“You know, Division 2 handles this sort of thing.” The other man pointed across the hub.
“Yeah, but I don’t have six weeks to wait for an answer. They never take us seriously when ghosts are involved.”
The two men looked at each other. She braced for the teasing, and put on her most pleading cute face. “Please?”
The brown-haired one caved in at her smile. “Hold on.”
He stood in silence; no doubt making a call with an implant. After several minutes, the doors opened and a tall woman with white hair walked out. Her hair, long in front and short in back, almost touched her chest. Gloss black ballistic stealth armor clung to her from neck down, leaving no curve to the imagination. A modest handgun sat under her arm on a brown leather strap.
A few inches taller than Kirsten, she emanated annoyance. “I’m Senior Operative Carter. I will be escorting you to Net Ops. Please don’t deviate from our path and try not to look at screens, doorways, or any unattended brains.”
She blinked, and saluted. As an Agent, she rated three steps below a D9 Senior Operative. Kirsten’s rank came as a special consideration for individuals from the dorm that went straight into I-Ops without having to serve on a tactical team, an impressive achievement usually afforded to trustworthy individuals with rare, powerful, or valuable abilities. Those who entered I-Ops after a tour or four on a tactical squad started at the next rank up, Detective Sergeant. She did not care about personal glory or prestige, but she showed respect to those above her.
“Understood, ma’am.”
Carter turned and walked with the fluid grace of a professional dancer. Kirsten could not help but feel like an awkward adolescent stumbling after her older sister as the other woman strode through the corridor as though calculating every sway of her body or sweep of her arm to be perfect.
She’s got neuralware, gotta have boosted agility.
They went past several rows of offices to another security door. It opened at a wave of Carter’s badge, and she led Kirsten down four small black metal stairs into a sunken room that looked like the command center for a military starship group. Massive screens dominated the far wall and rows upon rows of people sat at terminals. So much technology was crammed into the room that its presence changed the feeling of the air.
They passed what looked like a conference room, and a small coffee station. A thin plastic tube haphazardly ran from the brewing unit up along the ceiling. Halfway down another hallway, the area took on a look more appropriate for a corporate office than a police facility. Up ahead, the plastic vein descended into a cube from which a male voice whined about being bored, not having been shot at once in the past month.
“Hey, Dillon.” Carter kicked the cube wall. “Wake up.”
A middle finger rose up over the partition and waved back and forth.
Carter folded her arms. “He’ll help you… I think.”
“Whaaaaaaaat?” A skinny man dressed all in black slid into view on a wheeled chair. A cowboy hat sat atop his head, ringed with round silver discs that glimmered in the light.
A pair of wires descended from behind his ears through his long black hair, connecting him into the technology before him. He looked like he had not eaten in days, emerald green cans of synthetic energy drink scattered around the desk and floor.
At the sight of Kirsten, he made a cheesy grin. “Name’s Joey. What’cha need?”
“Agent Wren, Div 0. One of our records was hacked. I need to know what they deleted and who did it.”
He sent a belabored face at the ceiling. “Couldn’t you have given this to DeWinter? I was about to poke Guadalajara’s border routers in the ass with an electric turkey baster. I had it all lubed up.”
“How colorful.” Carter scowled. “Look, you know as well as I do how command feels about Division 0 poking around here… no offense.” She gave Kirsten a brief nod before continuing. “I need her squared away and out of here ASAP.”
He blinked at Kirsten. “Don’t tell me you believe in that ghost shit?”
She grinned innocently. “Kind of.”
Joey shook his head, laughing. “Well, at least you took her to the best.” He tucked up to the desk with a raised finger. “Fine… fine… this won’t take long.”
He made a series of exaggerated faces as he pulled the file up via mental command. Kirsten thought the wires twitched as the screens engulfing him shifted at a pace far too quick for biological eyes to keep up. A hologram of a smiling girl of about twelve smiled up from his desk. The thought of this man as a father made her lift an eyebrow.
