Division Zero: Thrall (20 page)

“Whoa, shit.” Julius put a hand on Daryl’s chest. “Please forgive my associate, he has anger management issues.”

Kirsten glared for a moment. “Very good, Julius. You’re right, I am Division 0. Most people don’t recognize the uniform. Now, please, before your ‘associate’ winds up sucking his thumb in the corner, get out of my way.”

“Is there a problem out here?” asked a velvety voice from a doorway behind the two men.

A skeletal-thin figure, just as dark, emerged from the open door, clad in a violet suit and black-and-white shoes that looked as if he had stolen them from a gravslide lane―the special ones they make people wear not to ruin the smooth, Epoxil-board floors. Not much in stature, he stood only an inch taller than Kirsten, which became apparent as he slid between the two behemoths and stopped with an extended hand.

“I am Reverend B. G. Wallis, what can I help you with, officer?”

She permitted a half-hearted handshake, mesmerized by the sheen of light on top of his smooth, bald scalp. A trace of a salt-and-pepper gaotee ringed his mouth. Ridge lines defined the absence of long-worn eyeglasses just behind his ears. Wrinkles broke the glass-like sheen of his forehead as he lifted both eyebrows with an expression of concern.

Kirsten shot a challenging glance at Daryl, before shifting it to Wallis. “I was wondering how stiff the competition is between you and Father Villera’s sanctuary. A couple of punks attacked him earlier today and ran back here after I confronted them.”

“I see.” He leaned back, left arm across his chest holding his right elbow while he rubbed one finger over his lips. “Your first assumption is that members of Faith Pentecostal participated in an act of violence?”

Kirsten made it a point to stare at Daryl. “Oh, violence was the
last
thing I’d ever suspect from a religious person. These two looked about ready to throw me through a window.”

“Please forgive them their doubts. I’m sure you hear this quite often, but police usually wear armor, blue armor, and don’t show up alone. My associates mistook your intentions.” He closed his eyes, gesturing at her with open palms. “You say these individuals are hiding in my church. Perhaps, even if they did come here, they are hiding not from you but from some malevolent force which compelled them to violence against a fellow man of God.”

“If they wanted a church to hide in, they were right outside one. Why run all the way here?”

Reverend Wallis overacted a look of being insulted. “Oh, my. Are you insinuating my church is any less holy than Father Villera’s? You know I tire of those who think our faith is any less genuine because we spice it up with energetic hymns.” His voice took on the cadence of a preacher as he paced about the narrow hallway. “How a man communes with his Lord is a matter between him and the divine.” He gestured at the ceiling. “Who sits in a place of judgment that can say where one dwells within a place of sanctity and another, by virtue of his difference of opinion, does not?” He leaned toward her. “Tell me, officer, do you have faith? Are you redeemed?”

Her porcelain features flashed rouge. “I’ve seen the silver doors souls take to get to the afterlife. There’s no fat man in a white robe waiting with a checklist. I don’t claim to know what happens on the other side, but I do think that this”―she waved her arm at the fancy room behind her― “is all meant to save people from having too many credits.”

“A lost soul.” Reverend Wallis sucked in a long breath as he brought his hands together over his heart. “Clearly you have been tainted by the society in which we live, a society that rejects God for trappings of the material world. I would enjoy the opportunity to speak to you about Him, though you have to be ready to listen. I’m sure you know what it’s like to be persecuted. People with your”―he pursed his lips, searching for words― “special talents are often the victim of hatred based on superstition and misleading information. As such, I’m fairly certain Division 0 would not react well to the public perception they foment discrimination based on religious observance.”

“Yeah,” said Julius. “This one ain’t got no respect for the works of the Lord. She’s just here to give us a hard time.”

“This guy’s good.” Dorian pointed at Wallis. “He’s going to keep you talking while the three idiots run out the back door. I’ll try and catch them.”

Dorian sprinted off, turning himself just solid enough to knock Daryl into the wall as he went through him.

“What the…” Wallis gawked at Daryl, as the big man floundered and crashed to the ground in a mass of mop handles and upended buckets.

Julius leapt away from a splash of dirty collected drip-water. Wallis grabbed on to the bodyguard’s arm and chanted prayers in a loud wail.

“Cast aside the evil one, trust your salvation to Him!”

Kirsten grumbled.
Oh, give me a damn break. This guy’s faker than Trinity Barber’s tits.
She left behind the screaming reverend, sensing no abnormal energy in the air and having nothing solid enough to risk getting into a PR war with someone who has had a lot of practice smiling at holo-cams.

