She took it, picking at fingernail switches to set cream and sweetness levels before twisting the bottom of the can. The sharp crack of a broken ampule announced the start of a chemical reaction. As she sat, the fragrance of cheap java emerged and warmth spread through her hand. “If this is about the Greene case, it was a poltergeist. They throw―”
“It isn’t.” Eze raised one eyebrow. “What are you frowning at?”
“Do they think spelling quick with a w makes it trendier or something? Why do companies do stupid crap like that?”
Eze pulled his fingers over his chin and chuckled through that same contagious smile that always lifted her mood. “I think your question goes beyond the depth of the mysteries we deal with. But”―he slapped his desk―“I have something that needs your attention far more than protecting the coffee-drinking public from poor spelling.”
The sudden noise and shift in mood from jovial to serious made her jump. Upright, she took on a military posture and nodded. He poked at his terminal, the lights dimmed, and a holographic screen spread over most of the wall to her right. An overhead map of West City appeared. Amber gridlines overlaid an area map, so many it resembled a golden tint. The focus centered in on an area of about twenty sectors square, a hundred mile grid. Between the fine threads of grid demarcation, the image moved.
“Watch Sector 637. This is from late last night, just past 0100 hours.”
With a beep, the screen glimmered and went from static image to moving video. She locked on to the spot he mentioned, eyes sweeping left and right in search of anything out of the ordinary in the twelve-inch square of hologram. Blackness spread out from south, left of center, and expanded to about a mile square before it smeared to the northeast. The trail of absent light grew wider as it traveled, fatter in front like a comet with a long tail. Eighteen miles later, it stopped advancing and coalesced into a circular mass of darkness. From the origin point it ebbed, light returning along its length until the entire thing vanished within several seconds of starting.
“The image makes me think of someone running a black paintbrush tool over the satellite feed.”
He pushed a datapad across his desk. “There were over two hundred ninety thousand reports of power outages along the trail. A localized blackout is responsible for the path you see here. Everything from street lamps to city cams to NetMinis, it all went dark.”
“It can’t be a hacker, the citycams run off direct lines. If a paranormal entity caused this, what the hell is it doing? Ghosts usually suck up power to restore themselves or build up for a big event.”
Eze’s chair creaked into a lean. “It gets better.”
The image zoomed to street level; the point of view plummeted to Earth, pulled up and flew into one of the ubiquitous mounted cameras. Based on the condition of the buildings it surveyed, she assumed it was in, or at least at the edge of, a grey zone. One of the gleaming towers had a dark band around the center, as if someone sliced one entire floor out of a skyscraper-shaped cake.
“This is Sector 848, where it stopped. Look at the building with no glass on one floor.”
She leaned closer. “I think I see a small fire inside. Maybe squatters cooking? That’s not too unusual for―”
The flame roared up, bright as a magnesium flare, flickering and sputtering. The image went to static a few seconds before freezing in an array of pixels.
“This is the moment when the blackout trail arrives. We lose about nine seconds of video.” Eze un-paused it.
When the image crackled back to clarity, diagnostic text scrolled over it as the citycam went through a boot sequence. A column of “PASS” slid up the right edge. The windowless floor filled with thick black smoke. It stayed confined, not billowing out into the air or leaking and falling down the side. All at once, the smoke drew inward, as if sucked into an unseen vacuum. The phantom campfire was gone.
“That’s―”
“Keep watching.” He backed up a few frames and restarted it.
Again, she watched the smoke recede. This time she did not look away. Thin lines of static tarnished the image a second before a torus of distorted light expanded outward, flakes like shimmering ice at its outermost edge. The circular wave of energy grew until it passed through the walls of adjacent towers; the blur of its approach made the image paler. The wave rushed toward the camera’s point of view, causing a blackout on impact.
“I saw a similar effect when the Wharf Stalker died.” She sank into the chair. “I mean, when I…”
“I know what you mean. What disturbs me is not that it resembles your description of the obliteration of a powerful entity. What disturbs me is that I can see it”―he gestured at the display screen―“and the cameras recorded it.”
