“If you can’t kill the bomb”—she located the nearest access hatch on the map, thirty-one meters from her present location—“I’ll go in a different hatch and walk.”
“We don’t know what kind of defenses he has down there. Is this guy in the plate or all the way down on the ground?”
“Pretty sure he’s on the ground or spirits wouldn’t feel the charge on him.”
Dorian held up a finger. “Valid point. And I can feel electromagnetic energy in sensors and cameras.”
“It’s like having an entire Division 9 team for a partner.” Kirsten started walking toward the hatch.
“I don’t kill anywhere near that many people,” said Dorian in a fake English accent.
She sighed.
A few minutes later, she stopped at the mouth of another alley, slightly more trash-strewn but devoid of any people. The hatch, thirty feet away at the end, appeared innocent and normal. West City had innumerable similar hatches, intended to allow maintenance crews access to the guts of the plates. An elevated layer of plastisteel and technology twenty-five meters thick formed an even, contiguous surface upon which civilization rested. Workers often went into the plates, but few descended past them to the Beneath. At its lowest point, the natural ground lay seventy to eighty meters below the underside of the city plates, everything down there abandoned in the state it had been centuries ago.
Entering the Beneath felt like going through a post-apocalyptic time machine.
Dorian went down the alley and climbed into the shaft despite it being sealed. A minute or so later, the hatch emitted a hiss and a blast of pale white fog before rising upward on motorized struts.
An olive drab box stuck to the bottom, connected by a thin wire to the electronics inside the hatch.
Kirsten eyed the NetMini on her belt. When it didn’t ring, she exhaled out her nose and cautiously approached the opening, giving Evan plenty of time to call her if he had to.
“Probably a code.” Dorian poked his head up out of the hole in the ground. “Enter the wrong code to open it and boom. It’s not going to detonate until someone replaces or recharges the battery unit.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Kirsten crouched by the hole, braced her hands on the plastisteel alley surface, and stepped onto the ladder.
“Probably leave this stuff to Tactical teams.” He chuckled, gliding down to the floor inside the plate.
Kirsten hit the button to close the hatch, then descended the ten-foot ladder to the first sublevel. “Tac would still be debating how to get past the bomb—if they even knew about it.”
Faltering LED light bricks every twenty meters or so offered enough illumination for maintenance crews to see the walls. Alas, they weren’t bright enough to conduct a proper investigation of the area. Kirsten started to concentrate on Darksight but decided against it. While the astral power would let her see the environment, it worked by peering into the Astral Realm. Disturbances wouldn’t reflect in the shadow world until they’d been there for a significant time. A piece of dropped trash, for example, wouldn’t become part of a place’s astral shadow for months.
Oh, wait… idea.
She activated Darksight, shifting the narrow metal hallway from a string of lantern-like glowing spots in the dark to an overall even brightness tinged in sepia brown. She’d used the power so often, the wavering quality of the world’s astral echo no longer made her feel as though she lived inside a disturbing dream.
Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Using Darksight let her see the environment clear of darkness, exposing all the junk and garbage collected along the hallway. She switched on the utility light in her forearm guard. The intense—but small—spot of glow washed over the astral world wherever she pointed it, chasing some objects out of existence, making new ones appear, and changing others from sepia to full color.
Kirsten focused on anywhere the debris vanished or appeared.
If the physical light made something appear, it meant the object hadn’t been there long enough to develop an astral copy. Anything the light erased from view existed only as an astral shadow, proving it had been moved recently. Objects shifting to full color under the physical light remained where they’d been for a long time. Sweeping the light back and forth soon revealed a trail in the garbage leading to the left. The disturbance had to be from the suspect going back and forth to the ladder.
“What are you doing?” asked Dorian. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use the utility light before.”
“Comparing reality to the shadow. Someone’s been walking back and forth here often enough to make a trail.”
“Genius.”
She shook her head. “Hardly.”
