Division Zero: Thrall

by Matthew S. Cox

  Thirty minutes after her interrogation ended, the two Division 9 agents walked her right through the military checkpoint and to the door of Commissioner Claire Vernon. Kirsten allowed herself a small degree of vicarious pleasure at watching the Marines squirm under the gaze of her escorts. She envied their authority for all of a moment before pouting at the floor. I’d rather be liked than feared.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” blurted the Commissioner as the three of them barged in. “This is quite irregular.”

  Claire Vernon stood up, still behind her desk, fixing the intruders with an imperious glare. Her greying hair formed a halo of light shades around her dark face; steely eyes glared at Espinosa. Of the three, he seemed to carry the most authority. He did not seem impressed by her rank, her attitude, or the expensive dark red skirt-suit worth more than a month’s salary.

  Kirsten stared at her, reaching out with her psionic senses. As soon as her eyes flickered with white light, Commissioner Vernon’s antagonistic demeanor pivoted about to fear. She backed away, tripping over an Oriental throw rug and landing in her chair, which rolled away another two feet.

  “I felt something.” Kirsten searched for the sense of a presence she felt for the first several seconds. It slipped away as if she had tried to grab jelly with her bare hands. “There was definitely something there. It’s gone now. It’s afraid of me, hiding.”

  Carroll blinked at Kirsten.

  “Who are you people? Why are you in my office?” Commissioner Vernon held a hand to the side of her head and read something on her terminal screen that slackened her jaw.

  Kirsten glanced at Espinosa. “She’s missing a week. Just wondered why the date jumped ahead eight days.”

  Vernon glared. “What? You’re Division Zero, aren’t you? How dare you look in my thoughts!”

  “ Ma’am.” Kirsten spoke with as little emotion as possible, raising her hands. “I’m only here for your benefit. Someone is trying to manipulate you.”

  “Get out of here this instant! You’re trying to influence me, aren’t you?”

  Kirsten pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, ma’am. I’m trying to”― prevent Division Nine from assassinating you as a political liability― “find out who or what is already influencing you.”

  “Anything?” asked Carroll.

  Another sweep around the room brought only a mild sense of unease. “I’m afraid I can’t do anything until it comes back. I could always give it a few hours, wait around here in case it returns.”

  “Are you all cracked?” asked Vernon. “I’ll not have a psionic in my office under any circumstances. It is a matter of national security.”

  Carroll put a gentle hand on Kirsten’s arm, tugging her toward the door. “Come on,” he whispered. “You did all you can. If she goes to Miami now, it’s not your fault.”

  “It’s good to see you are yourself again, Commissioner,” said Espinosa. “Please consider your recent decisions in the interest of national security.”

  Vernon froze, exchanging stares with Espinosa. “Exactly who do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

  He showed no trace of being intimidated; his voice became icy. “Let’s just say I’m someone who hopes not to have to meet you again.”

  Espinosa spun toward the exit, flaring his sand-brown trench coat. The office door closed with a faint squeak behind him.

  irsten’s butt hit the chair at the same instant her NetMini, desk terminal, and armband communicator lit up. Before she could answer, Eze saw her at her desk and hung up. She stood and was already walking toward his office when he opened the door. The look on his face could have been worry or anger; she hoped for the former.

  “Yes, sir?” she asked with an innocent smile, slipping through the door and closing it.

  He did not sit down, instead walking past her. “Follow me.”

  Shit. He sounds nervous. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?” He went out of the squad room, turning right down the hall outside.

  She jogged to keep up with his stride. “Whatever I did that got you yelled at.”

  “Are you taking after Nicole now?”

  The trace of a smile accompanying the question made her feel a little less nervous. “No, I just read the look on your face.”

  “I’m not sure what happened, Wren.” He paused, exhaled, and made eye contact. “But we’re about to find out.”

  When the doors opened, she realized they had gone to the command level. As Eze walked, she tidied up her uniform as best she could before following him. Three doors later, he exchanged salutes with two tactical officers guarding either side of an impressive armored door and waited for them to key it open.