Kirsten looked up with a gasp. She had not even thought of that. For the first time, she wondered if she would be strong enough to deal with something as powerful as this image suggested. “M… maybe it was just a blast wave from an explosion”―her voice fell to a mumble―“an explosion that didn’t damage glass windows right next to it.”
“I don’t like that look in your eyes, Kirsten. I don’t think I have ever seen you afraid of ghosts before.”
A nervous laugh escaped her. “I don’t think I’ve seen anything this freaky before.”
“You shouldn’t go alone. Sector 848 is a bad area.”
I’m not alone.
“Take Logan.”
She leaned forward. “I’m not sure bringing Logan is a good idea, Captain. She’s not used to seeing paranormals; it might leave a mark.” This isn’t the police to her, it’s high school.
“She can handle it. She reminds me a little of you. Innocent on the outside, tough inside.”
Kirsten did not know whether to feel complimented or insulted. Either way, changing his mind would take all day and accomplish nothing but waste time. “Are you sure?”
“Eminently.”
She exhaled the entire way back to her desk.
“Hey, Nikki?”
“Yo?” She swiveled around, grinning.
“Suit up. Eze wants you to go with me on this one.”
“Cool.” She jumped up.
Kirsten caught her on the bicep as she attempted to dart past to the garage. “Nikki, there might be some strange things here. If you wanna fake it, I’ll tell Eze you went.”
“Bullshit.” Nicole grabbed, and held, her hand. “If he wants me to go with you, he’s worried. I’m not gonna leave you without backup.”
Four blue eyes locked. Kirsten gave in first.
“Okay.” She tugged Nicole back once more. “Thanks… and, I’m sorry.”
“Talk about close, this building’s right on the edge of the grey.” Nicole fiddled with the NavMap, magnifying it as far as it would go.
Kirsten frowned at the screen. “What difference does a few inches make?”
She regretted the question as soon as Nicole started laughing.
Dorian draped himself between the seats. “You really ought to watch what you say around her.”
The ceaseless glimmer of West City dimmed as they flew into Sector 848. Officially, the grey zone ended a full grid square northeast from here, but the relentless creep of tired desolation had already set in. A slow exodus of civilized people left businesses closed or with armored windows. Gangs fought wars in the streets; the cops came in later and cleaned up the bodies.
Less work for them.
Dark spots appeared amid the patchwork of light. A vacant apartment here, a shot out lamp there, though the buildings’ structures remained intact. Around a distant century tower, the electronic windscreen lit up with four green triangles hinting at a square. She drove straight towards #1998 City Road 130. One entire floor out of a hundred, the thirteenth, had been gutted, all the windows and steel molding on the outside blasted off by a powerful explosion some time ago. Kirsten nudged the patrol craft into a slight dive and slowed to about fifteen miles per hour. A few seconds later, she slowed to just past a walking p
ace in an orbit at the level of the damage.
Inside, a few walls remained intact, steel beams with clods of Epoxil planks, one or two still clinging to scorched drywall. Fortunately for the upper floors, all of the building’s primary structural supports were internal and still intact. The glass, pure fascia, represented only cosmetic damage. Some of the windows on facing buildings looked less grimy than floors above or below. A sign that whatever happened here damaged them, but they had been replaced.
“This building is zoned as abandoned.” Nicole’s face turned blue in the terminal’s light. “Looks like the title’s under the name of a leasing company out of East City, uhh… Kukla Investments. No one has occupied it in about seven months.”
“Whoever demoed this building knew what they were doing.” Dorian whistled. “Complete eradication of one floor with minimal damage up and down.”
“Think it was a professional job?” Kirsten brought the car to a hovering standstill, gazing through flaps of translucent plastic drifting in the breeze.
“Umm…” Nicole flipped screens. “Div 1 has a report of an unexplained detonation about seven months ago, four bodies recovered.”
“I was talking to”―Kirsten sighed―“never mind. Shit, do you feel that?”
