After checking the pedestrian traffic to make sure no idiot on Mishiro boosters would run her down, she returned to the driver’s seat. She set the coffee in the cup holder, popped the case open and raised the sandwich to her lips. The instant her teeth touched bread, the comm lit up with Captain Eze’s six-inch holographic head. Perfect timing. Her eyes shifted to make contact, but she bit down anyway.
“Wren…” He smiled. “When you’ve finished your breakfast, I need you to investigate a possible paranormal event at the location I’m about to send you.”
Kirsten mumbled into the second bite of her spicy eggs.
“No need to rush your food. There isn’t an active manifestation, but be alert on site. You were requested by name.”
She finished her current mouthful and furrowed her brows at him. “Are there any other astrals on the west coast? Who else would they expect?”
Captain Eze chuckled. “They don’t know that.” The Navcon beeped with an incoming waypoint. “Something happened at the home of Senator Preston Winchester.”
Kirsten almost choked on egg crumbs. “Sector 19485? That’s like in the woods… off the plate.”
Dorian whistled. “Well, senators have to eat.”
Yeah, and I guess they deserve multi-million credit houses, too. She closed her eyes and sighed out her contempt. Not every rich person is a piece of shit. “Understood, sir. Any idea why he asked for me?”
“I wasn’t privy to that information.” Captain Eze grinned. “But you can ask him while you’re there.”
“What?” Kirsten’s back muscles went stiff. “He’s here? Aren’t they supposed to be on the Moon?”
“Senate is apparently out of session at the moment. He’s expecting you.”
“Copy, sir.” She flopped back in the seat as the holographic head dissipated into a spritz of dancing pixels. The Navcon shifted to display the incoming waypoint from dispatch, a bright red ‘pushpin’ stuck in the map near the north end of West City. It took a moment to summon up the urge to take another bite.
“You look like your cat died,” said Dorian.
Kirsten chuckled. “I don’t even have a cat.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
She nibbled. “Dealing with the wealthy is awkward enough. A senator is a whole other level of ‘oh, shit.’”
“True. Though I somehow doubt you’ll get on his bad side. You never cared about prestige. I’m sure you will be fine. Just do what you always do, stick to your ethics, and stop worrying.”
“Probably a Badlands ghost or something….” Kirsten took a huge bite, savoring it.
Dorian leaned toward the Navcon display. “There’s nothing between that manor house and whatever might wander in except for a security team… and lots of snow.”
“Great.” She sipped coffee, forgetting her jalapeño-tenderized tongue. “Mmm!”
“I love the way you always do that.” He winked.
She gave him a sidelong glare, then cracked up giggling. “Right… might as well finish my food before it gets cold.”
About ten minutes later, she lifted off and climbed to join a northbound hover lane at the level of the fiftieth story. Since the call sounded more like a report of past events and not an active scene, she didn’t bother with the lights or going faster than normal traffic. She engaged the auto-drive and leaned back, eyes closed. She smiled, thinking of Evan cuddled up with her on the sofa last night doing his homework while she watched a vid. I wonder what got into Evan yesterday at school. Usually it’s me who gets clingy. He’d been extra affectionate, though she worried at what he didn’t say. Not wanting to push, she’d waited for him to open up, but he hadn’t said anything.
He would’ve said something if it had been serious. Maybe he just wanted to spend time with me.
Pinging from the console snapped her out of a nap. According to the clock, the nearly hour-long ride had a few minutes left. After a stretch, she resumed manual control and flew between shiny silver office towers. One bore the logo of NinTek Corporation, another had a green diamond on its corner marked with ‘Orion Financial Services.’
She steered into a rightward banking turn, leaving the Northern Commercial District behind. Within minutes, the endless field of shining high-rise towers gave way to less-glimmery residence buildings, and eventually shorter structures: a mixture of stores, malls, low-income housing, and a few attempts at recreating pre-war suburban living. Soon, they shot over the northern wall extension by a checkpoint gate with a half-mile long ramp to ground level. Traffic on the four-lane passage was sparse―only three cars.
