Division Zero: Thrall (18 page)

Dorian backed into the hallway and glanced toward the front. “They don’t have to walk inside to shoot through the windows.”

“If they were trying to kill him, they would have shot him already.” Kirsten studied the priest. “Why do you think they attacked you?”

“I was hoping you would be able to explain that. I could tell there was something dark about them, something beyond ordinary. I invoked the Lord upon them and they recoiled.”

Kirsten suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

“Something troubles you, child?”

Not suppressed enough.

“Umm.” She shot a guilty look at the door. “I don’t mean to offend you personally; I don’t have much love for religion. My mother wasn’t happy having a psionic child and thought I was something from the Devil. She was abusive.”

Father Villera blessed himself, and again took her hand. “Perhaps you can find peace in talking about it?”

Kirsten stared at him.
Why am I even considering saying anything to this guy? Religion only exists to control how people think, to keep them complacent.
She sighed, slouching. “She would lock me in the closet to have quiet time and wait for Jesus to come save me. She’d invoke the Bible at me as though she were trying to cast spells or some such bullshit. Ghosts talk among themselves. Word spread that I could see and hear them, and they came looking for help.” Kirsten sat on the Comforgel pad, half an arm’s length away from him. “I was happy to at first, I was so lonely in there. Mother thought I was talking to ‘my dark master’ and started burning me with the stove. When I ignored the ghosts because I didn’t want to get punished, they got mad and threw things around the house at all hours.”

“And your mother blamed you for it.” He squeezed her shoulder.

Something caught Dorian’s attention and he drifted out of sight.

“Burning escalated to beating. She broke my arm a couple times, leg twice, more ribs than I can count. Of course, she hid it all from my dad. All in the name of some invisible man in a toga who doesn’t even exist.”

Father Villera chuckled. “Kirsten, mankind has always sought ways to explain things science has proven inadequate for. Humans have an elemental need to feel there is something greater than all of us, something that’s ‘got our back’ so to speak.”

“How many people have died in the name of religion over the years? Heretics, witches, infidels? So many people claim to follow a ‘loving’ God, but they’re so willing to hate and kill anyone who doesn’t believe the same fairy tale. All the peace and love stuff goes out the window the minute someone questions their invisible man.”

Father Villera smiled with the face of a grandfather she never knew. Right away, she felt guilty for losing herself in her rant, as if she’d been trying to poke him with a stick to see how much he could take.

“I’m sorry.” She looked down, voice soft. “I grew up with one extreme, and I’ve seen things beyond this world that I can’t explain either. There’s a silver doorway, there are voices of long-dead loved ones. I guess it
could
be some kind of Heaven out there. I still don’t think there’s a singular ‘god’ entity, just positive and negative forces―like cold and hot. I…”
Saw an angel… or Seraphim as it called itself. Yeah, sure, he’ll think I’m freakin’ nuts. Oh, screw it.
“I saw something the other day.”

“Oh?” He seemed content to let her vent.

“After my son crashed through your church, remember what I told you about Harbingers?”

He nodded.

“Well, there
is
something else, beings opposite to them… I get the feeling they are fewer in number and perhaps stronger. Maybe there are different kinds of Harbingers too, though. I’ve seen big ones and little ones. The other ones called themselves Seraphim. I don’t know what they are. I met one after I had my ass kicked back and forth for ten minutes. I could’ve been delirious.”

“You would not be the first person to claim a visitation from such a being. It has happened numerous times in the course of human history.”

“Yeah, and they get called nuts, put away, or burned at the stake. The people who use religion as a political tool can’t bear to hear things that break their grip.”

Father Villera chuckled. “Perhaps it is a good thing so much of society these days is blind to it. The church has little sway in the life of the average citizen anymore. I am content to do what I can for those who need help. It does not matter to me what they do or do not believe. I know what I believe, and for me that is enough.”

She stared at him. For the first time she could remember, she looked at a religious person without a trace of contempt or the urge to get as far away from them as fast as she could. Mother used God as a sword. Father Villera used him, her, or it, as a stimpak. Kirsten studied the soft orange glow in the gel pad, muted by the sheets.

