Division Zero: Thrall (17 page)

alt stung Kirsten’s eyes as she stumbled through the too-bright corridor toward the locker room. The dark blue t-shirt and sweat pants clung to her, soaked through. She had felt worse than this once before, but it had taken leaping from the eleventh story of a building several seconds prior to a massive explosion to get to such a level of misery. This was just a virtual ass-kicking.

She kicked off her sneakers, peeled away her sticky garments, and poured herself into an autoshower tube. Gabriel said the pain was only in her mind and it would go away soon. She wished soon would hurry up and get there.

“Hey,” shouted Nicole, her voice muted by two tubes―the one she was in as well. “How’s the hand-to-hand training going?”

Kirsten looked left; Nicole had hopped into the adjacent shower. Kirsten felt a twinge of embarrassment come on, but kept it in check.
Hey. Kicking my ass. I don’t feel like shouting.

Okay,
chirped Nicole in her mind.
What happened? It’s only ten and you look like you’re ready to pass out.

The cascade of hot water jets coaxed her brain out of simulated reality; pain washed away with her sweat.
Started working on sword styles today with Gabriel. I got stabbed six times and lost my right arm twice―virtually.

Ouch.
Nicole wiped a bit of fog away to maintain eye contact. Running the thing super-hot flooded it with mist.
I just spent the
past hour doing boring jogging. Maybe I’ll let Gabriel stab me tomorrow.

Kirsten laughed.
He’s married.

Now who’s the minx?
Nicole winked.
I could use a brush up on hand to hand techniques.
She examined her fingernails.
Telekinesis makes me lazy sometimes.

After the dry cycle wound down, Kirsten got back into uniform and flopped on the bench, staring at her boots as if attempting to work the quick-cinch closures with her mind. They obligingly fastened themselves. An event that shocked her until she realized Nicole was sitting next to her.

“Geez, you look drained.” Nicole put a hand on her forehead. “Oh, wow, you showered with your bracelet on?”

Kirsten covered the gold snake with a protective hand. “I don’t wanna lose it. Konstantin gave it to me.”

“You’ve practically got little heart-shaped bubbles popping over your head. Wow, you got it bad. You guys get it on yet?” Nicole stuck her legs out. Her boots rose into the air, oriented themselves and slid on her feet. A second later, the fasteners all closed at once.

“Does that ever get boring?”

“No. So when do you think you’ll do the deed? You know, he’s so rich and handsome, he’s probably hung like a mouse.”

Kirsten blushed and squirmed. “I dunno. Maybe when―” Her NetMini rang. She gave Nicole an apologetic look and pulled it out.

“Saved by the bell,” said Nicole, winking, and got up. “Gotta do a ride-along today with Div 1. Psionics are behaving themselves for the time being, so it’s like this tactical exchange thing―oh wow, you wouldn’t believe this chicken place we found.” Nicole fumbled with her NetMini. “Bad part of town, but they raise their own real chickens. Live animals! Can you believe that?”

Kirsten held up a hand. “Hello?”

“Division 1 knows all these little places with the best food.” Nicole kept going.

The face of a middle-aged Hispanic man faded into view in hologram. Kirsten tilted her head at the trace of familiarity in his eyes. She might have recognized him without all the bruises.

“Agent Wren? I’m sorry to call you like this, I know it must be breaking some rule somewhere, but I need to talk to you.”

He’s a little old, I guess you like that though.

Kirsten swatted at Nicole’s shoulder, shooing her away with a grin.
Perv.
“Have we met?”

“I’m Father Carlos Villera, remember the Five Hundredth Street Sanctuary? The ninja?”

“Oh.” What little color there was in Kirsten’s face faded. “Yeah. What―”

Nicole draped herself over Kirsten’s shoulders. “A priest and a ninja, I gotta hear this.”

Will you behave yourself?
“Did something happen? You look hurt.”

“Some miscreants attacked me a short distance from the building. They did not seem interested in robbing me. They had a strange energy about them, a darkness similar to the little mess you made here.”

She cringed. “Sorry.” Her armband display showed a clean calendar day for the first time in weeks. “I got nothing on my schedule, I’ll stop by as soon as I can get there.”

Nicole stood up. “Wait, you’re going to church?”

“No.” Kirsten scowled. “I’m going to
a
church to talk to a man about a mugging. I’m not going
to
church.”

“Even after all the, like demons and…
Ooo
”―Nicole clung to Kirsten, hiding, staring over her shoulder― “that guy is huge.”

That time, Kirsten looked before her brain caught up. Nicole was talking about the muscle mass of a Division 5 officer. Easily seven feet tall, tattoos intended to make him appear to be a cyborg covered his entire back and arms. Kirsten blushed at her misinterpretation of Nicole’s outburst.

“I gotta go. I suggest you leave this room before you ruin your relationship with Eddie. You really are incorrigible.”

Oh, I’m just looking.
Nicole winked.
No harm in looking, right?

Careful, Nikki… Some guy complains, you could get sent to mandatory sensitivity training for harassing him.

The big guy glanced in their direction long enough to notice a pair of women in Division 0 uniforms looking at him. All the color ran out of his face and he scooted to the end of the row and used an open locker door to hide his body from them, rushing to cover up.

Nicole found it amusing. Kirsten teased at her bracelet, no longer caring what random people thought of her being psionic.

She had Konstantin.

