Division Zero: Thrall

by Matthew S. Cox

  He must have seen her eyes―green lights in the dark.

  He advanced, and Brooke scrambled out of her cramped space. The man grabbed at her, but was woefully unprepared for the little urchin being strong enough to throw him into the air. Kirsten released the telepathic link as the alley blurred up to a superhuman run, already knowing the rest of the story.

  Brooke had fallen asleep.

  Kirsten got off the bed and settled into the chair, cradling her face in both hands. Terror had come from the mind of someone else, but it took her a moment to get over it. She breathed deep and let her head go back, not moving for a while until Nila’s hologram appeared above the NetMini.

  “I’m at the hospital. I’m fine; I’m just staying with a kid I found. Is Evan okay?”

  “He’s asleep. He didn’t have any fits tonight.”

  “Please tell him I’m very sorry about getting stuck out here again. I can’t leave this girl alone. Lace… eleven-year-old.”

  Nila gasped. “I hope you killed the bastard she got it from”―she lowered her voice, glancing to the side― “I don’t mind watching Evan, he’s a good kid. He knows you’re doing what you have to do. Hang on.” She winked, grinning. “The bratling’s awake.”

  “Thanks for watching him. I’ll be a few hours. Take care of Shani; I have another call to make.”

  Kirsten flipped through the contact list and poked an entry. Six rings later, the sleep-weary face of a dark-skinned woman in her later thirties appeared.

  “Kirsten?”

  “Hi Danita, I’m sorry to wake you up. I need your help.”

  “Did something happen with Evan?”

  “No. Everything’s perfect with him.” She smiled. “I’m at the hospital now with a girl named Brooke. Both parents are dead, so she’s been alone for about a year. She’s not psionic, but I wanted to ask if you could take her case and make sure she gets placed with a good family, possibly colony settlers if she warms up to the idea. She needs special handling, and you go way beyond just ‘resolving cases.’”

  Kirsten stared at Brooke’s twitching face, all too familiar with the kind of bad dreams going on behind her closed eyes. “This girl needs someone who cares.”

  he patrol craft slid through the early morning city, following a diagonal path over the city grid. Its black reflection glided over silver windows, sliding closer and drifting away with each passing building. Civilian hover traffic flowed several stories below. The pass-through display on the armored windscreen compensated for sun glare, allowing her to see as she followed a ribbon of light leading to the navigation pin. Kirsten flicked on the autodrive and sat back with a fresh cup of hot mocha coffee in both hands. The fragrance and warmth were soothing; she drew in a deep breath and basked in the orange light of the rising sun.

  “I’m sorry. Some things I didn’t want to re-live.”

  Dorian shook his head. “I’m not at all upset at you for not saying anything. I’m furious with the bastard who used you like that. I killed a suggestive for molesting a girl older than you were then. I’m pissed.”

  “Now you know why I never told you. I knew it would upset you and there’s nothing to be done about it. I wanted to spare you the… pain.” She stared into the distance for a moment. “I’ve thought about finding him, making him apologize or just kicking his ass.” Kirsten held the cup to her lips, closing her eyes at the sweet warmth settling into her stomach. “Course, I’d probably just feel bad for him and bring him food. How screwed up was I to think he was so much nicer than Mother? I’d have rather stayed with him than gone home.”

  Dorian didn’t laugh. “He did it to you; he’ll do it to some other girl.”

  “It was ten years ago, Dorian. Besides, there aren’t that many children down there. What few there are live in small colonies with their parents. Hard to keep secrets in those little villages; justice down there is harsh. He’s probably dead already by now, especially if Ritchie made good on his threat. Besides, he didn’t force me to do anything.”

  “Waving meat at a starving dog isn’t forcing it to do anything either.”

  “I could have walked away. I could have gone up top and begged. I could have gone dumpster diving again. No, I have to accept some of it. I wanted the easy way out for once. It didn’t hurt… much. He was so nice and I was lonely.”

  “You were twelve,” Dorian grumbled. “I’m gonna go find the son of a bitch.”