  Inside, the command staff waited behind a long table. Division 0 Chief Jane Carter, Deputy Director Johannes Burckhardt, and West City Regional Director Mikhail Kovalev. Carter, seated in the middle, had her grey hair up in a neat, lopsided bun held in place with two Japanese sticks. Mikhail could have been Dorian’s father, with coffee-colored skin and a pleasant expression that seemed never to lack a trace of a smile. Burckhardt, on the other hand, was an older, balding man who glared at everyone under him with thinly-veiled contempt. Kirsten, perhaps due to the rarity of her talents, earned an almost neutral look from him, quite the accomplishment.

  Kirsten entertained the brief wonder if Jane Carter was any relation to the gazelle from Division 9. Can’t be. Sr. Operative Carter is about as psionic as a doorstop.

  Eze stopped a step before Kirsten did, standing just behind her and to the left, where he rendered the customary salute to the executive board. A few seconds after Kirsten’s salute snapped back to her side, a holographic fourth person appeared to Mikhail’s left. East City Regional Director Ravindra Kumar. She was the youngest of the lot, barely past forty. Like Carter, she was a telempath.

  “Good afternoon, Agent Wren,” said Carter. “We wanted to meet with you and clarify what is going on with the Trade Commissioner.”

  “ We received quite the alarming Vidcall.” Burckhardt motioned toward his terminal. “She thought someone under our command may have influenced her decision on the trade agreement.” He poked at a glowing spot on the gloss black table, reading a screen just out of sight. “You happen to be a grade three suggestive, agent. That seems a little, suggestive?”

  Only Burckhardt smiled at his joke.

  “All due respect, sir,” said Kirsten, voice wavering. “You know that’s not powerful enough to cause a long-term change in behavior.”

  Kirsten couldn’t hide her battle of anger and fear from Carter’s telempathy.

  The Division 0 Chief smiled. “Calm down, Johannes. You always expect the worst of people.”

  “Her psych profile is incompatible with that course of action,” said Ravindra.

  “What’s wrong, Agent? Why the sudden spike of sadness?” Carter cocked her head.

  “I always feel like people won’t believe me when I start talking about paranormals. Someone appears to have found a way to recall spirits from the Abyss. I’m not entirely certain myself if I believe they are ‘demons’ in the true sense of the word, or just dark ghosts. However, someone out there has found a way to use them to influence people.”

  Burckhardt rolled his eyes. Mikhail seemed worried. Carter sat back, staring at her fingers as she fussed with a nail.

  Kirsten directed her gaze at Burckhardt. “Sir, please review the archival footage from two days ago. Inquest number 24180912A1.”

  Carter keyed something into her table terminal, and a large screen to Kirsten’s left lit up with the recording of her helmet’s camera during the attempt to arrest Julio Ramirez. Filling in with explanations where the paranormal manifestations failed to appear on video, she illustrated the moment where Nicole became possessed and attacked her. Ravindra covered her mouth when Nicole flashed the wicked, murderous grin.

  “The entity that had been in Jose jumped into Nicole at the moment she read his mind. Fortunately, it was quite weak. O
ne good lash destroyed it.”

  All four of them, even Burckhardt, squirmed in their seats as Nicole described the ooze leaking from every orifice.

  “I see. So you believe someone has”―Carter waved her hand around―“summoned these entities? With the specific intent to influence people?”

  “It looks that way, ma’am,” said Kirsten, “Based on events surrounding Reverend Wallis, I’m hopeful he may be able to provide us with some answers.”

  “Your report”―Mikhail leaned forward to look at his private screen― “indicates you believe the Reverend was under the influence of an entity as well.” He massaged his chin. “Would that not imply there is someone else involved?”

  “I found a large quantity of documentation in a hidden sanctum below the church, sir. I have not yet had a chance to review it as it has been designated crime scene evidence.”

  “Agent Wren, we are going to block mention of anything related to this case from the NewsNet.” Carter leaned on her elbows, lacing her fingers together. “What I am about to say does not leave this room, do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Kirsten nodded.

