Guardian

by Matthew S. Cox

  Winded, she froze, bloody handgun held high, the echo of her rapid breathing echoing inside her helmet. A droplet of sweat fell from her nose and splattered on the visor, falling in a trail to the white strip of padding by her mouth.

  Gabriel’s mashed face liquefied into a blurry mass for a few seconds before returning to its former pristine state. “Ouch. Whatever they told you, I didn’t do it.”

  She crawled off him and clamped both hands on her left thigh. Squeezing it didn’t do much through armor. “Sorry.”

  Distant sounds of gang warfare stopped to silence. At the end of the alley, a few men stood with guns raised frozen in time, their faces in harsh shadow from azure muzzle flare. A passing pigeon hung motionless in midair between warehouses. Her police armor vanished, replaced by a white cheongsam and loose silk pants. Energy spread out from where she and Gabriel sprawled, overwriting the city. Plastisteel became the light-grain wood floor of a dojo surrounded by rice paper walls. The stink of trash and human waste gave way to the much more pleasant aroma of sandalwood. His grungy blue jacket and battered pants reconfigured into a black Chinese shirt with silver cuffs, a row of buttons down the center.

  He sat up, elbows on his knees. “Are you up for more work on sword forms today or would that be taking my life in my hands?”

  Kirsten rubbed her unarmored thigh until the memory of the crowbar strike faded. Staring at her bare feet reminded her of fighting her way out of Konstantin’s mansion with only a thin black robe on. “Sorry. Just working out some leftover anger.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  She grumbled as she stood. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

  A simple, straight jian appeared hovering in midair next to her, a matching one at his right. Both swords rotated on their long axis, narrow, mirror-polished dual-edged blades gleaming in sourceless light. Red and white paper lanterns swayed on a string by a door out to a snow-covered mountain. She lost a moment watching a gold tassel dangling from the handle sway.

  “How can you know that? If it’s too personal, I understand.”

  Kirsten grasped the weapon, which offered a little resistance as if she’d unseated it from foam. The blade felt heavier than she’d expected given its size. To her, it seemed about right, but in Gabriel’s hand, it looked like a toy.

  “Why do they always make these training sims look so peaceful. It almost feels wrong to fight here.”

  “To clear the mind of all distractions.” He walked closer, his stance casual enough not to get her guard up. “Stand like this.” He adopted a posture with his arms wide, sword up, legs apart.

  She mimicked him.

  “The jian is an extension of you.” He brought his weapon arm down in a slow, telegraphed gesture.

  A few feet behind him, she recreated the maneuver.

  “Do not think of it as a weapon in your hand, but your hand as a weapon.” He completed the swing and moved through a graceful transition to another stroke. “As with Kung Fu, footwork is vital.”

  She followed his motions for a few minutes, feeling more like a dancer than a fighter. “If this wasn’t meant to kill people, it would be pretty to watch.”

  He smiled. “Some masters do learn it for the sole sake of putting on displays.”

  “He got into my head. Made me act like someone else… like a helpless little woman.” She wobbled up on the balls of her feet, trying to keep balance, copy Gabriel’s moves, and think at the same time. “Everyone was telling me it’s wrong, but I couldn’t see it… the… whatever it was―magic―wouldn’t let me. I felt so defiled.”

  Gabriel paused, his face a mask of sympathy. “I’m sorry. That had to be―I can’t even imagine.”

  Kirsten looked at her reflection in the flat of the blade. “It’s worse than anything I can think of, to be someone’s puppet like that.”

  “Mind control?” Gabriel reached a hand out to type on a little holo panel that appeared in response to his gesture. “You really look like you want to kill someone. I’ve started a melon chucker. If you let one in, you’ll get a little zap.”

  “A melon chucker?” She glanced at him.

  The answer to her question appeared in the form of a large cantaloupe with an angry cartoon face. Spaghetti-noodle arms dangling from its sides held small knives. It tilted forward in a mimicry of a human head, and came flying at her.

  She sliced it in half with relative ease.

  Another appeared, a second behind it. More melons phased in at a steady pace, varying in angle and elevation. By the fifth cut, she recognized the pattern of the form he had been demonstrating, and anticipated the seventh melon appearing at knee level. By continuing the motion, she cut the fake fruit as soon as it appeared.

