Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis

by Matthew S. Cox

Searing light strengthened the shadows over his face and chest. Overextended, she lurched past him, and he spun into an elbow strike that caught her between the shoulders. Two ungainly steps later, she hugged a crumbling pylon. Before she could inhale again, two loud gunshots, and two heavy impacts struck her in the back.

  Each one walloped her in the brain; the purple stripes on the psi armor pulsated. Kirsten was unsure if he made physical projectiles or attacked with mental energy trying to trick her body into hurting itself. Either way, it felt like a battering ram. A spritz of saliva hit the inside of the visor as the second shot rid her lungs of what little air remained after the elbow.

  Her boots slipped out to the rear as she clung to the pole and slid flat to the ground, arms bent upward, empty hands curled by her shoulders. Icarus shook his head, the thick mass of his ropey hair swaying as he walked up to her limp body.

  Icarus sighted down his arm, pointing a massive handgun at her helmet. “I told you, lady, stay out of it.”

  Kirsten flipped over, sweeping the lash sideways through his shins. The strike pulled his feet out from under him. Continuing the momentum, she leapt up and brought the lash over her head again. He rolled out of the way, trying to crawl to the side, but caught her third swipe across the back.

  “You don’t belong here,” she screamed.

  Shani’s face flashed in her mind, loading the energy stream with enough force to blast Icarus into a projectile. The former commando slapped into the ground, knocking objects around for only the first few feet of his slide before becoming immaterial. A second after coming to a halt, Icarus sat up, firing at her as she stalked him.

  Kirsten leapt as soon as he moved; the shot clanked into a lamp somewhere behind her as she somersaulted behind a wall that reeked of piss. Vikram appeared at the gap thirty yards back, drawing a quick shot from Icarus. She took advantage of the distraction, flinging herself into a two-stride lunge at him. Icarus spun; his gun fell from his grip and vanished as he caught her about the wrists. His left arm extended, holding the lash away as they rolled over each other. She growled; he remained silent.

  She squirmed, trying to make the lash flick into him. Her arms went wherever his strength dictated, and an attempt to slam him in the groin reinforced the concept of hard concrete being a painful thing to drive a knee into. Icarus twisted over on top of her, pinning her arms to the ground on either side of her head. Helpless, with him on top of her, a new form of terror clawed at her heart at the implication of what their pose resembled. Without a free hand to go for a weapon, he met her gaze, peering through the amber visor into bright sapphire eyes.

  Four seconds of still silence, gazes locked.

  Whimpering futile struggles became growling convulsions. Fear became anger.

  I’m being stupid again.

  Rather than attempt an impossible contest of physical strength, she shoved with her gift. His semi-solid body shuddered; if not for the tactical suit, his fingers might have crushed the bones in her wrists. Her mind pushed so hard it hurt, and his weight on her hips lessened. Icarus had a lot of power for such a recent death; but he was also not a ghost.

  In a gradual turning of the tide, she got her fear under control and replaced it with focus. Icarus leaned away, losing a contest where she had a mild advantage. He continued to hold her arms, pulling her into a sitting position as she forced him away. Almost nose to nose, her confidence met his confusion.

  Vikram, wailing, sprinted in as best he could with a hand over a new bullet wound in his side. He leapt on Icarus’s back, dragging him away from Kirsten and sending them both gliding through the back end of destroyed old cars. She sagged forward, panting. Her head spun, the room shifted, and for a few seconds, she forgot where she was.

  The sound of a scuffle shocked her back to rights. Icarus had Vikram by a fistful of hair, pulling him into a backward arch and raising a knife with his other hand.

  “Icarus!”

  His head snapped at her just as the lash burrowed into his chest. Vikram slipped away, falling, scampering off in a crawl. She lit into Icarus with a second lash, causing a deafening quasi-spectral roar that blew out any remaining car windows within a hundred yards. Intense red light shone from his eye sockets and mouth; the energy vibrating in the air reminded her of when she obliterated the Wharf Stalker. Instinct and memory combined to make her leap behind a pylon, hoping it would spare her the loss of two days.

  Seconds passed.

  “What the hell are you doing? Finish him!” demanded Vikram, sounding every bit as hurt as he looked.

