Division Zero: Thrall

by Matthew S. Cox

  “She’s a cop, numbnuts,” grumbled Evan. “Notice she’s got a laser pistol.”

  The one on the left, Smith, had his stunner trained on Evan. He twitched when his arm lifted to point at Kirsten’s gun. The look in his eyes made him seem concerned at what a small boy would do to him. Either that, or he desperately wanted to shoot someone.

  “Is there something wrong with your ears, or are you just plain stupid? I told you I’m a police officer.” Kirsten sent a dire look at Smith. “Put that stunner down right now. If you shoot my son with that thing, I’ll cram it up your ass and hold the trigger down till the battery’s dead.”

  Evan covered his mouth and gasped.

  Smith squirmed at the thought.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Kirsten glared.

  “Sergeant Lloyd Benning, 1st Brigade, Bakersfield Mall Tactical Response Squad.”

  She sighed at the ceiling. “Damn. Mall cops. You’d think you were on the front lines of Mars or something.” She held the ballistic pistol under her arm and fished her ID out of her back pocket. At the sight of it, both security men gawked. Kirsten stomped over and swiped a set of flexi-cuffs from Lloyd’s belt after tucking the confiscated gun in the back of her own.

  Shani released the telekinetic hold of Zee as Kirsten pounced on him and wrestled him into the temporary restraints. All the while she fought with him, he glared at Evan, who simply smiled and waved at him. Kirsten wound up sitting on him, NetMini in hand.

  “Need a blue and white at Bakersfield Mall by Sector D.” She glanced at Zee’s victim. “Send a medical unit as well.”

  irsten held up the ten-inch cylinder, making a face at the viscous green-brown liquid inside. The outer surface reacted to her touch, lighting up with buttons and a display pad―nanotech embedded in the outer layer. She thumbed the virtual button until the display read 2 TBSP, and upended it over the pan. A squirt of the requested amount of olive oil spattered about, causing her to shriek and jump away.

  “You’re s’posed ta put the oil in the pot before you turn the stove on,” said Evan from the main room.

  She glanced at him, flopped on the comforgel bed, nose in a datapad. From the look on his face, she inferred he was busy with homework and not something fun.

  “Oops.”

  Holding the spatula like a dueling saber, she poked at two slabs of vat-grown chicken dancing and popping about in the oil. She squinted at several small plastic bottles of spice, trying to figure out which ones belonged in a project involving said poultry. Nearby, a datapad sat propped up on the empty box the ‘starter spice kit’ came in. She stared at the demonstration animation, attempting to learn the process by which people cooked actual food. What she had in the pan did not look anywhere near as good as the pictures on the screen, however at thirty credits a hunk, the chicken would be eaten regardless of what condition it was in at the end of her thermic assault.

  “Mom?”

  She smiled just hearing the word come out of Evan. A word, which had for so long been an object of horror in her mind, was now as far removed as it could be from that thought. He leaned into the doorway between her tiny kitchenette and the rest of the apartment, looking defeated.

  “Hey, kid.”

  “I need help with this homework. I don’t know how to answer this.” He trudged over, datapad dangling from his grip.

  “I can’t read it right now; I’m trying not to destroy dinner. What’s the question?” She squinted at her pad. “What the hell is thyme? Did they spell it wrong? I’m supposed to add time to it? I guess it wants me to let it sit longer.”

  Evan shrugged. The datapad animated a small bottle labeled ‘thyme’ upended over the food and shaken.

  “Oh, it must be some kind of seasoning. Bother, we don’t have any. Black pepper works.”

  “Umm, I gotta write about the Corporate War. This one guy says the government started it, this lady says the corp-rations started it. I gotta watch these videos and write a ‘pinion on which one I wanna believe and give at least two ideas how the war could have been prevented.”

  Kirsten almost dropped the spatula. “What the hell? You’re in third grade, what kind of question is that?”

  He dug his toe into the rug. “History.”

  She jumped when the hunk of meat spat hard enough to flip over. “Well, I kind of got the condensed version at the department school. I…”

  Evan wandered over and patted her on the back. “It’s okay if you don’t know. Why didn’t your mom let you go to school?”

