Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis (4 page)

Windless, she fogged the visor of her helmet.

“Dead once,” he taunted.

She rolled upright and backed off, favoring the arm. The urge to knock a few of his teeth out grew strong, but they were so perfect. His face entranced her again.

The cute ones are always so shallow. Plus, he
is
trying to kill me.

Adrenaline welled up as he came in with a series of rapid jabs. She blocked each in turn, backpedaling to make him advance. The gleam of a knife at his belt took her eyes off his perfect teeth.

The kick caught her blind, in the ribs. She staggered, spraying spittle onto her visor.

“You get angry too easy. Don’t fixate on the weapon; watch my entire body. Watch my eyes. You can’t read where your opponent goes if you fixate. If you give in to rage, you lose your edge.”

I am…

He faked another stab; this time, she blocked the kick. The knife came around the other way, but she got a forearm across his wrist. Her body jerked from the impact of the block, but she kept her grip and torqued him around by it. Stumbling after his trapped limb, he lost the knife and fell to one knee.

“Not bad, but a little more twist on the hand would have incapacitated me.”

Letting his weight take him down, he pulled her into a stumble and kicked her legs out. They rolled away from each other and both stood at the same time. He shook his almost-sprained wrist out as she tried to cradle her left breast through the armor; remembering the wraith claws. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the stunrod a few feet away and went for it.

He leapt at her, distracting her from the weapon. No longer enamored by his looks, she ducked and spun under his arm, wrapping herself around it and flipping him over with a hip thrust. When he hit the ground on his back, she curled her legs around the limb, heel over his throat. If she did it right, she could break his neck.

She chickened out.

The man howled through her attempt at a pain submission hold. She twisted a little harder and he stopped fighting.

Stalemate.

“You’re getting better,” he croaked. “About time to call it for today, I think.”

Tingles spread through her body, riding the forefront of a wave of numbness. Paralysis settled in and she went limp on the concrete. Brightness intensified, washing out the details of the ceiling until all that remained of it was flat white light and grey blobs.

“Simulation: End,” chimed a pleasant, omnidirectional female voice.

The oppressive glow condensed into strong fluorescent bulbs; the concrete softened into a padded chair. Sweat trickled past her ears and cold metal spanned her forehead. Wires jerked her back into the seat by her head when she tried to sit up too fast. Wonderful cool air lifted the sweat out of her thin white bodysuit.

“Ow.” She grasped the senshelmet and pulled it off. “Why am I so damn sore?”

“It’s your brain. Takes it a few minutes to figure out it was all fake.”

The same man, with much shorter hair, came around the side of a console full of blinking lights, gang clothing replaced with a plain, blue-grey Division 2 jumpsuit. Kirsten’s eyes went right to where the lowered zipper exposed some of his chest, just left of the name “Silva” on a tag. She whispered it in her mind, unable to suppress the wry grin at the realization he had embellished his physique in VR.

“You’re improving.” He helped her out of the chair. “Starting to feel more like a sparring match now instead of just me stealing your lunch money.”

She let herself fall into him, taking in the scent of his exertion. Despite the fight happening within a dedicated cyberspace segment, the training had worked them both to the point of needing a shower.

“Thanks for staying late; I really appreciate it.”

He grinned, leaning back far enough to grab a towel from a nearby tray. “Your captain was concerned enough to make the request after the incident with the mercenaries.”

Arms folded over her ribs, she shivered at the memory of clinging to an ad-bot. “I’m not sure this would have helped; that bastard had vibro claws.”

“It’s not much different from a knife, to be honest; the major point being you can’t disarm them.”

Kirsten took hold of his wrist, spinning in a slow-motion jiu-jitsu maneuver so her back was up against him. “So what’s the best way to defend against them?”

“Shoot him before he gets close.”

She poked a teasing elbow into his ribs.

“Oof.” He wobbled with her, a playful attempt to “claw” her with his hand. As she controlled it, he grabbed her belly with his left and tickled.

Peals of laughter came out of her as she leapt away, doubled over.

“Most mercs who install claws do both hands. The best you can do is stay away from them or use a weapon with better reach.”

“Like a sword?” She caught her breath.

“Yeah, that could work, but most police don’t carry them.”

The chair creaked as she leaned into it. “Some of ours do. They’re easier to use on astrals. Bullets don’t have much effect, not a lot of surface area to bind them. How much reach do you get with a sword?” She blushed before he caught the innuendo.

“K, he’s married.” Dorian the Dream-Killer appeared through the wall.

Picking at her ear with her middle finger, she sighed at her teacher.

Gabriel Silva, martial arts instructor for Division 1 training academy. Of
course,
you’re married. You’re too damn perfect.

“You okay? Looks as if you just got some bad news.” He patted her on the shoulder.

His ring had been obvious the whole time.

“Nothing I’m not used to. I guess I’m just tired.”

