Guardian

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Yes, Ma’am. He… via proxy hired a ripper doc to procure replacement lungs for his twenty-year-old daughter, whom he refuses to publicly acknowledge as his. I have no idea why he won’t. Because of that, she tried to kill herself with Icewhisper. The ghost of the man who the harvester’s thugs killed had been attacking anyone who’d gotten organs taken from him. That spirit came close to killing two of them: Robert Lamb and Julia Dominguez. I finally tracked him down, and his attachment to this world is wanting his murderers prosecuted.”

  “So this spirit cannot rest until Winchester faces some form of justice for precipitating his death.” Director Carter’s jaw crept forward in thought. “That’s a delicate process. I’m sure you’re aware he’s already tabled an audit of our policies and procedures.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. All I have right now is a ghost telling me he did it, a girl with replaced lungs who will probably come up as a compatible match for transplant with the murder victim who lives in his manor house and is supposedly his illegitimate daughter. She won’t cooperate with an investigation against her father. The ripper doc, Mardrake, didn’t even know the job came from the senator. All proxies. I… can’t prove it. And, I’ve basically been ordered not to even try to go after him. Is it wrong to let him go? The senator has all but told me he requested my attention to destroy that ghost, like I’m some hired assassin cleaning up a loose end. I don’t feel right doing that… unless the spirit becomes a danger to the living.”

  Director Carter leaned back, finger curled around her chin. “I agree that, given the limited tangible evidence you’ve discovered, any legal action against the senator will blow up in our collective faces. We have a fair amount of influence over things, including the military, but interfering with senators gets everyone’s panties in a knot.”

  Kirsten would’ve laughed if not for the dead-serious look in the Director’s eye. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “It’s the sort of thing everyone’s so afraid of. Psionics manipulating government. In matters of psionic individuals, I have authority. I could tell even C-Branch to go diddle themselves if they wanted to ‘recruit’ one of ours… There isn’t much I can do to stop a vengeful senator from conducting a witch hunt.” Director Carter sighed. “While regrettable, one man’s death doesn’t outweigh the good Division 0 does for the population at large.”

  “We can’t get Division 9 involved, can we?”

  “I’m afraid not. We’d need irrefutable evidence before we could hand it off to them.”

  Kirsten stared at her lap. “Ma’am… what should I do? Every choice feels wrong. Can we really just let him kill a man like that?”

  “You feel genuine guilt about destroying that ghost.” Small wrinkles formed at the corner of Carter’s eyes as she smiled.

  “I do. I know it sounds lame, but… I’ve seen some spirits go to silver doors while the Harbingers drag others away screaming. I’ve also seen… other beings. Destroying that spirit is wrong. His anger is justified, and as long as he stops harming the innocent who had no idea they received stolen body parts, I have no moral grounds to destroy him. I have to do something for this spirit, but I’m afraid of what the senator might do if I don’t give him what he wants… he threatened my son, Ma’am.”

  “What?” Carter raised an eyebrow. “Did you get that on record?”

  She sighed. “No. He demanded I shut everything off. He didn’t threaten to harm him physically; he inferred my duties obligate me away from being able to properly care for a boy, and he said it would be a shame if someone decided he should be put in a better home.”

  Carter offered a sympathetic look at the maelstrom of anguish, guilt, and sorrow churning in Kirsten at the thought of losing him. “Well, he certainly knows the best way to hurt you. Wren… you’ve got three choices. Which can you live with the most? You can destroy the ghost so he cannot harm any of those people. You could spend the next few years searching for evidence and hoping no one catches you doing it; maybe the person who proxied the deal between the doctor and the senator could be persuaded to testify. Or, you could accept this is beyond your grasp and wait for the universe to sort things out. Assuming your Harbingers are out there, it sounds like they would have a keen interest in the senator. Aren’t they supposed to be the judges of souls?”

  “Yeah.” Her heart sank. “He’s a murderer, Ma’am.”