“You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”
A phantom weight settled on her chest. According to Dr. Loring, four years of Mother screaming at her constantly telling her she was stupid, evil, and worthless made it difficult for her to accept not being any of those things. Maybe thinking of comparing the difference between reality and the Astral Realm had been a little smarter than ‘something any idiot would’ve thought of,’ but it still sounded awkward to hear Dorian call her smart.
“Doctor Loring says the same thing.”
He smiled. “You should listen to your psychologist.”
Kirsten looked down, about to sigh, but froze at the sight of a bare footprint far too small to belong to a grown man. It only appeared in the electric light and looked rather like the footprints she’d likely tracked all over the place during the time she lived down here. Part dirt, part sticky mystery slime, the print appeared to be the size of a child’s foot. She found prints pointing in both directions, proving the kid went back and forth. The small footprints appeared to target open spots, suggesting a careful attempt to avoid disturbing trash.
Either this kid has a flashlight or they can see in the dark.
It also meant the child couldn’t be responsible for the trail she followed. The kid avoided junk, not plowed through it.
The Beneath had no shortage of children. Primitive settlements existed down below, and of course, whenever men and women lived together, babies happened. The living boy she met when she’d lived down here climbed back up into the plates to sleep and rarely came down. For whatever reason, he always went to the surface for food, never to the ground. He didn’t want to be found by the natives. Maybe he thought every adult down below would be like the Discarded and possibly dangerous. One day when he went to the surface for food, he didn’t come back. Most likely, he’d been picked up by the cops and given a better life. By now, he’d probably be in the military—the usual end point for non-psionic orphans taken in by the cops.
Seeing evidence of a kid being in the plate worried her, since they’d likely not be from a settlement.
Still, she followed the trail. Once she had this rogue astral in custody, she could take her time hunting for the kid. For all she knew, this child might have parents and a reasonably decent—for the Beneath—home. They could’ve come up here on an adventure. Obviously, they hadn’t opened the hatch, or the bomb would’ve gone off.
The trail led her down the narrow maintenance passage. Wherever the floor became metal gridding instead of flat plates, she lost the child’s footprint trail, but the disturbance in missing (or rearranged) trash continued. Relay boxes, electrical cabinets, and pipes went by on both sides, so filthy she didn’t want to breathe near them.
Guess I’m no longer feral if the dirt disgusts me.
She became furious all over again at Mother for making her prefer this place to a proper apartment. What ten-year-old wouldn’t prefer a filthy tunnel to constant beatings, burnings, and a locked closet?
The trail led around a corner to the right, through two doors, and finally to an opening in the wall containing a ladder down. She descended to sublevel two. A pair of prominent footprints at the bottom made her picture the kid playfully jumping off the ladder. The sight of the black marks practically
made her feel the stickiness on her soles. Due to Mother’s neglect, she’d spent most of her childhood barefoot, including the two years she’d been down here. Thanks to the mystery gunk, her feet used to adhere to everything they touched. Sometimes, she’d made ‘shoes’ out of plastic cartons by stepping on them so they stuck to her. The horrible-smelling black ooze collected in places within the plate, sometimes puddles, sometimes deep pools capable of swallowing an adult entirely. Tiny lakes of it also existed at ground level. She had no idea what the crap was, but it got everywhere down here. As a child, she thought it the ‘city’s blood.’
Not too long ago, a trip into the Beneath resulted in her going headfirst into a swimming pool of it. Her uniform had clung to her body as if glued. The sight of her wadded-up underwear sticking to the wall when she tossed them aside would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Waving the flashlight side to side like a sweeping scanner, Kirsten continued following the trail the suspect left in old cups, discarded meal cartons, boxes, old fuses, and so on. She scowled at packing cartons left behind by official maintenance crews. They hadn’t even taken the broken parts away, leaving them on the floor in the hallway. It sorta made sense for off-gridders to throw trash everywhere, but the actual repair crews?