  Kirsten peeked out from behind cover, finding Icarus on his knees with a hand pressed into his stomach. At the sight of her, he raised a hand.

  “Wait.”

  Vikram pointed. “It’s a trick, kill him.”

  “I know who you are.” The red light faded, leaving his eyes brown again, now sad. “I had no right to strike you; it was not my place.” Icarus bent forward, arms limp in his lap.

  “He is stalling. Whip him.” Vikram gestured as if using a lash. “Do it!”

  Kirsten edged a step closer, glimmering tendril coiling about her legs at the ready. “What do you mean, you know who I am?”

  “I was sent where I belong.” His voice, silken and deep, reverberated through the abandoned place. “Call the ones who gather the hateful. Do so, I will not offer resistance.”

  “No. Don’t believe him. He’s trying to fool you.”

  She held a hand at Vikram. “You want me to call Harbingers? You think I can?”

  Icarus lifted his head in a slow, nonthreatening way. Meditative acceptance in his eyes seemed genuine. “I know you can. You are the one, you were right. I do not belong here.”

  “What one?” She wanted to trust his face, wanted to believe the sorrow in his stare. “I will call them, but tell me what you mean first.”

  Vikram howled, flinging himself on Icarus with the fury of an injured wombat. The two men grappled; the drain of being lashed left him open to Vikram’s furious clawing onslaught. Strips of red light peeked through jagged claw rents as Icarus’s armor split open.

  Obliteration cometh.

  She glared. “Vikram, stop.”

  The suggestion had no effect on a spirit. She brought the lash out, waving it.

  “Vikram, so help me, do not destroy him. He is repentant.”

  “He lies,” wailed the hacker. “If you will not do this, then I must.”

  Icarus clutched at Vikram’s shirt, trying to peel him off, but was too weak. He gurgled. Vikram leaned back, clawed hands in the air.

  The lash snapped through Vikram’s essence, sending a billowing blast of energy vapor from the point of contact. The stroke knocked him away, and she stomped after him.

  “What’s wrong with you? If the Harbingers take him, he won’t be a threat to you anymore. There’s no need to murder him.”

  Vikram moved in a sidelong circle, arm through his battered and smoking chest. Scuttling in the gait of a crab, he fixed her with a dark glower. “Just like you’re going for Rene, I want revenge.”

  He blurred into a smear of color, glowing yellow eyes and claws flashing at her. Kirsten cringed; bringing the lash up to defend―but felt no impact. When she turned, he was gone.

  So was Icarus.

  “Dammit.”

  The garage, aside from her, echoed empty.

  irsten sat on the rear bumper of the van. Bracing her sore knee, she watched slow drifting forms in the smog above change shape. Stillness settled over the desolation; even the wind decided to abandon this place. With every breath, her breast ached; tiny scratches on the armor the only evidence of a bullet’s touch. The words of Icarus drifted through her thoughts; she wanted―no needed―to know what he meant by her being the one.

  Damn, Vikram. What was he going to tell me before you chased him off like an idiot? Was he sincere, or was I being lured into another trap? Why am I so gullible?

  The scuff of a boot on the footpath made her head pop up out of h
er hands. She drew her legs into the van, hooking a finger through the peeling inner lining of the door to pull it closer.

  “Fuck you, Noz.” The voice of a woman came from the right. “Why’d you have to give me this shit? You know I don’t wanna do this shit no more.”

  Huddled against the door, she peered up through the absent glass as a woman with bright lime hair stumbled along. Huge compared to its wearer, a Sons of Charon jacket fit her like a whorishly short dress. A compact sub-gun dangled on a strap over the image of the robe-clad skeleton. Loose grey pants wobbled as if heavy, small objects filled the thigh pockets.

  Kirsten noted them. Ammo, maybe drugs, maybe grenades.

  “Noz. Fuckin’ Noz.” The woman swayed back and forth like a little girl singing a children’s song. “Give Leaf drugs, Frenchman’s gonna be pissed at you. Leaf wants to quit.”

  In the woman’s opening hand, a mass of black crumbles. Rainbows gleamed on the surface, giving it the appearance of coal glass fragments.

  Nightcandy. Kirsten cringed. Poor thing, that’s nasty shit. Hard to kick.

  I won’t tell the Frenchman if you won’t. Kirsten sent her thoughts into the woman’s head.

