Guardian

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Yeah.” Dorian hooked his thumbs on his utility belt. “This is the kind of place that puts clairvoyants in mental care. A lot of agony in these walls.”

  She shivered as she moved about in a slow turn, gazing up at a point about thirty stories overhead where an unnaturally stark border between dark and light ran the length of four city blocks. Even the Sun didn’t seem to want to filter down to this particular corner of Hell. To her astral sight, the darkened walls shifted with trails of ebon vapor, gathering thickest around broken windows that appeared as portals to infinite blackness howling with a driving wind. “The veil is thin here. It’s like the astral realm is touching reality.”

  “The astral realm is reality.” Dorian wagged a finger at her, mocking a teacher. “It’s not imaginary.”

  “You know what I mean.” Unease left her breathing shallow. Harbingers probably came and went through this ‘hole’ on a regular basis.

  “On the way, Lieutenant,” said the cadet. “They’re insisting on a Div 6 escort. Looks like you went to the nice part of town.”

  “Thanks.” As soon as the cadet disappeared, she called Sam.

  “What’s up?” He grinned.

  Kirsten took a breath and put on cop face. Now was not the time to worry about Evan, Sam, her feelings for Sam, or any trepidation at what might wander between worlds at any moment. “Can you hit a couple of Citycams near me? I don’t know if they’re even working, but they might’ve recorded a murder.”

  “They’re on. I can feel the electricity inside them,” said Dorian. “They stand out like torches.”

  “Checking.” Sam’s holographic head shrank as he leaned away and typed on another panel. “I’m connecting to the three nearest units to your position… got it. What time frame am I looking for?”

  “August 26, 2418. About 4:20 p.m.” Charles looked down. His figure lost solidity here and there; small patches of him dissipated into ethereal wisps and re-formed.

  “You should do that thing now.” Dorian made a ‘get outta here’ gesture with his thumb. “You’ve not been around so long; the scene of your death might wind up becoming a trap.” He pursed his lips. “Ask me how I know… later.”

  Charles nodded. Concentration showed in his face for a second or two before he exploded into a silvery-yellow cloud, which dissipated onto the street.

  Kirsten kept her mind away from the mood in the air by talking about random nonsense with Sam. Monwyn, possible restaurants to go to at some point, other things to do, what kind of music he liked… Nine minutes after she’d called it in, the ground rumbled with the arrival of a huge A3V. The dark blue six-wheeled Advanced Armored Assault Vehicle pulled to a stop next to her patrol craft with a dull squeak of brake pads. Five men and two women in blue armor exited a side door, past tires taller than their helmets, and jogged over as a rear ramp wound down with a hydraulic whine.

  The crime scene team, three women and an older-looking man with a pale grey afro, unloaded gear from the back end.

  “Lieutenant.” A six-foot-four man with a silver visor for a face snapped off a crisp salute. “Sergeant Vanris, Division 6. What’s the situation?”

  “Hopefully just babysitting Div 2. They got nervous based on where we are. Possible gang hostility, but I haven’t seen anything. I think the energy in this place is chasing them away. If any of you get unexplained feelings of dread, vertigo, or sadness, please tell me.”

  “Those three things do not exist in the Marine Corps, Lieutenant, except for what we leave in our wake.” Sergeant Vanris spun with a quick heel turn and barked orders and tactical map coordinates to the rest of the team, who hustled off to establish a perimeter. He took up a position fifteen yards away, closest to the alley mouth―the first target for any incoming problem.

  “K, I think I’m going to make you very happy.” Sam’s holographic head grinned.

  “Can you talk about the case, not later tonight?” asked Dorian.

  Kirsten’s face burned with blush. “What’cha got?”

  “Three men dragging an unconscious figure into that little yard behind you and… oh my.” Sam blanched and covered his mouth. He averted his gaze and flailed at the holo panel to transfer the file, trying not to look at it.

  She brushed his holo-bust to the side to make room for the video feed. In green monochrome, the Citycam night vision revealed a huge man, an average man, and a little man dragging an unconscious Charles through the gate into the yard. They cleared a spot and flung him down. The massive bald man performed the ‘surgery,’ while the little guy ran back and forth with gel-filled organ transport boxes, holding them open to receive each piece.