  After thirty, a gleeful chime filled the room and the melons stopped.

  “Not exactly mind control. More subtle. Slight changes to my personality to suit him.” She frowned at her seed-spattered cheongsam.

  “Hope he got a long sentence.” Gabriel adopted another stance, which she copied. He proceeded to show her a second form that included a few thrusting motions as well as a spin.

  “Yeah. You can say that.” She blocked out the image of Konstantin’s body melting into the floor, and concentrated on how to move. “Karma’s a bitch.”

  Blinding white light faded to the ceiling of the training facility, and a poorly positioned LED bulb cluster overhead. Kirsten moaned and scooted down on the padded, reclining chair to get her head out of a massive helmet more like a hole in the side of a computer cabinet than headgear. The pale blue material of her jumpsuit swooshed as she rolled around and sat on the side, feeling sore and sweaty.

  Gabriel sat up on a nearby bench and disconnected an M3 wire from behind his left ear. Kirsten glanced at the blinking lights and silver rods around the hollow where her skull had spent the last two hours. How it took something that big to replicate what a little wire could do…

  “Ugh. I feel like I got hit by a PubTran.” She looked down past her toes at her sneakers, the floor too far down to touch.

  “Hey Gabe, you didn’t tell me it was take your kid to work day.” A muscular man in a dark blue Division 5 jumpsuit walked by with a swollen duffel large enough for Kirsten to sleep in over his shoulder.

  Gabriel twisted to face him as he passed. “The short ones are usually the most dangerous.” He glanced back at her and shook his head. “Idiots.”

  She sighed. “It’s nothing I’m not used to dealing with whenever I’m around those meatheads. I think I’m gonna go back among my own kind where the knuckles don’t quite drag on the ground so much.”

  “Really? Your Tac guys don’t tease you at all for being so small?”

  “I’m not that small. I’m almost five foot.” She jumped down to stand and put her sneakers on. “And no, they don’t. When you’ve seen small children capable of throwing grown men around with telekinesis, a person’s size doesn’t impress all that much.”

  “Almost five foot means you’re like four-ten.” He winked.

  Her attempt to give him a playful shove wound up with him starting a submission grapple. She flung herself into him before he could complete the hold, tackling him over the padded chair with a forearm at his throat.

  “You’re getting better.” He wheezed. “Use your opponent’s strength and momentum against them.”

  She slid back to her feet, shaking her arm out. “Thanks. And… ow. How on Earth does virtual training make me sore?”

  “The brain―”

  “I know… I’m just complaining.” She slouched. “Thanks. I gotta get back. Ugh. I know those melons weren’t real, but I feel sticky.”

  Gabriel rendered a whimsical salute. “You are getting better, but remember… anger is a poor substitute for confidence.”

  Kirsten spun to face him, clasped her hands together, and bowed like a monk. “Domo arigato, Silva-san.”

  He shook his head, chuckling. “You’re working on Chinese sword forms, but points for trying.”


  “See you next week.” She threw a small white towel at him and jogged out of the training room.

  Preferring to avoid unwanted attention from some beat cop twice her size who thought her too small for service, Kirsten headed to the Division 0 wing to clean up. The barracks area for the active duty officers contained a military-style shower: zero privacy and co-populated. Steamy air swirled around twelve autoshower tubes arranged in two rows of six against opposite walls with lockers and benches between them. Though not official, women tended to gravitate left while the guys went to the right. Two blurry figures occupied tubes on the left, while four men milled around by the other side.

  Kirsten kept her gaze on the floor and headed straight for a locker, where she ditched her shoes before peeling off her sweat-soaked training suit and underwear, which she stuffed into a chamber in the center of the bank of lockers. Upon closing the hatch, the dirty clothes zipped off to a cleaning unit somewhere in the basement.

  “Hey, Wren.” A dark-haired woman with light brown skin stepped out of an autoshower behind her.

  “Hey.” Kirsten didn’t look up. Shared showers were awkward enough without conversation, much less conversation with eye contact. When the woman sidled up to a locker four feet away, Kirsten couldn’t help but take a quick glance left to see who it was. “Oh, Hey Kerrie.” Shit… is it Sanchez, Santana, Santiago?

