Harbinger

by Matthew S. Cox

  It felt so wonderful to have played a part in getting those people out of such an unimaginably awful situation, she nearly melted into a metaphorical puddle in the autoshower from relief. No dangerous abyssal ran around the city killing people; the man responsible for it was no longer a threat; and she could probably assure a ten-year-old boy that his brother’s killer had been brought to justice.

  Even if her elevated mood came from some kind of rebound effect of no longer having a strong source of constant paranormal dread nearby, she’d take it. After the first twelve years of her life, Fate owed her a little happy.

  “You okay, Mom?” asked Evan from the doorway.

  Kirsten froze, still in the tube. The boy has personal space issues. She’d finally more or less acclimated to commingled showers at the PAC, but having her son see her in the shower brought a full on blush. Of course, he’d grown accustomed to that horrible excuse of a birth mother going naked all the time—mostly because she’d sold off her clothes to buy drugs. Hopefully, when he gets a little older, he’ll grow out of this.

  “Yeah, fine. Why?”

  “You don’t usually shower that long.” He grinned. “Gonna go ’sem coffee, okay?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be right there.”

  He dashed off.

  Kirsten ran her hands through her hair to check dryness. Satisfied, she hopped out of the tube and scrambled into her clothes: leggings, skirt, fuzzy socks, and a plush top with a chibi Asara the Huntress graphic.

  Sam Chang arrived soon after breakfast. They went down from the 41st to the 39th floor to pick Shani up so her mother, Nila, could relax for a few hours. The kids laughed and chattered the whole way to the parking deck on the 50th floor, at the midpoint of the building.

  They spent the morning exploring a life science exhibit, roaming around an indoor forest filled with synthetic animals. According to the holographic tour guide, some places on Earth still had growth like this, and even a few living animals.

  After a stop for lunch, they headed to a Funzone. Though Evan did seem to enjoy the educational exhibit visits, he adored the interactive games. Augmented reality made for more physical activity while still having all the coolness of video games. Older gamers preferred plugging in to total virtual reality in the comfort of their homes, so places like this tended to have mostly the under-eighteen crowd who couldn’t legally have cybernetics installed. The predominance of kids kept the games reasonably tame… though the place did run some ads for adults-only events, mostly horror/scary stuff too intense for children.

  Despite hours of exploring ‘forest’ before noon and hours of playing AR games after, neither Evan nor Shani showed any sign of slowing down. Kirsten almost wanted to crawl back into bed by six that afternoon. They gathered the reluctant kids from a dizziness-inducing game where they navigated narrow neon-blue walkways ‘inside a computer.’ Each player had a ‘laser sword’ that they used to defend themselves from various ‘hostile programs’ trying to fly at them. What appeared to be a long fall into nothingness turned out to be simple paint on the floor, though the game would end if a player stepped off the narrow pathway.

  At 6:28 p.m., Kirsten and Sam dropped the kids off at Nila’s.

  She reached for the button to her floor so she could change to go out for dinner, but Sam caught her hand and directed her finger to the 50th floor button.

  “Huh?”

  “Dinner?”

  She smiled. “Yeah. I was going to put something nicer on.”

  “You look beautiful already.”

  Kirsten laughed and glanced down at the cartoon elf with an oversized head. “I’m dressed like a kid.”

  “Nah. You’re dressed like a Monwyn fan with a mild addiction to cute.”

  She leaned against him, deciding to see where things went. “Okay.”

  He held her hand on the walk to his personal vehicle, a silver Inazuma hovercar, made by Matsushita Corporation. It looked about half the size of a patrol craft, and didn’t have armor plating. Then again, civilian vehicles didn’t, at least not without some executive customization options. It had a sporty appearance, but one well within the price range of normal people.

  She found it cozy, and oddly barren. Without all the police equipment, the dashboard felt empty. He did, however, have a small model spaceship on a post in the middle of the console.

  Sam hopped in. “It’s really good to see you so happy.”