  The heat off, she yanked the pan from the stove and jammed the spatula under the meat. The chicken landed atop pasta bows she had made long enough ago to be cold. She used the reassembler to generate mixed vegetables; the horror of her attempt to cook hydroponic ones drowned amid suds in the sink. Evan trailed her to the table, letting his datapad clatter to the side of the plate.

  “She did… online.” Kirsten stared at the food. “She was careful to make everything look just normal enough to the outside world. I’m confused… That question sounds like something they’d ask in eighth or ninth grade, not third.”

  He ate with one hand while poking at his datapad with the other. After a few minutes, he scowled at it.

  “What?”

  “This datapad is broken. I’m touching the icon for my history homework, but when I open it, it’s labeled Pol Sci 101.”

  “Let me see that?” Kirsten took the pad, examining the page headers inside the presentation.

  She backed out to the main menu, which took on a far more childish appearance than the layout of the quiz. A cartoon Mars pioneer smiled, pointing at a note indicating history homework for Mrs. Wolf’s third-grade class. When she poked it, the datapad went into a splash screen introduction to a sophomore-level political science course.

  “That isn’t your homework, hon. I think the teacher sent a corrupt link.”

  “It was probably Abernathy playing a prank.” He smirked.

  “Oh wow, is he still there?” She giggled, sighed, and got somber. “I wonder what’s keeping him here. He was such a sweet old guy.”

  Evan rolled his eyes. “He’s only nice to girls. He keeps messing with me since I can see him.”

  “What is he doing?”

  “He’s like a giant five-year-old. Stupid little pranks.”

  Kirsten fiddled with his datapad, getting a new link from the system that went to the proper assignment. Third grade-level questions about early Mars colonization.

  “There, that’s the right homework.”

  His pout made her laugh. “Thanks, Mom. I could’ve had an excuse tomorrow.”

  “You don’t want to make a habit of cutting corners like that. Unless you want to move to Mars or some far-off colony when you’re old enough to have to work, you need to get through university.”

  “I’m gonna be like you when I’m big.” He beamed.

  “Then do it because I’m asking you to. You might feel differently about it when you grow up. It’s better to have options.” She paused a moment to adore the sparkle in his green eyes.

  She managed to get one decent picture of him with her NetMini before he started making silly faces. When their laugher died down and they remembered the food, Kirsten reached out and put a hand on his arm.

  “Ev, if you don’t want me seeing Konstantin… If you feel like I’m not giving you enough attention…”

  He stared at the mixed vegetables. “I guess it would be cool having a dad, but I don’t think he likes me very much.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “He looked at me mean. He’s probably a rich weenie that hates little kids.” Evan frowned. “And he’s old.”

  Kirsten stared into space for a moment. “He’s a sweet man, Evan. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Konstantin is…”

  “Mom?”

  She blinked. Her arm lowered to the table, drawing her gaze to the gold serpent bracelet, Konstantin’s gift. The sight reminded her of how much
money he had already spent on her, and brought a twinge of embarrassment at the thought. The amount was trivial to him, but felt on the verge of crazy to her. She saw his face in her mind again, that roguish smile, that well-weathered skin, that Turkish coffee.

  “You okay? You look strange.”

  She fanned herself. “I’m fine, hon. I think I just put too much pepper on this chicken.”

  Evan shook his head. “No such thing as too much black pepper.”

  “I agree,” said Theodore, as he phased through the wall. “The boy’s got good taste.”

  Kirsten sat upright. “Hi, Theo.”

  The ghost circled the table, long olive-drab coat open and drenched. Scraggly black hair framed a pallid face, still wearing the same wry grin he usually sported when sneaking up on her in the shower. For once, his pants were not blood-soaked and his fatal bullet wounds not apparent. The puddled boot prints he left on the kitchen floor faded away in seconds; however, he did bring the scent of wet dog with him. Evan shifted in his seat, making a face as if he were in deep thought. His eyes lit up with a faint light as he turned on his ability to see ghosts. The gesture was casual, taking him only a second or two. He spotted Theodore and paused chewing long enough to attempt to mumble a greeting through a closed, full mouth.

