Division Zero (18 page)

irsten nudged the patrol craft off the roof and dove over the side, flying nose-down along the building’s surface. At about the fortieth floor, she leveled off and guided the car below the traffic stream. The sun had gone down, leaving the city a writhing mass of artificial light. Gentle rain caused the view to make her feel even more abandoned.

Maybe I’ll take the car home tonight.

Spotting flashing kanji in the air up ahead, she changed course and pulled up alongside a floating faux-wood boat decorated in a Japanese style from many centuries ago. The flying sushi vendor catered to commuter hovercar traffic. The driver side window went black as the pass-through cut out, then the armor plate retracted down into the door. Cold air flooded the car, laced with the fragrance of teriyaki. Kirsten enjoyed the rustic charm of these vendors, placing an order to a real, live person was a rare treat.

“Sashimi regular, please, easy on the wasabi.”

The man nodded, dutifully going about preparing her meal and setting it piece by piece in a disposable tray.

“You’re eating late, officer.” He paused long enough to smile at her. “I was just about to head in.”

It did not matter if his pleasant demeanor came about due to his not realizing she was psionic. Most people tended to act on edge around cops in general, but psionic cops often made people flee. Kirsten leaned out of the window, making idle chat with him about random bits of his day. A story about a pair of corporates so incensed over a deal they worked on that they paid for their food twice had her laughing by the time he handed the sashimi over. She was careful to pay only once.

The armored panel whirred back into place, the dark slab lit up like a blank monitor for a second before the illusion of window returned. Kirsten nudged the heat up higher as she balanced the tray on her lap and unwrapped throwaway chopsticks.

“I don’t know how you can eat that stuff.” Dorian’s voice muffled through his hand.

Kirsten smiled hard enough to force her eyes closed. “It’s good… and healthy.”

He had all he could do not to gag. “It’s raw.”

She flashed a schoolgirl grin at him as she slurped a hunk of salmon sashimi into her mouth while leaning close to him. He recoiled. Kirsten fell back into her seat, giggling through a full mouth at his reaction, wondering if this explained why Nicole so often acted as immature as she did.

The comm crackled to life. “Agent Wren, copy?”

A weary smile crossed Dorian’s face. “Who said karma was slow?”

Always right after I get food.

“Copy, dispatch.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I should make you drive so I can eat.”

Dorian shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Proceed to Sector 114, Edmondson Memorial Starport. There is a 21-47 in progress on landing pad sixteen.”

She dropped the chopsticks into the tray and snapped the lid closed. “Copy that. En route.”

irsten fed the destination to the autopilot and hit the bar lights. From the air, the starport area resembled a square valley in the city. Zoning laws prevented the construction of anything over five stories for several miles in all directions to minimize loss of life in the event of a crash. The main terminal had the shape of a twenty-story chocolate chip made of white plastisteel and studded with millions of little lights.

Square fire containment walls sectioned off landing pads capable of handling everything from small inter-coastal craft to large shuttles used to carry passengers up to hulking interstellar vessels too ponderous to breach the atmosphere. Between the landing pad walls ran thousands of pipes and wire conduits.

21-47 meant a hostile manifestation. For it to be called in implied a non-psionic saw an apparition. Flashing lights littered a pad cordoned off by the starport security team and a few Division 1 cops who arrived seconds ahead of her. She circled around to bleed off altitude and came in low over the wall.

Her car cleared the barrier and settled onto a pad near a Mars shuttle. Two hundred feet long, the craft’s bell-like silhouette turned crimson from a coating of Martian dust, and the vapors of recent use still wafted from the engines. Near the right rear landing strut, a dark-skinned man in a grey jumpsuit hung suspended in a coil of silver fueling hose, screaming. The nozzle dripped luminous blue liquid that boiled upon contact with the ground.

Kirsten scrambled out of the car and ran over to him. Dorian paused to hold up a hand at the Division 1 cops by the entryway, warning them to stay back―but they ran past him as if he did not exist. Kirsten sensed spiritual energy in the hose, but saw no entity holding it. Her eyes found only a pair of shadows gliding along through the darkest point of the yard.

Oh, shit. If they are checking him out this could be dangerous.

Kirsten looked around. “Ok, where are you?”

“I’m right here,” shouted the suspended man. “Get me the hell down.”

“Sir, please stay calm. I’m trying to do that.”

“I’m held up in the bloody air by a bloody hose full of Cryomil, and she tells me to be calm. One little spark and I’m a samosa.”

“I’m surprised you even bother telling them to stay calm.” Dorian pointed. “I got this guy, check the splat by the nose gear.”

She trotted to the front while Dorian wrestled with the hose. The man wailed at her as he swayed back and forth, slipping free as Dorian strained against the force imbued in the serpentine line. The man slapped to the ground on his chest, shot Kirsten a terrified look, and ran off.

At the nose end, a wide pattern of blood spattered out from under the front landing cushion. A crumpled glove peeked out from beneath.

Kirsten cringed. “Damn. It landed on someone. He’s probably angry.”

“Damn right I’m pissed.” The sound folded in on itself like speech through a metal tube.

Kirsten crept forward. “Who’s there?”

A thirty-something man with scruffy brown hair sat up out of the landing gear, clad in a formerly-dark grey jumpsuit now black with blood. His helmet hung around his neck in a mass of cracked material like a stepped-on egg.

“What the hell are
those
?” He flailed at the drifting shadows.

“They are just watching, but I don’t think they have much interest. Of course, you might have changed their mind if you killed him.”

“Sanjay did this. He did not follow the safety protocols.”

“Do you think Sanjay
wanted
to kill you?”

The man fidgeted, his face a flurry of emotions. Speech started and stopped several times.

“You’re angry, and that’s perfectly understandable given the situation, but it looks like an accident.”

“W… What do those things want?”

“Well, if you were a bastard in life they take you where you belong. If not, they sensed your rage and came to see what they smelled.” Her voice softened. “Do you have any family or any friends you want me to pass any messages on to?”

He looked down at the tarmac, fury faded to sadness. “No.”

Dorian slipped behind, putting her between him and the Harbingers.

After a few minutes of reassuring talk, the ghost trudged off with his head down, muttering about the importance of the safety checklist. Halfway to the gate terminal, he vanished in a grey-silver cloud of light. Audible murmurs regarding procedure lingered for several seconds.

“Another lost soul ferried into the light. Nice job.”

She turned to the side, staring at the blinking lights along the top of the starport wall, a stark shift from gleaming white metal to infinite dark. Cold, lonely wind howled across the tarmac. Her eyes watered as she rubbed her arms for warmth. “I don’t want to wind up like that, dead with no one to care.”

“You won’t, but careful rushing into anything you’ll regret. I’d tell you to stop worrying and let things happen, but I know you.”

She plodded over to the police line, wearing a face like her cat just died. The Division 1 patrol team faced her; she filled her lungs with frigid air and her face with false stoicism. “There was a paranormal here but he’s gone now. The situation is resolved.”

Sanjay nudged a medic out of the way so he could see Kirsten. “That’s it? You just let him go?”

Kirsten blinked. “What exactly did you expect me to do? Arrest a ghost?”

Sanjay’s face said it all.

He’ll be drinking himself into a coma later.