Soon she was perched on the girders below the four-inch thick plastisteel pier. Stains decorated the underside from decades of spilled chemicals and rain that seeped through seams. She had the security panel on the hatch open and the code overridden twenty seconds later. The massive hatch was possible for her to lift, but only just. Katya cursed her corporate sponsor for not enhancing her strength, and stashed the caterpillar pods on the catwalk. Out of the water, they were nothing but excess weight.
After hitting the hinges with a shot of spray lubricant, she braced her arms against the door and shoved with her entire body, lifting it enough to peek out. She tuned up her amplified hearing and listened. Her legs wobbled from fatigue by the time she felt safe enough to open it more and climb through.
She emerged among a stack of empty cargo crates and lowered the hatch without a sound. Hollow metal footfalls echoed above her from guards walking the deck of the ship. The tall ship presented too sharp an angle for them to see her. The two guards at the gate, over three hundred yards away, became irrelevant.
Darting among stacks of cargo containers, she crept to the boarding ramp. Soft rubber soles kept her silent as she sprinted up to the door. She stared at the code panel on the wall, afraid that the access code Alex provided would fail. Almost surprised that it worked, she slipped through and pulled it closed before the overhead footsteps returned.
This feels wrong. They never give the codes out.
Oppressive darkness waited inside. Passive nightvision struggled to present her with detail much beyond a few meters in. With a few eye movements navigating the visor’s menu, she turned on the IR lamps. Bright cones of infrared light lit the hallway, invisible to the naked eye.
Trying to remember the schematic diagrams she had stared at all afternoon, she found her way through the eerie hallways to the cargo hold. Another code worked on an interior door, leading to a cavernous chamber four stories tall and as wide as a Gee-ball field, saturated with the smell of metal and grease. Katya stepped over cables as big around as her arm, slipped between a pair of cargo boxes, and tried not to trip on struts, pipes, or tools left lying around. A thin catwalk spanned across sunken bays made to accept hexagonal cargo boxes. She tensed as the echo of her breath felt loud enough for people outside to hear. After advancing through six watertight bulkheads, she figured she was nearing the center of the ship.
The case held a dull grey disc six inches across. A raised X spanned it, tipped at each end with blunted triangles that contained magnets. She gazed around the enormous room, looking for a spot to stash it. Against the far wall, she spotted a rectangular vent intake two feet off the floor. After climbing through a dozen cargo pits, she pulled herself up onto a maintenance walkway that ran along the outer hull. Once she removed the cover, she slid on her back into the shaft, and clamped the tracker to the inner surface as high up as she could reach before turning it on. A light blinked once every 10 seconds, indicating it worked. The ventilation ductwork had become its antenna.
She fumbled with the tools as she secured the grating back in place. This job had been far too easy. Every now and then, one did come along that was this simple, but they didn’t usually pay this much. Paranoia that someone wanted her on this boat tonight fueled her sprint back to the upper deck and to the spot where she had hidden her diving gear. Fear that something was about to go wrong waned as she strapped the pods back on and shimmied down a conveniently abandoned rope to avoid the lasers. She lowered herself smoothly into the water and looked up at the pier. There was no sign of unusual activity.
Katya grimaced at the rubber-salt flavor of the breathing mask, and sank below the waves. Perhaps this job was one of those rare gifts of fate, but she still had a promise to keep to the devil.
ina stopped in her tracks at the sight of the stark Division 0 hallway. The echo of her former self drifted through her memory as she recalled her last day as a normal human. The intense white corridor bathed the area in a dreamlike glow just a hair above reality. The same red haired woman sat behind the desk, the same plants stood against the wall, and the same scent of cleaning solution hung in the air.
She walked back to the day her dreams had died.
Comforted by knowing the meeting was her idea this time, she continued past the receptionist to Lieutenant Oliver’s office. Though Nina was now the same rank, if not slightly Oliver’s senior due to Division 9’s theoretical jurisdiction over internal affairs, Zero presented an enigma; they did things beyond understanding. Despite herself, a pang of worry gripped her as she knocked.