How damn lazy can a person be?
Eventually, the trail led her to a square chamber awash in a faint breeze blowing up from a hole in the middle of the room. The suspect no doubt used this as his entry point to go between the Beneath and the city above. Kirsten crept over to the hole and crouched, peering down through the opening in the eight-inch-thick underside of the city plate. The top and bottom surfaces of each plate represented a staggering amount of plastisteel, its components mostly harvested from asteroids. She wondered if humanity had effectively made the Earth heavier by bringing space minerals back here.
The opening overlooked a ladder going all the way to the natural ground down the side of a massive support column. Unlike some, this twenty-foot-diameter shaft didn’t pierce the roof of a building. Those who built the elevated city centuries ago hadn’t bothered clearing thoroughly, destroying only enough of an old-world structure to put up the support pylons. At least here, they got a break with a big parking lot.
Trash littered the ground at the bottom as well, but not enough for there to be a trail she could follow.
“Drat. No idea where to go down there.” She leaned away from the opening to peer at Dorian. “Think he’s got cameras on this ladder or is he not that paranoid?”
“Bombing the hatch is pretty paranoid. I’ll go have a look.”
“Okay.” She glanced at the mound of trash against the wall. “I’ll wait here. Maybe get lucky and he’ll come to me.”
“A stakeout. How exciting,” deadpanned Dorian.
She chuckled. “Hopefully, I’m not here all damn day. Please find something.”
Dorian saluted her and stepped off the edge, falling into the hole.
Wiseass.
She crawled into the mound of plastic trash, burying herself in a seated position under a scrap of old tarp so she could still peer out at the room. Both her flashlight and Darksight would give her away due to the bright glow, so she turned them off.
Ugh. Stinks down here. She didn’t honestly expect the suspect to walk past her, at least not within the hour or two she’d be willing to sit there waiting. Sending a ghost to find a man capable of mind-controlling ghosts sounded like a stupid idea, but she trusted Dorian would keep his distance.
If he’s not back in half an hour, I’m going down.
29
Errand Girl
Sitting in a mountain of discarded plastic trash brought back bad memories.
Not as bad as her memories of home before running away, but still unpleasant. Being at the constant edge of starvation and wearing only a scrap of cloth, tarp, or plastic bag hadn’t been happy times. Of course, back then, she regarded it as pleasant freedom. Running around the Beneath like a feral creature far surpassed being with Mother. She had plenty of spirits to look after her and guide her to food or away from bad places. Hours every day to explore and play. Up until the man tricked her into trading her body for food at age twelve, being an orphan in the Beneath had something of a wistful romantic quality like one of those old stories of children on an abandoned island or living without adults in the aftermath of a world-ending war.
After the man who took advantage of her, she’d been willing to risk the cops picking her up and dragging her back to Mother to make sure he never saw her again. She’d gone to the surface for food, and couldn’t bring herself to go back down, deciding to sleep in an alley. Kirsten sat in silence, remembering the past and trying to think only of the fun parts—the exploring, the thrill of finding food, having multiple sets of ghostly grandparents taking care of her.
Soon, her thoughts returned to the present, specifically Johanna Beck and her daughter Tamsen. The attack on them occurred quite far from Marley’s apartment. She now knew for a fact some of the ghostly attacks had been deliberate as a result of mind-control. The ghost who tried to kill the Becks even looked like a heavy corporate assassin—the show up with a giant machine gun style of assassin, not the ninja type. However, he didn’t stop trying to kill them the instant she lashed him. Dacre, Lennox, and Dr. Kouri all snapped back to their senses as soon as she hit them.
It’s almost like the ghost tried to kill them of his own free will. But why? There’s no reason. If this suspect did send the ghost to kill them, how long would he wait before realizing she’d obliterated his assassin and send another spirit?
Kirsten activated her armband terminal and placed a vid call to Johanna Beck.