“Not a damn thing.”

Dorian’s voice woke Kirsten from a fitful nap. The driver’s seat reacted to her change of posture as she sat up and wiped her eyes.

“What?”

“I couldn’t find a damn thing. No trace of them in the building or outside of it. They either took off before we got there, or they never existed. Snooped around a little inside, the good reverend was busy assuring his boys you wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Damn. Yeah, he pretty much threatened to cause a massive PR scandal for us if I didn’t back off. I wish I had enough to go on to call his bluff. What the heck am I gonna tell Father Villera?” She pulled out her NetMini. “Guess I’ll advise him to stay in the church and call me if anything strange happens.”

irsten could not recall the last time she had blushed as hard or as often as she did after walking through the door of Decadenz. Attending the overpriced nightclub was Konstantin’s idea; apparently, he and the owner were friends in the ‘old country.’ With the exception of the security staff, few of the waiters or waitresses wore much, if any, clothing. The ones who did wore clothes made either of leather, steel, or some combination of both―and the garments did not always cover the sensitive spots. She kept her gaze nailed to the floor, allowing Konstantin to guide her through the crowd. Snippets of conversation floated over the techno-warble of music leaking in from the ceiling, giving her the impression any of the staff would be available for a price.

The dress he had given her, via delivery bot an hour before picking her up, amounted to a long strip of black silk wound serpentine around her body. Myofiber strands, the synthetic muscles of cyborgs and dolls, permeated it and let it cling where it needed to cling. She could not help the feeling it would fall off at any second. Given the atmosphere she refused to look at, she wondered if Konstantin had planned for it to come off in a hurry.

That thought did little to bring a natural color back to her face; in fact, she was as red as a fire suppression bot by the time she stumbled over the first step of a spiral staircase. Konstantin steadied her with both hands, unable to contain his laughter at her expression. She opened her mouth to apologize for falling into him, but ducked away with a gasp as a waiter passed by wearing only a leather hood.

Konstantin leaned close, kissing her cheek before whispering. “The upstairs is more refined.”

With one silk-gloved hand clinging to a narrow metal railing, she navigated the tight passage to the second floor. At the end of a short corridor, a pair of stark white nudes, one man and one woman, waited on either side of heavy blood-red curtains. At their approach, the figures reached over and opened them. Kirsten risked enough of a look to register a lack of surface thoughts.

Dolls.
She exhaled.
That’s a little less awkward.

Inside, the room had a feel more akin to that of a restaurant than a sex club. Red carpet with a pattern of black diamonds covered a space with two dozen tables either round or square, spread at even intervals through the room. Six more nudes sat on pedestals, two on each wall, done up as statues from Greek antiquity. Three men struck athletic poses, while three women held large water jugs on their shoulders. Like the ones in the hall, none had any surface thoughts.

Guess they couldn’t find real people that perfect looking.

Konstantin went to a table on the left side, joining another couple already there. The woman, perhaps in her later twenties, sat absorbed in the contents of her NetMini’s screen. Pale, with long ebon hair, her gradient lipstick darkened from apple-red along the edge to deep crimson where her lips met. The floor-length blue gown was slit open the entire length, held on by a series of decorative silver chains every six inches.

Her companion, much like Konstantin, wore a conventional suit in a dark shade of slate over a plain black shirt and no tie―in contrast to Konstantin’s red ascot. His look of displeasure at his woman’s ignorance of him in favor of a small electronic device broke apart to a glance of hungry appraisal at the sight of Kirsten.

Kirsten studied the latest addition to her collection of high-heeled shoes, a shiny black pair held to her ankles by hand-tied silk ribbons. She found it utterly ridiculous they cost even more than the automatic pair capable of slithering around her legs on their own. However, the feeling of them tightening on had passed her threshold of creepy; a tentacle winding around her leg―no matter what it was made from―was too much.

“Is this the girl you’ve told us so much about, Konnie?”

Kirsten looked up at the familiar tone in the woman’s voice. Her awkwardness at wearing a revealing garment in a place like this evaporated, replaced with jealousy. When she realized she stared across a small table at Trinity Barber, holovid star, her friend the Monarch returned. Kirsten held her stomach, forcing a stupid smile.

“Oh, heavens, Konnie… She looks like she’s just come off a shuttle from some hayseed colony.” The woman fanned herself, making a haughty high-society laugh Kirsten loathed. “I don’t think she’s going to be interested in joining us. Is she even old enough to drink?”