  “Nice job with that hostage situation.” Kerrie S-something opened another laundry chute and retrieved her underwear. “Real smooth.”

  “Thanks.” Kirsten shut her locker and walked to the nearest open autoshower. Wow. No ‘oh crap, it’s the mind blaster.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Kerrie, now half in uniform, felt grateful, and pulled the shower door closed.

  Heeeeeeey!

  Nicole’s telepathic shout vibrated Kirsten’s eyeballs. Ouch.

  Water blasted her from all angles, a soothing, pulsating massage that made the imagined workout in a virtual reality scenario melt away. Nicole hopped in the adjacent tube.

  The redhead blowfished the glass. Hey, you okay?

  Kirsten grumbled, the sound lost under the whirr of spray jets. Yeah fine.

  I mean about that jackass old man.

  If I could kill him again I―

  It’s cool you and Sam are dating.

  ―would. Kirsten sighed as the soap phase started.

  Evan is totally adorable! I’m so happy you found him.

  Kirsten grinned. I’ve been wondering if that really was chance or if there’s―

  Oh, my God! You have to try this lime-avocado grilled chicken from this new place Morelli found.

  ―some kind of higher intelligence at―

  I’m thinking of applying for a transfer to I-Ops. Nicole got quiet for a few seconds to lather her hair.

  ―work. Kirsten sighed. “Why do I bother?” She closed her eyes and basked in the feeling of the rinse cycle.

  What do you think? Nicole wiped a patch of fog off the interior of her shower tube and peered at her.

  Kirsten thought about sushi. The first thing her brain seized on in order to avoid killing the hope brimming in her friend’s deep blue eyes. If she said great idea, and she failed the test, Nicole would think she could fix it with study. Heck, maybe she could. Maybe she wasn’t that scatterbrained. Uhh. Maybe. Are you sure you want to? I-Ops can be boring without the ghosts.

  You think? Nicole bit her lip. That place has an awesome chipotle steak sandwich too.

  Sounds great. Maybe I’ll―

  So like what do they do if there’s no ghosts?

  Kirsten blinked. Uhh, investigate crime committed by psionic indiv―

  Eddie wanted to take me to this expensive restaurant in a couple days. You wanna bring Sam and double-date it?

  ―iduals. You know, police work? I’m in my own personal layer of Hell with the ghost stuff. Kirsten shrugged. I’ll ask him, but if it’s the Five Corners, no way.

  It’s nice that they save all the ghost stuff for you. Nicole smiled. You’re like the best person to deal with it.

  Kirsten stared at her as the dry cycle whirred to life, surrounding her in a cyclone of hot air. You’re messing with me now.

  Nicole stuck out her tongue; a stream of water from the rinse in her tube ran from the tip. Well you were worried about thinking I’m stupid. I’m not dumb. I have a short attention span.

  Kirsten looked downward. Sorry. The lock clicked on the tube door once the dryer fans shut off. She stepped out into the freezing air and trudged four steps to the lockers. She stood, staring at the hatch containing her cleaned-and-plastic-wrapped training suit and underwear, zoning in and out for several minutes.

  “You okay?” Nicole put a hand on her shoulder. “I’d hug you, but it’s against regs since we’re both free titting it right now.”

  Kirsten rubbed her face, and slid her fingers up over her hair until she cradled the back of her head. “I went crazy on Gabriel. I thought about him and lost it.”

  “Understandable. If you wanna talk sometime… maybe get good and messed up.” Nicole slipped around behind her and reached for a laundry hatch.

  Kirsten glanced left, eye-level with Nicole’s chin. “I’m trying not to drink now. My mother was always half in the bag. I… I’m afraid if I don’t stop now, I’ll turn into her someday. Besides, the piece of shit that used to hit Evan drank all the time. He saw me reach for the SynVod once and gave me this heartbreaking stare…”

  “Aww.” Nicole snugged her underwear into place, flashed a mischievous smile, and pounce-hugged Kirsten, pinning her arms. “Oh, that’s so sad! I’m really happy you found him. You sure you’re okay after what that shithead did?”

  “Uhh…” Kirsten went rigid as her friend squeezed. Pretty sure physical contact with only one person being dressed isn’t in the regs either. “Thanks.” As soon as Nicole let go, she swiped her fresh, still-warm underwear from the cleaning unit, leapt into them, and grabbed her uniform pants from the locker. “I’ll deal with it. The worst part is I can’t figure out why he went to all that trouble to get me to sleep with him.”