  “It won’t be too long before you can see them all the time,” said Kirsten. “It took me till twelve to get there…” Of course, I spent a few years trying to ignore them.

  He grinned.

  “Sorry to barge in on ya while you’re eatin’.” Theodore wandered around to the empty side of the table, acting the part of leaning on the back of an unused chair. “We may need your hel―what happened to that pork?”

  “It’s chicken.” Kirsten frowned.

  Theodore looked at the array of cooking materials around the stove area and cracked up. “Oh, damn.” He cringed.

  Kirsten’s gaze darkened, attempting to bore through the table. She pouted at the plate while the sense of failure crawled up her spine in search of tear ducts from which to escape. When, exactly, was I supposed to learn how to cook, Theodore? When I was locked in a closet or living on the street?

  “He forgot what it’s supposed to look like. Theo hasn’t touched food in, like, forever.” Evan showed no sign of slowing down, shoveling another large hunk in his mouth. “Ifm goomf.” He rushed to swallow. “It’s good!”

  She could have pulled him over the table to hug him.

  “Yeah, well, I guess you gotta start somewhere. Maybe I can ask around The Kind. I think there’s a chef or two in there somewhere. Might be able to talk them into giving you some lessons.”

  Kirsten leaned back in the chair, smirking at Theodore. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Evan adding more black pepper. She shook with muted laughter. “I guess. Now I know why everyone just uses reassemblers. Why go to all that trouble when you can just hit a button.”

  “Better to have options,” muttered Evan with a sly wink.

  She laughed. “What did you need help with?”

  “There’s this guy, Hank. Been dead maybe fifty years or so. He used ta hang out by this Chinese place, what used ta be a smoke shop years ago.”

  Evan let some broccoli crumble out of his mouth. “Who buys smoke?”

  Kirsten felt just as clueless but didn’t let on.

  “You’ve heard of Nicoderms or Nicohalers, right?” Theo gestured at Kirsten. She nodded. “Okay. Well, back before the war, people used to get the same kind of effect from inhaling the smoke of burning tobacco. The places that sold stuff related to it were called ‘smoke shops.’”

  The boy made a face. Kirsten blinked.

  “Breathing in smoke? Like, on purpose?” Evan coughed just thinking about it.

  “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. Worked for weed too.” Theodore stared wistfully at the ceiling.

  “People smoke weeds?” The look on Kirsten’s face made him laugh.

  “Not weeds, weed. Marijuana.”

  “Oh, yeah, they still do that in the Beneath,” said Kirsten.

  “You ever―”

  “So what about Hank?” She stared at Theo.

  “Well he died of the old LC, decided to haunt his favorite smoke shop even though it killed him. He stayed there even after it shut down and turned into a bar, and then a Chinese restaurant.”

  “Oh, yeah. I think I remember the place… I’ve been there, the owners were complaining about loud coughing in the middle of the night. The ghost seemed harmless.”

  “Yeah, he was.” Theo made no effort to be subtle about staring at her chest.

  “Was? If he’s gone, maybe he just decided to transcend.”

  “Poor guy comes to Sanctuary Park two nights ago, raving about how some thing is after him. He wanted protection from it. Course, he couldn’t describe anything but a weird feeling. The way he rambled on ‘bout being watched and seeing eyes… It was surreal hearin’ a ghost talk the way the living talk about us. We figured he’d finally cracked. Last night, Willie said he caught a glimpse of somethin’ scoping out the park. Whatever it was, damn thing didn’t want to tangle with all of us at once, ‘specially not The Kind. Now, we got a feelin’ somethin’s stalkin’ spirits. We’re not sure if it needs to pick weaker ones, or was afraid of a crowd. Some of The Kind are nervous. They’d like you to check it out.”

  Kirsten gazed at her plate for a few seconds and grinned at Evan, who was forcing himself to eat the vegetables after coating them with the pepper/olive oil residue from the chicken. She stood, tossed her plate in the dishwasher, and faced Theodore. “I think I remember the place…” She fidgeted with her bracelet. “I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed lately. That couldn’t have been more than a few months ago, but I’m drawing a blank. Remind me where it was?”

