Division Zero: Thrall

by Matthew S. Cox

  It stopped, claws only inches from her cheek. The demon gazed wide-eyed into space.

  Dorian hung on its back, all his weight on the bound Nano knife. The weapon sliced through abyssal’s bone and muscle with little effort; however, the wound closed as fast as it opened. He traced a ten-inch deep cut through the creature’s body until his boots hit the ground.

  “Damn, it’s restoring itself,” he said.

  “It’s…” Kirsten rasped, and coughed. “Like Charazu. You think Konstantin will help translate the circle this time?” She tried to smile, blood leaked through her teeth.

  “I wouldn’t count on it.” Dorian backed away as the demon turned on him. “I’m not sure if this knife hurt him enough to worry about, or if I just look tasty…”

  Kirsten groaned. The pain of a broken rib flared as she strained to get the uncomfortable ring out of her armpits. The attempt to move hurt so much she let herself sag there, cradled in two unforgiving metal half-loops. A cough covered her mouth and neck with blood. No help lurked in the darkness of shattered lights overhead.

  Where are they? Come on, this isn’t fair. This thing is too powerful for me. I need help. She wriggled again, aborting the motion with a whimper. The Seraph poked through because Charazu did. This thing feels even stronger. Where are they? Kirsten wobbled, arms trapped by the strut as if it held her in some kind of full nelson. Only fatigue and pain kept her there, but at the moment, it was enough.

  I don’t know this thing’s true name. I can’t read stick figures. It’s gonna kill me, eat Dorian, and destroy the Moon. She started to cry, but crying hurt too much as well. Nothing. No ‘guardian angel’ this time, no silver light.

  Something warm and spongy poked her on the cheek. Time seemed to slow; the sounds of war faded to a meaningless, indistinct auditory blur.

  Kirsten let gravity pull her head to the side. Evan, at least Astral-Evan, floated there. The silver cord ran from between his eyes into the floor. She stared at the glowing amber figure of a nude boy hovering at her side. His transparent energy-body shimmered with urgency.

  “E-Evan? Is t-that really you, or am I slipping away?”

  He grabbed her hand. “Mom, you’re scaring me. Stop it.”

  “How did you get to the Moon?”

  “I flew. Why are you napping?”

  “How did you find the moon?”

  “I wanted to go to you.”

  Sound, pain, and the sense of how cold the air was all rushed into her mind at once. Time restarted. Kirsten flailed. “Evan, what are you doing here? There is a big demon, get out of here. It can hurt you.”

  “I’m not leaving till you get up.”

  “It’s gonna…” No Seraphim, I must be able to do something.

  Kirsten reached up and grabbed the top of the C strut, lifting her weight off her back while screaming. Without the band snagged on her arms, she slipped forward until her butt found metal. Ow. Ow. Ow. Eyes closed, she lay as flat as possible and fumbled at her belt for a stimpak. Demonic roars and objects crashing about gave her an amusing mental play-by-play of a solid demon chasing her intangible partner. Heavy support equipment went skidding out of the way as it swatted obstacles he simply ran through.

  Tingly warmth touched her left cheek as Evan kissed her. “Come home soon.”

  Her fingers found the case release and slipped in around the beautiful red cylinders. She reached across her chest and stabbed herself under the right arm―a little too close to the break. Wailing, she clawed at the vehicle under her while the coldness of stim fluid spread through her side. It engulfed the pain; the synthetic adrenaline made her eyes wiggle in their sockets as nanobots swarmed to the site of trauma and knit her ribs. A faint crunch paralyzed her for a few seconds as a million tiny machines dragged rib bone back into place.

  Dorian ran past, within five or six feet. “Incoming. Might want to consider moving.”

  “Fuck.” She swung her left arm over, using the momentum to spill herself to the ground.

  Astral-Evan spun, silently mouthing ‘oh shit’ as he got a good look at the creature. Sensing the soul of an innocent, it stopped in its tracks and drooled at him. Before it could move, he grabbed the silver thread and blurred out of sight.