  Nicole’s cherry-red hair burst out from the neck of her clingy black uniform shirt and settled around her shoulders. She tugged the garment down and worked her arms about to seat it. “He summoned the demon, right?”

  “Yeah.” Kirsten wriggled into her shirt.

  “Is it true about the angel thing?”

  Kirsten half-shrugged and grabbed her utility belt. “I think they’d consider ‘angel’ a simplification… or maybe an over-complication. They’re not exactly the stuff the bible-thumpers think they are, but I guess they come close enough. And yeah. Something about them wanting me to stand between the realms or something.”

  Nicole held her hands out to the sides. “Well there ya go. I bet that jackass knew they chose you, so he wanted you disoriented so you wouldn’t interfere with him. If he killed you, the uhh―seraphim, was it?―would’ve chosen someone else.”

  Stunned, Kirsten gawked at her friend.

  “See. I’m not an idiot.” Nicole winked. “You wanna hit that place for lunch today?”

  “Sure…” Kirsten stooped to click the fasteners on the outside of her boots closed. “Provided nothing goes bump in the afternoon.”

  “Huh?” asked Nicole.

  Kirsten laughed so hard she cried.

  “What?” Nicole folded her arms.

  “Thanks… I really needed that.” She wiped her eyes, giggling as soon as she looked at Nicole’s clueless expression. “As long as I don’t get sent on a call, sure.”

  “Great! You’ll love the food there.” Nicole looked around and lowered her voice as if passing along state secrets. “They say the guy who runs it grows his own veggies… like actual plants in the dirt.”

  Kirsten suppressed the urge to wince. “Sounds expensive.”

  “Nah, not really.” Nicole winked and started for the exit. “I’ll be back like ten after twelve. Gotta re-qual on the E-86.”


  “Okay.” Kirsten left the shower room at a slow trudge, wondering why Captain Eze never made her requalify with the E-90. I’m not tactical… I barely use it anyway… She smirked and checked her armband terminal for any sign of incoming issues. No calls from the senator, nothing from Mrs. Dominguez either, and all quiet from the school. She pondered going anyway, frowning at herself for being unable to shoot down murderous orb bots. Hmm. Why not. I could use some trigger time.

  Feeling more motivated than she’d expected, Kirsten strode off to the weapons range.

  ale, coral-hued walls glowed from LED bulbs set into a chrome-plastic track near the ceiling. Kirsten leaned on the bathroom counter, one hand on either side of the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. A baggy light-grey sweatshirt hung past her knees, the image of a ‘cute’ version of Monwyn the wizard on the chest. She straightened and slid a hand up under the fabric, tracing her fingers over her stomach. Worry flittered around her gut where the cramps weren’t. As best she could remember, Konstantin hadn’t done anything more than touch her with his fingers. She cringed and crossed her legs at feeling it again.

  No. He couldn’t have. She clenched her jaw. After he drugged me? She paced. That didn’t make any sense either. He didn’t want a child. Heck, the man probably didn’t even really want to have sex with her… he wanted to keep her out of his way. If that meant playing the role of lover, so be it. Yet, anything could’ve happened to her while she was unconscious. Had Konstantin been the one to lock her in manacles, or did he have one of his thugs do it?

  Feeling sick, she lurched over the sink but managed to keep in her dinner.

  “Easy enough to find out.”

  Kirsten stormed out to her bedroom and grabbed her NetMini. She paced about while ordering a pregnancy test and marched up to the outer wall. Floor-to-ceiling window made up three quarters of the length of the exterior wall, an extended section like someone had stuck a glass box on the side of the building to form an enclosed patio. She gazed up through the curved glass roof at a hovercar lane nine stories overhead. Within three minutes, a little flying box glided to a stop outside the sliding door at the right-most panel. She pulled the door to the side. The bot nosed in far enough to read her ID from the NetMini. It emitted a happy chirp and opened a hatch, from which she retrieved her order. After another pleasant sounding series of beeps, it rushed off to join the thousands of luminous dots swarming over the city in a band of dark beneath an indigo haze.