The woman answered in a few rings. “Oh… umm, hello. Is something wrong?”
“I’ve got new information. Things are really starting to look like the spirit who attacked you and your daughter might have been sent on purpose. It’s possible the person who did it will realize the ghost failed and send another one. I’m calling to make sure you let me know right away if anything even remotely weird happens.”
“Umm… okay.” Johanna looked down, guilt all over her face.
“Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
Johanna shrugged. “Nothing too important.”
“Is keeping this secret worth Tamsen’s life?”
The woman shot her a glare, but her expression softened. “Maybe there’s something. My wife, Arielle… but we’ll manage.”
Kirsten tried to sound as sympathetic as possible. “Is she doing something illegal? Messing with shady people? I’m only trying to keep you and your kid alive. My jurisdiction is only spirits and psionic matters.”
After a long pause, Johanna exhaled. “Arielle’s part of a small group of hackers not related to her job. They go after corporations for being shitty. Robin Hood type stuff. Yeah, it’s against the law, but the stuff they do is on moral high ground. I don’t know any details, but if someone found out who the real person is behind her online persona, there are probably a few companies out there who’d try to kill her.”
“All right. Thank you for being honest. Nothing else has happened yet?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
“If this guy becomes aware his ghost failed, he might send another one. You and your family should avoid hovercars or going anywhere with fast-moving bots or other things a ghost could use to kill you via making electrical power fail for now. I’ll let you know when I get this guy but be careful.”
“Did they find out who she is?” asked Johanna barely over a whisper.
“I can’t answer that. Maybe they resorted to hiring this guy and a ghost since spirits can find information people can’t. It’s quite possible the living world still has no idea who she is.”
Johanna slouched in relief. “All right. I’ll tell Ari to be careful.”
Kirsten nodded. “As soon as I know more, I will call you again.”
“Thank you.”
She hung up.
Grr. Why was the ghost there different? He didn’t break out of the control. Had to be willing to do a contract killing. What did this guy have to offer him? He sure looked like an assassin. Maybe he did it for fun?
Soft pattering came from the hole.
Kirsten froze. It didn’t sound like a grown man climbed the ladder, rather a child. The bastard could wait a few hours. She’d do for this kid what no one did for her, get them out of here and into a proper home.
Moments later, a girl of about nine climbed up into the room. She wore a tattered but fancy dress, torn and stained, one sleeve missing. The garment had once probably been shin length, but now ended in shreds halfway to her knees. She didn’t appear dangerously thin despite seeming to have been down here for a long time. Silent, the child padded across the room to the door. In the dark, Kirsten couldn’t make out much of the child’s appearance beyond her having long, probably brown, hair.
The kid had no surface thoughts but gave off an astral presence. Before Kirsten wept at seeing a child ghost, her thinking mind caught up to her reactionary heart. The spirit sense coming from the kid didn’t feel strong enough to be a ghost. Ghosts didn’t leave footprints, nor did trash usually rustle out of their way.
Kid looks like she’s been down here for years but she’s not starving. No surface thoughts… is she a WellTech doll? The company manufactured artificial children as companions for lonely older people, couples who wanted a child without all the responsibilities, and so on. By law, the dolls couldn’t be made with fully sentient AIs, otherwise the law would consider them ‘people’ and consequently, illegal to own. Except for cutting them open, a person had two ways to differentiate a WellTech doll from a real child. One, they had to answer yes if asked. Two, checking their physical anatomy. Like clothing store mannequins, off-the-line dolls had no genitals despite appearing otherwise indistinguishable from actual humans in every other way.
Of course, both methods could be compromised. Hackers could rewrite the AI to ignore the question—or illegally replace them with a sentient AI. Certain black market cyberdocs could modify the dolls into disgusting toys for pedophiles. The mere idea of it made Kirsten physically ill, but better those abominations preyed on a machine than real children.
The Shadow Fixer Page 39