  “A lot of it is genuine. Some of it is from no longer having a Harbinger following me around.”

  He lifted off, surprising her unintentionally with the zippiness of the car. A patrol craft could hit much higher top speeds than most civilian vehicles, but all that armor had an effect on acceleration.

  Over the course of a brief ride, she told him about the shadowy friend following her around for about a week. To protect her mood, and not ruin the evening, she glazed over any details about the Diablos’ encampment, leaving it at ‘they got the bastard’ and the Harbinger went home.

  Sam followed a transition lane to ground level, a virtual ‘off ramp’ that connected the hover lane at the 50th story level to ground traffic. This car’s wheels made barely any noticeable sound when they extended. Kirsten asked him about his past few days—she’d spent so much time thinking (rather worrying) about active cases, she hadn’t spoken with him longer than a few minutes in a while.

  He regaled her with tales of epic boredom, mostly financial forensics stuff in computer systems.

  Eventually, he parked in a nice commercial district solidly in the realm of middle class. Samuel Chang would never randomly detour to buy her a Ͼ10,000 dress, but she considered that a bonus.

  They walked a few blocks under Halloween decorations, most of which made her laugh—though one hologram ghost did manage to startle a yelp out of her. Sam stopped in front of a Cyberburger pretending to be a real restaurant with a large dining area done up in black-and-silver trim.

  Kirsten broke into laughter and hugged him. “It’s perfect.”

  Despite its appearance as a nicer establishment, it remained a Cyberburger, thus it had no servers. After a brief wait in line, they reached the counter. She went for a Galaxy Chicken, spicy, while Sam got the Double Orbital combo.

  “Would you like to Ultra that?” asked a doll made to resemble a fifteen-ish girl with bright red hair and overeager smile.

  “Sure.” Sam leaned close to Kirsten. “I hear the Ultra is actually fairly good.”

  “What’s that mean?” asked Kirsten.

  The fake teen behind the counter smiled. “I can explain—”

  “No!” shouted about eleven customers at the same time.

  “Better machines, better OmniSoy, better food,” said Sam.

  Kirsten shrugged. “Sure.”

  Less than a minute later, their food came out on a small conveyor belt. Still grinning, the ersatz teen girl transferred it to a tray, which she handed to Sam. On the way to their table, Kirsten smiled at the overwhelmingly ordinary surroundings. This place felt right. No one trying to act more important than anyone, no requirement to wear overly expensive clothing, no condescension toward anyone not of the ‘proper social standing.’ No people pretending to clap for someone else’s accomplishment while seething with jealousy. No car-sized ice swans, no pretentiousness.

  No bullshit.

  Just her, Sam, and some basic food.

  The Ultra chicken sandwich did taste shockingly close to vat-grown. Supposedly, the higher grade OmniSoy coupled with newer technology in the machinery prevented it from degenerating back into flavorless beige slime if not eaten within twenty minutes. She didn’t have any plans to test that out. Wrangling two kids for most of the morning plus a lot of walking left her hungry.

  She told Sam about the weird dream she had, making him blush.

  “I think you’d look pretty good as a satyr.”

  “Do you?” He grinned. “You know I dabble a bit in sim coding. I might be able to tweak a VR routine.”

  S
he held a fry up. “How does that work, exactly? Doing things in VR. I heard somewhere they don’t have bodily functions in games because it makes accidents happen for real.”

  “Umm. It can get messy sometimes.”

  “I prefer my Sam in reality.” She glanced at the fry. “Ultra Sam even.”

  He laughed.

  “VR Sam couldn’t keep up.”

  A middle-aged, slightly chubby guy in a frumpy white polo shirt with an Imperial Hotel logo walked by carrying a tray. She glanced at him in passing. He sat at a table two spots away, arranged several cartons, a drink, and a container of fries with meticulous care, then opened a burger carton.

  “Back to the routine then huh?” asked Sam. “Cases cleared? Hopefully, you’ll get a break for a while.”