  Enraged at missing such a treat, the demon swatted the missile cart into the air as though it weighed nothing. It sailed through Dorian’s back, dragging him forward by virtue of the knife in his hand being solid. Momentum carried him into the floor when it landed, into a tumbling roll. Only four fingers hooked over the weapon’s grip remained in the room. The demon stomped over to it, but jumped back as Dorian sprang out of the ground. He slashed and stabbed, shortening two of the demon’s claws before it caught him with a downward left-handed rake.

  His ghostly body smeared out to five or six times his usual height, turned into a puddle of ethereal vapor for a second, and came together with him face-down about ten yards from where he started.

  Kirsten stood, favoring her right side, and forced the lash into existence as she stared at the demon. “I don’t think we can beat this thing without knowing its name.”

  “Thanks for the reassuring words,” said Dorian, staggering upright.

  “I think you’re right. Konnie won’t translate it for us.” She advanced.

  The shifting energy of the lash attracted the creature’s attention. It towered over her, making little effort to hide its lack of concern for her weapon.

  Kirsten drew her arm back, coiling the tendril. “I know who you are.”

  With a sharp intake of breath, Kirsten tapped into her fear and rage. Every ounce of anger she felt at falling victim to Konstantin’s charms flowed into a blinding thread of blue-white light.

  “Back to the abyss, Avarazel!”

  The spoken name struck the abyssal with the force of a blow. It landed on one knee even before the two-handed lash opened it in a crossing slash from shoulder to hip. Kirsten spun, slashing the whip across its chest in a second swing.

  “Begone from this world, Avarazel!” she screamed.

  Anger at herself for almost giving up drove enough force through the lash to split the creature in half. Roaring disintegrated to gurgling. A detonation of hot, black ichor knocked her over. She slid and spun in the torrent, coming to a halt in a steaming pool of awfulness that soaked through her uniform.

  It might have smelled of rotten eggs, were the stench not so overpowering her nose gave up trying to interpret it. She lay motionless, staring at the ten-foot-tall charred skeleton surrounded by hovering chunks of flesh that had blown away from it. Magmatic orange crept along the bones as the great demon flaked away into ash particles.

  Dorian, acting like a ghost, floated over the tar pool to her side. She shifted to look at him, not even nauseated by the sensation of her hair sticking to the floor.

  “How the hell did you figure out the damn thing’s name?”

  “Heh.” Between the stickiness, her fatigue, and the lack of urgency, she could not sit up. She did manage to get a fingertip to her earbud. “Nina, you can come in now.” She let her head sag to face Dorian.

  “How…” He blinked.

  She closed her eyes. “Apparently, true demons have surface thoughts.”

  van sat at the table, swinging his feet while shoveling cereal into his mouth. He did not care about neatness. Covered only by last night’s underwear, which would soon be in the wall-machine, he wore about as much OmniSoy milk as he drank. Kirsten smirked at him. He squinted in a ‘so what’ grin. Early morning orange sunlight shimmered through his spherical mop of shaggy, light brown hair. The soap-scented humidity of a recent shower clung to Kirsten; a little dampness lingered in her hair, out of reach of the tube’s dry cycle.

  “Try to eat like a civilized human at least.”

  He bubbled milk at her through his lips, breaking up into giggles only two seconds into the gesture. Kirsten laughed. The boy still vibrated with joy at her safe return from the Moon two days prior. He did not sleep at all the fir
st night, likely due to a thirteen-hour nap caused by the tranquilizer Nila gave him while Kirsten was gone. She kept smiling, despite the serpent of guilt tangling her guts at the thought of what he went through. The timing of him needing to be knocked out coincided with his astral visit.

  Cereal finished, he wiped his chest off and trudged to the bathroom. Briefs hit the rug on his way into the tube. After reaching up to poke the control screen, he closed his eyes and gripped the head-level railing. Warm jets of water sprayed him down, followed by the soapy mix, and then more water. Evan cheered as a rush of warm air came close to lifting him off his feet. When the turbines settled down and the safety lock disengaged from the door, he jumped from the tube to the small throw rug in an effort to avoid stepping on cold tiles.