“You have a good heart, child. You did not deserve what was done to you. I ask only that you keep an open mind. Do not become that for which you harbor such contempt.”

The strange urge came out of nowhere. Kirsten wanted to tell him about what she did, about why she fled the Beneath. For some unknown reason, she needed him to tell her it was not her fault.

“Father…”

“Yes?”

“They’re back.” Dorian appeared in the doorway, pointing. “Three of them.”

Kirsten stood. “Umm, never mind. My partner just said those thugs are back.”

Father Villera paled.

“I’m going to have a word with them.” She adjusted her utility belt.

“I have a better idea,” said Dorian, following her to the front.

Through the dim light in the main room of the strip mall store-turned-church, the shadows of three figures moved in a patch of light. Just past noon, the sunlight filtering through the haze above the city created a shadow puppet show upon the ground. Black sweatshirts, hoods up, and matte-black Nylcron pants fastened by a trio of silver buttons by each pocket lent them an ominous air. The sight reminded her of modernized Shadewizards from the Monwyn vids―only they lacked skull-tipped staves.

“What’s your idea?” she asked.

“Those three don’t look like the type who could mastermind anything more complicated than the self-cooking mechanism of a Nippy-Nom burrito, and even that may be asking too much.”

She grinned. “I don’t think I can mind-read abyssals.”

“Exactly why I was going to suggest you scare them off, and I’ll follow them. Maybe I can find their boss, or at least overhear something.”

“Won’t abyssals see you?” She paused at the end of the hallway, just before it expanded into the front.

“If anything, these morons are just possessed. I walked circles around them a minute ago and they didn’t react.”

“Sounds like a good idea. If it doesn’t work, I’m sure they’ll come right back here.”

Kirsten strode through the church area, shoving the double doors open with an authoritative heave. “You three,” she barked, drawing the E90. “Hands out of your pockets. You’re wanted for questioning in the matter of an assault.”

Hissing chuckles leaked from them. The one to the far left lifted his head enough for her to see pale grey skin and black eyes.

“Okay, we can play that game too.” She put the gun away and called the lash, spinning it around before flinging it to the side in a showy gesture. “You obviously don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

The middle one leaned into a hiss, causing an icy tickle at her heart. Kirsten gathered her psionic energy in a defense, resulting in a backlash that flung the teen on his ass.
Wow, these guys are pretty damn weak.

“Was that supposed to do something?” She advanced, raising the lash. “Don’t worry, boys. If you’re still alive, this won’t hurt at all.”

They scattered, scrambling off to the left at a full run. Dorian set off after them, vanishing down a side street. With a faint whoosh, the tendril receded back into her hand. A brief gust of cool wind carried the scent of Mexican spices.
Damn, now I want one of those instant burritos.
Bright light pulled her gaze skyward as a billboard-sized hologram slid out of an alley. A newsbot as big as a two-seat car turned ninety degrees to its left, and glided down 500
^th
street. The panel contained a full-on view of a nude corpse; a three-second loop of the image before a blue-gloved crime scene worker grabbed the lens. NewsNet slowed it down, giving the public a lingering view of a tall, slender woman with short, blonde hair. An ad panel opened at the corner, claiming she “looked this good dead” because she used Lifespring™ beauty care products.

The revulsion of such public disregard for the deceased gave way to Kirsten’s notice that the body appeared to be in too-good health to be a streetwalker. The posture, arms at the sides, reminded her of Mr. Arris.

I wonder if her eyes are black too. Gah, how can they show that? Have a little respect.

Kimberly Brightman’s voice entered her awareness as the angle of the newsbot brought her within reach of its directional speakers. “…discovered earlier this morning has been identified as Miss Uma Donn.” The image shifted to a beige-paneled century tower behind a sculpture resembling a massive cybernetic component cradled in a number of incomplete circles. Kimberly stood in the shadow of the oversized neural interface unit in its nest of giant steel C’s, attempting to interview a stern-faced woman in tan security armor. No sound came from the brief clip, until the reporter’s face took over the holo-panel. “Tara Lawrence, chief of security for EnMesh Corporation, Miss Donn’s former employer, had no comment about the events. Some on the GlobeNet claim Miss Donn fell victim to corporate espionage.”