  “He’s also a senator with strong connections. I doubt he will act on his threat toward Evan if you keep your distance. I can feel your concern for everyone here as well, Lieutenant.” Carter offered a reassuring smile. “It pains you greatly that this man could retaliate against Division 0 for us trying to uphold the law. I think you should trust the universe to work things out. We engage in many battles throughout our lives. Some are difficult, some easy, and some situations present no way to win no matter what we do. Sometimes, the only reasonable option we have is to walk away.”

  Kirsten sat straight, trying to ignore guilt, fear, and worry. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  “If it helps your conscience, you are responsible for dealing with crimes and events of a psionic and paranormal nature. While you have had contact with a spirit resulting from a crime, the function of said crime did not involve psionics. Unless your spirit harms the living, your responsibility here is done. What does or does not happen with the senator is on the shoulders of the brass outside of Division 0. This isn’t even your battle, Kirsten.”

  “I understand, Ma’am… but I still feel…”

  “Disillusioned.” Carter leaned forward, arms folded on her desk. “Our government isn’t perfect. Far from it. As long as there is government and people in power, there will be those who abuse that power. It’s happened since the days of organized politics, crowns and swords… and it will continue to happen until the fundamental psyche of humanity changes. Our system has its flaws, but there’s no denying we’ve got it better than those poor bastards in the ACC.”

  “Dorian called me a dreaming idealist.”

  Carter chuckled. “They thought that of me too when I was your age. Don’t give up on that outlook, Kirsten. But you’ll need to accept that few people share it, and often we’ll get disappointed. You probably had it in your head that this whole machine of the National Police Force was some kind of white knight championing the cause of the little guy. Most of us are just trying to do what we can to make things a little better for as many people as we can. You’ll drive yourself into the ground trying to do everything for everyone all the time. Focus on that little boy of yours.” Her eyes sparkled as she smiled. “To him, you’re the world.”

  Kirsten took a deep breath and smiled. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Lieutenant.”

  She stood, traded salutes with Carter, and walked back across the halls of the Police Administrative Center in no great hurry.

  How am I going to face Laney with this?

  er mood alternated between numb and like a kid who’d been beaten at a video game she loved for months by someone who’d never played it before. Kirsten trudged down an immaculate corridor of blinding white. By the time she reached the elevator, she’d swayed most of the way to being angry.

  Sometimes, the only reasonable option we have is to walk away.

  Carter’s words repeated on a loop in her memory. Kirsten scowled at the elevator doors as they closed. Okay, Senator. You win at your game. Let’s see how well you play mine. She stormed out on the ground floor, heading for the garage. A boy and a girl of about eleven in Admin cadet uniforms pushed a hovering cart with two cube-shaped network storage drives, three holo-terminal bars, and a box of datapads. Both kids halted their discussion of nested neural-memory arrays and saluted as she passed.

  Kirsten smiled while returning it, went grim-faced to salute a pair of Lieutenant Commanders from Tactical, and exchanged neutral greetings with six other enlisted adults before she made it to the garage entry.

  Dorian appeared within seconds of her closing the patrol craft door. �
��Hope you’ve got a good reason for waking me up.”

  “Hah.” She powered the car on. “Sam gave me an idea.”

  She powered up the car and drove to the exit gate.

  “Well, he seems like a smart guy.” He looked around. “Where are you planning to get shot at today?”

  Kirsten waved at Samir in the booth by the ramp, and switched to hover mode as soon as the fourteen-year-old cadet opened the gate. “Random acts of street punks aside, this should be quiet.”

  “I’ll believe that when it happens.” He winked.

  She reached forward and tapped a nav pin in for Sanctuary Park. “I need to have my idealism stepped on a little more before I believe I can’t do the right thing here.”

  The patrol craft climbed up to the level of the fiftieth story and levelled off.

  He laughed. When the fit of mirth subsided, his expression became serious. “Be careful.”

  “Yeah.” She stared ahead at a canyon of silver, black, and blue-tinted plastisteel buildings agleam in the late afternoon sun. An advert bot came up alongside, bearing holo-panels advertising high-end coffee, so-so sushi, and Monwyn products. “Damn. They’re getting better at this.”

  Dorian glanced out his window, curling two fingers over his cheek. “I won’t think less of you if you order coffee. That rune-rabbit plush though…”

  “What? It’s cute.” She grumbled.

