Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis

by Matthew S. Cox

“Set it down before you hurt yourself.”

  He shifted left and right, teetering as the exertion of bearing such a heavy load without hurling it overtook him. Gravity gained the upper hand and he let it go forward. The volatile materials cylinder crashed to the ground with a deafening clang and enough force to bounce Kirsten an inch into the air. She jumped to the side to evade the rolling canister, looking up just in time to see Rampart vault off the rim of the refuse box, flying into a tackle.

  Fortunately, the amount of trash on the ground made the landing somewhat pleasant, except for the corner of a box that got her in the back of the right thigh. His hands slid over her chest on their way to her throat.

  “Freeze.”

  In an instant, Rampart went rigid, shuddered, and broke out in a cold sweat. “What the hell?”

  “Will you please calm down? Get off me.”

  Muscles, independent of his brain, obeyed.

  She dusted herself off, rubbing the painful spot on the back of her leg. Rampart quivered, his body the victim of a raging contest of willpower. Confusion at why he could not move made him cry.

  “Well that’s just a sad, sad sight.” Dorian chuckled, walking over with the gory girl behind him. “Felt that thing hit the ground, came running.”

  “I got him.” Kirsten crossed her arms.

  Nicole sprinted into view down the alley, sliding to a halt at an intersection and spinning in a circle. It took her two rotations to notice Kirsten, and she dropped into a tactical walk with her weapon trained on Rampart.

  “Don’t kill me.” He continued to shudder as he strained to move.

  Kirsten relieved him of a pistol, four knives, and a three-foot length of chain, all of which she tossed into the dumpster. “I’m not here to kill you, Ronnie. I just want to ask you about Vikram Medhi.”

  “Uh, who?”

  “You might want to step back, K. When your mind wank wears off, he’s gonna twist you in half.” Nicole came to a halt about ten yards away. “His arms are bigger than your thighs.”

  Rampart appraised his biceps. “She’s got narrow legs.” He shrugged.

  “Yeah, kind of,” said Nicole.

  “You two can both go to hell.” Kirsten did not know if she should laugh or scream.

  A holographic head appeared over Kirsten’s NetMini, spinning in a slow leftward rotation.

  “Oh. Dude called himself Diva or something… Dava, maybe. Heard he got himself dead.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Kirsten put the mini away. “Have you seen him since the explosion, any idea where he hangs out?”

  His gaze darted between her and Nicole, lingering on the redhead who seemed eager for any excuse to fire.

  “You real cops? Not Lyris? What’s with the black?”

  “Notice how you can’t move?” Kirsten put her gun away. “Division 0, psionic stuff. All I care about is Vikram right now, unless you’re wanted for a major crime.”

  “He hasn’t seen Vikram for months,” Nicole added. “Negative on the serious crime, too.”

  Kirsten whirled on her. “Dammit, Nicole, you can’t just go into their heads. It’ll get thrown out of an inquest, and they’ll walk.”

  “What?” She relaxed enough to shrug. “It’s for his benefit. He’s not lying.”

  “So you don’t know if Vikram survived the explosion? What did you do for him?”

  Rampart managed to get his arms down. “He had the place wired up big time, carried a trigger button on him all the time. Me? All I did was loaf around eating his food. He hired me around to watch his limp ass while he jacked in, and ̓case some shit showed up to start problems. The dude was slick, though; no one ever backtracked him. I got paid to sit on my ass.”

  “Lyris backtracked him.” Kirsten turned at moving lights, waving at a trio of Division 1 patrol officers.

  “Yeah, I wasn’t there for that one, though, or I’d be kibble too. I ain’t seen him since. Word on the street is he set himself off.”

  “He’s not lying.” Nicole lowered her gun. “Don’t do anything stupid, Howie.”

  “Ronnie,” said Kirsten.

  “Rampart.” He grumbled.

  “Rampart?” Nicole scrunched up her face. “Isn’t that like a part of a um, castle or something?”

  “Look at the size of him.”

  “Oh, I get it,” said Nicole.

  Ronnie gazed up at the smog, sighing.

  All three of them turned at the scuff of a heavy boot approaching.

