Division Zero: Thrall

by Matthew S. Cox

  Silence.

  Dorian leaned through the wall. “Clear. He shot himself.”

  Oliver leaned around the corner at the end of the hallway. “What the fuck?”

  “I wish I knew,” she snapped. “Call for a forensics team down here.”

  Hassan’s brain dripped from the ceiling of the formerly nice office of Ellen Gomez, Chief Medical Examiner of West City. Shattered fragments of NetMini were everywhere; he had evidently put the device between the gun and his chin before firing. Kirsten leaned on the doorjamb, seething.

  “No sign of a ghost,” said Dorian. “I don’t feel harbingers either. Either he was a shell, or I missed him.”

  “I don’t know why he shot the ‘mini. The call traces are in the network.”

  Dorian nodded. “True, but with the ‘mini destroyed, it’ll take them a few hours to figure out what IPv12 to trace.”

  “Why do I feel like I’m digging myself deeper into a hole?” She glanced to the left as a handful of Division 1 officers and a crime scene crew rounded the corner. “I just can’t catch a break, can I?”

  “Maybe you should have a little faith.”

  She blinked. “Great idea.”

  wo hours later, Kirsten landed the patrol craft in front of the Five Hundredth Street Sanctuary. At a little past one in the afternoon, the sun illuminated the sides of buildings adjacent to the parking lot, orange fire shimmering over silver towers. It failed to pierce the smog right overhead. The effect created a halo of otherworldly light at the edges of a darkened space where a significant number of people waited in line for food. She found the presence of a line reassuring; it made the place seem far more welcoming than it had been the other night, though the quality of the light kept her on edge.

  “This is creepy,” she said as she stood. “It looks like it’s going to rain just on this parking lot.”

  Dorian walked through the car to join her. “That’s just the smog layer, not much wind today.”

  A handful of advert bots prowled the line of unfortunates waiting for a free lunch. Kirsten drew a breath, about to mock them for attempting to sell things to people with no money, until she realized they were recruitment ads seeking laborers and crew for colony work.

  She ducked through them, finding Father Villera behind the long table where he doled out meals. He nodded at her, handing off his duties to a volunteer who appeared to be a university student. The girl waved at Kirsten and took Villera’s spot at the table.

  “I got your message, come on. We can talk in the back.” He ambled around a table full of people eating and headed for the back hallway.

  Kirsten followed him, edging to the side as he eased a plain door closed behind her. The room was quite sparse in decoration. Aside from cheap false-wood paneled walls, a steel desk, and several bookshelves, a plain cross hung on the wall opposite the door. Something about the pale beige-orange walls made her feel a little nauseous. The four-inch Jesus stared at her; she looked away. Even twelve years after running away from home, she couldn’t bear the gaze of a little carved man.

  “Have you any news? What of that poor girl?”

  “She’s fine. It was scary for a little while, but she’s in the hospital recovering from the drugs. She told me an interesting story about what she saw.” Kirsten described the ritual killing.

  Villera paled as he limped around and sat at the desk. After blessing himself, he looked up. “I am concerned. It sounds to me like there is more to this than a simple serial killer.”

  “I never did find out who was responsible for bringing Charazu into the world. They’re still out there. There’s no connection between the victims. One was pretty high up, but one was just a minimum wage museum guard. One was an engineer, and another worked in advertising. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Who they were may not be important. This person may have just sought random targets of opportunity. Each killing was likely a sacrifice to the darkness.”

  “There is evidence they were held for some time prior to their deaths, but there was no sign of torture or sexual abuse.”

  Villera waved her off. “No, that wouldn’t fit. Souls are the currency of the damned. He’s using them to pay a tithe. The only question I have is if each one results in a minor spirit or if he is collecting them as an offering to a more significant entity.”

  “I thought it was Reverend Wallis, but he was a thrall of something as well. I destroyed an abyssal that had possessed him. He didn’t remember a thing. I still don’t really believe I’m dealing with demons.” Kirsten slumped into a metal folding chair.