When she cleared the elevated city, the altimeter jumped from 508 feet to 754, and she gazed out on an endless field of snow-dusted pine trees. Here and there, one showed evidence of damage sustained during the corporate war. She spied a fragment of a wrecked warplane, covered in centuries of growth, and wondered if perhaps a dead soldier might be harassing the senator. While officially still within the legal boundaries of West City, those who dwelled here did so without the protection of the wall. Discarded emerging from under the city as well as any number of random atrocities might wander out of the Badlands at any time. It made for cheap, if not nerve-wracking, living.
The Nav pin led her to a rectangular clearing in the pine forest, capped at one end by a four-story manor house. Extensions at the sides gave it the shape of a square bracket from the air. A military shuttle in green camouflage sat on an elevated landing pad about forty yards from the front door, likely the senator’s quick ride back to Paramount City on the Moon.
“If I sit up here and think about it, I’m never going to wind up walking inside.”
Dorian chuckled.
She landed next to a pair of silver hovercars, got out, and stared at eight intimidating white columns flanking a front porch almost as big as her old apartment. Trying not to think about who lived here proved futile. Being in the same room as a Trade Commissioner got her shot over psionic paranoia… how much worse would an actual senator be? Kirsten swallowed hard, climbed four steps, and crossed into shade on the way to push the buzzer.
The door opened to reveal a black-haired woman in her middle twenties. Between her delicate features and antiquated gown, she looked like a huge child’s doll. Sure enough, Kirsten sensed no living mind within her, though the woman’s mannerisms did not come off as artificial.
“Hello. Can I help you?”
Kirsten felt tiny in the shadow of the massive house, and more than a little contemptuous that one man could own such a vast expanse of living space while so many others made do with cramped apartments little more than cells. “Agent Wren, Division 0. Senator Winchester reported an unexplained incident?”
“Oh, yes.” The girl smiled and backed up. “Please come in. I’m Marguerite.”
“It seems the good senator doesn’t trust living help.” Dorian clasped his hands at his back as he walked in, appraising the expansive foyer.
“Thank you, Marguerite.” Kirsten stepped past the door, which the woman closed. Her first impression of the place conjured feelings of old land that had seen its fair share of spiritual events. Nothing stood out, and she attributed the weak sense of foreboding to the size and age of the building. She waited for the woman to look up, and smiled. “There’s a report of something unexplained going on here… have you witnessed anything?”
Dorian scoffed.
“Well, as I’m sure you already know, I am not like you.” Marguerite smiled, not a trace of shame in her expression. “I am in charge of the house and the staff. Though you think me young, I am almost sixty, and not as naïve as my appearance suggests.”
Kirsten nodded. “I’m used to being on the receiving end of prejudice. Trust me. I have nothing against dolls. I’m not entirely sure how you would react to a paranormal entity.”
“I’m synthetic, Agent, not a doll. I do hear things sometimes.” Marguerite tapped her ear. “Things biologuiques cannot detect without the aid of electronic devices. I have
also experienced short periods of missing time, and once found myself on the floor.” She glanced around at nothing in particular. “And the senator does trust me, though it is more due to my being here so long rather than I am not biological.”
Dorian blinked.
Kirsten smiled. “Please forgive my partner. He’s from a different generation. Hasn’t gotten used to silicon-based life.”
“Different generation?” Dorian frowned. “I’m not that old.”
Marguerite giggled into her hand.
“Other than Dorian, what have you heard?” asked Kirsten.
The wisp of a woman gestured to the stairwell. “This way, Agent.” She hiked up her long dress and led the way. “Various things, but most happened long enough in the past not to be the same as what I think the senator is concerned about. Two nights ago, I heard anguished cries, and a man’s voice shouting impolite words.”
Dorian looked about to say something, but hesitated. Kirsten winked at him.