  “Evening, Agent Wren, Officer Logan.” A tall, muscular woman, as pale as Kirsten, saluted her. “What’s this guy’s story?”

  “Officer Dietrich.” Kirsten returned the salute. “I was hoping for information he didn’t have. He bolted from the scene; only thing I can tag him with is inciting violence against a peace officer.”

  Nicole replayed the recording of Ronnie’s voice shouting “kill ̓em.”

  “Understood. Your partner filled us in about the two idiots in the back seat. They’re on the way to the tank already.”

  “K?” Dorian cleared his throat, pointing at the ghost next to him. “Name’s Cara. Goes by Rush out here.”

  “One minute.”

  The burly female cop escorted Rampart down the alley, leaving the two male officers as backup.

  “Okay, what happened?” Kirsten startled the ghostly woman by waving at her.

  “I guess it was a few days ago. I was working a few blocks over, you know…” She stared at her one remaining shoe, pushing her aqua-colored hair over one ear.

  “That’s not important; you had to do what you had to do to survive.”

  “So this guy comes out of nowhere like, and shoots Rafael in the head.”

  “Their guardian,” added Dorian.

  “The girls scatter, the big fucker picks me. I run like hell, but heels, ya know.”

  Kirsten shifted her weight. “Yeah, I know.”

  “I trip in this mess, he drags me around here, I figure at first he’s just gonna take a freebie… but he didn’t seem interested in sex at all. Then I seen his arms. One’s a big ass hook and the other just a block… A hammer like, with little stubby fingers, he was augged out to Mars and back. Carved me up like a goddamned turkey, singing like a loon the whole time. Opera or some bullshit old man stuff.” Some of her insides fell with a glop.

  “I’m guessing you understand you’re dead.”

  Rush reeled in her inner bits. “Yeah. I’m not that smart, but I kinda figured that out.”

  “Any idea what’s keeping you here? Do you have any family, friends, anyone you want me to contact?”

  “None that give a shit. Mom overdosed a couple years ago, died. No idea who my father even is, maybe was.”

  Kirsten offered a consoling nod. “Is your body still over there?”

  “Yeah. This way.” Rush drifted back into the narrow passage.

  “Guys…” Kirsten waved at the Division 1 patrolmen. “Over here.”

  They trudged through knee-deep trash to the less packed alley. Kirsten tried not to look at the bloody dangles trailing behind the dead prostitute. Eventually Rush stopped, pointing at a pile of debris. The smell in the air left no doubt as to what was underneath it. Nicole shoved cartons, tubes, tires, and other items out of the way telekinetically. Flies buzzed into a swarm at the commotion; the sight made the stench even worse.

  Nicole turned away, woozy. “I hate maggots.”

  “Wow, that one’s been there a few days.” Patrolman Weber put his hands on his hips.

  Kirsten looked between them. “You guys got this?”

  Officer Duncan offered a noncommittal shrug. “Yeah we’ll scrape her up.”

  “I have a description of the killer, if you’re gonna like take notes or something? Maybe give half a shit?”

  Rush pouted at the floor. “No one gives a damn about us, least of all cops. One walked right past me the other day and didn’t even slow down.”

  Duncan took a few haphazard image
captures of the scene with a portable from his belt. “No one reported her missing. Not surprised, these street rats don’t usually get missed.”

  Kirsten fumed. The sound of Rush breaking into sobs poked a hole in the dam holding her back.

  “Patrol Officer Duncan, are you going to stand in front of me and tell me someone’s life is worth less because they don’t have anyone to scream at your watch commander to find them? I can’t believe you’re standing here, looking down on a murder victim only because life left them no choice but to walk the streets.”

  The tone of her voice sucked the nonchalance out of both officers and they snapped to attention.

  “Someone killed this girl and left her here in a god damned alley, alone.” She continued to get louder, taking on the cadence of a drill instructor. “You’re looking at what’s left of a nineteen-year-old with no choices left. Not one lousy person in this entire shithole of a city gave enough of a crap about her before it was too late. The least you E2’s can do is treat her with a little god damned respect.”

  Kirsten dug her fingernails into her palms, too angry to cry, and too aghast to care if they saw her red-faced and out of breath.