“Come in.” His voice filtered through the closed door.
A wave of sadness touched her phantom heart at the sight behind the opening door. The small office was just as she remembered it. She took the same seat, even approaching it with the same shaky gait as before. Oliver’s attention was on his terminal, and she waited for him to look up before she spoke.
“I appreciate you seeing me.” The first difference came out. She sounded more confident.
Lieutenant Oliver smiled, playing with his silver pen. He read her emotion as easily as if she had been holding up signs. “Your voice doesn’t match your mood, Nina. Feels like you’re a bit of mess at the moment, how can I help?”
Command did not like Division 9 agents interacting with Zeroes as secrets and telepaths did not mix; even if she did have cyberware that could supposedly interfere with a mind read. Evidently, that component didn’t do much on telempaths. This had nothing to do with work; Nina had come without running it by Hardin.
“How much do you know about ghosts?” Nina looked him in the eye. “I think Vincent has been talking to me.”
Oliver’s fingers stalled; her distorted reflection along the pen a smear of twisted color. “Well. I have not personally had any experience with them, but I do know a few agents who have.”
“How can I know if it’s really him?” She got angry. “I don’t believe it is… I think someone’s playing games.”
The pen resumed its twirl. “You would have to trust your gut. Most ungifted people don’t believe in ghosts until they witness a manifestation. I can make some inquiries if you like; see if one of our people can check it out for you. I think Agent Wren might be available.”
Nina’s eyes fixed on the spinning silver. “I’m starting to worry that I can’t let go. It’s been almost a year now, and I still dream about that night like it was yesterday.”
Oliver gave her a tiny empathic poke intended to lift her mood. “That was a traumatic event. Many officers take the death of a partner quite hard, almost worse than a spouse. Considering he was both to you… I can’t even imagine. I think you are handling it as well as can be expected. At this point, I would worry more if you weren’t thinking about him.” He smiled. “It just proves you are human.”
She leaned back, sighing. “I think someone might know we were involved and is trying to use it against me.” She thought about Joey.
Oliver leaned back, feeling the wave of rage.
“Vincent’s voice came out of my NetMini yesterday and said he wanted me to join him. Do you think that a ghost would try to talk someone into killing themselves?”
The pen stopped, held between his thumb and forefinger. “Were you tempted?”
She knew the wrong response to that question would reach Hardin, but she gave him an honest answer anyway. “Almost, but I realized Vincent would never ask me that. Then I thought about the look on his face that night. He seemed just…”
Her face showed nothing, but Oliver reacted to sadness powerful enough to give him a sympathetic throat lump. He focused on her, caressing her mind and softening her mood.
As the crippling depression faded, she looked up. “He died trying to protect me. He cared more about me than his own life.”
“The voice seemed implausible?”
She nodded. “Yes, it didn’t sound like Vincent at all. It could not have been him. Vincent would never have wanted to see me hurt.”
“There are
entities out there that are not ghosts in the strictest sense. They are malevolent creatures from a place we call the Abyss. They can read your thoughts, feed on your despair, and delight in your pain. They may have decided to prey upon your grief since it is so strong.” The pen caught the lights overhead, flashing in a mesmerizing blur.
She had expected to hear some fairy tales from Division 0, but this defied plausibility. “What, like demons?”
Oliver gave her a halfhearted nod. “Some people call them that, but that is an oversimplification. I won’t bore you with the details. I just brought it up as one possibility. Tell me, how is it you hear him?”
“The voice comes out of my NetMini, the car, my VidPhone…”
“Has something electronic always been involved?”
“Yes.”
