A Division of Souls - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe (7 page)

“Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, emha si
edha, I pray for each and every one of you. Peace, Love and Light
to everyone. Good afternoon.”

The room erupted as soon as he backed away,
questions and accusations hitting him in a wall of sound. How dare
he not take immediate action! How dare he demand peaceful actions
from his citizens! How dare he invoke a spiritual plea! Anton
retreated from the podium with no expression on his face, nodding
to one of his security guards, who came to his side immediately to
escort him away. A group of reporters near the front stood up and
leaned forward, as close as they dared to, to question his last
unscripted moment. Near the rear, imagraphers triggered multiple
camera shutters with their remotes, capturing his escape from far
too many angles. As he was being shuffled to the back door, he
looked out into the audience one last time, where he found Jack
Priestley, still sitting in his chair. His face had been a mixture
of surprise and shock. Shaken but relieved, Anton turned and headed
for the private door behind the podium, his two security guards
following closely behind.

CHAPTER FIVE

Caren

Caren and Poe left Headquarters as the sun
rose over Branden Hill District, exhausted and frustrated. Caren
stifled a yawn and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands
as they pulled out of the dark garage and into the bright morning.
The muscles in her arms and legs screamed and twitched, pleading
for sleep. Poe’s chain smoking wasn’t helping, but she was too
tired to complain. At this point, as long as a window was open,
Caren didn't care. Their investigation was far from over, but right
now she just wanted to crawl back into her bed for the next twenty
hours.

They’d just spent the last five hours
downtown, interviewing witnesses and those affected, and her energy
levels were depleted. After the fallout zone, such as it was, had
been deemed safe for passage, they’d made their way through the
grid of streets in the Tower Sector, searching for anyone else who
hadn’t yet made their presence known. The recently awakened were
usually easy to find, as they often gave off a heavy amount of
excess spiritual energy which lasted for at least two or three
days. Their work was cut out for them in that respect, but they
still had to actively look for many who had chosen not to say
anything, or say as little as possible. And there were a
lot
of those. By the time they’d interviewed at least three dozen
willing people and gotten contact information for a few dozen more,
they’d decided to give up for the time being. They’d made their way
back to the ARU headquarters as the sun rose, grabbed a small and
unfulfilling breakfast in the cafeteria, and debated what their
next step would be. By now, Denni was most likely getting ready for
school, so Caren called to check up on her. Her sister was
bleary-eyed and exhausted from little sleep, but she put on a brave
face and told her she felt no lingering effects of last night’s
shockwave. Relieved by those words, Caren let her end the call. Poe
suggested they drive around a bit and people-watch for an hour or
two before calling it a day. It wasn’t the most productive thing to
do, but it killed off the excess tension and it helped them gauge
how the city was reacting to the ritual.

“Farraway,” Poe said, cutting the silence
between them. He exhaled a puff of smoke and flicked ash out the
window. “I’m starting to wonder…”

He said nothing else, and Caren glared at
him. “What are you going on about?”

He threw a quick glance at her. “Oh…sorry,
just thinking aloud. Just that…well, Farraway’s giving us
conflicting signals. Calls us in to investigate an unsanctioned
ritual. No problem, part of our job. Has Nick and Sheila start it
off. Again, no problem, they’re our team two and they can handle
it. Then assigns us two high-level Mendaihu to assist. Unexpected,
but not out of the ordinary.”

Caren bristled. “Are you going anywhere with
this?”

He flicked ash out of the window and took
another drag before he continued. “Does it bother you that this
ritual was big enough to cause that much spiritual bleedover? That
was a cloud at least three or so miles in diameter when we saw it
last night. You’d think we’d have Special Ops jumping in. Or CNF at
this point, considering where it hit.”

She frowned at him. She kind of understood,
but she was too exhausted to think straight. “Are you saying this
case is a lot bigger than he's making it out to be?”

“It’s not a racial issue between the
Meraladhza and the Gharné,” he said. “This is between the Mendaihu
and the Shenaihu, and it’s not just a relations issue, either. I
really hate that I have to say this, but I think one or the other
is about to do something, and a Mendaihu just made the first move.
Farraway wouldn't have brought the Shalei twins in otherwise.”