  “Right away, ma’am.” Officer Duncan, who bore the brunt of the assault, saluted her.

  “And don’t stomp on top of her. There could be evidence anywhere.” Kirsten tapped at her armband display until a dispatch doll’s head shimmered into being. “I need a crime scene team to my current location. Homicide investigation.”

  “Thank you…” Rush reached to touch Kirsten, pausing as something made her glance down the alley. “Mom?”

  Kirsten spun away from the patrol cops, not wanting them to see her eyes getting watery. “Go to her, Cara. There’s nothing but pain for you here.”

  The dead girl offered one final smile back at someone who cared, and limped away. Her appearance changed, no longer gory. Her loping drag of a walk became a normal stride, and she vanished in a cloud of flickering silver. Kirsten swallowed the lump in her throat, and whirled with the scowl of a displeased commissioned officer at the two enlisted men.

  She would not let them make more of a mockery of that woman’s life.

  lickering color painted the walls, changing the mood in time with the images of an emerald-scaled dragon flying just at the top of a pine forest. The man on its back, clad in white robes, hurled lightning from his outstretched hands at an army of glow-eyed, bat-winged creatures darkening the sky behind him. One landed in the saddle behind the rider, screeching, and sank a mouthful of yellow fangs into his shoulder. The dragon, reacting to his companion’s grunt, went into a wicked roll that launched the unwanted passenger into the top of a passing tree.

  Kirsten had not paid much attention to the video, or the increasing darkness in the hour since they got home. Evan sat on her lap, tolerating the hug she clamped on him when the movie started. She clung, feeling his breathing and the vibration of his voice through his bones as he cheered the great wizard Monwyn’s victory over the forces of darkness. His hair brushed her cheek as he shouted, with both arms in the air. The giant white T-shirt she threw on felt like a warm blanket compared to the uniform. She stared at her toes, at the size difference of their feet, and squeezed him tighter.

  He squirmed and gave her a confused look. “This isn’t a sad part. You shouldn’t be crying. Princess Alsbeth hasn’t been kidnapped and threatened with doom if she doesn’t betray Prince Thiandren to open the gate of Kol’Namarr and let the Realm of Darkness invade the world. That’s the sad part.” The last few words squeaked out of empty lungs.

  Kirsten laughed, releasing one arm to wipe her cheeks. “Yeah, I forgot.”

  A shift in the music drew his attention. The high-tempo battle theme of the air chase gave way to the eerie ambiance of a landing in the Forest of Penumbras, the lair of the great demonic general of the Unwoken Army. Despite having seen Monwyn the Wise two dozen times, as well as its prequel, the forest scene still scared him.

  From the safety of a thin blanket, Evan watched the shadow goblin fail to assassinate the great wizard. Kirsten grinned as he trembled with worry until Gring’nur the Shadow Slayer died to a well-placed light spell. Evan threw both hands up again and cried out in joy. She attacked the spot where his pajama top pulled out of his waistband, tickling him into a fit of laughter.

  “Pause.” he yelled, through peals of giggling.

  The holovid player obeyed. A moment later, he lay still, sideways across her lap. He panted and gave her a look of mock annoyance for interrupting the movie. He shifted to sit back on his heels, facing her, trying to catch his breath.

  “You had a sad day at work?”

  She fussed at his hair. “Yeah.”

  “Thought so. You get squeezy.” Evan settled back into her lap to continue the movie, but spun around with a worried face before he let all of his weight down.

  “Do I have to go back to the dorm?”

  She melted. “No, they didn’t say that. I just met a dead woman no one cared about.”

  “Oh. I bet you helped her.” His mood lifted.

  “I hope so.” Kirsten put an arm over his chest again as he got comfortable.

  “You did. You’re like Monwyn… but more, uhh, girly.”

  Kirsten laughed.

  He stared at the frozen image of the white-robed wizard’s face, harsh in the shadows of a daybolt flying from his hand, for the span of a few breaths. “Are you too nuts to keep me?”

  She hugged a groan out of him. “I don’t think so, hon. I’m okay now, it was just bad dreams. You helped me get rid of them.”

  “You had a bad mom, too. Do they think you’d be a bad mom coz yours was mean?” He pulled his knees to his chin. “I want to stay here.”