  She sighed. “Not yet. I still have one outstanding case. And it’s a bad one.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not sure I should right now. It could ruin the night.”

  “It’s already on your mind. I’m here to listen if you need.”

  She reached over and took his hand. “Maybe. It’s a real mess.”

  “I don’t know why I only get forty-five minutes for lunch. I’m the senior systems administrator,” muttered the guy in the polo shirt. “All the mid-level managers get a full hour. I’m laterally equivalent to that. So what if I don’t have any employees under me. And I’m working on Saturday. That should count for something. I don’t know why they ask me to work on Saturday. They never ask any of the other managers to work on Saturday. I really should send an email to HR and complain.”

  Sam and Kirsten glanced at the guy as he continued to mutter to himself.

  She looked away after a moment, shaking her head. “Anyway… I’m trying to track down the ghost of a man who, umm… Oh, hell. We’re both adults. He’s a hundred-year-old serial rapist, and he’s attacking women again.”

  “Oof.” Sam cringed. “That sounds bad.”

  “Yeah… I’m going in circles with no real way to find him.” She told him about her brief encounter with him by chance. “Only thing I have to go on is the place he died in. But they demolished it years ago, so it might not even be anything. Going to go to the area Monday and look around just in case, but I’m sure it’s going to be a waste of time.”

  Sam nodded.

  “Hey… do you think something like that is part of a person from the start, or does it take mental trauma to create a monster like that?”

  “I’m hardly a psychologist.” Sam took a bite of his burger, thinking while chewing. “It’s probably a combination of both. Someone would need to be born with some flaw in their brain that allowed them to not feel remorse, and then bad shit happened to them to twist them that way. If you’re worried about Evan, I don’t think you need to be.”

  “Yeah.” Kirsten sighed. “What he went through before I found him… it’s almost like he’s totally forgotten it.” Her happy mood returned and she smiled at him. “You’re a good influence on him.”

  Sam grinned. “We could always spend the night at your place and stay up late playing Monwyn?”

  “Tempting… but he’s having fun at Shani’s. Maybe tomorrow? Tonight’s for us… assuming that damn ghost doesn’t interrupt.” She stared down at her plate of crumbs. “Part of me doesn’t feel right having a good time with you while that guy is still out there.”

  “You’re doing everything you can. There’s no reason you should stop having a life because other people do bad things. It’s not like you know where the guy is and just haven’t bothered to go after him.”

  She squeezed his hand. It seemed doubtful she’d find herself in the mood to get romantic after what she saw at the Diablos’ camp. She could tell herself over and over again that what those monsters did to innocent people had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with cruelty and humiliation… and it wouldn’t purge those images from her mind.

  “You’re right. I think I just need some Sam time.”

  28

  Climbing Fish

  Sunday died as a sacrifice on the altar of Monwyn.

  Sam had spent the night while Evan slept over at Nila’s. Sufficient cuddling had eventually led her and Sam to the bedroom once her need to erase the Diablos’ camp from her mind grew strong enough. He’d been gentle and so loving she had to work not to break down crying afterward at being with someone who both cared for her and wanted her to be part of his life.

  And, all day Sunday with Evan and Sam there, she felt like someone playing a holo-sim of a normal family.

  The emotional high of the weekend helped her cope with the pain of a too-early alarm clock and the distasteful realization of still having to stop a spectral monster. Coffee in hand, she flopped into her chair. With any luck, she could accomplish something before Captain Eze summoned her to go back and forth over the raid.

  Another horror—tons of reports and digital paperwork—waited for her, but that, she’d gladly deal with if she could only stop Malden Walker. Of course, the motel where he died no longer existed, but maybe he’d taken up residence somewhere in that area. It didn’t offer much promise, but she could at least go there and look around.

  “The motel’s gone… but maybe he’s still haunting the physical area where he died.”

  Dorian’s chair creaked. “This guy is truly disconnected from any location, remains, or object. That makes him difficult to locate, but also means he should take a long time to recover from the beating you gave him. Even the car isn’t wonderful for that. Sometimes I do go for a nap in the old urn.”