  Fist clamped closed over the drug. Arms to the sides, she went wide-eyed and looked at the sky. “God?” She cackled. “I always knew you were a girl, too!” The green-haired waif spun in a giggling circle, as if trying to will herself to fly.

  Kirsten let her forehead hit the door. What the hell is she doing here… never mind, I can guess what they use her for.

  The girl named Leaf stopped spinning, taking a step farther away and asked the clouds why they stopped talking to her. Kirsten slipped out from the van, stunrod in hand, and tiptoed up behind her. Chances were good even the silver cyborg from before could have snuck up on this one. Kirsten tapped her upon the head like a faerie with a magic wand. The stunrod flickered; Leaf fluttered to the ground.

  The rod back on her belt, she dragged the unconscious girl to the van and removed the weapon and jacket before cuffing her hands behind her. After tossing the Nightcandy into the junk pile, Kirsten removed her helmet and set it to the side. She pulled the doors closed, straddled the unconscious woman, and brushed neon green hair away from a grime-streaked face.

  “You poor thing.”

  Kirsten forced the young woman’s eyes open with her thumbs and dove into her mind. Rene had etched his thralldom onto her neural pathways. Unlike Nila and her daughter, the effect on Leaf was closer to the surface. Direct and immediate, it was similar to the suggestions Kirsten could use; only hers lasted for a few minutes while Rene’s were closer to permanent. It was a technique she did not know―and did not much want to learn.

  What he did to Leaf was more obvious, simpler, and easier to remove. Once satisfied the girl was no longer a loyal drone soldier of a rogue psionic, she decided to try a deep telepathic dive. The pathway to inner thoughts felt as if she slid naked through a plastic tube full of warm jelly. Kirsten shivered; she had never tried to go deeper into someone’s memory than surface thoughts before. Rumor claimed the task easier on an unconscious person, and she had time to kill waiting for Dorian, unanswered questions, and a test subject.

  Images drifted out of the blackness. Drugs of various kinds, a desperate want to be free of them, but a fate that kept her sliding back into their skeletal embrace. This girl was somewhat better off than Rush; she let the Sons take her under their decrepit wing for personal use rather than sell herself as private enterprise. Why are you in this sector? Her voice echoed whispers into the unconscious mind. Scenes rebounded as if the words had bounced away from a wall and come back as pictures.

  Perfect white teeth smiled from the well-groomed face of a man in an expensive suit.

  Black.

  The same man appeared on top of her, slapping and screaming.

  “Failure…” Whack. “…amount to anything…” Whack. “…good thing your mother’s dead.”

  “Daddy, no.” Leaf’s voice begged in the dark.

  The same man crushing down on top of her, then pain, amid fumes of alcohol.

  Black.

  The image of him asleep, face aglow in the dim orange light of a comforgel pad. A female silhouette appeared in a stretched rectangle of light spreading across the floor.

  Gunshots.

  Relief mixed with horror.

  Kirsten recoiled; warm tears streamed over her cheeks even though she did not want to cry. Hands grasped rotting carpet on either side of Leaf’s head as she sagged forward. Eyes closed, she drew labored breaths trying to get those images―those feelings―out of her mind.

  Lips met hers. Kirsten’s eyes snapped open, her startled yelp muffled by a tongue. Leaf was kissing her. Kirsten froze, paralyzed for an instant by the sheer startlement of it, as well as the repulsive flavor of whatever this girl last ate.

  “Gah!” Kirsten sat up, pushing the woman down by the shoulders and spat to the side. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Sorry, Leaf thought we were making out.”

  The ache of the stunrod waned, the sense of handcuffs entered her mind, and the sight of black police armor slapped her with terrifying reality. Kirsten barely got her hand over the girl’s mouth before she could scream.

  “Quiet.” Kirsten fought to hold her down for a full minute before she slouched with defeat. “Quiet,” she commanded.

  Leaf went limp.

  “Good.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “Listen to me, Leaf. I’m not here to hurt you, I’m not here to arrest you; I want the Frenchman. I’m going to get off of you now, can you stay calm?”

  Leaf nodded.

  Kirsten climbed away, taking a seat closer to the doors. Leaf struggled in an attempt to sit up until Kirsten grabbed her dingy excuse for a shirt and pulled her seated; after which, she shrank into a ball against the side of the van.