  Kirsten patted him on the belly. “Yeah, that’s what they’re afraid of. They’re just trying to protect you. I’m sure it will work out. A few more weeks and the caseworker will see we’re okay.”

  His hair tickled her neck as he craned his head back to look at her. A huge smile crept over his upside-down face before he sat up and thrust his finger into the air.

  “Resume play!”

  The daybolt flew into a crowd of shadow-goblins, dispersing half a dozen at once. Monwyn chanted, the bassy, magic-amplified voice shaking the apartment as he prepared a grand spell.

  Doorbell.

  “Pause.” His fist smushed into his cheek as he leaned forward, grumbling.

  She extricated herself from the seat and jogged to the door, hand on her gut to tamp down the butterflies. The caseworker wasn’t supposed to be here for two more days. Is this one of those surprises?

  A swipe of her hand at the silver panel created a low-res image of the hallway, a man in a grey coverall waited, holding a large slab of semi-transparent plastic with what looked like a mirror in it.

  “Little late for a work job? It’s almost nine.” She let off the talk-through button.

  The man leaned closer. “Yeah, I know, I’m doing it off the books. Kyle’s a cheap bastard.”

  Guess the uniform worked. Kirsten opened the door, backing away as he came in, maneuvering the mirror with care. Once inside, he rotated it upright. His surface thoughts checked out, he’d only come here to install the bathroom mirror.

  And he thinks I’m cute. Debating if he should ask me out, doesn’t seem like he wants a one-nighter. Oh, shit, the movie behind me, he can see my shape right through this shirt.

  Red faced, she took two steps left.

  “Hey,” he said, offering a handshake. “I’m Julio.”

  The embarrassment faded, she returned his smile and handshake. “Kirsten.”

  “Bathroom’s over here?” Julio pointed with the mirror as he walked past the bed to the inner door. “Yep, thought so. All these one-room places have the same layout.”

  She leaned on the doorframe, watching him remove the pitiful shard from the wall and hang the new mirror. Julio’s glance kept drifting away from his work to her bare legs, and he made idle c
hat about music and other things, winding up sounding more awkward than sexy. Kirsten found it strange to cause a guy to trip over himself, and stifled a giggle when a near-drop of the mirror almost caused him to fall. He recovered, turned to smile at her, and lost a little color.

  Crap, what did I do? I didn’t even tell him I’m psionic yet.

  “I made popcorn; I won’t start the movie till you’re done,” said Evan, from behind.

  The sound of munching wandered away into the distance. Julio seemed to remember that hanging a mirror only takes about thirty seconds when the hooks are already installed. He excused himself and went for the door as if the room had fleas. She smirked, and then used the mirror to make sure she still looked her age.

  The outer door squeaked closed. Beep, locked.

  For a moment, she fumed at the idea Julio could think Evan was her son and not her kid brother; she would have been thirteen when he was born. When her brain settled on the idea, really wrapped around his assumption Evan was hers, she smiled.

  “Hell with you, Julio; your loss.” She flicked off the bathroom light.

  “That popcorn still hot?”

  onsciousness snuck up and pounced on her. Kirsten sighed, stretched, and rolled her head to the right. The holo-bar on the nightstand projected the clock when it sensed her looking at it―5:50 a.m. Fatigue was gone, but an indefinable feeling of unease settled in. Feet swished back and forth beneath the sheets while fingers picked at the material of her shirt. She wanted to enjoy the feeling of a proper, functioning comforgel pad that did not force her to sleep in skivvies to avoid a sweat bath, but all she could do was worry.

  She rolled to the side and noticed Evan’s empty sleeping bag. She shot upright, about to panic, but exhaled at the sound of a running autoshower. The light leaking out from under the bathroom door flickered, as though someone stepped past it.

  Alarmed again, she slipped out of bed and grabbed her service weapon. Evan quoted the great Monwyn, his voice echoing in the tube as he chanted the Invocation of Arcane Dominion. She would have smiled if not for her fear of an intruder in the apartment. She crept to the door, brushing it aside with her left hand, aiming the laser with the other. Bright light within caused an involuntary squint.