  Scooting the rug underfoot, he shimmied across the room, pausing to grab his dirty briefs, and climbed up on the sink to reach the white box. Dirty went in a hatch at the top, and clean, wrapped in plastic, came out the bottom. He pulled them on, wadded up the wrapper, and pushed open the bathroom door.

  He stopped, dead in his tracks, gawking at Kirsten.

  She smiled at him as he emerged; having donned a loose-fitting black dress uniform while he showered. The E-90 sat in its holster, affixed to a dark faux-leather belt rather than the usual silver. Her skirt ended just above the knee, plain and black just like the top. Gold rank insignia glimmered on both shoulders, matched by a pin on a folding cap. Rather than boots, she had shiny black kitten heels.

  “You’re pretty,” he blurted.

  Kirsten laughed. “Why, thank you.” She lifted a box from the bed, handing it to him. Before he could get too excited, she winked. “Don’t go through the roof, it’s just clothes. Get dressed.”

  He smirked at the offering, but took it. “You said you were off work for a while.”

  “I am. A whole month unless something crazy happens.”

  Evan gave the uniform a suspicious squint as he went to the foot of the bed. He unpacked a long-sleeve charcoal-grey shirt with a high collar. Fabric loops clung to buttons from the shoulder to the hip to keep it closed. Still underweight for his age, he swam into it without undoing any of the fasteners except for the top two to get his head through.

  A plain pair of black pants followed. Kirsten intervened, pulling the flaps of the shirt out and letting them hang. Evan emitted an odd squeak as the belt adjusted itself to his waist. The face he made set Kirsten laughing again.

  “These are the same way,” she said, handing him a pair of dark, laceless shoes halfway between sneaker and dress shoe, and a pair of socks as well.

  He dropped them, put on the socks, and looked back and forth between her and his new footwear.

  “They won’t hurt, come on… we’re late.”

  One foot tested one shoe. “Where are we going?” He held in the urge to squeal when it adjusted to fit. Since it did not hurt, he stepped into the other.

  “Oh, just some official thing.” She took his hand and walked to the door.

  He grinned. “They givin’ you an award for beating a demon?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  Kirsten’s lip quivered. “I’m sure it won’t be.”

  Evan was quiet, but grinned the entire ride to the Police Administration Complex. After a bit of concentration, Dorian had managed to shift his appearance to his best memory of a dress uniform. He grinned as broadly as Evan as they walked through the parking deck to the elevator.

  When they went right past the hallway that led to the school, Evan twisted to look at it, letting his weight dangle on Kirsten’s handhold. She tugged him upright, smiling.

  “You don’t have to go to school today, Ev.”

  His walking became bouncing, which faded to a cautious stride when they also went straight past the Division 0 wing without entering. Kirsten looked down at him when he squeezed her hand. The happy look on her face calmed him.

  Several hallways later, Kirsten’s shoes clicked down a dark, marble-tiled corridor full of important-looking people. Evan leaned close to her, seemingly frightened by the expansive place full of people with grim expressions. She stopped by a door and took a seat on a bench against the wall. Evan hopped next to her, the light thuds of his heels on the seat drew some smiles and some annoyed looks.

  Dorian sat to her left. Evan leaned forward, looking past her at the holographic panel floating by the door.

  “Hearing Room 8?” He blinked. “Is the room listening to us?”

  “Probably is,” said Dorian. “They have microphones everywhere.”

  Kirsten’s laugh had more nervousness this time than mirth. “No, hon. People inside it are.”

  A few minutes later, Danita Reed emerged from the crowd at the far end of the corridor, entering from the other direction, the West City Municipal Center. Her grey business suit was, as usual, clean and neat, and she kept a small case tucked under her left arm as she walked over.

  “Oh, I thought you’d like to know. That girl you referred my way, Brooke? I managed to find a paternal aunt. Her father had a younger sister who is married with two of her own. The girl’s got some work ahead of her from a counseling standpoint, but she’s got a home. She wanted me to pass along her thanks for what you did for her.”

  “She helped more than she knows. I don’t even want to consider what could have happened without her witnessing that…”

  A familiar scent wafted past, a second before Kirsten’s father exuded through the wall. She choked up at the sight of him, smiling her thanks as she could not talk.