Kirsten sighed, finding herself unable to pull her gaze off the thirteen-foot holographic image of a dead woman flying through the air past the church. The ad now offered funerary services. The image changed to show Kimberly standing in an ancient-looking Victorian-era room, adjacent to a man apparently crafted from bronze. Several parts of his face had open spaces that provided a view of whirring gears and blinking lights inside him. The words ‘Live from Cyberspace’ scrolled along the bottom of the image.

“I’m here with Anachronis, one of the preeminent figures of the GlobeNet inner circle.”

“Thank you, Kimberly. Clearly, there is some conspiratorial angle to this event. I have information which leads me to believe Miss Donn was attempting to defect to a rival corporation. In all likelihood her”―his face took on a forced smile amid a fluttering of clicks and snaps― “transfer failed. EnMesh, or any corporation for that matter, does not often let its top-tier talent go too easily.”

“Anachronis, you are accusing a UCF-held corporation of assassinating one of its own employees? Surely, you don’t think such things happen here?”

The grating metal chuckle slithered down her spine. He sipped from a martini glass that appeared to contain oil, with a gear on a toothpick. “I assume by your question you also believe this illusion of difference in our gov―”

An advert for EnMesh Neural Interface Units took over the screen, promising six percent improvement in all cybernetic component response time. Kirsten went back inside the church, wondering about the second body found in similar circumstances. It nagged at her as odd, but with no clear evidence of a paranormal event, she had no standing to get involved.

Fr. Villera tended to a large food reassembler, connecting a fifty-gallon drum of OmniSoy to its pick up line. She jogged over to help him move it, laughing as the elf-thin girl and the old man did all they could do to jockey it into position. She felt weak until she realized she had done eighty percent of the work.
Maybe those sessions with Gabriel are paying off.

“They’ll be here soon. Would you mind helping out a bit until your”―he cast an uneasy glance at the front doors―“partner comes back?”

“I suppose, unless I get an urgent dispatch.”

Kirsten set up tables, putting buckets of plastic forks and knives out among piles of napkins, smiling at a few vagrants that filtered in. Taking a position behind the long table, she helped hand out bowls of reassembled food―beef stew. The fourth bowl had her unable to make eye contact with anyone.

When a lull in the line came, Fr. Villera leaned on the table. “What is bothering you? It is what you wanted to ask me earlier, no?”

“Is it bad to, umm”―Kirsten could not continue looking at his face, and repositioned the empty bowls waiting in front of her― “I had to eat. He had
real
food. I was so damn hungry.”

“Someone took advantage of you?”

“I lived in the Beneath after I ran away from home. I was so afraid of my mother finding me, I snuck topside at night to pick food from trash crushers.” Kirsten stared out over the crowd. “I didn’t know there were places like this. A boy, younger than I was at the time, said he got real food from begging and wanted me to go with him during the day. He never came back.”

Father Villera put a hand on her shoulder. “Chances are he got picked up by the police. Look at you now. What would you do if you found a little boy in dire need?”

Kirsten cried a little, thinking of Evan.
Of course. Why did I assume something
bad
happened to him?

“Only a weak man takes advantage of a desperate person. He should have taken charity on you and just fed you. What he did to you was reprehensible.”

“I should have said no. Who knows what I could have caught, or if he would have killed me, or…”

“You tread down a path which leads only to destruction and self-loathing. Life sometimes gives us choices with no good answers. There is no purpose in taking on blame for the evil of another.”

“But he said it was my choice. I said yes. I let him…” Kirsten stifled her emotions, forcing a smile as a poor couple approached, astounded to see a uniformed officer handing out food. She gave them a bowl each, waiting until they had wandered away to a table before continuing. “I’m more upset with myself than him. I never really thought it bothered me much; compared to my mother, he felt caring.”

“Think about it, girl,” said Father Villera. “You were starving, desperate. You picked through others’ trash hoping to find something to eat that wouldn’t poison you. Was there really a choice for you to say no? A decent man would have shared what he had willingly. I can understand why you did what you did. I do not think less of you for it.” He kept silent a moment as three more vagrants shuffled by, bowing with gratitude for their meals. “I’m sure
He
would forgive you.”