  “Let it go. I don’t even really remember what he looked like―all I see is a faceless man in a flannel shirt. I still smell him.” She put her nose over the cup again. “I don’t want to think about it anymore. That’s an old life. Why does it bother you so much? I haven’t let it affect me. I went into that little shack with both eyes open. I knew what he wanted.” She sat for a moment, squeezing at the control sticks. “I’m sorry for not being innocent like you thought I was.”

  “Stop. No part of that was your fault.” Dorian put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re more innocent than most, still.”

  She banked the car into a wide left arc and descended to the roof of the Regional Tech Center. “I’ve been here so often lately, they must think I’m considering applying.”

  “I doubt it, you’re a Zero.” He winked. “That’s sort of a long-term career.”

  “Yeah.” She returned his wink. “They don’t even let you out when you die.”

  “Hah.”

  The open-case morgue occupied the entirety of the fourth sublevel. An immediate chill rolled into the elevator as the doors opened. For a moment, Kirsten wondered if anyone was down here, given the dim lighting. A white linoleum corridor stretched forward into a floor that resembled an abandoned hospital from a spooky horror vid. Frosty air filled her lungs as she stepped out; the temperature was low enough to smell cold. Her boots squeaked on the over-waxed floor.

  She passed six doors on each side arranged in facing pairs labeled A through F. The corridor expanded into a larger area with a wide U-shaped desk, big enough for a half-dozen workers. It, too, was empty.

  Kirsten turned in place, glancing at two offshoot passages that led to either side from the clerk’s area. Signs identified various rooms along the left hall as a number of scanning stations, file storage, and lastly, a hazardous materials locker. To the right, it seemed to be mostly offices for people important enough to have their names on placards. The only door with light coming out from under it was the men’s room.

  “Shall I go hurry things along?” asked Dorian, with an impish grin.

  Kirsten snickered. “This place is creepy enough; you’ll scare the guy to death.” She glanced at the hallway once again, tapping her foot.

  Minutes later, a tall heavyset man in a white lab coat over dark clothes came trundling out of the bathroom. Long curly black hair cascaded down to his waist, and his jowls rocked with each footfall. He paused a moment when he realized she was there, and swiped at his hair to attempt to make it more presentable.

  Konstantin, you are not. More like the chubby guy on the dorm floor everyone likes, but no one considers dating.

  “Hel-lo.” He stumbled over what to call her while staring at her chest.

  “Looking for rank insignia or just checking me out?” She winked. “Agent Wren, Division Zero.”

  “Oliver Murphy,” he said, extending a hand. “Sorry, don’t get a lot of live people down here. Specially not pretty ones.” He chuckled, flashing an awkward smile. “What brings you to the halls of the dead?”

  “I need to see the remains of certain homicide victims related to a case I am working on. Inquest 24180827A2.”

  Oliver navigated around the giant desk and took the nearer seat along the left side of the U. Holographic panels sprang up around him as he swiped his meaty hands through the air. “According to our records, there are four bodies tagged under that case. Room D. I think Eli is in there working on something. Your ID should open the door; give me a holler if you have an issue.”

  “Thanks.”

  Twen
ty feet away, Dorian leaned toward her. “He didn’t seem to care you’re psionic.”

  “I’ve got a boyfriend.” Kirsten spun the serpent bracelet around her wrist.

  Dorian glanced at the wall. “There you go again, making that doe-eyed face.”

  “What’s your problem with Konstantin? You’re not jealous are you? You’re the one that kept reminding me we had no chance.”

  “Oh, I’m not jealous. You do deserve a living man. It’s just… I don’t know. You’ve always been strong and independent. To see you acting like some kind of helpless arm-clinger, it’s just not right.”

  “You’re being jealous.” She winked. “I’m just having a little fantasy.” Her mirth faded. “I’ve been so alone for so long with no one but me around to pat me on the back and say it’ll be alright. Let me enjoy it for a little while.”

  She swiped her ID over the door at Storage Room D. It chirped and slid open. A silver-walled chamber covered in square doors gleamed in strong blue light. On the left side, by an open door and extended body-tray, a Middle Eastern-looking man with a mass of fluffy, curled hair and a sharp chin jumped and glared wide-eyed at her. The name “Hassan” peeked through the glare of a name badge hung on his coat.