“Feel what?” Nicole looked over.
“Yeah.” Dorian edged into the shadows of the backseat. “Harbingers?”
Kirsten looked ahead, then at the dashboard, then at her lap. “I… No, it doesn’t feel right.”
Nicole peeled her eyes away from the terminal, leaning over the driver’s seat to peek into the building. “Just pull inside, the hole’s big enough.”
“I’m not risking the floor collapsing.”
Kirsten pulled the car into a vertical ascent and landed on the roof a few minutes later. The air held a faint trace of foul, somewhere between chemical and fecal. Stale industry picked at her throat as she crunched through trash and kicked synthbeer canisters out of her way. She stopped in front of the roof access, and frowned at the dark interface panel. The building had no power. Without it, her police override code would do no good. She banged on the door three times.
“Anyone in there?”
Waiting.
“Hello?” Bang, bang, bang. “This is the police. I’m about to open this door with a laser. If there is anyone on the other side of it, yell now. You have ten seconds.”
Dorian shook his head, walking past her through the door. In a moment, his head came back out. “It’s clear.”
“Sorry.” She took the E-90 out of its holster. “I sometimes forget you’re a ghost.”
“Ghost?” Nicole whirled about. “Where?”
Kirsten bit her lip, raising the weapon. “It’s a long story.”
She aimed at the door, thought better of it, and backed up ten feet before firing at the lock plate. The first shot melted a hole through cinderblocks.
“Calm down,” whispered Dorian. “Your hand is shaking.”
Her second try melted the knob into a spray of hot metal. The third did enough damage in the right place to let the door swing free. Nicole grunted, and the flap of metal flew open hard enough to slam a pound of dust off the wall.
Kirsten’s expression twisted into one worthy of Nicole’s picture wall. “Fuck.”
“Sorry, that was me.” Nicole offered a sheepish cringe, and stood up straight. “Hey, why are you so edgy?”
Kirsten walked around Dorian rather than through him, making him chuckle. “The video I showed you on the ride over here. That, and something doesn’t feel right.”
She crept past bare cinderblock walls rife with the dry scent of aerosolized dirt. A vertical shaft ran the length of the building, leading down into the dark. Sudden light caused Kirsten to whirl. Nicole caught her hand, keeping the E-90 aimed at the wall. Panic melted to accusation in Kirsten’s eyes as she glared at the strips of light on the sides of Nicole’s helmet.
“Please warn me, light coming out of nowhere can mean so many things…”
“Sorry,” whispered Nicole. “You really need to calm the hell down.”
Kirsten sighed a wordless apology and put the gun back on her belt.
“So…” Nicole peered over the railing from the seventy-fourth story roof. The lights made long streaks through air smoky with dust. “Thirteenth floor, huh? About that long of a story?”
“Seriously? That’s why the car does that?” Nicole grinned. “Cool!” She paused, biting her knuckle. “I mean… It’s not cool he’s dead, but…”
“Tell her not to worry about it, no offense taken.”
“He says it’s okay.”
“So you, like see him all the time? Does he like watch you in the shower?”
“No.” Dorian and Kirsten answered simultaneously.
“Is he the one you have a crush on?”
Kirsten stumbled over the last step on the fifteenth floor landing. “No.”
“Liar,” Nicole taunted through a smile.
Dorian found the wall to be rather interesting all of a sudden.
“It’s…” Kirsten sighed. “Maybe if he were alive, but… Even as a ghost, he’s my partner.”
Nicole shook her head. “They say it’s a bad idea to get romantic with your partner if you’re on field work. Leads to mistakes.”
“And what? Get him killed?” Kirsten cringed. “Sorry, that sounded bitchier than I meant it.”
“Is it cool having a ghost for a partner? He can do all sorts of ghosty stuff the perps never expect?”
Dorian rolled his eyes.
“I think he’d rather be alive still, and no, he’s not that old. He can’t do too much to living people at all.”
Nicole squealed.