Oliver rubbed his lip. “There have been some studies that indicate weak ghosts, ones that have not been dead that long, may not be able to speak without using electronics as an assistant. Of course, as you say, it might just be someone messing with you. Do you ever get a sense of being watched, of feeling an odd kind of ‘otherness’ in the air?” Oliver made air quotes in time with the word otherness.
“Not really, no. Is that unusual?”
He nodded. “For reasons we don’t understand, humans seem to have the ability to sense the presence of others, even if that person is just a disembodied spirit. If you’re not feeling anything, my opinion is that it is not genuine.”
Nina stared at her lap, picking at the armrest. “Is it possible I can’t sense that because of my condition?”
“Losing one’s flesh body is like removing a layer of armor to the paranormal. The body acts as a buffer for spiritual energy. Some cultures refer to it as chi. Someone in your state cannot contain their chi as well as an intact living body. You still have it, but it clings to the parts of you that are still alive, waving in the wind like curtains. If anything, you should be more apt to feel the presence of something strange.”
Nina tried to make sense of it. Only what she had read about Division 0 kept her from dismissing him as crazy. “I didn’t feel anything, but if we assume it is him could he have changed that much?”
“I’d say only if he had somehow come to blame you for his death or became jealous that you survived and he did not. Everything you have told me contradicts both of those. If he gave his life to save you, I sincerely doubt he’d change his mind now.”
She took a deep breath, almost smiling. Happiness seemed so far off, but acceptance was within arm’s reach. They talked more about the phone call that felt like it might have become the proposal she had been waiting for. She confided that she cried, really cried, for the first time since she woke up in the hospital. He was happy to hear that and tried to reinforce the idea that it was not healthy to bottle it up. A knock at the door made them pause.
“Come in.”
A young woman with pale blonde hair peeked in. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Hello, Agent Wren, this is Lieutenant Duchenne from Division 9.”
The girl waved at her.
“What are you, fifteen?” Nina blinked.
She walked in, saluting both of them. “Twenty-one, Ma’am.”
Oliver poked his terminal, the woman’s belt chimed. “I just sent you a Nav pin. If you have some spare time, would you please check for any spirits that might be lingering? Her partner died in the line of duty.”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. If he’s trying to contact you, I will find him.” She turned back to Oliver. “Yes sir, I’ll stop there today.”
After another salute, she spun on her heel and slipped through the door. Nina watched her leave, and then sank into the chair facing him.
“Anyway, I hate to cut our time short but I have a meeting in about”―he glanced at the clock―“twelve minutes.” He smiled. “As soon as I hear back from her, I’ll let you know. She’s one of our strongest astral sensates.”
“Thanks.”
An hour later, Nina basked in the soft glow of holographic panels in an otherwise dark office. Brighter green lines of reflected light spanned her face as the terminal filled in the results of time spent combing through trace logs. Somewhere around a million city cams hunted for the faces of Itai or Anatoly. Hits were rare, but present. Entering a coffee shop, exiting a PubTran station, on a street in a crowd―the sightings were scattered all over the city. Even an AI would struggle to put a pattern to them. A higher concentration of hits happened around the Diplomatic Tower, but that only confirmed everyone’s extant suspicion of Karl Warner’s involvement.
The video of Itai from the tower bothered her. The static cameras showed him walking right in the front door and flashing some manner of ID at the front desk before going on to the elevator. When questioned, the man at the desk claimed to have never seen him. Interrogation yielded nothing. He could be a well-trained spy or had his memory wiped by an undocumented psionic. Even when confronted with the surveillance footage from his own building, he continued to deny it with a claim that someone set him up.
Division 9 mobile surveillance had not recorded Itai at all. None of the dozen cameras watching the area for weeks had captured a single second of his smug face. She fell into a mild argument with Cole wondering if someone had compromised their network and fed them a false loop. Samantha got offended at the suggestion that someone could have hacked all twelve cameras and had protested a diagnostic check until Nina had questioned the motive behind her refusal. It had turned out to be pride, not betrayal. With the mobile cams proven secure, it cast serious doubts on the validity of the other video.