  “You are young yet, Kirsten. Faith can sometimes take many years to find us.”

  She chuckled. “I’m not a big fan of religion, Father. No offense. I didn’t have the greatest experience with it growing up.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. I told you about my mother already. She couldn’t deal with having a psionic child, thought I was a minion of the Devil. I can see ghosts, spirits, and apparently demons. When wayward haunts came to me for help, she thought I was praying to Satan. It got pretty, uhh, bad.” Kirsten rubbed her hand, the spot Mother used to burn. “All the while she did those things to me, she kept calling on Jesus, asking why he’d done this to her. As if my very existence was some kind of punishment for her to suffer through.”

  Father Villera leaned forward over the desk, extending a hand. “There are three kinds of people in religion, my child.”

  After catching herself giving him a patronizing look, she took his hand.

  “Some seek to use the word of God as a tool to hurt and control others. They care not for the meaning of scripture, only seeking to profit off fear and superstition for their own enrichment. Most of those do not have any true faith at all. They are usually the most vehement defenders of ideas, loudly challenging any dissent and refusing to permit any discussion that contradicts their views.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, like trying to argue with a three-year-old. They know they’re wrong and there’s nothing they can say to validate their point―so they just scream and throw things.”

  Father Villera chuckled. “Then, you have people who expect God to knock on their door every time they call on him, and yet they blame him for everything that goes wrong in their life as if they were the only person to exist in the entire world. As if God himself came down and decided it was their turn to suffer. They take no responsibility for their own lives or decisions. On the more extreme end, some look to use their beliefs as an excuse to permit the inexcusable.”

  She fidgeted, staring down. “Yeah.”

  “Some people are content to accept faith for what it is. They do not question why things happen and they do not make wishes as if on a genie. For them, it is simply enough to know he is there. There is no purpose in baiting those who do not believe. I know in my heart what I believe, and a man is no lesser for disagreeing with me. One cannot force another to find faith; it must find everyone in their own way.”

  Kirsten smirked at the desk. “Nice try, Father. I’m still not sure if I’m ready to believe in an invisible man in the sky. I’ve talked to dead priests who couldn’t understand why what they saw after death was different than what they believed all their lives.”

  “Perhaps what we believe in life affects what we see after it.” He smiled as she let go of his hand, and reclined. “When you are ready, you will know. You may never believe, and that is fine.”

  “For a priest, you sure seem to know a lot about abyssals.”

  “Who do you think had to deal with them before psionics came around?” He winked.

  “Any ideas where I could start?”

  “You mentioned there was writing on the victims’ bodies? Have you looked into the meaning of it?”

  “I’ve been wanting to. I know someone who can translate it.”

  Father Villera stood up. “Sounds like a good place to start.”

  “I doubt the killings are random,” said Dorian. “The
re is too much planning involved.”

  “ Thanks, Father.” Kirsten shook hands. “Time for me to start poring over data in search of a pattern. Oh, the people who attacked you were connected to this somehow. Whoever is doing it must view you as a threat.”

  Father Villera glanced at the gold ouroboros around her right wrist. “Indeed… he must.”

  irsten stared at the white text scrolling through the blackness of her holo-terminal. The after-hours lighting left the squad room dim, making her feel even more like she spent too much time there. Distant whirring echoed about as automated cleaning bots sprayed lemon-scented chemicals into the air. Without even looking, she lifted her feet as a flat, round bot scooted by in front of her chair―7:13 p.m. on the dot.

  Ugh, I am here late way too much.