  “Understood, ma’am,” said Eze.

  “Division Nine is presently unsure of the exact nature of the influence, but they have declared Commissioner Vernon compromised. The final vote on the trade measure is scheduled one week from tomorrow. If she does not resume her normal policy in time for the vote, they will be retiring her.”

  Kirsten gasped.

  “One hour ago, Commissioner Vernon asked us to disregard her complaint regarding your so-called attempted influence. She said it was a simple misunderstanding.”

  “The entity came back,” said Kirsten. “I’ll go right―”

  Carter held up a hand. “No, keep your distance. The NewsNet is on her now since she made a public statement contradicting her earlier position of support for the Free Trade Agreement. Now that she’s changed her mind and is in support of it once again, they are too close. We must have incontrovertible evidence proving something other than a living psionic was responsible for influencing her before we act. We are concerned with public perception if you, or any member of Division Zero, are seen near her.”

  Kirsten blinked. “You’re just going to allow Nine to murder an innocent woman for the sake of good face-time on the news?”

  Carter sighed. Mikhail shifted uncomfortably. Burckhardt grumbled at her, earning a glare. Ravindra smiled, respect and sadness in her eyes.

  “I am perfectly capable of doing what needs to be done, Johannes. That I am a woman does not matter. That I object to their methods does not matter.” Carter looked at Kirsten. “You, more than most of us here, should know how it feels to be hated for being different. I’m sorry to broach such a sore subject, but I must consider the lives of all psionics over one political figure.”

  “It still doesn’t seem very ethical.” Kirsten sagged.

  “Do something about it then, Agent.” Mikhail sat up straight. “You have seven days to turn up the kind of proof we need to prevent the public from developing an erroneous opinion. Of course, you must understand our position. If the public believes psionics are using government figures as puppets…”

  “It’ll be open goddamn season on us,” grumbled Burckhardt. “I don’t see why we’re even waiting the week, or why we don’t just fix it.”

  Carter leaned her head into the fingers of her right hand. She had the look of a mother with an obnoxious teen son. “Johannes, if we go in there and do that, it will only add a nugget of truth to the conspiracy theorists. Even if we were undoing a suggestion, they’ll say we did it in the first place and only removed it because we got caught.”

  “ In all fairness”―Ravindra raised her voice for attention―“the ACC loathes psionics. They kill our kind on sight. To insinuate they would use them, or that a psionic would be complicit in their activities is beyond belief.”

  “There are some who do.” Mikhail slipped into a heavy Russian accent. “You can either work for us, or”―he made a finger gun at his temple― “work for God.”

  “You have one week,” said Carter, letting her hands fall clasped on the table, “before Nine retires her. I hope you’re right. Dismissed.”

  Kirsten saluted, gave Eze a weary look, and walked to the door.

  irsten’s fingers dug through her hair as she leaned harder into her hands. The table full of paper scraps had no discernable feeling on them: no eeriness, no latent psionic imprints, and no nagging sense of dread―nothing. She stretched over the back of the chair, staring at the dim, overly blue lights in the evidence room. Desperate for a solvable problem, her mind began the task of trying to classify the drop-ceiling tiles as either dark grey or slate blue, but she covered her eyes and loosed a frustrated moan.

  The evidence tech jumped at the sudden noise. She glanced over, finding him holding a pair of light pens up as if warding off a vampire with a cross.

  “Are you kidding me?” She glared. “I’m a damn psionic, not a demon. How did you get assigned to Division Two if you’re that damn stupid.”

  He lowered his arms, and improvised holy symbol, offering a weak smile.

  “Spare me. Psionics are no more dangerous than a normal person walking around with a firearm or a sword.”

  “Guns don’t read minds,” whimpered the tech.

  “No, they don’t.” Kirsten squinted at him. “You have some naughty little secret you’re afraid will get out?”

