Division Zero: Thrall (19 page)

Kirsten handed another bowl of food to a grungy middle-aged woman, and smiled at the priest. “Thank you, Father.”

orian returned a half-hour later. His gait was unhurried, his smile confident. Kirsten excused herself from behind the table and walked over to him. A few of the vagrant men checked her out as she passed, distracted from their free meal. The smell of the beef stew carried less shame than before, but still she wanted to avoid it. She met him just outside the door.

“I know that grin; you found something, didn’t you?”

“Yep.” He motioned to the east. “They went about two miles and a block or two south. There’s another street church there. According to the sign, run by a Reverend B.G. Wallis. All three of our friends went through a side entrance from an adjacent alley.”

Kirsten squinted in that direction. “They went
into
another church? So much for the holy ground theory.”

“Well, just because the word church is on the front door, doesn’t mean it is one.”

Whatever she had been about to say stalled in the back of her throat, turning into a sigh as she glanced from Dorian to Father Villera. “This is so confusing. No wonder it’s such a mess.” Staring over the crowd, it occurred to her that all of the people eating had been watching her the entire time. She skirted the table, past the end of the line. “I have a lead on the punks who roughed you up, Father. I’m going to go follow up on it before this uniform chases away more people in need of food.”

Villera muttered something, waving his hand at her. “
Vaya con Dios, mi hermana
.”

Kirsten smiled. “
Gracias, Padre
.”

Dorian’s grin irritated her to the point of blurting halfway to the car. “What?”

“ I’m just not used to seeing you being so pleasant to a religious person.”

She poked at her forearm guard. The patrol craft’s door was open by the time she reached it. “Didn’t you spend the better part of the last six months trying to convince me it wasn’t the belief, it was the person?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be amused.”

The frown in her reflection mocked her from the polished black roof. Dorian sank into the passenger seat through the closed door, leaving her to grumble at the smog overhead. The noise of exasperation stalled to a curious squeak. Two blocks down, another newsbot had a familiar face on it―the man from Konstantin’s reception a few days ago.

She fell into the car and patched into the news feed. Kimberly Brightman was in mid interview, discussing the recent acquisition of EnMesh Bionetics by Kukla Investment Corporation. Scrolling text along a red stripe at the bottom of the screen identified the man as Yevgeniy Suvorin, Majordomo of Kukla. The image came up a few seconds before it cut to Kimberly in the studio; lemon-blonde hair aglow from off-camera lights.

“With me here in the studio is Dante Howell, West City Financial correspondent.”

The image shifted to a dark-skinned man in his later thirties. His iridescent grey suit gave him the look of a shark that sprouted a human head.

“The recent acquisition of cybernetics giant EnMesh by Kukla Investments has turned many heads in the financial world today. As one of the United Coalition Front’s leading producers of so-called ‘fusion’ components intended to bridge the gap between biological and mechanical, the transaction has many concerned. Graeme McCullough, CEO of EnMesh, who has been notoriously cagey about corporate mergers, did not have any comment for the press. As you may know, Mr. McCullough has refused no less than fourteen separate buyout offers. Most of these came from other, larger, biomedical firms seeking to incorporate a cybernetic division. Many analysts, myself included, find it bizarre he should agree to sell controlling interest to what is primarily a real estate holding company.”

Kirsten swiped at the screen, muting the volume. What little she had heard already had her wanting a pillow. She looked at Dorian and frowned.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you had stock in EnMesh? Since when did you care about financial news?”

“That woman they found dead this morning worked for EnMesh, didn’t she?”

“I think you’re right.” He rubbed his chin. “Still, corporate issues aren’t your neck of the woods. I’m quite sure the CCTF has it under control. Look, they’re talking about it now. The merger is stuck pending regulatory approval.” He grinned at the face she made. “Lip reading.”

She glared.

“Okay, fine.” He pointed at the scrolling comment text she had failed to notice. “Corp Crimes is auditing it.”

Her head hit the seat hard enough to knock her hair clip out. “Ugh, what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I getting so wound up?”

“That man on the news appears to be an associate of Konstantin. Perhaps you are worried some legal troubles may come his way?”

A giant Monarch butterfly got into a boxing match with a moth somewhere in her stomach. “Konstantin wouldn’t do that!” she snapped, glaring.

Dorian blinked, too stunned by her reproachful tone to say anything.

Guilt flashed over her, chasing away the spike of irrational anger that had come on out of nowhere. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I yelled at you. It’s like I’m fourteen again and defending whatever that singer’s name was. Konstantin can’t be involved with anything illegal.”