Marguerite brought her to a study on the second floor, where she knocked in a series of rapid taps on a pair of wooden double doors, each decorated with eight pairs of bas-relief squares. She spoke in a demure, childlike voice. “Monsieur Le sénateur? Votre invitée est arrivée.”
Kirsten glanced at Dorian and mouthed ‘what the hell?’
He shrugged, again biting back a comment.
“Please, come in,” said a man’s voice.
Marguerite opened the doors and stepped aside, smiling. “Please, go in.”
Inside a room lined with bookshelves, a man with greying brown hair hopped to his feet from a chair behind a simple desk, which had the look of genuine wood. Quite against what she’d expected, he wore a sweatshirt and loose, nondescript blue pants. Perhaps in his middle forties, he hurried out to meet her halfway across the room, by a pair of white wingback chairs facing a small, decorative table.
“Going to sniff around a bit.” Dorian wandered off into the wall.
“Agent Wren? So good of you to come on such short notice.” He gestured at one of the chairs and sat in the other. “Please.”
The room reminded her too much of Konstantin, triggering an unsettling chill up her back. Nonetheless, she sat where he’d indicated. “Thanks.”
“You seem… confused.” He smiled. “Can I offer you coffee, tea? I’d mention wine, but you are on duty after all.”
“I’m fine, thanks. I… was expecting someone older.”
He laughed. “I had a good campaign staff. You’re not the only one. A forty-year-old senator was a hard sell four years ago, but things worked out.”
She hoped her smile didn’t come off as too plastic.
“I’m sure you’re wondering what all the fuss is about.” He leaned back. “First, let me congratulate you for taking care of that awful business on the Moon a month or so back. I’m glad to see you’re none the worse for wear.”
Kirsten fidgeted. “Thank you.”
“Something attacked me the other night. I thought I saw a figure in the corridor a little past one in the morning, but my physical security team failed to confirm an intruder.”
“Attacked?” She opened a new inquest record via her armband computer and tapped in some notes. “Can you describe the attack in detail, Senator?”
“Of course. It started as a sense of being watched… uhh, with malice. About an hour later, as I walked down the hall, I felt something grab my shoulder and pull hard enough to stop me. I didn’t have any marks, and I can’t say it even hurt… but the whole hallway didn’t feel right, you know? Also, I noticed a cold spot.”
She typed at the holo-panel floating over her forearm as fast as she could with one hand, while mumbling a summary of what he said.
“I hear cybernetic implants interfere with psionic talents. Is that true or a superstition? Or, do you find some manner of nostalgia in doing things the long way?”
Kirsten resumed eye contact. “With a few exceptions of individuals gifted with unusual aptitude toward technology, in most cases, significant quantities of cyberware reduce the effectiveness of psionic abilities and make it more tiring to use them… from what I hear. I’m not sure if it’s true or the result of some purist movement, but I know I don’t want anything put inside me. The very thought of it makes my skin crawl.”
The senator covered his mouth with a finger to hide a sudden smile.
She blushed.
“I’m sure you did not mean that as it sounded. Please don’t be embarrassed. I’ve heard much worse on the Senate floor.”
Unable to look at him, Kirsten stared at the burgundy carpet between her boots. “Have there been any other attacks?”
“Nothing that noticeable, though I have been feeling watched more often since. I can’t tell if it’s a spirit or if I am imagining it. And yes, before you ask, I do believe in ghosts.”
She swallowed a bit of her embarrassment and looked up. “Well, that’s refreshing. I’m used to working with people who think I’m crazy right up until they’re covered with slime. Mind if I walk around a bit and see if there’s anything here?”
“In the middle of the day?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Spirits aren’t weaker in the daylight… it’s easier for people to notice them when it’s dark. If the spirit who touched you is weak or new, the energy it cost them to affect you physically might have sent them to their remains to recover, so they may not be around. If it’s an older spirit playing games, they should still be here if they mean to continue.”
“All right.” He stood. “I’ll walk you.”