  “They should be ready for us in a few minutes,” said Danita. “You look adorable, Evan.”

  He blushed, fidgeting with his fancy shirt, sticking his finger through the small gap in the front of the collar to pull it off his neck.

  The door to Hearing Room 8 opened. A white-haired older man in uniform, white shirt and black pants, nodded at Kirsten. She stood, holding Evan’s hand as she walked into a small courtroom and approached the single long table in front of the bench. A middle-aged Asian woman in a black robe offered a pleasant nod of greeting from behind her elevated desk. “Hon. Maria Yuen” glowed in gold letters along the top edge.

  Once everyone settled in, she spoke. “Good morning, everyone.”

  Captain Eze ducked through the door, offering a wincing smile. “Apologies, Your Honor, I was delayed by a meeting.” He moved at a brisk walk to the table.

  “Are we expecting anyone else?” asked the judge.

  “No, Your Honor,” said Danita. “Myself and Captain Eze are acting as witnesses.”

  Evan twisted to stare up at her, Kirsten, Eze, Dorian, and back to Kirsten. He looked terrified.

  Kirsten squeezed his hand and winked. The gesture would have calmed him if she wasn’t trembling.

  “Very well.” A change on a concealed display bathed the judge’s face in lime green light. “I have reviewed the findings from the caseworker… That would be you, Ms. Reed”―the judge gestured at her― “as well as the findings of Dr. Loring, and the exhaustive communications of support from Captain Eze and even Chief Carter.” Judge Yuen raised an eyebrow. “I see no reason to delay this process any further.” She looked at Kirsten, as if looking over glasses that did not exist. “You have made the necessary arrangements as stipulated by Ms. Reed?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” she rasped. Eze handed her a cup of water from the table. She took a sip, cleared her throat, and spoke again in a clear voice. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Good. In that case, my ruling is that Miss Kirsten Wren, holding the rank of Agent (W4) in the Division Zero Bureau of the National Police Force, is hereby awarded custody of the minor born Evan Dawson.”

  “Yay!” he cheered, bursting into joyous tears as he clamped his arms around his new mother.

  That was too much for her. She sobbed as well.

  Judge Yuen spotted something on her terminal and looked up. “There is one small issue.”

  Kirsten�
�s heart almost stopped.

  “The records are incomplete. The boy’s medical file does not contain an official date of birth.”

  Danita leaned forward. “Your Honor, the child’s birth mother was off the grid. They were squatters living in an stolen apartment, no employment history. She did not deliver him in an approved medical facility. No records were made at the time.”

  “Well, what’s your best guess?” asked the judge. “I have to put something in here. The boy needs a birthdate.”

  Evan wriggled free from Kirsten’s arms enough to speak. “Judge lady, can it be the day she found me?” He looked between her and the judge. “I want my birthday to be the day she found me.”

  Kirsten shuddered, clasping a hand over her face. Speechless, all she could do was squeeze him and sniffle, crying harder. Her father’s ghost put a hand on her shoulder. Dorian smiled, wider than she had ever seen him smile.

  “I have no problem with that…” Judge Yuen gave the table an expectant look.

  Danita flipped her case open and swiped her hand over a datapad. She went too far, having to back up two pages. “The inquest Agent Wren filed to terminate parental rights of the birth parent is 24180414A3. That puts it on April 14th, about six months ago. The boy is nine, so…”

  “ April 14, 2409,” muttered the judge, while typing on noiseless holographic keys. “Done.” She tapped the desk with a gavel. “Congratulations, Agent Wren. This is a big responsibility, I hope you are prepared for it.”

  She swallowed her emotion. “I am, Your Honor. I am.”

  Evan draped himself through the gap between the front seats, grinning at everything. With the tension of the verdict gone, Kirsten’s mind-blast-tenderized brain throbbed. Despite the pain, she was still too elated to speak. It had taken her almost fifteen minutes to compose herself enough to drive after hearing Evan’s request for a birthdate.

  He squinted at the NavMap. “Are we visiting Nila?”

  Kirsten smiled at him.