She wanted to agree with him, but she didn’t
want to admit it, not just yet. “How do you know that? We’ve
handled renegade cases before, Alec.”

“Not like this, we haven’t.”

“But how can we prove that?”

“Because neither the Mendaihu nor the
Shenaihu act out in this manner, not without motive,” he shot back.
“It’s not in their nature, you know that. And when they do, their
own kind usually gets a hold of them before we do. Did you notice
how many people commented on who might have been behind the
ritual?”

Caren frowned. “Not many,” she said. “They
recognized the signature, no doubting that. But they weren’t
talking.”

“Damn straight they weren’t!” Poe growled,
started to say something else, and then stopped. He growled again,
took a deep drag off of his cigarette and forcefully crushed it in
the ashtray, and focused quietly and intently on the road ahead.
She’d rarely seen him get this riled up, and she knew enough not to
push it any further. He had a mean streak when his blood boiled and
his words would often go unchecked. She’d seen him lash out on
criminals to just this side of an assault charge, and she didn’t
want to be on the receiving end. She waited it out as they drove
aimlessly through the Branden Hill district.

“So what do you think?” she asked, her voice
deliberately calm. “Should we escalate this to the Crimson-Null
Foundation officials? We still have time, and we’d be able to back
the hell away.”

He responded with a quick shake of the head.
“I don’t think that would help, to be honest. CNF won't know what
to do with it. I’d say this is more a
spiritual
thing than a
political or racial one. You and I are programmed for this kind of
event.” He pulled out another cigarette, debated lighting up, and
stuck it behind his ear instead. “This wasn’t any CNF-ranked
terrorist, Caren. Just a regular Mendaihu. One hell of a strong
one, yes, but a regular B-Towner, just like you and me. Only the
strongest of the Mendaihu can summon up something like that.
Especially
something that big.” He shrugged. He pulled the
cigarette from his ear and lit it up. His hands trembled slightly,
enough for her to catch it. Poe rarely showed such fear openly.

“You still think this is similar to
twenty-five years ago, don’t you?” she said quietly.

He exhaled slowly, and nodded. “Yes, I
do.”

“Goddess…” Caren felt the chill all the way
through her soul. It was the cold sting of ice upon her very
essence. She bit her lip, hoping Poe hadn't noticed. Again she
thought of the image of her parents, both Mendaihu of blood and
deed, watching over her…and the image of their violent and
pointless deaths. All in the name of spiritual balance. A delicate
balance that was now in question once again. Almost like
clockwork.

“Then in response...then the Shenaihu...”
She found she couldn't even finish the sentence.

“We need Vigil,” he said, his voice low.

She frowned and nodded in agreement.

*

In his humble day job, Matthew Davison was a
young and brilliant communications tech programmer for KJS
Corporation, and part of the team that had created the
now-ubiquitous vidmat technology. He was highly sought after for
his stellar commtech skills and he had high-level contacts both in
business and government, all of whom admired his work. He was
intelligent and empathetic, ready to lend a hand to client and
coworker alike. He was dedicated and driven. Many considered him a
mirror-image of his father, the late, revered Provincial Senator
Gregory Davison.

Off the clock however, he was the most
feared digital anarchist in the Sprawl.

He was part of a movement of
political-minded anarchy jackers and whistleblowers whose main goal
was to tear apart the inner workings of the overly capitalistic
Bridgetown corporations with the sole purpose of keeping the
playing field even for all involved — including the consumer. His
forte was the leakage of sensitive information, specifically the
exposure of undocumented dealings and noncompliance. If they
ignored Vigil’s attacks, Matthew and his team would pile it on all
the more — they were relentless. The corporation would have no
other choice but to realign. Matthew’s attacks were brilliant and
bloodless. Never enough to cause mass economic damage…but just
enough to keep analysts on their toes.

The number of insiders and accomplices he
had contact with was unbelievably large. Matthew was the leader of
Vigil, and he was Poe’s most reliable street source. The only
reason Poe had never turned him in was that he was more valuable to
everyone behind the scenes than he was behind bars. And besides,
Matthew had technically never broken an existing law.