Over the next forty minutes, Kirsten followed the senator room to room on the first and second floors, checking the kitchen, pantry, dining hall, ballroom, several sitting rooms, and a number of guest bedrooms. She stopped in a large library and watched an elderly man, glowing white and transparent, walk out of a bookshelf, cross the room, and drop to the floor clutching his chest.
“Sir?” asked Kirsten.
“Hmm?” Senator Winchester glanced at her.
“There’s someone here.” She eyed the empty floor.
The spirit appeared again a few minutes later, repeating the same walk and collapse. He ignored her attempts to get his attention.
“Oh. Never mind. It’s a latent manifestation, not an intelligent spirit.”
“I see.” The senator shifted. “Any idea who?”
“Based on his clothes, he’s been dead at least two centuries. Probably had a heart attack in this room. Only an imprint though, not a real spirit.”
He cast a wary glance around the library. “Any chance it could’ve been that?”
“No, this is as harmless as watching a hologram. There’s no intelligence here. It’s basically ‘ghost video.’”
Dorian swept in from the door and stopped beside her. “Place is clear. Curious a house this old doesn’t have at least one lingering soul. I did get a strange feeling in a fourth-floor bedroom. Looks like a young woman in ill health. Severe enough for them to have an in-home medtech.”
Kirsten nodded to Dorian before facing the senator. “There’s a sick girl upstairs?”
Senator Winchester blinked, glanced at his left hand, then scowled. “Agent Wren, I was led to believe you were stringent in your application of ethics. I’m rather appalled that you’ve disregarded your principles.”
“I didn’t read your mind, senator. A spirit told me about her.”
He froze for a second. Anger shifted to confusion and he tilted his head. “Did you not just tell me a minute ago that there’s no spirits here?”
“None who are part of the house. My partner is a ghost. He went hunting for the spirit who attacked you while we were talking.” She crossed her arms. “Do you want me investigating what happened to you or not? I need to check every possible angle. Angry spirits aren’t the easiest things to track down.”
He raised both hands in a placating gesture. “Very well. Please disregard my assumption of an ethical lapse. Let us continue.”
> The third floor contained nothing spiritual, and within ten minutes of wandering room to room on the fourth floor, he led her to a dark-stained wooden door and keyed a five-digit number into a pad on the wall. A click came from the lock plate, and he opened it for her to go in first.
Inside, a massive bedroom contained minimal furnishings other than a bed, two wardrobe cabinets, and a sofa by the far wall. Heavy, white floor-to-ceiling curtains blocked four windows, glowing from sunlight outside. Energy charged the air, subtle but noticeable.
A slim girl with snow-blonde hair lay unconscious on the bed, head turned toward Kirsten away from the windows. She looked gaunt and sickly, and a faint phlegmatic wheeze accompanied each inhale. Kirsten guessed her between eighteen and twenty-two.
Electronic humming emanated from a columnar machine about the size of a mini-fridge by the couch. Holo-panels directed medical readouts to a brown-skinned thirtysomething woman in a white medical jumpsuit bearing the logo of ‘Expert-Kare’ home medical services. Kirsten added it to the file notes, smirking at the purposeful mangling of the word care.
“She needs her rest, Senator,” said the medtech.
“I won’t be long.” Kirsten opened her mind to the surrounding energy and walked in circles with her hand out.
“It’s fine, Theresa.” Senator Winchester focused a somber stare on the unconscious girl.
Kirsten walked past the bed, following her sense of a latent residue. She stopped nearer the medtech. “There is definite energy here. Whatever grabbed you was in this room, long enough to leave a sense of its presence.”
“Can you find it and deal with it?” asked the senator.
She observed the sleeping woman for a little while, glanced at the wall, and then at the waist-high medical device. “This is your daughter?”
“Uhh.” The senator drew in a breath. He seemed ready to lash out for an instant, but wound up drilling a frustrated glare into the carpet. “I need you to understand the sensitive nature of my career. I trust, as a sworn officer, you will be able to exercise due discretion. Yes, Seraphina is my daughter, but I cannot publicly acknowledge that fact.”
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