Dirt and trash whirled about in several miniature cyclones as the patrol craft settled into the parking lot of the Five Hundredth Street Sanctuary. The usual crowd of homeless that often blocked off the front was nowhere in sight. Dorian blurred through the door, appearing just outside the car and spinning in a slow survey of the area.

“Police were here within the hour.”

“I didn’t know ghosts could use clairvoyance.” Kirsten climbed out and shoved her door downward, closing it with both hands. “How do you know that?”

“We can’t.” He gestured across the street. “Notice how empty it is here? The only people in sight are those two tourists from East City who seem to be lost, and that PubTran employee fumbling for his NetMini by the apartment down the block. It takes about an hour and a half for societal equilibrium to return after police leave.”

“You make it sound like I’m tainting the environment.” She stared at the approximate spot where a demonic ninja almost killed her.

Dorian squeezed her shoulder; the solid contact snapped her out of the worry-trance. “We might slow down the process of recovery, but it takes at least three patrol craft to cause the scatter effect in this part of town.”

She took a heavy breath, trying to forget the memory of an icy sword in her leg. “You’re touching my shoulder.”

“I’m getting a lot of practice lately, hauling you out of the way of bullets.”

“Ha. Ha.” Chuckling, she went to the door of the church and hesitated. “Am I supposed to knock here or just walk in?”

Dorian didn’t stop, phasing through the wall.

Kirsten found the door open and walked in. “Hello? Father Villera?”

The front room of the Five Hundredth Street Sanctuary looked much as she remembered it, minus the patrol craft embedded through the window and the debris. The wall had been patched. From the outside, it looked no different. Inside, the newness of the section was obvious. The scent of food wafted through the air, the smell of something with an abundance of garlic that had lingered on a hot plate for too long. Rows of chairs still surrounded a small hand-made pulpit; a forgotten grease-stained blue cap was draped half-off the cushion of one.

“In here,” said a voice with a mild Spanish accent. “First room on the left.”

Father Villera sat on the edge of a Comforgel pad in a room just large enough to hold it plus a tiny desk. He looked as though he had fallen down a flight of stairs and landed on his face. Kirsten gasped, approaching in two quick steps and offering him a stimpak.

“What happened to you? Here, use this.”

He took the four-inch red, plastic cylinder from her, squeezing it in gratitude. Wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled at her, muttering, “Not only the face of an angel, the heart as well.”

Kirsten went crimson.

He chuckled. “I guess you speak Spanish.”

“Enough to get by. I can’t keep up with a pair of angry wives or two guys cheering at Gee-ball.”

“Frictionless,” he said. “People from my homeland watch Frictionless matches. Gee-ball is a coalition abomination.”

She found the inflated contempt in the voice of a so-called priest amusing.

Dorian snickered. When Kirsten gave him a quizzical glance, he waved her off. “You’re too young to understand, and it wouldn’t be at all funny to you after a belabored explanation.”

“Try me?”

“I’m sorry?” Father Villera looked up.

“Oh, I was talking to Dorian.” Kirsten gestured at him. “Sorry, it’s probably rude to talk to a ghost with a person around.”

He gave her the look people always did when they heard the word ghost. His other eyebrow went up, presumably as he remembered Mariko’s violent demise in the center of his church. The bushy grey eyebrows settled down and he nodded. “Go on.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “Well, Gee-ball is played in a large three-dimensional area about a hundred yards long and twenty-five yards tall. All the players wear grav suits and try to carry a metal ball through a ten-yard square goal suspended at the center point of each of the long ends. It’s pretty violent and dangerous for the players. Frictionless, on the other hand, involves a ground-skimming orb that players are only allowed to kick. They’re stuck on the floor, though their special boots can send the thing flying fast enough to break the leg of an unwary player. Sometimes they bank shots off the side across the entire field. In Frictionless, the goals are wider, and on the ground.”

“You haven’t told me anything I don’t already know,” she said, frowning.

“Europeans look down on Gee-ball. They always have, even the ancient sport it replaced. They used to make fun of the name ‘football’, since kicking the ball was a remarkably rare part of the game.”

She scowled. “Well that’s five minutes of my life I won’t get back.”

“I warned you,” said Dorian. “Don’t be mad at me. I told you it wouldn’t be worth it.”

The hiss of a stimpak spun her around in time to watch Fr. Villera’s facial bruising lessen. “Sorry, Father. Why do you think I can help you more than the patrol officers?”

“You’ll see in a moment.” He sat back, hands on his knees. In seconds, all the bruises returned. Despite his best effort to remain stoic, he cringed.

Her hand went to the small of her back, the spot where she had been scratched. “Abyssals?”

“They looked like ordinary street thugs, except for their eyes. All black.”

Kirsten shot a pointed look at Dorian. “Just like that body.”

“Only these were still up and about,” said Dorian. “Perhaps poor Mr. Arris was dead a lot longer than we initially thought? Maybe something was just borrowing his skin.”

She faced the priest again, putting a hand on his shoulder and closing her eyes. It took a few seconds, but she found it. Paranormal energy swirled around him. The sense of it was far weaker than the scratch, and she purged it with barely enough exertion to alter her sedate expression. She offered a second stimpak; the bruises stayed gone this time.

“I am not sure what you did, but I thank you, child.” He held her hand. “I am concerned that these creatures, for I do not think they were men, will return. I wanted to ask you for your help. The regular police dismissed it as a common mugging.”

“I don’t think they will set foot in this place,” she said, looking around until the presence of a wooden crucifix on the wall made her examine the floor, unable to bear the sight of it.