  “How can you watch that?” Sam gurgled.

  “Being able to watch it with a straight face doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I’ve seen ghosts in far worse shape.” Kirsten swallowed a little bile and waved the Div 2 lead over.

  The older crime scene tech finished pulling on a set of blue gloves before he approached. “This is going to take a while, you realize.”

  “Tech…”

  “Tech four. Bill Finch.” He saluted.

  Dorian snickered.

  Kirsten gave him the side-eye while returning the tech’s salute. “Hopefully, this will make things easier on you.” She held her arm out and replayed the video of the murder.

  “Wren… Finch…” Dorian snickered again.

  She rolled her eyes. “You need to get out more.”

  “Sorry?” asked Tech Finch.

  “Not you.” Kirsten smirked at Dorian. “A very bored ghost.”

  “K.” Sam waved to get her attention. “I missed your birthday last year, so I got you something.”

  She shook her head, almost able to smile. “I didn’t even know you then.”

  “The feed from cam 0AC1:44F0 was good and clear. I have hits on all three suspects. Hank Bren, aka ‘Nurse B,’ Uri Sarkov, and apparently the other guy’s legal name is Spaz. If you give me about a half hour, I can probably tell you where they are, provided they’re not in a black zone or the Beneath and out of the range of cams.”

  “Finally, some damn good news.” She smiled. “I could kiss you.”

  “Later.” Dorian winked. “Little advice? Those lugs aren’t psionic. Kick it over to Div 1. Let them deal with the pickup. About time you started acting like a detective and stopped getting shot at.”

  She closed her eyes and thought of Evan. “None of them are psionic… Okay. I’ll send it to Eze to make the request.” After creating a sub-inquest, she bundled the video from the cams and a placeholder for the eventual crime scene information together and shot it off to Eze with a request to have Division 1 round up the suspects. “Sent.”

  Dorian smiled. “Now we wait… and hope one of them talks to save their own ass.”

  “Think they will?” She snuck a quick kiss on Sam’s hologram before she hung up.

  “My money’s on the little guy.” Dorian backed away as a Div 2 woman approached with a trio of fist-sized orb bots in tow, scanning the ground. “Of course, you can always cheat to see what they’re most afraid of. Surface thoughts rarely lie.”

  “That’s not ethical.” She scowled at him.

  “Oh, and slicing Charlie up for spare parts stands on moral high ground?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “A little skimming during an interrogation isn’t even close to compelling some punk to confess to molesting his friend’s sister. The girl’s still alive. Charles…”

  “Okay, okay. Point taken.”

  She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, ‘supervising’ the crime scene people; small hovering bots glided over road-hugging mist, projecting lasers here and there while the technicians crept about with glowing visors. Everyone scoured the area to find useful evidence in all the trash and muck.

  Please work faster. She eyed one of the black-and-white patches. I want to get out of here before something notices me.

  atmeal swished back and forth in Kirsten’s square bowl, perfect cubes of ‘peach’ sinking and sur
facing in an endless cycle. The tapping of her spoon against the sides clicked as rhythmic as a clock. Nerves about something stalking Evan as well as the imminent raid Division 6 planned based on her warrant. The area that Sam’s search found Mardrake’s thugs in sat close enough to an unpleasant grey zone that Division 1 kicked it down the hall.

  Except for the crew that had played bodyguard when Intera Corporation had sent assassins after her, she worried whenever Division 6 got involved. Blue instead of green armor seemed the only difference between them and front-line assault troops. Dorian had once commented that calling them in on a civilian area should be a last resort, tantamount to attempting brain surgery with a battleax.

  She’d showered as soon as she got home and spent almost two hours with Evan de-stressing in the Monwyn game before attempting sleep. At 3 a.m., she almost talked herself into attempting Theodore’s suggested cure-all for not being able to pass out, but couldn’t quite summon the courage or desire to pleasure herself. The last thing she’d need is for Theo (or some other ghost) or worse yet―Evan―to walk in on her in the middle of that.