  “Sector 3338, shopping district.”

  “Oh, right… Next to that huge stationary sign. I don’t understand how anyone in that area can sleep at night; that thing is so bright. Okay. Ev, get your shoes on.” She peeled her sweats off and gathered her uniform.

  “I can go with you?” He cheered and leapt from his place at the table with such energy he almost fell flat. “Are you going to the office?”

  After donning her uniform pants, she shrugged the top on and tucked it in. “No, I just don’t want anyone to mess with me. I’m not leaving you here alone, and that’s a fairly safe part of the city.”

  Kirsten held Evan’s hand as they went to the roof. When the elevator door parted, she smirked at the patrol craft. It sat tilted with the right front end on a small bank of pipes. This building was not made for hovercar landing and there was no unobstructed place to set down. The flattest parts were too close to the edge. She wanted to move to a bigger, nicer place where Evan could have his own bedroom. Hesitation kept her here for the time being. If the custody request was denied and they made him go back to the dorm, she could not live in the new place.

  She pulled him into a hug.

  He gave her an uncomfortable smile and whispered. “Mom, what’s wrong, you’re getting squeezy again. Not in front of Theo.”

  Kirsten relaxed, letting Evan run ahead to the car. Dorian faded into view just outside it, and Evan immediately launched into a fit of pleas for help learning how to shoot. Apparently, his performance at the orb game annoyed him. She watched them for a moment, idly picking at the serpentine band of gold around her right wrist. Dorian became Konstantin in her mind, a father with a son.

  Wearing a silly grin, she strode to the car and got in. Theodore hesitated.

  With one hand on the door about to close it, she glanced up at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ehh…” He gestured at the vehicle. “I got this thing about riding in the back seat of a police car.”

  “The partition is down,” she said. “Get in. Besides, you can float right through it.”

  Sector 3338 glowed in a mixture of red, green, and white light. It was still early, as far as the city was concerned. At a touch past eight, people fil
led the streets as they went among the various stores that still operated walk-in locations. An endless parade of glowing eyeliner, mechanical hair ornaments, and the latest upper-middle-class fashion trends went by.

  Delivery bots swarmed about, a tangle of automated traffic management as dozens of merchants competed for airspace. Boxy ones stopped, waiting for others to pass before they pivoted and raced off. Some shot up vertical while others nosed through purpose-built hatches in the sides of buildings.

  As she had hoped, the people who noticed her uniform gave her a comfortable distance. She kept a firm grip on Evan’s hand, walking ahead of Theo and Dorian, who discussed the current crisis at length.

  Up ahead, the metal sidewalk glowed with emerald light. Holographic Chinese symbols filled the window of a corner property, saturating the area in their glow. If not for having just eaten, the scent in the air outside the place would have lured her in. She stopped a few steps from the door, waiting for Dorian and Theodore to catch up.

  The owners of the Jade Crane went as far as possible to recreate the ambiance of China inside the building. Pale hardwood floors, bamboo plants, and large full-wall paintings of rolling green landscapes lent the space a foreign quality. She looked around, seeing no trace of ghosts other than the two she arrived with. However, on the dark brown stone of an electric waterfall fountain, a faint luminous patch caught her attention, as if a spoonful of glowing paint had splashed on it.

  “This must’ve been one big smoke shop,” muttered Kirsten.

  A busty, tall brunette in a low-cut gown distracted Theodore. “They expanded. This place is doing well.”

  Kirsten felt a twinge of inadequacy compared to the woman, until her right arm reached out from under the table to grab a wine glass―metal from armpit to fingertip. Gleaming enamel white and covered with floral engravings, it was close in profile to the size and shape the limb should have been. White Orchid arm, that’s over a million creds.

  “Can I help you, officer?”

  The man’s voice provided a welcome distraction from the sight of a cyber-prosthetic. Kirsten unconsciously rubbed her arm as she smiled at a man in a dark suit, Asian with some other things mixed in.