  “N-no, it’s just…”

  “General idiot fear?” She shook her head. “You probably think I mind controlled your boss into letting me in here. Actually, the order came down from the brass. National security, you know. Besides, you’ve had this stuff for days now. They should have every molecule of evidence scraped off it already. Do you guys just get off on keeping detectives away from crime scene evidence until it’s catalogued by someone who works two hour shifts two days a week?”

  “It’s not her you should fear.” Dorian’s glassy whisper scraped through the air.

  The man jumped, whirling to his right.

  Kirsten covered her face with her palm.

  “It’s us.” Dorian pushed his face through the veil and winked.

  Despite expecting it, she jumped when the evidence tech shrieked and ran. “You’re turning into Theodore.”

  He paced around the room, stopping closer to her. “You think so? Honestly, I think Theo would have followed him and mocked him for soiling himself.” He leaned over the table. “You look like your cat died.”

  The unexpected familiar remark made her laugh. “You’ve been hanging around Nicole too much. These papers are useless. I can’t make any sense of this crap, and there’s no energy on them at all. Whenever I open my mind I just feel this faint glimmer of a presence to my right, but it keeps moving away when I turn toward it.”

  “Are you sure you’re not just reading me?”

  “No, it’s not as strong as you are. It’s different too. It fades in and out, almost like it senses when I feel it and retreats.”

  “Maybe the entity from Vernon followed you here.” He looked around. “I don’t see anything.”

  “What the hell did you do to Calloway?” bellowed a large woman at the door.

  Kirsten jumped at the sound, spinning toward a slate blue jumpsuit that appeared to be wrapped around an Assault Marine with an almost-female face. Kirsten slid off the chair and backed away, hands up, glancing at the woman’s uniform, noting her name and rank insignia.

  “Nothing, honest. He was giving me shit for being psionic, and my partner gave it back to him.”

  “You don’t have a―” Chief Tech Sontag became a veritable mannequin, stuck pointing at Kirsten.

  Dorian manifested for a few seconds, winking at her. Once he was invisible again, he laughed. “Damn, that’s a big woman.” He faced Kirsten. “That is a woman, right?”

  “Tech Sontag… Sorry about him, he’s quite protective.”

  W
ith her finger still pointing forward, CT Sontag spun about-face and walked away. Dorian succumbed to a fit of laughter.

  “That’s probably how Theodore got started being a”―her NetMini rang; she answered― “Wren.”

  Tech Hollings appeared, a holographic bust floating over the small device. “Agent, we got another stiff. Female this time, no ImDent. Same as the others, black eyes and looks… uhh, drained.”

  “Send me a nav pin, I’m on the way.” Kirsten gave Dorian a ‘help me’ stare. “This can’t be a coincidence, and I’m not getting anything from the paper.” She leaned out through the door to shout into the basement of the Division 2 Tech Center. “Calloway? Are you hiding under a desk? I’m done in here; need you to secure the room when I leave.” She folded her arms, foot tapping. “I swear… damn mundanes.”

  Kirsten pulled the black tarp down, covering the nude body of a young woman with skin the color of creamed coffee. Her eyes, as all the ones before, had become orbs of black. Unlike the other three, sanitation bots discovered this one bent over a restaurant’s trash crusher. If she disregarded the unusual ‘withering’ effect, the deceased appeared to be close to Kirsten’s age. Long brown hair with gold highlights had the look of high-end salon work. The identification algorithm estimated her round, delicate face as mixed Latin and Indian ancestry.

  TFC Hollings stood a few feet away behind a portable terminal that cycled through thousands of ID images per second. As Kirsten backed away from the body, Hollings looked up from the screens. “You feel anything?”

  Kirsten moved around, watching the system search for an identity match. “No, it feels just like the others. A tiny bit of eeriness in the air, but that could just be the city at night.”

  “I thought this one was different at first, until I got a good look at the eyes and the, umm, drained look on her face. The way we found her made me think sexual assault, but the scanner says that occurred after she was dead.”

  Kirsten turned greenish. “After…”

  Dorian winced. “Damn animals. She had the same eyes as the others. Some street trash probably found her and, uhh, moved the body.”