Gotta be a kid sister, or cousin, or something…
After about thirty seconds, he took on a Zen-like countenance.
“This file was altered, my child. I sense an evil taint upon it.”
No shit, really? “I kind of had that feeling.”
He grinned, dropping the monk act. “I restored it. All the data is there. It looks like the alteration came from a corporate network, uhm…” He moved his hands as if invoking black magic. “Intera.” His face contorted with overacted anger. “Filthy peasants! Think they can hide from me?”
Kirsten leaned back with both eyebrows raised.
Carter pursed her lips. “They got some set of balls hacking government files.”
Joey snickered. “I’ll send them a message about it, I have just the thing.” He looked at Kirsten, holding up two holo-disks. “What do you think? Windowgrinder 1.8 or Cornhole 4.0?”
“Umm… the first one.” Kirsten blushed.
“You need anything else?” He spoke to her breasts.
“Watch it Dillon, you’re flirting with death.” Carter slapped him on the head, knocking his hat askew.
Kirsten gave them both a look of confusion. What! We’re not that unhinged, I’m not going to bake his brain for staring at my tits.
“Hey, just because I have perfection at home doesn’t mean I can’t admire cute.” He slid back into his desk, fixing his hat.
Kirsten felt left out of a joke, but whatever he said satisfied Carter. The look the tall woman gave her left no doubt it was time to leave now.
“Thanks for your help.” Kirsten waved in Joey’s direction.
“Philistines! Prepare to be boarded.” His voice echoed through the room, followed by maniacal laughter.
Carter walked backwards for three steps, shaking her head at him. A stream of air bubbles raced along the artery of coffee toward the desk.
“Don’t mind him.” Carter’s badge opened a door. “All of those cyberspace people are odd. I have no idea what Nina sees in him.”
“Hey, Carter, don’t forget Hardin wants you to go to sniper re-qual sometime within the next two days.” A male voice came at them from a passing doorway. “Preferably before you go to Cuba.”
“Yeah… yeah…” The ice in Carter’s voice made Kirsten shiver.
She kept her head down and offered a pleasant smile, feeling not unlike a mouse in the home of cats. Carter matched her quick stride with a grateful nod and left her at the exit.
Once she returned to her desk, she studied the holographic eyes of Albert Motte within the repaired file.
The fact he had worked for Intera Corporation before his death jumped out at her. Coupled with the truth of every doll targeted being made by them, it became too much of a coincidence to ignore.
Why would he go after his own dolls… maybe trying to finish some project? What if he’s trying to work on them and the dolls are not reacting well to a ghost?
She had gotten the distinct feeling he wanted to do something specific with the waitress before Kirsten lit into him. The police report offered a little information, but not the major revelation for which she had been hoping. The investigation turned up little. The detective working on the case, Aaron Miller, wrote it off as some kook testing a sniper weapon on a random person.
What? Who does that? Who just walks away from a case like this?
She read over the file twice. The notes associated
with the investigation seemed thorough at first, but then closed with a hasty dismissal. Perhaps he deemed it unsolvable and just filled in nonsense to get it off his active caseload. Still, it did not feel right and she wondered what could be at play. She mused around the thought of Albert paying the detective a visit and spooking him, but most ghosts wanted their murder solved.
Now at least she had something to do, a few threads to pull at and see what unraveled. A Division 0 Agent outranked a Division 2 Detective, so she could demand answers if she had to.
The ride north to the Local Regional Tech Center ate a little over two hours. Kirsten dove out of the stream of hovercar traffic and dodged a dozen ad-bots on her way to the ground level. Dorian squished himself into the seat, going rigid at the approaching ground when they went vertical.
“You’re so silly,” she teased, “I’m not even speeding.”
A worried look crossed his face. “I never did like heights.”
The ground wheels rotated out just as it came in to land on the roof deck of the Northern Regional Technical Center. This far north, almost at what used to be Canada, the air hit her with shocking cold. She scurried, teeth chattering, to the elevator. Dorian followed, amused by her reaction.