  “Wow, the only thing missing from the sudden turn-and-stare was a horror movie organ,” she whispered. “Hellooo mad scientist. I wonder what he’s doing with that body.”

  “I’m trying to figure out what sort of small animal died on his head.” Dorian cracked a whimsical grin.

  Kirsten bit her lip to avoid laughing.

  “Who are you?” Hassan asked.

  Her eyes went to the blood-spattered glove and the laser scalpel. “Agent Wren, Division Zero I-Ops. Bodies pertinent to a current investigation are in here according to Mr. Murphy at the front desk. I won’t get in your way.”

  On the far wall opposite the entrance, four adjacent doors lit up with white borders. Oliver’s voice echoed over a PA system. “Agent Wren, I tagged the drawers you need.”

  “Thanks.” She walked through a full three-sixty turn, unsure if he could hear her.

  Hassan appeared to lose all interest in the dead man in front of him as he swiveled to watch Kirsten pass. She pulled open the first door, cringing away from a fall of cryonic fog before a loud sucking hiss drew it back inside. The door motored itself open as a tray slid out bearing a sheet-covered figure. Upon reaching full extension, the platform lowered down from head-level to an elevation more suited for examination.

  “VT activate,” said Kirsten.

  A holographic terminal appeared next to her in midair, accompanied by a tiny glowing speck in the ceiling from the projector. She poked at virtual keys, navigating through the archives to the records for this body.

  “Carlos Rosa, former Deputy Director of Security for the West City Municipal Complex.” Kirsten pulled the sheet away, exposing the body.

  He had turned greyish-white and his chest was spattered with blue stains. Faint markings appeared in the skin, no doubt revealed by whatever substance they sprayed on him. She jogged over to Hassan’s work cart and helped herself to a pair of surgical gloves. He gave her a suspicious squint. Kirsten peeked at his surface thoughts, but they were in Arabic. A distinct sense of distrust came through on an emotional level.

  She gave him a semi-hostile glare and walked back to Mr. Rosa. “Keep an eye on him,” she muttered. “I got a bad vibe.”

  “You haven’t done enough Flowerbasket to ‘get vibes’ off people,” said Dorian.

  After snapping on the gloves, she stood up on tiptoe and poked at the chest. “These look like the same markings I found in the circle. Konstantin called it Sumerian.” She dropped back to her heels and flipped through the medical report.

  “ They found the fatal wound―looks like a stab through the heart.” She traced her finger over the holographic text while reading. “The medical examiner determined that someone regenerated tissue in the wound, likely with specialized nanobots, to disguise the cause of death. It seems like they only noticed it due to a small error in the boundary layers between tissues. The graft failed to adhere over a six nanometer span on ‘Victim Two’, and a recheck found the same ‘tissue plug’ in all four bodies.”

  Later portions of the file contained medical scan data showing mild damage to the bones of the wrist and ankle, consistent with physical restraint over an extended period. Kirsten thought back to Brooke’s memory. That victim, undoubtedly Alaina Munoz, had metal binders on.

  “Whoever is doing this holds the victims for some time prior to killing them,” she muttered, half to Dorian, half to herself.

  She tapped a button at the end of the tray, which slid Carlos back into the cooler. The next bay held the remains of Uma Donn, a design engineer from EnMesh. Her injuries were consistent with Carlos’s, down to the presence of ancient pictograms present on the skin of the chest. Unlike Carlos, she had turned red and purple around that spot. Kirsten dug through her M.E. report, finding a note indicating a suspected allergic reaction to the chemical agent used to remove the markings.

  No trace of the ink remained for identification. However, the ink had lessened the exposure of certain skin cells to the cleaning solution, allowing the medical examiner to reveal the writing with a different chemical that reacted to it. The cells with lower exposure remained paler, while the rest stained blue―more Sumerian writing.

  “I’m hardly an expert here, but the pictographs look to be mostly the same with only a few different symbols.”

  Dorian rubbed his chin.

