Division Zero: Thrall (33 page)

Her NetMini rang… again.

“Oh, for the love of―” Kirsten stared at the smog layer, fumbling in her pocket until she found it. “Wren. What is it this time?”

Father Villera blinked at the petulant greeting. “Is this a bad time, Kirsten?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Father. The stupid thing’s been ringing constantly all night.”

“Three times.” Dorian held up three fingers. “It’s gone off three times.”

She gave him a sidelong glare, grinning. “Did those thugs come back? Oh, I think I found out why they came after you.”

“No, they have not returned. Look, Kirsten, a little girl just came in here looking for food. She’s too young to be out on the street alone, but she told me something you need to know. It wasn’t a confession, so I can share it with you. From her description, it sounded like she witnessed a murder.”

“Shouldn’t you be calling Division One?” asked Kirsten.

“Certain details the girl mentioned made me think the killing had ritualistic overtones. I think she witnessed some manner of sacrifice.”

“Holy sh―crap. I’ll be right there.” She hung up. “Hollings, I need to run. I’ll swing by tomorrow and we can talk about whatever you want. If the lab finds anything new, please let me know. I only have a week.”

“A week? What happens in a week?”

Kirsten jammed the NetMini in her pocket, glaring at the body under the tarp. “Another murder.”

he black patrol craft settled in for a landing amid a cloud of vapor and fleeing debris. Seeing the front door of the Five Hundredth Street Sanctuary ripped from its hinges, Kirsten hit the emergency lights. The area flooded with azure camera flashes as she got out and readied her E-90. Even at this hour, she found the lack of people in need of a decent meal disturbing.

Kirsten ran to the door, aiming through the opening. The scent of ballistic propellant lingered in the air, mixed with something attempting to smell like chicken soup. Blood streaked the ground in the main room, amid overturned and smashed tables. One arcing smear led off into a rear hallway. She one-handed her weapon and used the pistol grip to hit the backup call button on her forearm guard.

Dorian gestured at the ground. “Kirsten.”

A bare footprint in blood, by size a child’s, pointed out the door. Partial prints continued along the ground, all but impossible to see at night after several meters on the black traction coating. A wheezing moan sent her lunging toward the back of the strip mall church. She shoved her way through the bank of chairs left in disarray, rounding a corner into the hallway that led to the kitchen.

Father Villera lay on his side at the end of the blood trail, where his strength to crawl had given out. His right leg and arm bled from superficial gunshots. At the sight of Kirsten, he stopped trying to move and rolled onto his back, limp.

“Thank you,” he said to the ceiling, before gazing at her. “It looks worse than it feels.”

“What happened? Is there anyone still here?”

“No,” he croaked, “The man who shot me ran out after that girl.”

Kirsten looked back and forth from him to the door. “Dammit.” She fumbled with stimpaks and fed him three, one after the other. “Who shot you?”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Color returned to his face as the injection of nanobots got to work repairing his body. He spent a moment catching his breath. “A man showed up a few minutes after I called you. He demanded to know where the child was. I told him she left, but I’m not a great liar.” His attempt to laugh caused him to wince. “The girl saved me. Go, I’ll be okay until the MedVan gets here. Find her before he does.”

“Are you sure?”

Father Villera squeezed her hand, nodding. “Yes, yes, I am sure. Go, the girl needs you. I can feel it.”

Kirsten jogged to the doorway and examined the bloody footprints. “Damn, I miss that visor already.”

“You could always transfer to tactical; you seem to wind up getting shot at more than they do.” Dorian walked through the wall to stand beside her.

“I don’t want to stack the odds.” Kirsten concentrated for a few seconds, causing her eyes to glow with the use of Darksight. The wavering vision of the astral world superimposed on reality. Faint traces of life energy caused the blood to glow phosphorescent. “Think about how often I get my ass kicked now in I-Ops when I’m not supposed to. I don’t even want to think about what would happen to me in Tac.”

Dorian laughed.

Kirsten stalked after the fading trail of small, bloody footprints. Past the corner, they went in a straight line. She held one hand to her earbud, verifying over comm. backup was en route to the church.

“There is one injured civilian on scene, GSW to right arm and right leg. Looked non-life-threatening, he appeared to respond to stimpaks. I’m in pursuit of one assailant.” She poked a key on her forearm guard to transmit her location.

“Hey, bitch!” rasped a voice from a recessed alcove to an old apartment building. “Nice ass, gimme a thousand credits if you wanna keep it lookin’ so nice.”

She whirled, aiming at a vagrant wielding a silvery plastisteel axe. At the sight of a glowing-eyed cop with a laser pistol, he babbled and took off at a full sprint, losing his grip on the weapon. Dorian wandered over and glanced down at the glinting edge.

“Fun, isn’t it? I think he pissed his pants.” He squatted. “Hmm, where’d he get a thing like that?”

“Is that a battle-axe?” Kirsten scrunched up her face. “Seriously? Is everyone into Monwyn?”

“It’s a military boarding-party axe. Marines still use them for ship-to-ship combat in space. It’s a lot harder to put a hole in the hull with one of these. Sudden implosive decompression makes everyone sad.”