  She stared at faces. William Arris, a security guard from the West City Archives. He had no financial trouble, no criminal record, and was a former Marine. Whoever took him out had to be strong enough to handle someone trained for combat while being quiet enough to do it without discovery. Records indicated Arris had a four-day weekend, but no one had seen him since he left work at the end of his Thursday overnight shift. He did not report in for work on Tuesday, and his body was found the following Friday. No family reported him missing, and the only traffic on his NetMini account was his shift supervisor going crazy trying to reach him. Kirsten was so tired she found the series of vid mails depicting the supervisor falling ever further into a desperate frothing rage funny.

  Konstantin has an office at the Archives; perhaps he could shed some light on what happened. He has a lot of pull there, she would ask him if anything was stolen.

  Carlos Rosa was easy to figure out. He was the de-facto head of security at the West City Municipal Complex. Already, his death was being used by the military as leverage in objecting to the privatization of security. Kirsten knew Commissioner Vernon had been―and probably still was―under the influence of an abyssal. She glared at the wall again, annoyed at Carter and the Division 0 command council for demanding incontrovertible proof before acting. She felt uneasy at the prospect politics outweighed a woman’s life, but the sad reality of a public backlash against psionics was all too real. As bad as it could get for them now, a scandal involving accusations of mind control and espionage by a psionic against such a high-ranking government official would be a disaster.

  Pitchforks and torches time.

  The next face belonged to Uma Donn, a multi-PhD research engineer for EnMesh Biomedical. Like Arris, she had no criminal record, debts, or any suspicious marks in her record. Also, like Arris, she had no family. Kirsten paused, tapping her chin. No family. No one to report them missing too early. EnMesh was recently purchased by Kukla Investments. No connection came to mind between them and the Archives, or between them and the trade commissioner.

  A twinge of revulsion rippled through her as the face of Alaina Munoz appeared on screen. She looked so young, and Kirsten had vicariously watched her die. No matter how much she wanted to stop it, the vision rode in on the sense of an eleven-year-old’s memory. All she could do was witness it happen. Everything came hand-in-hand with the emotions of a young girl, leaving Kirsten trembling for several moments until she remembered the fear was not her own.

  The young woman had worked in the marketing department of RedEx. So far, nothing newsworthy had come out of the interplanetary shipping company. Nothing, except for a recent buyout by VSKK. There was no connection between them and the commissioner either, and no link between them and the West City Archives. None, except for…

  Kirsten’s hand fell out from under her chin and slapped onto the desk.

  Konstantin is the CEO. She fired an awkward glance at Dorian as something did a backflip in her stomach. After a few breaths, she grinned. Of course, if someone knew EnMesh was about to be purchased by VSKK, they might try to sabotage things by killing one of their scientists. That made sense. If there was anything in VSKK’s network, Konstantin would be able to find it.

  That just left EnMesh and Kukla disconnected from everything else.

  Kukla, why does the name sound so damn familiar?

  Her mind raced as she thought about the phrase ‘Kukla Investment Corporation.’ She heard the voice of an Eastern-European man talking about corporate property. In silence, she stared at the ceiling lights for several minutes before it hit her: #1998 City Road 130, the building where the silver circle was. Purchased by Kukla Investment Corporation. She sat back in the chair, arms limp at her sides. Is it a coincidence? They buy all sorts of things.

  She pulled her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. No, too much of a coincidence. Kukla buys a building where Charazu is summoned. Then, they buy out a company that has an employee murdered by someone summoning demons. RedEx has thousands of employees. Even a random killer could have chosen one of their employees by chance.

  A smiling, balding face with large ears flashed in her mind. Yevgeniy Suvorin, majordomo of Kukla Investment Corp. Friends with Konstantin. Kirsten bit her fingers. There was the link. That was too much to ignore. Everything swirled around those two men. It had to be Yevgeniy, or at least someone working under him. They wanted to take over VSKK and destroy Konstantin. That’s why he researched ancient Sumerian. Someone must have been after him since before he left the ACC. He needed to defend himself from it.

  There had to be a proof trail somewhere in the system. Some transaction, some communication, something that would lead her to evidence the Council would accept. Konstantin has been dealing with it for years; Commissioner Vernon only had a few days left.