“Okay. I’ll see you on Thursday, right? You’re taking to the jiu-jitsu pretty well so far; we can see how you handle some Wushu sword forms next week if you want.”

“Sounds awesome,” she muttered, trudging for the door to the showers.

Dorian winced. “Sorry, I know how you are about getting things out of the way sooner rather than later.”

She slammed the locker open. “He knows I’m psionic.”

“You’ll find someone.”

Kirsten let her arm dangle on the tiny door. “I hope you’re feeling better. I haven’t seen you for two days… Was starting to worry.”

He grinned, holding his arms out. “Like new. Just took a long nap.” The smile fell flat. “Thanks for… umm.”

“I don’t think they’d listen to me about that. Did you ever consider that you’re not on their list after all?” She slipped out of the rubbery, blue training room shoes and put them in the locker.

Dorian gave her his usual big-brother smile. “I find it more comforting to think they listened to you.”

Kirsten pinched the nanomesh clasp at the top of the neck, looking over her shoulder at him as she peeled it open from throat to hip. “Gonna watch me shower, too?”

He held his hands up, shook his head, and wandered off through the wall.

Damn.
She let the wet garment hit the ground and stepped out of it.
Lonely
and
a bitch today.

rimaldi’s was the kind of place most people went to in order to make a good impression on whomever they took with them. Armando, or whatever his real name was, suggested the place after a brief chat in a virtual nightclub.

He doesn’t look like an Armando.

Kirsten was not sure what to feel more foolish about: resorting to cyberspace dating, or spending six thousand credits on a shimmering emerald gown that left her shoulders and most of her back bare, and stopped just short of the middle of her thigh. When he turned away, she slipped a hand under it and cradled her chest.

Damn, two days and my boob still hurts. I hate wraiths.

She fidgeted at the hem the whole time she sat; it was longer on the left, with some purposeless strip of cloth trailing to the floor. A few strands of hair that escaped the clip tickled at the nape of her neck, every so often making her grab for a nonexistent insect. Awkwardness pervaded her being; she could not remember the last time she had worn a dress, much less one so short. Most of her effort went toward keeping tabs of how she positioned herself. Lean too far forward, the room got a show; too far back and she remembered how cold the chair was.

Armando seemed nice enough, but she had yet to come clean with him. Every time she thought about it, the silver finish of her high-heeled shoes became quite fascinating. She smiled and nodded at his attempts at conversation. At least he was not the type to drone on and on about his success, or money, or other such trite things. He did mention he worked in technology, some manner of investor or engineer; she had not been paying enough attention when it came up. He had gone over it out front while they waited for a table and she focused too much on feeling stared at.

“… and that’s when I told him we’d have to start over from scratch. The system infrastructure was too… are you all right? Is your foot bothering you?”

Her face grew warm, red. “I’m okay, I’m second-guessing this gown… It’s a bit, um…”

“It’s radiant, matches the woman wearing it. The green sets off your hair.”

More warmth came to her cheeks. “It’s a bit open, not my usual sort of thing…”

You’ll have to show a living man the goods sooner or later.
Theodore’s voice mocked her from memory.

“It is fine, Kirsten. You should see some of the trash in Paris these days. They might as well not even bother. Sometimes you wonder how it even stays on.” He sipped his wine, leaning back. “Of course, it’s cyclical. In two years, there won’t be a scrap of skin showing; floppy bags on their heads or some such nonsense.”

She laughed, though could not hide her nerves. A waiter arrived, setting a small bowl of shrimp cocktail in front of each of them, flecked with scallions and shaved cucumber. Kirsten fumbled to get a grip on her fork, again fascinated by the reflection on her shoes.

“You’ve the look of a guilty conscience. Don’t tell me you’re having doubts this early on?” His concern seemed genuine. “Was this an unfortunate choice of location?”

“It’s…” She sighed, losing a staring contest with her shoes.

“Are you sick? Dying?”

“No… it’s―”

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You prefer women?”

She giggled, looking up. “No.” Taking a bite of shrimp delayed her having to keep talking.

“Dangerous ex?” He followed suit, lifting an eyebrow. “Rather good food here. I hear they ship it in from a colony.”

“Pointlessly expensive.” She poked at the next shrimp. “It tastes the same as vat-grown.”

He chuckled. “It tastes a lot better if you have it fresh, loses something in shipping. Have you ever been to a colony settlement? It’s adventurous.”

“No.” Fascinating shoes. “I get enough adventure down here.”

“So what’s got you all mopey?”

She looked into his hazel eyes. “You don’t give me the feeling you’re just trying to get in my pants for a night.”

He coughed, gathering a napkin over his reddening face.

“No… I’m not saying…” She blushed. “That’s what I want. I’m looking for more than a one-nighter.” She lowered her volume when a few people nearby turned. “I want something real, but…”

Armando swallowed, taking a few sips of water to clear his throat. “What’s wrong? Can’t have kids? Leaving the country soon?”