  Alaina Munoz was in the third tray, not as decomposed as the others except for the unnatural withering of the face and upper chest. Kirsten drew a sharp breath and looked away, unprepared for the spike of emotion from seeing the body of someone she watched die. The same writing existed on her. She had suffered more bone damage.

  “Looks like she died fighting. She almost broke both wrists trying to get away.” Kirsten swallowed her sadness, looking away from Dorian to the dead woman. “Whoever did this to you is going to pay for it.”

  “Alaina Munoz worked for RedEx. Why would they go after her? They don’t make any political decisions; they just transport parcels to Mars and back.”

  “Maybe we’re looking at this wrong.” Kirsten almost tapped her finger to her lips, but hesitated with a dubious glance at a finger that had touched a corpse. “Maybe it isn’t government at all. Maybe it’s just organized crime looking to set up some kind of smuggling operation?”

  “ Fourth victim…” Dorian squinted at the virtual terminal and it flipped a few pages over. “William Arris, a security guard for the West City Archives. What the hell does he have to do with smuggling or government?”

  Kirsten glowered, thinking. “There’s lots of old stuff there. Maybe whoever is doing this needed to steal something from the archives? What if he needed to find this writing on a scroll or something?”

  Dorian laughed. “You’ve been watching Monwyn too much. There’s no such thing as magic scrolls.”

  “Fine, an old book then.” Kirsten glanced sideways at Hassan, who huddled away from her over a NetMini.

  Dorian’s laughing eyes hardened. “He’s telling someone you know too much.”

  “You speak Arabic?” Kirsten whispered.

  “My family is originally from Egypt, K. Couple generations ago, but I figured I should keep up tradition.”

  She pulled the stunrod off her belt and stalked toward Hassan. When she walked away from the body of William Arris, the tray chirped and retracted itself. The noise made Hassan turn, face twisting into a grimace of murderous panic.

  Dorian ran past her at Hassan. “Whoever he’s on the line with just said ‘kill her.’”

  “Okay, shithead. Put the scalpel down.” She traded the stunrod to her left hand as she put the other on the handle of the E-90 on her hip.

  Hassan muttered at her in Arabic, as if he knew no English, while attempting to smile.

  “What’s he saying?”<
br />
  Dorian cringed. “Quite a few unpleasant things about women; you really don’t want me to translate. He’s just babbling random insults.”

  “You at least have to have an English chip to get this job, Hassan. Don’t give me that shit. Who did you call to warn I know too much? Who are you working for?”

  He turned as if to run, but whirled back and threw the contents of a flask at her. Kirsten dove away from the dark liquid, her hand left the E-90 in the holster as her arm moved to shield her eyes. Hassan hurled the empty plastic container at her before he ran for the door. Dorian blurred past him, grabbing the edge of a body cooler door and swinging it open as hard as he could fling it. Eyes over his shoulder on Kirsten, Hassan ran full speed into the swinging three-foot square slab of plastisteel with a dull, meaty clank .

  He landed flat on his back, moaning.

  Kirsten rolled onto all fours as Hassan staggered to his feet. Dorian tried to tackle him, but succeeded only in leaving a layer of cold slime on his chest. Hassan stood, swiping his hand through the residue with a wild, panicked look. He shot a stare at Kirsten and sprinted for the door, leaving his lab coat in her grasp as he rolled out of it and ducked through the door. She chased him to the left, past a rather startled Oliver, and to the right where he dove through faux-wood door and slammed it a half second before she crashed into it.

  “Hassan, where do you think you’re running? You’re in the middle of a god damned police facility!” Kirsten screamed and kicked the door.

  She wobbled back, rubbing her leg. “Damn, tough doors.” Out came the E-90. “You have two seconds to open this door or I’m opening it for you.”

  One laser blast melted the retaining bar and flooded the air with the glue-plastic stink of molten Epoxil. The door swayed ajar. Kirsten raised her boot to kick it, but dove sideways at the sound of a gunshot. A bulge in the door showed where the dense material trapped the slug. Rolling onto her back, she aimed through her knees. Another shot―no bulge.