“Except the old icy hand down the back bit,” mumbled Kirsten.
The redhead seemed intrigued and freaked all at once.
“Whoa.” Kirsten went rigid as her boot touched the thirteenth floor landing. “Damn.”
A grey door drifted open and closed, creeping inches each way as the wind shifted. Nicole slid past her and pulled it to the side, looking back with an uneasy lift to her eyebrows.
“K… I feel something weird, too.”
Kirsten’s knuckles went white on the handle of the laser. “That’s not a good sign.”
“How bad is it?” Nicole pulled out her E-86. Green light ran up and down the barrel.
“I don’t know. Any psionic can sense the presence of an entity powerful enough to affect the living, even if they can’t see them.”
Nicole’s alarm lessened. “I don’t feel funny in the car.”
Maybe bringing her along was a good idea. She’s keeping me calm. “Dorian’s not old enough, or mean enough, to raise those hackles.”
“Thanks.” Dorian went first, looking around at the destruction. He stopped to check on a few scorch marks. “Whatever did this was conventional. There were several detonation points, some of this scarring fits the signature of detcord. Main charges near the center; shaped, probably. Bluish discoloration makes me think NE4. The blast shoved everything out the windows.”
“K?” Nicole’s spotlights swiveled.
“Yeah?”
“Did you just hear something? I heard whispering over there.”
Dorian shouted Nicole’s name. She looked toward him.
“You’re hearing Dorian. I don’t understand how. This area is…”
“Wrong.” Nicole finished her sentence. “I want to go home and hug my dad, hide under a blanket.”
“Latent fear.” Kirsten squatted, touching the dusty concrete. “Something happened here that burned fear into the fabric of the building. You’re not really scared; you’re picking it up from the environment.”
“Does a giant friggin’ bomb count?” Nicole pushed her way through hanging plastic. She trembled, but advanced anyway.
“I don’t think the people who died in this had time to even mess their pants,” said Kirsten.
They fanned out, drifting among cracked concrete
support posts, hanging wires, and exposed pipes. Boots scuffed, the wind howled, and soon none of them noticed the sour awfulness of the all-too-close black zone to the north. Ten minutes into the search, Nicole raised her voice, so close to the timbre of a frightened child, Kirsten got worried.
“Kiki… I don’t like this.”
Kirsten ran toward the sound, her haste causing her to stumble over the debris of a few chairs and a desk. Past a still-standing section of wall, she rounded a corner and skidded to a halt with her mouth hanging open. An area eighteen feet across glimmered with metallic silver paint. A circle was traced on the ground, laced with intricate symbols resembling runes and pictographs. Half-molten candles had been arranged at seven points around the exterior, lining up with the geometric arrangement of shapes within. Three white, three black, and one gold.
Lines divided the interior of the circle into sections, each filled with drawings. They had a crude sophistication, not childlike, not primitive, but simple. Kirsten squatted, hesitant to touch it. Fingertips hovering a hand’s width away, she noted some of the lines were etched into the concrete. The energy at this spot grew overwhelming, forcing Nicole to back away, arms folded and shaking.
“Someone engraved this here; it was meant to last awhile.”
Dorian’s voice echoed from the side, at a yell. “Found an M3 wire burned on the ground. Junction box out in the hall has a Tricor Fiber uplink, or what’s left of one. Whoever lived here was a big time net head.”
“What’s that,” gasped Nicole, pointing.
Kirsten looked, seeing nothing. “What?”
“A shadow just moved over there. Big. Assault Marine big.”
“Please don’t be fucking with me here, Nikki.” Kirsten stepped around the circle; something in the back of her head told her not to cross it.
“I swear I’m not.” The redhead’s tiny voice sounded as if it came from an eight-year-old.
“Who’s there?” Kirsten’s voice echoed into the wind.
Nicole sniffled.
“You can wait in the car if you want.”
The lights on Nicole’s helmet swept back and forth with a rapid headshake. “No, I’m not leavin’ you here alone.”
Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis Page 6