  Twenty minutes on the treadmill didn’t do much but make her want to shower again. Attempting to stare at herself in the bathroom mirror and use psionic suggestion with the one-word command ‘sleep’ made the clock skip to 5:42 a.m. and gave her a bloody nose. After cleaning up the sink where her face met it on the way to the floor, and forcing a stimpak into her cheek, she showered again, dressed, and made the oatmeal she had yet to eat. The same oatmeal gathering against her spoon in a back-and-forth tidal wave across her bowl. She imagined tiny sailing ships on the churning sea of beige nothingness, microscopic sailors screaming for their lives as each ‘peach-galleon’ went under.

  No call yet. I hope that’s good news. She lifted a spoonful of the tepid mush to her mouth. A piece of pseudo-fruit between her teeth started out with consistency, but devolved to something akin to the feel of biting raw egg yolk as soon as she closed her jaw. Ugh. She forced the mouthful down and let go of the spoon. Reassembled oatmeal was bad enough when eaten right away… twenty minutes later, raw OmniSoy seemed tasty by comparison.

  Motion at the door made her look up.

  Evan, eyes closed, stumbled into the kitchen in his floppy Monwyn pajama pants. He stopped about halfway to the table, swayed on his feet for a few seconds, and shucked his pants to the floor. One arm out, he zombie-walked forward, grabbed the knob of a tall closet to the left of the refrigerator, and climbed inside before pulling the door closed behind him.

  Kirsten covered her mouth to stop from giggling.

  Tapping evolved to thumping. Two minutes after he shut the closet, Evan yelled from inside, “Mom! The autoshower’s broke. It won’t start.”

  Laughing, she got up and walked over. “What’s on the screen?”

  “It’s dark.”

  She pulled the door open. “Ev?”

  He twisted around to squint up at her, shrinking from the kitchen light like a vampire staring at the sun, only with less hissing and smoke. “Mom?”

  “You’re too young to be nonfunctional before coffee.”

  Evan looked around, let his head sag, and rubbed his eyes. “Ugh.” Still kneading crumbles away from his face, he stepped down out of the closet and yawned.

  The lack of bruising anywhere on his body reassured and worried her. “Did you stay awake all night to avoid a bad dream?”

  “No.” His arms dangled limp; his left eye seemed stuck closed. “Was up late talkin’ to this lady who died ‘neath our building.”

  Kirsten took his hand. “Come on. The bathroom’s this way.”

  “Like way ‘neath. Under the city ‘neath.”

  She stooped to grab his pajamas from the floor on the way to the corridor. “Does she need help?”

  Evan shrugged. “She wanted someone to talk to. Her family’s all gone ‘cause she died a long time ago. ‘Fore they made the city. I asked how she died, and she said she couldn’t tell me on ‘count’a me not bein’ old enough.” He stopped at the bathroom door and looked up at her. “I think she died without pants on. Why’d the killer steal her pants?”

  “Uhh.” Kirsten couldn’t look him in the eye. “Uhh… The man that killed her was very bad.”

  He scrunched up his face. “Stealin’ pants isn’t that bad. Not as bad as killing someone.”

  “I… Umm…” Can’t tell a nine year old about rape. The idea she’d been only three years older than him when she’d let a man use her filled her head with a brief waking nightmare of Evan’s life had she not found him. She took a knee, holding his hand in both of hers. “Evan… the man who killed her did something very evil to her. He probably killed her so she wouldn’t tell the police what he’d done. When a woman loves a man, sometimes they show their love in a physical way.”

  “Like kissing?” He yawned.

  She smiled. “Yeah. Like kissing. When someone makes a person who doesn’t love them do that, it’s one of the most evil things imaginable.”

  His lips twisted into a frown of contemplation. “Not more evil than what your mother did to you. I think that’s the worst. Moms are s’posed to protect their kids.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, too choked up to speak.

  “Ghosts wanted to talk to you when you were little too, right?”

  “Yeah.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “They did. Most of the time they wanted me to pass messages or warnings to their families. Sometimes, they thought I could give the police enough information to solve their murders. I never really managed to help any of them when I was small. Mother saw to that.”