  Her NetMini ringing all but knocked her out of her chair screaming. Kirsten trembled as she answered it, so wound up with worry she could not stop shaking. When Konstantin’s face appeared, she squeaked.

  “Is everything all right, Lyubimaya? You look quite… what is the word, frazzled?” The holographic head gazed around. “You’re still at the office, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. This case is really kicking my ass. I only have a few days left to save the next victim.”

  “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “You know who next victim will be?”

  “Not who the killer is going to take next, but…” She bit her lip, lowering her voice. “I shouldn’t say anything…”

  “ Don’t say it over the line then. I would like you to accompany me to a boring event I must attend tonight. It would be intolerable without you.”

  Kirsten whined. “I want to, but I have so much I have to get done. That woman is going to die if I don’t find some kind of proof. It’s going to take me hours just filling out reports.”

  “I’m sure your captain will understand. He wouldn’t want his best astral sensitive to burn herself out. Surely, he does not expect you to work all night without at least having dinner?”

  She twisted at the bracelet, staring at the screens. “I…” Can’t, shouldn’t, mustn’t…

  “I’ll send a car for you.”

  Kirsten’s face slackened into a zombie’s glassy stare. “Okay.”

  The limousine came to a halt at the end of a pier, aglow in the castoff light from a large corporate yacht. Kirsten stepped out as the automatic door swung open. Two silver disks on each shoulder held a drape of black cloth across her chest, an extra mantle over a high-necked black gown that hung to her ankles. Of all the dresses Konstantin had bought her, this one, by far, covered the most skin. He waited at the dockside end of the boarding ramp, holding his arm out to her as she approached and took it.

  “You look radiant, my darling.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Quite fetching with your hair wild; it suits you.”

  She flushed and smiled at the ground. He started up the ramp, pausing as she took a step after him.

  “Flats?” He grinned.

  She blew air out of the side of her mouth. “Every time I wear heels, I wind up barefoot and getting shot at. I’m hoping to skip that part tonight.”

  He made an appraising face. “Fair enough.” />
  At the top of the ramp, Kirsten froze, gripping Konstantin’s hand hard enough for him to glance at her. Yevgeniy was standing at the rear of the open deck, flanked by three young women and two men of similar age. She looked away before he noticed her staring, tucking into Konstantin’s side.

  “What is wrong? You seem suddenly afraid.”

  Tell him. Wait, no… Yevgeniy might hear me. If he is the one, there could be things lurking. I still feel that presence right behind me. Too many innocent people here. “Oh, I’m just not good on boats. I never learned how to swim.”

  Konstantin glanced at Yevgeniy, winked at her, and led her to a table in the shade of an overhanging upper tier where soft music drifted above the sound of the ocean. She picked a seat with her back facing the wall, giving her a view of the entire main deck save for one row of tables behind her. He sat, waving at a steward who poured champagne.

  “We seem to continue to have these strange, difficult situations. I did not realize you had a fear of water travel.” He smiled at her lack of reaction to the boat getting underway. “Or, perhaps there is some company here you are not fond of?”

  Kirsten found no answers at the bottom of her champagne glass. Yeah, you’re still a rotten liar, K. “I’m a mess about the case. I’ve found some evidence that has me worried about you. The bodies we keep finding had the same kind of writing on them as the circle I asked you about.”

  He narrowed his eyes at the distance. “Really? They found writing on them? How… curious. You think there is a connection to Charazu? I thought you banished it?”

  “There has to be something else involved. There is a living person responsible for summoning things. Every time they kill someone, they’re sacrificing them to something bigger than Charazu. I don’t want to say anything here. Too many ears.”

  “Charazu was a true demon; it never lived a mortal life. However, it wasn’t what I would consider very powerful.” He offered a pleasant nod. “I shall trouble you no more about it tonight. At least, not while we are here.” He winked.