  “Mm hmm. The thing’s the size of a small car. I can just picture you hugging it. You’d look adorable.”

  She scowled at him, but wound up laughing. “Yeah… I guess I would look like a big kid.”

  Dorian opened his mouth, but closed it on a smile without words.

  Kirsten eyed the delivery bot, already tasting coffee.

  Cups and scraps of plasfilm posters danced out from under the patrol craft as she landed at the edge of Sanctuary Park. Five square miles, one whole sector, covered by humanity’s best approximation of nature. Trees, grass, hiking paths, some ‘rocks’ to climb, and two lakes. She pushed the gull wing door open and got out, earning some worried looks from a pack of teens in garish clothing, some see-through, some blinding neon. They started stuffing things in pockets and preparing to run, but the worry in their eyes became confusion when she walked past them into the park.

  She followed a trail deeper into the woodlands, past a rounded clearing with a statue of Loretta B. Deacon, the senator who’d established the park seventy-some-odd years ago. Evidence of last night’s frivolities―empty synthbeer cans, a few sets of underwear, and crumpled up snack chip bags―littered the area. Kirsten wandered out of the circle, heading northeast.

  “This place is almost peaceful during the day,” said Dorian. “I hear there’s a couple of Yoga classes and one guy teaching meditation as well.”

  “I dunno. I think I get enough exercise right now.” She smiled at the bench she usually parked on with Nila while watching Shani make Evan fly around. “This is a good spot.”

  Dorian raised an eyebrow. “For what? Planning to fling off your uniform and go catgirl?”

  Kirsten laughed. “Uhh, no.”

  She sat on the bench, closed her eyes, and concentrated on an astral beacon, calling Theodore. Within a few minutes, coolness spread around her body, centered on her breasts. She looked down at Theodore’s arms encircling her from behind. He squeezed each breast twice quick, as if testing oranges.

  “Nice and firm. Bit small for my liking, but perfectly shaped.”

  “Hi, Theodore,” said Kirsten, deadpan.

  He walked around the bench with an exaggerated frown on his white-painted face. Black star pattern makeup over his eyes smeared his cheeks like a sad clown; wherever he’d been when he died, it had been raining hard. Despite hanging in loose curly strands, his long mop of hair ignored the breeze. Puddles gathered at his boots, and without the appearance of blood, his baggy pants looked dark blue-green.

  “You’ve been around a long time, right?”

  Theodore winked. “You can say that.” He sat next to her, left arm draped along the backrest. “What’s goin’ on?”

  Kirsten took a deep breath. “I’m stuck, Theo. Not sure what to do.”

  “She’s recently discovered the government isn’t all unicorns and rainbows.” Dorian scratched at his eyebrow and squinted at an odd yelp in the distance.

  “Guy with a dog,” said Theodore. “Almost stepped in it. Ahh, yeah. Government. It was a right mess when I was sucking on air too. It is what it is, yanno? You’re a cog in their machine. ‘Course, you’re far enough deep in your little niche dealin’ with the likes of us not to see it.”

  “It feels futile. How can I trust in anything when the supposed law won’t stand up to someone in power?” Kirsten recounted the story of a man killed for parts, a spirit seeking justice, and innocent victims caught between it all. “My entire command structure is afraid of him. He’s responsible for a murder and they don’t even care. It’s too hard to prove anything, so they don’t even want to try.” She fumed, glaring out over the grassy field at a lone tree, and an older man walking a giant chocolate-brown mastiff.

  “Division 0 is as much a public relations engine as a law enforcement organization, K.” Dorian let off an exasperated sigh. “Psionics are something like eight to ten percent of the population. We’re still at the point a bad shift in fear and paranoia could hurt a lot of innocent people.”

  Theodore’s wheezy chuckle sent a chill down her spine. His hair danced with a resigned shake of the head. “You’re a rare breed, Kirsten. Sometimes, the people with all the money and the power win. Your friend Ritchie… the cop what offed him never faced charges. That fucker killed another ten or so people before he retired. Mostly the Seattle drug crowd, but he opted for the cheap divorce twice, too.”

  She scowled.

