Division Zero: Lex De Mortuis (37 page)

“What the hell is this?” protested Rene. “How did you pull me into this dream?

“Got it.” He resumed throttling Rene.

Years of pent up angst released in the form of Rene’s face bouncing repeatedly off the rug.

Rene wailed, making feeble swats at Dorian. “This is not real.”

Kirsten peered over the edge with the gun cam, confirming the laser pistol dead before she stood up. “Any idea what happened to him?”

“Sniper, I think.” Dorian paused the beating long enough to glance back at the balcony.

“
Stop this at once!”
demanded Rene.

Kirsten squatted over him. “You can’t suggest anymore, shithead. You’re dead.”

“
Kill yourself. Go dive out the window.”

Dorian grumbled, digging his stunrod into Rene’s throat. “I miss being able to use a decent pain submission hold. Doesn’t work without joints.”

Rene scrabbled at the carpet. “I’m gonna wake up from this, bitch. When I do, that little bastard of yours is…” His voice trailed off as he noticed the fibers did not react to his clawing motions.

Kirsten frowned.

She beckoned.

They heard.

Dorian, leaning all his weight on Rene to hold him down, lifted his head, chilled by the emotionless “I win” look on her face. It softened as she read the worry in her partner’s eyes and set her E-90 back in its holster. The incessant clicking from the bed continued as the room dimmed and grew ominous.

“What the hell is this?” Rene shrieked.

The darkness built; whispers rose out of the corners.

Dorian leaned back, peeling the screaming Frenchman off the floor. “Maybe soften him up a bit for them?”

“No. He’s too new, and I’m too pissed off. He wouldn’t survive one hit.”

A solitary harbinger spiraled up through the floor; the plume of black energy thickened and took on a quasi-humanoid shape. Flickering silver eyes, unblinking, regarded Rene. Its head reached the ceiling, wisps of darkness scuttled about as it glided closer.

Dorian shivered, and then wrestled his killer up to his feet. Defiance absent, Rene’s form blurred indistinct from abject terror as he gawked at the creature.

“They go easier on you downstairs if you accept it.” Kirsten bowed in deference to the Harbinger. “I’m kind of hoping you don’t.”

All too willing to distance himself, Dorian released his grip and took a step back. Rene turned and ran for the door, skidding to a halt as a second, smaller Harbinger appeared. He ran past the big one to the balcony, almost falling over his attempt to stop as three more came through the window. Another four emerged from the right side wall, phasing through the oblivious gore-spattered woman.

Surrounded, Rene whirled, darting about in search of escape. With nowhere to go, he turned manic and charged one. The swarm engulfed him; shadowy claws tore through ethereal flesh as the mass gathered around him and dragged the wailing soul through the floor. Kirsten turned her back on the sight, shivering and closing her eyes until the phantasmal whispering ceased and the mood returned to normal.

The woman on the bed tracked Kirsten as she walked over, finger still clicking even when the barrel touched Kirsten’s armor.

“
Stop shooting me.
”

The arm fell into her lap. Kirsten sat on the edge of the ancient queen-sized bed; the kind of thing people slept on before comforgel took over the world. A few minutes of eye contact later, Kirsten broke the mental link and sagged forward.

“Clear, left. Elements two, five, breach.” The same woman’s voice, muted and distant, came from the hallway.

Weary, Kirsten lifted her head just as two men came through the outer door. Head to toe in black with individual opaque lenses over each eye, they swept compact rifles through the room. Infrared laser sights glinted through dust. Otherwise invisible, her helmet electronics picked them up. One aimed at her; she raised her hands.

With a nod, the man lowered the gun and moved to check the bathroom. He returned, letting the rifle fall loose on an automatic harness, which pulled it against his back. “Confirm clear. Suspect neutralized. One friendly, one civilian.”

The same voice again, closer. “Elements one, four, pull it in.”

A high-pitched whine, unspooling cable, came from the balcony. Two more men in similar suits landed without a noise and walked in, followed a second later by a tall white-haired woman entering through the front door. The armored visor covering most of her face whirred and lifted. It was like the patrol craft windshield, a slab of metal with pass-through optics.