“Can’t? Or you’re terrified he might be?” Dorian waited a moment. “And by the way, that boy couldn’t sing without his electronics.”

“He wasn’t bad.” Kirsten pouted at the console.

Dorian hummed. “Yes, he had so much talent he vanished when he wasn’t a teenager anymore.”

She fidgeted with the gold snake bracelet, spinning it around her wrist. “I…” The moth tried to escape the Monarch. Kirsten covered her mouth with a hand, trying to will away the nausea. “Konstantin is a sweet man who has too much money and wastes some of it on me. Whenever I’m with him…”

“You feel like you’ll make one wrong move and wake up.” Dorian eyed the glittering ruby eyes in the bit of jewelry. “Seems as though you’re quite attached to at least some of the credits he spent on you.”

“I think about his smile whenever I see it.” She stared off at the endless train of ad-bots passing overhead.

Dorian shifted, unable to find a way to sit that satisfied him. “Shall we check out that other church then?”

“Yeah.”

Two miles later, Kirsten landed in front of a decaying building that looked as though it had once been a small factory. White paint flaked in large slabs from the plastisteel panel wall, worse around small barred windows done over with multicolored dyes in an attempt to recreate the image of stained glass. A holographic sign above the door displayed a golden cross surrounded by shimmering wisps of cartoony fire next to the words “Faith Pentecostal Baptist Ministries – Hon. Rev. B.G. Wallis. Come find the Holy Spirit!”

Aside from the colorful windows and the sign, the building seemed like the sort of place a person would not want to walk into alone at night. A group of young men propped up against the wall gave her the eye as she crossed the sidewalk and went up the stairs to the front door. To the right, three loading dock rolling gates appeared to be welded shut.

“I get the feeling no one comes here for a free meal―unless they’ve got an appetite for bullshit.”

“Now there’s the Kirsten I know and love,” said Dorian, following her through the door.

The inside held a strong scent of damp carpet with a hint of mold. Brown Epoxil panels, with simulated wood grain finish, cozied up an area full of old-fashioned pews. Free-standing partitions flanked a small altar, folding murals of stained glass depicted blotches of random pastel colors around more crosses.

“Feel anything?”

“Nope.” Dorian shook his head. “You?”

“Nothing.”

A low wooden creak worthy of a cheap horror vid emanated from a hallway beyond the area that resembled a stage dressing of a church. Kirsten moved along the back row of pews, entering a gap in the wood panels which led to a corridor dripping with leaky pipes and buckets positioned to catch water. Two large men in suits, both muscular and dark as the night, came to a halt when they spotted her. A few yards behind them, the yellow rectangle of an open door glowed with light from an office.

“Can I help you?” asked the one closer.

Nothing feels paranormal about him.
“I’m looking for a couple of punks that mugged an old man. They were seen fleeing into this building.”

“Maybe we should’ve tried the side door?” offered Dorian.

“There is no one here but Julius and myself, and the Reverend Wallis. Our services are on Sunday only.”

“So what are you doing here on a Thursday? Does the Reverend live here?”

Neither of the men seemed to find her tone amusing. “I’m afraid we must ask you to respect the sanctity of these grounds.”

Kirsten squinted. “Your Reverend Wallis has advert bots cruising around the Five Hundredth Street Sanctuary trying to poach Father Villera’s faithful. Then, a couple of guys decide to beat the hell out of the guy and come running back here. I don’t know about you two gentlemen, but I find that a bit suspicious.”

The other man slid to the side of his companion, their bulk blocking the hallway from wall to wall. He glared hard, as if weighing the odds of getting away with manhandling her out the door, or worse. “You badmouthin’ the Rev, we gonna have words.”

Julius raised a hand. “Easy, Daryl. Look, officer. My cousin here’s quite protective of Reverend Wallis’s reputation. Casting aspersions as to the integrity of his character has put him in a bad way.”

“Not as bad a way as he’ll be in if he doesn’t get out of
my
way. You two do realize I have the authority to pursue a suspect anywhere outside of military jurisdictional zones. If your reverend is so benevolent, and he has nothing to do with ordering the attack on Father Villera, then I shouldn’t find anything to ruin his reputation.”

For a moment, the dripping water was thunderous.

Daryl’s nostrils flared as he fought to contain rage. Kirsten squinted at him.

“Come on, Daryl. You want to twist my head off? Take a step. See what happens.”

“Surface thoughts?” asked Dorian.

“Yep,” she muttered, hand on the E-90. “What are you hiding, Daryl? Do you know those three?”