  Silence occupied the air for a moment. Kirsten rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Rene got into your head and forced you to serve him. I cleaned it out. I also saw what your father did to you.” Her arm fell away from her face, hanging limp over her knee. “…and what you did to him.”

  Leaf almost vomited.

  “I’d have shot him, too.” Liar, you’d have run away. Maybe they will understand. Even creatures like Harbingers could forgive her that one; they damn well better. “Honestly I don’t know how much Division 1 knows; I won’t say anything unless I get called in front of an inquest.” Kirsten summoned a weak smile. “Don’t worry, brain spelunking psionics aren’t admissible; you’re safe.”

  Leaf wheezed, her lips doing an impression of a fish as she tried to talk. Kirsten removed the compulsion to be quiet.

  “Are you God? You spoke to Leaf out of the sky.”

  No, I’m just psionic.

  She shivered as the voice entered her thoughts. “Oh.” Leaf sank, dejected.

  “What’s your real name? I’m Kirsten.”

  “Jennifer Ruiz, but people call Leaf, Leaf ̓cause of green hair.” The dangerously thin girl shook her head, making her lime-hued locks dance around.

  “Are you eighteen yet? Do you have any family left you can trust?”

  “Eighteen inna couple months. Grandma on my mom’s side, but she won’t want Leaf. Leaf can’t stay clean. Leaf steals and Leaf buys bad things.”

  Kirsten flashed a tiny portable light in her eyes, pulling them open one by one. “You said you’re not quite eighteen yet; that means you’re still a minor, and the government will pay for the detox.”

  “Yeah, and put Leaf’s ass in jail for killin’ the dad.”

  “There is a very good chance it will be considered justifiable considering your circumstances. Besides, that was two years ago; they will treat you as a minor. You don’t like where you are, you want off the shit, and you don’t want to die before twenty, do you?”

  Leaf stared at the floor.

  “Did you kill anyone when you were with the Sons?”

  She shrugged. “Leaf no remember. Got into so
me scrap-ups with the Zoners and the Diablos a couple of times. Leaf mighta shot some of them.” The girl bit her lower lip. “Leaf close eyes to shoot.”

  “Who’s Noz?”

  “One of the Sons. He’s got people inside Realtown, can get candy and other stuff. Leaf told him don’t want no more, but he just gave it.” She looked away at the ground, mewling. “Noz knows Leaf can’t stop. Leaf doesn’t like Noz.”

  Dorian’s taking too long.

  “Okay, Jen. I’m going to go deal with Frenchie. If you’re still here when I come back, I’ll take you with me back to… umm, Realtown and do as much as I can to make them go easy on you. I know I’m a cop and you don’t think I give a shit, but you don’t deserve this life. I’ve seen too many girls like you wind up as ghosts. I don’t want to see another one.”

  Kirsten took the purloined jacket and shrugged it on over her armor; shuddering at all the fleas and creepy-crawlies she imagined permeating it. Adding the sub-gun to her outfit, she slipped through the doors.

  “Hey.” Leaf scooted forward, tugging at the binders. “Leaf don’t want tied. If finded, Leaf is fucked, for realz.”

  With a hand on the door, Kirsten stared at the pathetic creature in the van, aghast at the damage the drugs did to her. She wanted to keep her there, secured, but knew the girl was right―in a literal sense. A few beeps later, the electronic restraints popped open and went back on Kirsten’s belt. Leaf reached for one of the jacket pockets; Kirsten caught her hands.

  “Look, I know this seems like a shitty choice between getting killed out here or possible jail time. If it were me, I’d take the nice clean cell and free food and be happy the bastard got what he deserved.”

  I could compel her to wait… I’d be no better than Rene.

  Kirsten backed out of the van, the last seconds of her pleading look blocked by the doors she tugged closed after snagging the helmet. Undoing the clip, she fluffed her hair into a curtain of wild blonde with both hands. Kirsten tucked the helmet behind her back, put one hand on the hanging submachine gun, and did her best mimic of Leaf’s strung out stagger.

  The men hanging out around the courtyard did not pay too much attention to her as she walked into view. She ducked into a narrow alley just left of the hotel before anyone noticed the gloss black armor on her legs.