“Carter?” Kirsten’s memory found a match for the voice. “Senior Operative Carter?” She blinked, stood up, and saluted. “Ma’am.”

So used to dealing with tactical and Division 1, it took her a few seconds to remember she was outranked. S.O. Carter returned the salute almost casually on her way past Kirsten to appraise the body. A rifle as thick through as a woman’s forearm perched snug and vertical against the right side of the equipment on Carter’s back. Lines and grooves in the housing hinted it could extend from its current length of three feet to perhaps six.

One of the men appraised the spatter on the walls, and the mostly headless body. “Think Hardin will take this as your sniper qualification? 1784 yards with an MSP-18? Those modulars are a bitch for anything past 1200.”

“Yeah, gimme a dedicated longball gun any day; can always carry a sub for close-in work.” Another man kicked the body. “Can’t tell if you hit the nostril or not, ain’t enough left. Bet’s off.”

Carter laughed, a sort of haughty high-society noise that rankled Kirsten’s dislike of the arrogant. “You still owe me lunch. I have scope video, and it was 1792
meters.
”

“Where the hell did you find a shooting platform?”

“Airlift cable off Whisper 12…” Carter stepped over the body, in line with the window and pointed with a karate chop gesture. “That way.”

The largest man shook his head toward the ground. “Horseshit. You made this shot hanging off a goddamn cable from a whisper?”

“Got the video.”

All four men looked at each other.

Kirsten leaned to Dorian and whispered at a mouse’s breath. “Division 9 must be nice. I can’t imagine officers taking backtalk like that from enlisted.”

“They’re all officers, K. Plus they’re covert ops. Wetwork stuff; it’s soul-crushing work, so they blow off steam in various ways.”

“Not as nice as it looks.” S.O. Carter swung around, and stepped over Rene for the second time. Her expression could have been amusement or annoyance depending on how the light hit her lips. “I do owe you a bit of thanks for leading us to him.”

Rene’s former lover whimpered, trying to grab the sheet without moving fast enough to attract attention.

Carter yanked the sheets from the bed, giving them a flip to check for hidden weapons. Satisfied, she threw it over the trembling figure. “Get dressed.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you guys were really trying to find him. It happened so long ago.”

“It’s tricky to pin down someone with his talent set. Usually we leave this sort of thing to you guys, but I’ve never seen a Zero with the testicular fortitude to set foot in a place like this.”

“Umm. I’ll accept young and foolish.” Kirsten stood as the woman tugged at a shirt she sat on. “It was you on Eze’s terminal, wasn’t it? You told him to let me do it.”

“I can see why you made I-Ops so young.” She winked.

Dorian turned away, stifling the urge to laugh.

“So that’s it then? You shot him in the head.” Kirsten sagged.

“It’s the only way we have to deal with someone with his particular talent set. Psionic or not, from 2000 yards away, a sniper rifle wins every time. He killed a cop; he would have been executed anyway. Just saving tax credits. And I know you’re squeamish about it, so I saved you the hassle.” S.O. Carter winked, turned, and traced a whirlybird gesture with her right index finger. “Okay people, wrap it up.”

In the time Kirsten had been speaking to Carter, two of the men had black-bagged Rene’s remains. They hauled him to the balcony and attached the sack to lines that pulled it up and out of sight.

“The front’s clear. You should have a safe trip out if you move soon.” Carter went for the door in the same mesmerizing graceful ballet she called a walk; every tiny motion calculated and perfect.

Dorian leaned, making no subtle act of staring at her tight-fitting ballistic stealth armor. “For once, I almost regret being dead.”

“You hound,” Kirsten muttered, and then waved at the shivering woman. “Come on. We are leaving. I have a feeling you’ll want to keep your eyes closed when we go out the door, probably going to be a courtyard full of bodies.”

“We stacked them nice and neat,” said one of the men, offering a butler’s bow.

