathically, but the feeling had been dogging the edge of her conscious mind for several days. In fact, the only time she could remember in recent memory where she did not feel as though something had been following her was when she visited Father Villera. As comforting as the thought was, it scared her more with the idea whatever it was had been afraid to enter the church.
That could only mean one thing.
On the far side of the daycare classroom, Kirsten forced open a maintenance door and took a narrow cinderblock-walled corridor into the boiler room. Between two massive furnaces, a cluster of electronics hid beneath a dingy olive-green tarpaulin. Four fuboxes, military-grade fusion generators, hummed. The three-foot cubes were designated as portable, at least for anyone capable of lifting the weight of a small car.
Inch-thick black cables ran from them through an improvised trapdoor made from a large slab of rusting metal. Sounds of a violent video game leaked through the gap created by the wires.
“One moment,” said Dorian, as he sank through the floor.
Kirsten made a face at the giant half-inch slab. That’s gonna make a lot of noise.
Nicole shook her head. I can
move it quiet, but it will take a while.
Dorian emerged through the floor. “You’re lucky, K. Adult male, about twenty-five to thirty. He’s alone, but he’s got a mess of orb bots on shelves.”
The trapdoor wobbled as Nicole concentrated. Kirsten kept her weapon trained on the hole as the slab floated upward at an agonizing pace. Faint squeaks came from crude hinges welded to the floor, too soft to be noticed among the sounds of digital warfare below. On delicate telekinetic fingers, the hatch moved until it touched the wall behind it. Nicole sagged, again out of breath.
“It wasn’t too heavy, I’m just tired from holding it up for five minutes.”
Kirsten nodded and lowered herself down a cheap portable ladder their quarry had positioned by his exit. Heavy pipes and rat-chewed wire bundles lined both walls of a narrow passageway crossing beneath the abandoned office tower. Forty yards away, a human outline glowed in the multicolored plasma of an enormous holo-bar display. The room shook with the sounds of explosions and machinegun fire, with the occasional interruption of a combat aircraft going overhead.
Wow, retro-gamer. He’s using a screen.
The pitch of Nicole’s telepathic giggle made Kirsten’s back muscles tighten. She raised her arm, E-90 out. With one final glance at her armband screen to confirm the signal source, she tiptoed forward. A VIP escape elevator shaft occupied the front part of the room, blocked off by armored doors indicating it was still unused, no doubt waiting at the upper floor.
She edged past several freestanding mesh shelves full of bot parts, power cells, and strange bladed weapons too small or unwieldy for a person to use. As she shrugged past the end of the shelf, she adopted a solid two-handed grip on the laser and trained it on the man’s head. Unkempt, shaggy black hair sprouted from under a dark blue wool cap, raining down over a ten-year-old military jacket four sizes too big for its wearer. He slouched back in a chair, fingers a blur through a pair of intangible holographic controllers. Two deck wires extended out of the hair at the back of his head, one draped left and one right. Both connected to net decks.
Division Zero: Thrall Page 17