Vigil based their mainland operations in a
nondescript former hotel remodeled into condominiums and offices.
The four-story building, a few blocks from Branden Hill Park, was
in good structural condition though the outside needed a lot of
work…there were chips in the faded brick and the façade was in bad
need of a fresh coat of paint. Many of the windows were grimy and
covered by disheveled blinds. The lobby was poorly lit and held a
strange pungent odor that no one could ever quite place. Still, the
place looked livable and not entirely derelict. This was exactly
how Vigil wanted it — unassuming and maybe even a bit off-putting,
but not to the point of decrepitude. They also controlled the
security systems of all the surrounding buildings and made no
attempt at hiding those facts. Their territory could not be
infiltrated without the group knowing.

The foyer elevator appeared moments after
their arrival, its scratched and dented doors opening with a low
scrape against its runners, and they entered. The car gave with a
loud and unsettling jolt as it started its ascension. Though they
were only going up three floors, it took much longer than it should
have, and when the doors opened, it deposited them in a dimly lit
and musty hallway. No numbers or nameplates graced any of the
doors. Only one door, far down the end, stood slightly ajar with
light spilling out of it, the one inviting place in the entire
building.

Matthew stood in the doorway of that
farthest apartment, waiting with arms crossed and staring lazily at
the floor. There was no greeting, nor was there animosity. He just
stood there with a strange calmness, as if he’d had a lifetime’s
practice at it. Caren always felt a little uncomfortable around the
kid, as she could not read any emotion from him, not even
indifference. He rarely showed any when he was on Vigil time, and
when he did it was usually a slow-burning impatience.

“Must say I thought you'd come earlier,” he
said, looking up. His voice was naturally hoarse, and it echoed
against the empty walls around them. It sounded like he hadn't
slept over the past few days. He certainly looked it. Loose clothes
smelling of sweat hung off his shoulders and hips in typical jacker
anti-fashion, dirty brown hair unkempt and capped by a dark blue
bandanna. His face, however, betrayed his image; a youthful and
freshly-shaven face with soft blue eyes behind thin-framed
glasses.

Poe cleared his throat, holding back his own
moodiness. “Yeah, well...we got caught up.”

Matthew smirked. “Of course.” Not a big
flash of emotion, just tired amusement. He stepped back into the
apartment and swung the door wide, casually waving them in.

Vigil’s center of operations was
disturbingly mundane. It looked no different than any other college
student’s apartment in Branden Hill, with the mismatched secondhand
furniture and the excessive wall coverings of vidmats and posters.
Entering further into this apartment, though, one started noticing
hints of something more high-tech. Cables and wires filled the
nooks of nearly every doorframe and baseboard. There were at least
two computers of varying sizes in every room, all of them running
one thing or another. In the dining room on the left, a small
laptop had been setup at an unfurnished plywood desk near the
windows, and it looked to be playing its own game of solitaire. In
the kitchen, a table model was folded away and leaning against an
antique breadbox. The screen was black, but its cooling fan whizzed
quietly. A third lay on the futon in a side bedroom, softly playing
ambient dance music. Smaller, compact vidmats, phones and players
lay everywhere. Caren took it all in, impressed by their ability to
make the overabundance of techware seem normal. It was hard to
imagine such a calm place housing the most feared jackers in
Bridgetown. Completely wired and utterly domestic.

A number of wires ran down the length of the
high ceiling in the main hallway and met up in a large rear study
which housed the main console — a massive workstation of five
computers, twice as many screens, several dangling neural hookups,
and countless other accessories and pieces of hardware. Most of the
equipment had been secured to a steel frame arcing around its user
like a cage, similar to an infotech engineer’s workstation. Four
monitors were constantly scrolling data that could be anything from
DuaLife's latest genetics research to the financial earnings of
NullCom, to the communications of the Bridgetown Police, Fire, and
ARU departments. Three processors in the corner of the room
encrypted all the information and fed it to the servers out at
Vigil’s other base on Sachers Island, south of the city proper.