  Evan smiled. “It’s okay if I talk to them, right?”

  She put his pajama pants on him like a hat, and grinned. “Yep. But tell me if anything sounds dangerous or wrong.”

  He pulled them off his head, laughing. “Okay.”

  Kirsten shooed him into the shower tube and returned to the kitchen. After ditching the gelatinous mass of not-oatmeal, she whipped up a quick breakfast, blending liquid OmPlus with synbacon bits to make a pair of omelets. Evan darted in seconds before she transferred the food from pan to plate. He sat at the table before shrugging out of his grey-and-red jacket, which he draped back over his chair.

  A conversation about strategy for the giant boss they’d gotten stuck on last night slipped in between mouthfuls. Before long, Kirsten collected the plates to the dishwasher while Evan got his coat back on and retrieved his backpack.

  “Hey Mom. Maybe you could ask Sam to come over. That fight would be a lot easier with three people, and he’s really good with Halek.”

  Kirsten grinned to herself. “Well, having a knight to hide behind would make that ogre-king a lot less scary.”

  Evan led the way to the door. “Yeah. Unless you get three lucky crits in a row again. I didn’t know Asara’s got such a big multiplier.” He cracked up laughing. “Ogre king wanted you bad. Chased you around in circles no matter what I hit him with.”

  Kirsten hit the elevator button for the roof. “Ugh, yeah. I ran so much in VR I got tired for real.”

  “Oops!” He looked up at her, color draining from his face.

  “What?” She grabbed his shoulder.

  “I uhh…” He fidgeted. “Forgot to do one of my assignments. But it’s short. It’s just some questions I gotta look up the answers for. I can do it on the ride.”

  “Okay.” She ruffled his hair. “Don’t get so upset over one assignment. If I got in serious trouble every time one of my reports was late…” She shivered. “As long as they get done.”

  He grinned and rummaged a datapad out of his backpack.

  Kirsten kept a hand on his shoulder as they strolled across the roof to the patrol craft. Once inside, he got to work amid a trio of small holo-panels. Violet, green, and blue light saturated the interior and made his hair glow. She suppressed the urge to laugh at his expression; he looked like a little mad scientist about to take over the world.

  Fo
ur minutes into their flight, Captain Eze’s virtual head appeared over the console. “Glad to see you up and about a little early today, Wren. I’ve got some good news for you. Div 6 managed to keep two of your three suspects alive, not for lack of trying.”

  “Let me guess, the big guy’s gone?”

  “Nope. That’s what I meant for lack of trying. They put enough rounds in him to kill half the ACC on Mars, but he’s still alive. The little man with the red hair didn’t make it. Whatever stim he took traded all his common sense for misplaced confidence. He came out shooting.”

  “Idiot.” Kirsten grumbled. That guy didn’t look like he knew much anyway. “Okay. Where are they holding them? Can you set up an interrogation session?”

  Captain Eze smiled. “Don’t have to. The Prentice murder is technically not in our scope. Detectives from Div 2 got them to talk. Mr. Sarkov gave up Mardrake’s location, and a couple of network addresses. Div 5 is going in.”

  “Five?” Kirsten blinked. “Six didn’t blow enough up so you’re sending in the cyborg interdiction team? What happened?”

  “The thugs mentioned Mardrake has at least one full-conversion bodyguard, and a handful of augs working for him as protection in exchange for free maintenance and installs whenever they get new hardware.”

  “Dammit, sir. If Div 5 goes in there, they won’t leave a piece big enough to interrogate.”

  Captain Eze raised an eyebrow. “Not expecting their ghosts to remain?”

  “I need living testimony to go after Winchester. A spirit won’t help me. I’ve gotta get there before Five flattens the place.”

  “The tone of the interviews leads me to believe that Mardrake isn’t going to surrender.” Captain Eze’s hand entered the hologram, rubbing his chin. “This engagement is going to need care.”

  I’m sure Winchester’s gotten wind of this. He’d much rather have Mardrake turned into a smoking crater than arrested. No wonder it got pushed to Div 5. “I understand.”

  “You’re not to go in there alone, Wren.”