Downstairs, heads poked out as she passed. The security staff already spread the gossip of a ‘Zero Spook’ haunting the facility. Here, she felt like a curiosity more than an outcast. For once, she was jealous of Dorian. No one looked at him like he was some kind of curiosity on display.
Much to her surprise, she found Detective Miller in his office. She had expected him to be at home halfway into a bottle of synthetic whiskey after seeing a ghost. With a knock, she let herself in; Dorian edged through the door behind her.
“Detective Miller?” She tried to sound unassuming.
He looked up from his terminal. “Yes, can I help you?”
The man behind the desk appeared to be in his late forties, with a little paunch around his waist. Strands of grey streaked through the black hair above his ears, and a few days’ worth of stubble shadowed his cheek in the reflection of the screen upon his face. One narrow strip of black nylon crossed the white of his shirt, securing a pistol under his left arm. A patch of green light on the wall behind him blinked in time with an LED on the gun. He pulled off his glasses and gave her an expectant look.
“Agent Kirsten Wren, Division 0.” She exchanged a handshake. “Wow, glasses? You don’t go for the implants?”
He shook his head. “I don’t trust cybernetics.”
“Neither do I.” She smiled, taking a seat. “I wanted to ask you about a case you worked on six months ago. Do you remember the name Albert Motte?”
He got quiet for a moment, his face tightening as his stare searched the wall behind her for an answer. “I couldn’t turn a damn thing up on it. It was going nowhere fast and I had other cases to put to bed. I feel kind of bad for his old man; poor guy called me three times a week, but he gave up a month ago.”
“Guess he got the same hint you did.” Kirsten caught his facial tic. “Who threatened you?”
He tilted forward in the chair, glowering. “Are you in my head, you know that’s against the ethi―”
“No.” Kirsten leaned forward. “But you are a lousy liar for a cop. I was thinking you might have walked away from an investigation if you had seen Albert’s ghost. Given you are not home nursing a bottle of liquid dreams, I guess that is not what happened. So, the only other thing I can think of is whoever shot him found you and told you to back off.”
Detective Miller creaked back in his chair and tossed his glasses on the desk with a resigned sigh. “Yeah, I found a corporate angle. I thought a competitor was trying to get at his work. According to old man Motte, he was involved in some new research project worth a lot of money.”
He gripped the arm of the chair tighter. His eyes tracked the door as Dorian nudged it closed. Miller’s worry deepened and he adjusted his glance back to Kirsten, speaking just over a whisper.
“They found me before I could pin down what company made the arrangement with the hitter. Best as I could tell, they used a freelance contractor, and a good one. There was almost no evidence at the scene. We couldn’t tell where he took the shot from. He used a frangible round that left no exit wound or marks on the surrounding area. The body spun around when it was hit, so the shot could have come from anywhere or any distance.”
“What about the city cams?” Kirsten scoffed. “You should have had at least three views of the hit to give you the angle of approach. Frangible rounds have a distinct expansion profile. Our software should have been able to interpret the medical scan data to estimate the size, speed, and energy of the shot, from which the relative distance could be approximated. Detective Miller, I deal with ghosts. I haven’t even read about this stuff in four years and even I could have found a spot within ten meters of the shooter’s location.”
Miller grumbled, fidgeting. “It’s complicated. Look, some men paid me a visit… I think they were with the same outfit that had your Albert guy eliminated. I wanted to stay on this side of an autopsy table.”
“Well, that explains why Albert is so pissed.”
Dorian lifted an eyebrow, tapping the side of his head with his index finger. “Maybe he is trying to attract attention to get his murder case re-opened?”
Detective Miller sounded incredulous. “You’re saying he’s a ghost now?”
“Yep.” Kirsten added a slow nod to her words. “I get the feeling you don’t much believe in them?”
“Not really, and I’m happier leaving it that way.”