Two videos showing the same area at the same time differed. One had Itai and one did not. Someone had been able to spoof the Karsson-Neimand process, something generally considered impossible. A flurry of beeps drew her attention to a number of new hits on the trace search. She went to the first entry and opened it.
Interior surveillance from a fancy restaurant, the Crystal Swan, showed a dark haired woman in a red dress meeting Itai Korin for dinner. Their meal was brief and he departed soon after, following a smooch over the table. Nemsky emerged from the shadows by the door and she went with him to the bar. Nina replayed the video several times, trying to understand the apparent tension between this woman and Nemsky. Could that indicate a rift between the two men?
The feeling hit her that she had seen those eyes somewhere else. Two hours later, her instinct led her to the Imperial Hotel lobby, footage she had spent dozens of hours reviewing. There was a striking resemblance to the woman who had gotten cozy with a security guard half an hour before Dale’s death. Nina stopped the video on one frame where she made eye contact with the camera, and stared. The woman’s face lifted out of the display. Nina superimposed a wireframe to highlight facial bone structure, and did the same for the woman from the Crystal Swan. As the system chugged away with calculations, she felt less and less like they were sisters, and more that they were the same individual. Skin tone and complexion on each face equalized, one darkened as one grew paler. Freckles vanished, hair shifted to be the same. This was one person with intelligence-agency level components.
One person who could look like someone else.
A plastisteel mug crimpled in her hand when “Match Probability: 97%” appeared at the top of the holo-panel. Everyone thought the attack at the Imperial was meant for those civilians, but this woman appeared to be an associate of Itai or Nemsky―or both.
Why launch a light rocket at a skinny little nothing of a hacker? It had to be for the van. Maybe the shooters just waited for someone to walk through the firing line as a diversion. Nina got angrier the more she thought about it. That woman could have been sent in to confirm the presence of the surveillance op. She did not go anywhere near it, but she didn’t need to; she’d gone to the security office. Doubt crept into her mind that those two civilians were the true target; perhaps even the association to WellTech was planted.
She growled, trying to rationalize why, if Joey an
d the man in black armor worked with Nemsky, they would attack the second shooter at the Imperial. Nina drummed her fingers on the desk. Division 9 traced the two aggressors back to WellTech Corporation, and the Mayberry scandal just exploded all over the NewsNet. Joey was a deck jockey; that much she knew. There was a strong possibility he was the one who leaked the information to the news; perhaps WellTech was just trying to shut him up before he could do it.
That took her back to Dale’s death being an accident, but how did this mystery woman connect? Thinking of Joey, she ran a check on the network logs of the Imperial. Ten minutes later, she found record of a file copy just before the attack―a personnel list for the Basket Weaver project. Everyone on that op had been compromised for a few weeks. However, nothing had happened. It was as if someone stole that data just to give Division 9 the finger. A mark of pride―just the kind of thing people like Joey did.
Nina sent an immediate comm to Hardin, copying Cole, and warned them about the data nab. No one had checked the network; no one had even thought to, since none of the aggressors had made it inside. Hardin flew into her office soon after her message and went over the logs with her. His grim look proved he believed her conclusion.
Fortunately, all the security protocols had cycled since the incident. The data in the stolen file, except for names, was useless now. Basket Weaver did not constitute a deep cover operation, the leak had not exposed any sensitive covert operatives, but someone had gotten hold of information about everyone involved. The lack of obvious impact worried them both. Hardin congratulated her on the find and whisked himself off to plug the holes while she went back to combing for answers.
A search on Joey brought back several hits. The first video showed him with that man in black and the same woman traveling together into Sector 12. The scowl on her face grew when she saw Nemsky walk out from between some cars and appear to shake hands with him while the woman stooped to do something by a derelict car. Their meeting was brief, but Anatoly pointed off down the street where the trio went next, out of view of the cameras.
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