  She rubbed her temples as a headache rolled over her brain. “Ugh. I think I spent too much time in a senshelmet yesterday.”

  “How long?”

  Kirsten drank a few mouthfuls of mocha latte and leaned back, eyes closed. “Probably around twelve hours with breaks for food and bathroom. The boy is unstoppable. I don’t regret it.”

  “You’re not an old lady yet. Don’t make yourself old before your time. Playing games for such long stretches takes getting used to. Though it’s easier with the neural interface jack. Some people stay in the GlobeNet for days at a time.”

  “What the heck do they do for food or other needs?”

  “They have gel tanks specifically designed for long net sessions. And people who can’t afford those literally sit on the toilet and plug in.”

  “Ugh. That’s taking it way too far.”

  Dorian laughed.

  “The Coffee Fairy is here!” yelled Nicole.

  The redhead floated into the room wearing a set of cheap pink costume fairy wings and carrying a plastiboard tray of cups. With a look of intense concentration, she levitated one coffee at a time from the tray to the desks of everyone in the room, then landed on her feet.

  “Whew.”

  “Nice.” Morelli clapped. “Working on your finesse?”

  “Yeah. Holding myself up and moving coffee around at the same time is hard.”

  Kirsten took another sip of her mocha. “I suppose today is going to be a two-coffee Monday.”

  A little more than an hour—and both lattes—later, Kirsten hadn’t found any useful information in the system. She’d hunted for records connected to anyone involved with the original inquest, starting with the Division 5 man who shot Malden a century ago. As far as had been documented, no unexplained paranormal events happened to him, the daughter, her kids or anyone else related to his various victims before his death.

  Kirsten’s terminal flashed. A window opened with the portrait of a man in an Admin uniform with dreadlocks. “Lieutenant Wren?”

  “Either you’re hallucinating me, or you’ve got her.” Kirsten smiled.

  The man appeared confused for a second. “Umm. Your presence is needed in interview room C2. There’s a young woman, Emma Mero, here with claims of being attacked by a spiritual entity.” A link popped up to a PID and citizen record.

  “Hmm. What happened to Cadet Peña?” asked Dorian.

 
“Crap.” Kirsten bowed her head. “On my way.” She got up and looked at him. “It’s not even ten in the morning yet. The girl’s eleven. She’s in school.”

  Dorian’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. Yeah. That kid acts so much like a small tactical officer I forgot she’s so young.”

  “This is going to be ‘the one’ for me, I have a feeling.” Kirsten hurried out of the room.

  Dorian caught up to her in the elevator. “The one?”

  “The case that drives me nuts, turns me into a police cliché.”

  “Every case that takes more than a week feels like that to every detective right up until they figure it out.”

  She smirked. “Except the one that finally breaks their last scrap of sanity.”

  “I’d argue that what the Diablos did to the people they kidnapped is worse.”

  “You can’t rate sex crimes by degree, Dorian. It doesn’t work like that. Awful is awful.”

  He held his hands up. “I’m not trying to. Just pointing out that none of Malden’s victims have gone permanently catatonic.”

  “That does not make me feel better.”

  He followed her out into the corridor when the elevator stopped. “Sorry. I suppose permanent catatonia could also be induced by watching too many hours of Senate hearings. Or what’s that kid’s show with the annoying talking baby?”

  She sighed. “I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, but I’m about to walk into a room with a woman who’s quite likely just been assaulted in the worst possible way by a spirt plus a living person. This isn’t the time for cheer.”

  “K…” He grasped her shoulder. “I’m hoping to give you a cushion of sanity so you can tolerate this case. You really shouldn’t doubt yourself as much as you do. Would you consider a fish to be a failure because it can’t climb the side of a building?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense?” She badged her way past a security door into the interview area.

  “Fish can’t climb buildings.”

  “No shit.” Kirsten stormed down the hall.