She smiled. “Well, I hope when you go, you go peacefully, so you won’t linger around. Of course, if it doesn’t work out that way for you I’ll be happy to help.”
Miller jumped at the unexpected noise of the door opening, and fumbled his glasses into his lap. Dorian held it for Kirsten as she stood up.
“Thanks for your help, Detective.”
Out in the hall, Dorian fell in step at her side. “Well, that didn’t really tell us much.”
“It told us someone tried to keep the curtains closed over Albert’s death. At least now we know why he’s so angry.”
Dorian nodded. “True… now what?”
She thought for a moment. “Well, let’s go see what Intera has to say.”
hick grey smog engulfed the patrol craft as Kirsten went into a shallow dive. The muted whine of the propulsion system droned its technological lullaby into the cabin, sapping the wakefulness from her eyes. Light simmered somewhere within the wafting haze, until the Intera Corporation complex faded into view.
Five towers of gleaming onyx and gold stood at the corners of a square with the largest at the center. They jutted up through the ground-level cloud, as if the only buildings on an alien world. The central tower was shaped like an obelisk, and a band of teal light sectioned off the pyramid-like top seven floors.
Personal hovercars and advert bots swarmed the buildings like moths to a candle. The northwest tower disgorged a PubTran Maglev from its midway point. It slid away along its rail in silence, consumed by the fog. A small droid came out of nowhere, filling the windscreen with the image of a smiling model in the latest designer clothes.
Kirsten yanked the sticks, sending the car in a hard rightward roll, cringing as a dull impact thudded through the cabin. The armored patrol craft punted the thirty-pound metallic nuisance off into the clouds, spinning it into a trail of sparks.
“You might want to turn the bar on.” Dorian looked over. “Just so nothing bigger hits us on the way in.”
“Since when do the ad-bots care?”
Kirsten hit the button anyway; the smog around them pulsed with bright blue staccato flashes. She tapped at the console, accessing the info node for the building. Within a few seconds, a holographic panel displayed everything the public could know about the place. One section indicated where visitors and guests should park, another where deliveries should go, and a third section had g
eneral information for tourists. Three of the perimeter buildings lit up in red on the display, covered in warnings about private corporate property not to be approached by civilians.
Kirsten poked at the map, transmitting her intent to land as an official visitor. Fluorescent green lines appeared in the windscreen, providing guidance on the approved approach path. She followed them, and the car drifted through a hole in the side of the northwest tower.
Amber light saturated the parking deck. Holographic neon lines glowed from both floor and ceiling, leading her to a designated spot. Gleaming bands of light passed over the glossy, black vehicle from rows of roof lights.
She gawked at the room as she climbed out of the car.
Dorian appeared at her side. “Well, they sure aren’t hurting for money.”
“No kidding.” Kirsten let out a long whistle, taking in the scenery. “It feels like we just docked on a starship.”
“Good afternoon, miss!” A young female voice greeted her.
A girl came skipping over, her knee-length teal hair held by pink ribbons in twin ponytails. She did not look older than fifteen; her fluffy white shirt and short black skirt were complimented by flat shoes the color of her hair. The sight of such a young girl in an office shocked Kirsten only until she recognized her as a doll made in the image of Intera’s mascot, Mitsu. The fact she had no readable surface thoughts confirmed the suspicion of her being an AI.
“Hi, I need to speak to someone in your human resources department.” Kirsten flashed her badge.
“The police.” She covered her mouth with her hands. “I hope nothing’s happened.”
“Oh, please.” Dorian rolled his eyes.
Kirsten gave him a ‘be nice’ look, and turned back to Mitsu. “I need to check on the status of a former employee, it’s got nothing to do with the company.”
“This way.” Turning with a giggle, the doll pivoted on one heel and skipped off down the row of parked cars.
Dorian shook his head. “In the grand scheme of all things creepy, that doll rates two points below a knife-wielding clown.”
Kirsten sighed at him.
Division Zero Page 17