“Get off me!”

The scream sounded like a tween girl. Kirsten’s boot crunched as she spun in that direction and sprinted. A dull metallic thud reverberated through the air. Heavy, as if something large had smashed into a trash crusher. A man’s voice screamed in pain.

“Little brat. I was gonna make it painless, now―”

The growl was cut off by a meaty smack, followed by the sound of a pipe clanging to the ground.

Kirsten went right, chasing the noise.

A girl’s enraged roar rang out. “You moron, I can see the flows of time. You think you can kill me?”

The angry growling morphed into a surprised shriek followed by the kind of screaming often reserved for the victim of a cheap slasher holovid. Kirsten hooked her arm around a light pole by a battered PubTran terminal to swing a tight left turn without falling over. A half-block ahead, a man in a long black coat held a twig of a girl in a bear hug from behind. She looked to be about eleven, with light brown hair, and had more dirt smeared on her than was on the alley surface. Her too-tight pink shirt bunched under his arms while legs wrapped in baggy green pants flailed. Her soles glinted red in the streetlamps―dried blood. Repeatedly, she smashed the back of her head into the man’s chest. Each hit echoed from the sheer metal walls, but had little effect on him.

“Police! Let go of the girl and don’t move a damn muscle.” Kirsten skidded to a halt, sighting over her E-90.

The man spun with an arrogant snarl. Kirsten’s still-glowing eyes startled him enough to weaken his grip and let the girl squirm loose. Rather than run, the enraged tween lunged at him. She grabbed on to his belt and dragged him off his feet, holding him over her head. As she hefted the large, armored man to the point of standing on tiptoe, she stared at Kirsten with glowing green eyes. Her pupils looked like dark holes next to the luminous whites.

Lace.

“Oh, shit,” said Dorian.

Rage gave way to terror at the sight of someone in a police uniform. The girl spun around and hurled the man into the side of a trash crusher. Judging by the dent, that was his second meeting with it.

Seeing her about to run, Kirsten raised a hand. “
Stop!
” Her eyes flickered with the psionic command.

The rail-thin girl stared, motionless save for a mild facial tic. She took a step back, whirled, and sprinted off, bare feet squeaking on plastisteel.

“What the…”

“Suggestion isn’t infallible, you should know that. Strong willpower can sometimes resist, and the kid is on Lace. There’s no brain in there right now to control.”

“God damned cops.” The man picked himself off the ground, wiping blood off his chin with the back of his arm.

“Hold it, asshole.” Kirsten aimed at him. “You’re―”

He went for a gun. Kirsten fired. The cobalt blue beam left a half-inch hole through his armor, his torso, and the trash box behind him. Flames licked at the inside of the wound, filling the air with the scent of burnt meat. A gurgling wheeze escaped him; the body fell to its knees, and went face-first to the alley, leaving an angry spirit in its place.

“Now, where were we,” she said, stalking at him. “You didn’t think you were going to get out of answering questions by committing suicide by cop, did you?”

He had not, at least judging by the look on his face, expected the current turn of events. The ghost fled, making it a point to avoid the corner of the building.

Dorian laughed and gave chase. “Find the kid, I’ll get this idiot. Never fails to amuse me when the newbies run
around
things.”

Kirsten nodded and fell sideways into a sprint. “Hey, kid, where are you?”
Yeah, right, she’s scared shitless of me, like she’s gonna say ‘over here, officer.’ Yep. I am a natural blonde.

She ran, trying to think in the manner of a terrified child. It wasn’t too much of a stretch. Three blocks down, a handful of older teens congregated around a nude (and quite retired) sex doll. Missing panels of faux-skin exposed the metal interior, including where the most important part of such a doll had once been. No one was using a square, wire-filled hole that big for anything other than storing a bottle of synvod. The doll’s mouth hung open, emitting tinny music.

“You guys see a little girl just run by?”

“Maybe,” yelled one kid. Lemon blond, he had a series of luminous red and blue NanoLED tattoos forming Native American warpaint on his face. The usual assortment of knives and cheap handguns accessorized his shredded-looking clothes. “A little tittie might refresh my memory, how ‘bout a flash?”

“How about you
tell me?
” Her eyes flickered. “Is that enough of a flash?”

The others went rigid and quiet. Pink cotton-candy hair moved as the one living girl among them leaned forward. She pushed one of the dolls nipples and shut off the music.

“Uhh, that way, turn left by the finger.” The punk pointed. “Why the fuck am I telling a cop this?”

“Because you’re a good civic-minded boy.” Kirsten winked, and went in the direction indicated.

After taking a corner by a seven-foot tall spray-painted middle finger, Kirsten ran for two more blocks before she staggered to a jog which slowed to a walk and an eventual stop after another dozen steps. She felt winded, but not to the point of gasping for air.
Come on, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you.

“Hey, kid? Are you still here? The priest said you saw something. I want to help you.”

Kirsten’s voice echoed into the darkness of several alleys and a number of abandoned buildings. She advanced, stooping to look under old cars or piles of debris. Dorian appeared at the end of an alley, looking pissed. She waited for him to catch up and gave him an expectant frown.