With a rusty squeal, the van’s doors came apart. The pile of trash stacked against the front seats fluttered in the wind. Kirsten sighed.

“Poor kid. I hope she knows what she’s doing.”

“Leaf’s not a kid.” The trash moved. Bright neon green hair emerged from between two slabs of waterlogged cardboard. “Leaf is seventeen, and just hiding.”

Kirsten beamed, leaning in to help the girl climb to the street.

“Where’s my jacket? I had some…”

“Sorry, I lost it.”

“Wren, stop dawdling. You have two hostile augs coming in from the west.” An unfamiliar man’s voice vibrated her helmet from an unknown channel.

“I got two civilians to escort out and one’s wearing heels.”

No answer.

She looked at the crying woman and Leaf. “We gotta move. Borg coming at us.”

Kirsten shoved the two civilians ahead of her, keeping an eye to the rear as they scrambled down the street. Howls and whistles echoed through the buildings as a pair of deep voices cried out with “Here, titty, titty!” A seven footer covered in a suit of armor made of various scavenged bits hefted a small anti-armor missile over his shoulder.

“Stop runnin’, bitches. Unlike you, I
don’t
care if you’re alive for the fun part.”

Shouldering into Rene’s concubine, Kirsten lifted the woman off her high-heeled shoes and carried her up to a loping sprint. Leaf kept up, barely hanging on to Kirsten’s hand. One block over, she hung a left turn at random, just to break line of sight.

A heavy rumbling scared them to a halt. Seconds later, a huge six-wheeled A3V came skidding around the corner a block away.

“It’s friendly, go!” Kirsten shouted, setting the woman back on her feet and shoving at their backs.

Rene’s former lover screamed when the heavy cannon opened fire on the men coming up behind them. Leaf tucked low and sprinted hard. Kirsten and the rescued woman caught up to her two streets over where they found Leaf frozen, petrified at the sight of a police line.

“It’s okay, Jennifer.” Kirsten put an arm around her back. “They’re not going to hurt you; they will understand why you did it… if they even think to investigate.”

They slowed to a walk, all three searching for breath.

“You confuse me, Kirsten.” Dorian came up astride. “All the whining”―he winked―“about not wanting to kill, you’re making plenty of excuses for what this girl did. Can you understand why I did some of the things I did now?”

“Oh, he’s gonna try and make it,” shouted the A3V gunner, just before opening up with another burst. Kirsten cringed at the rumble of the heavy cannon, and distant explosions. Fortunately, the weapon was so loud she could not hear the splatter. “Yee haw. Got ̓im.”

Kirsten remained quiet for a few minutes. She comforted Leaf for a little while and then handed the civilians off to a medical unit waiting just behind the barricade. When she returned to her patrol craft, she pulled the helmet off and glared at the clouds.

“Eye for an eye and all that? I don’t understand. They say peace and love, and forgive and turn the other cheek. It all turns to bullshit when they see something they don’t like.”
My, these boots are shiny.
“What happened to the whole ‘he who is without sin cast the first stone’ thing?”

Dorian leaned on the car at her side, looking up at the same blob of smog she did. “I executed four people. One was similar to Rene. Piece of trash named Eric Holm. He made women do whatever he wanted, and they wouldn’t even remember it―the youngest was thirteen.”

He squinted, picturing the man’s face as he realized he was about to die.

“Four? Nila said three.” She tilted her head.

“Farhad Rahman was an astral. He would project and inhabit the body of living people. He started with civilians but worked his way up to where he would possess patrol officers and commit crimes. Two of them died.” His mouth formed a wistful grin. “There were six of us there, not one man wanted to take that bastard back alive. I’m pretty sure mine was the kill shot.”

Kirsten put a hand on his arm.

“Number three… Kevin Andrew Baxter. He wasn’t even psionic, just a med school washout who figured he could make a living by jumping people in dark alleys to steal cyberware. Sometimes he would harvest organs; had a particular fondness for teens. Younger parts sell for more money.”

Kirsten choked up. “If he wasn’t psionic, how did you get the case?”