  “Don’t get too mad. Your little black puffballs got him.” Theodore winked.

  Kirsten cocked an eyebrow at him. “Did you just refer to Harbingers as ‘puffballs?’”

  “Yeah. Cuddly li’l things, ain’t they?” He grinned.

  “So you think I should let it go?”

  “That’s what you came here for right?” asked Dorian. “To get told the same thing a third time by someone else. I don’t understand women.”

  “It’s not being a woman.” She glared at him. “It’s seeing something wrong and not being able to do a fucking thing about it. I…” Kirsten deflated with a sigh, leaning on her knees.

  “Hey.” Theodore patted her on the back twice before squeezing her ass. “You’re too cute for language like that.”

  “Die.”

  “Too late, honey.” Theodore pulled his shiny black trenchcoat off his chest and let it fall back in place. “Already did. A long ass time ago.”

  Absurdity of what she said made her chuckle despite wanting to choke Senator Winchester with her bare hands. “You think you’ll ever get tired of it? Want to go on?”

  Theodore sat up straight and made whistling, smoochy noises at the mastiff, over a hundred yards away. As soon as it looked at him, his head went transparent and glowy, and he yelled “Boo.”

  Howling, the animal bolted off into the trees, dragging the old man by the leash like a ground-skimming kite.

  Theodore laughed himself to tears. “Nah. This never gets boring.”

  “Theo! You could’ve killed him.” She tensed to stand and go after him, but relaxed when the old man walked back out of the woods, dusting his muddy pant legs off and cursing his idiot of a dog. “That’s not funny; that was mean.”

  “You are adorable.” Theodore patted her on the head.

  She settled into the bench, grumbling. “I guess I came looking, hoping you or The Kind could maybe sniff out enough evidence for me to give to Eze.”

  Theodore shrugged. “I suppose I could try, but people don’t do a lot of talkin’ to me these days. More like runnin’, screamin’, and loadin’ up their pants.” He grinned.

  She chuckled. “Haven’t seen you in a w
hile.”

  He winked. “Bah. That’s ‘cause you don’t flip out anymore. When’d you start liking having an audience in the shower?”

  Her back muscles tensed. “Liking an audience and not letting ghosts bother me aren’t the same thing.” She grumbled. “Damn.”

  “Best thing you can do, kid.” Theodore reached for her left breast, but changed his mind when she made no move to avoid his hand. “Let the puffballs deal with him. You want some help talkin’ to yer errant ghost, gimme a shout.”

  “Harbingers.” She smirked. “Sometimes I wish they’d take an interest in the living.”

  “Hah.” Theodore grinned.

  Kirsten sat up and blinked. “I just got an idea.” She channeled a minute amount of power and grabbed Theodore’s hand. “Will you help?”

  “If yer takin’ this where I think yer takin’ this…” Vodka fumes leaked between his teeth as his lips curled into a dark grin. “I’m in.”

  Kirsten tapped the silver panel to the right of Laney Prentice’s door. Dorian paced behind her, muttering. A few seconds later, a nondescript grey slab slid to the side, revealing the slim figure of Charles’s sister in a clingy emerald green shirt and loose, black shorts. Seven of her toenails were pink, three green, and a Nanochroma wand dangled from her fingers. Kirsten’s gaze went to a pair of black cat ears on a headband, with dim cobalt blue light emanating from within.

  “Uhh, those are cute.”

  Laney grinned and bounced in place. “I know! I can hear Charlie with them. I’m thinking about getting cybernetic ones put in.”

  “How long is she expecting Chuckie to stay around?” asked Dorian.

  “His name is not ‘Chuckie.’” Laney smirked. “Where else would he go?”

  Dorian winced. “Heh. Guess her electronics work.”

  “Can I come in?” Kirsten offered a placating smile. “Is Charles here?”

  “Yeah.” Laney backed up, let her pass, and shut the door. “He’s getting a little impatient. I’m glad you stopped by.”

  “Wren…” Charles phased out of the living room wall near the holo-bar, which displayed a pause-frame image of a middle-aged man in a greenhouse. He’d managed to get himself looking whole again. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to come back.”