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  “Be right back.” She ushered the boy over to her patrol craft and put him in the back seat. “What’s your name?”

  “Like you care.” He looked away. “I’m just another piece of street meat to you.”

  “No, you’re not.” Kirsten patted him on the head. “Maybe to those two, but not me.”

  He whirled to stare at her. “Let…” His eyes scrunched closed in a pained expression. “Ngh! Ow!”

  “The device around your head is a psionic inhibitor. Don’t try to use any of your abilities, okay? It won’t harm you, but it hurts. And yes, I know… they suck.”

  Sensing vulnerability, he attempted the non-psionic power of ‘large sad eyes.’

  “Why did you make those two officers do that?”

  “’Cause. My brother was killed and they don’t care. One even laughed.”

  “Those two?”

  “Naw. The cops who took Juan Miguel’s body off the street.” He resumed crying. “He was my only family. Was just me an’ him, and now he’s gone.”

  Kirsten put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Hey. I know exactly how you feel. I used to be on the street as a kid, with no one. I’ll be back in a little while. Need a minute with those two.”

  He didn’t react.

  She turned on the radio for background noise so she didn’t leave a kid wearing a psi inhibitor sitting in silence. Total quiet pushed the devices from annoying to torturous. He ignored her second attempt to offer a comforting smile. She closed the patrol craft door and headed back over to the group of six officers.

  “Lieutenant,” said Gage by way of greeting.

  “I haven’t gotten much out of him yet, but I don’t have the feeling he intended to kill anyone. He wanted to try and force someone to investigate his brother’s murder.”

  Kepler set his hands on his hips. “You’re not gonna cut him loose? They always let the psionic ones get away with shit if they sign up.”

  She looked away and down. True, Division 0 often let criminal activity slide in psionic matters provided no one suffered permanent injury or death… though the whole thing would’ve been recorded by both of them as well as their patrol craft, available for viewing across the National Police Force. Plus, the kid messed with cops.

  “No. Even though he’s young, we don’t look the other way when someone screws with cops. Sends the wrong message and we don’t want to invite open season on us.” Kirsten rubbed at her forehead before resuming eye contact with the cops. “The kid will be charged, though whether it’s assaulting an officer or attempted murder, it’s a bit early to say. I think he’s scared, alone, and desperate and just wanted someone to pay attention to his brother’s case.”

  They nodded. Kepler’s aggressive posture notched back a tick.

  “So… that it? We done here?” asked Gage. “Oh, and thanks again for the assist.”

  “You’re welcome. Just a few questions. How did you guys encounter the kid?”

  Gage gestured at their patrol craft parked by the curb. “We were sitting there having lunch and he walked up to us. Asked us to find whoever killed his brother. Took his info, found an inquest in the system already. Little bastard didn’t like being told the detectives are working on it.”

  “Yeah.” Kepler nodded. “He told us to get out of the car, and we couldn’t stop ourselves. Next thing I know, we’ve got our duty weapons pointed at each other and the kid’s demanding the police find the killer. Sounded like he planned to keep us like that the whole time.”

  “Damn, you psionics are really scary sometimes.” Gage grinned. “We didn’t even call it in as ‘weird shit’ yet you showed up.”

  Kirsten chuckled, shaking her head. “Simple luck. Shared experience training. I spent most of the morning drooling on myself watching traffic lanes.”

  “Must be good to be an LT.” Kepler laughed. “Basically a day off for you.”

  “Honestly?” Kirsten held her arms out and let them drop. “Look at me. Command probably thought I’d get hurt doing anything else. Took a panic button for anything to come through.”

  “Damn.” Gage sighed. “That had to be boring. Thanks, again… and sorry for that psionic crap I said.”

  “I appreciate that.” She eyed the nearby storefronts. “So, the kid walks up to you, orders you out of the car, then makes you point your weapons at each other. That it? Any involvement with other citizens or property around here?”

  “Nope, just made us look like idiots.” Gage glowered at the ground.

  Kirsten raised her left arm, accessing the holo-panel projected by her forearm guard. “All right. Consider the scene closed. I’ll be adding everything to the inquest. If it goes before a judge, you two will need to show up, but I have a feeling due to his age and having no surviving family, it won’t. He’ll most likely be remanded to the secure dormitory until eighteen, and an eight-year sentence is more than normal adult cons do for punching us in the head. The problem with some psionic abilities is like giving a little boy a gun. Power, but little ability to understand when and how to use it. If it were up to me, I’d give him help, not a cell. But… because he attacked police, it’s going through the proper channels. Maybe you guys could think of him as a scared kid who thought he had no other options. They’ll be more inclined to help him if you let your captain know it’s just a scared kid. Of course, if the shrinks and telepaths confirm he’s actually dangerous, he’ll be dealt with accordingly.”

  Gage and Kepler exchanged a glance, their expressions conflicted.

  “I need to get back. Can’t leave a detainee alone with an inhibitor on too long.”

  All the Division 1 officers nodded and muttered in a mixture of agreement and annoyance. Not so much at the boy but at how cons tended to never quite serve much time for things short of murder before they wound up on the street again. The group broke apart, heading back to their respective vehicles.

  She hurried to her patrol craft and hopped in. Already, the interior had taken on the musty foulness of perpetually damp clothes. A decade ago, she would’ve smelled the same or worse—if she’d had actual clothes. A poncho made out of a plastic tarp with an electrical cord for a belt didn’t hold much in the way of stink. The boy squirming around in the back seat talking to himself hadn’t yet outgrown the clothes he’d been wearing when he wound up homeless. Kirsten’s nightgown hadn’t lasted long after she ran away. It had already been old and a little small. Mother didn’t waste money buying things for a ‘devil child.’

  “Sorry for leaving you alone that long.”

  Dorian materialized in the passenger seat. “You had music on and it took less than six minutes. He’s fine. He’s also provisionally guilty of a felony. If either of those officers had slipped the command, one or both could be dead.”

  “I know,” whispered Kirsten. “And not really. Class 4 handguns wouldn’t have penetrated their helmets. Probably would’ve knocked them out, but…”

  “I didn’t say anything. Do you hear the voices too?” The boy paused a second. “Please make the voices stop.”

  “They’re coming from the inhibitor.” Kirsten de-registered from active status on the Division 1 patrol grid and set the car to drive itself to the Police Administrative Center, then turned in the seat to look at him as they rose into the air. “As soon as we’re at the PAC, I’ll remove it, okay? So, you’re Rafael?”

  “You’re forgetting something.” Dorian glanced over at her with a somber, resigned expression.

  The boy froze. “Are you reading my mind?”

  “No. You gave your information to the other officers when you asked them to find the person who killed your brother. It’s in the file.”

  Rafael hung his head. “Oh.”

  Kirsten sighed at Dorian. “Rafael, I have to inform you that you’re presently under arrest for use of psionic abilities in the commission of a crime. You are in the custody of Division 0.” She paused. “I know you’re what, nine?”

  “Ten and a half.”

&nb
sp; “Attempted murder of an officer of the National Police Force. Unlawful psionic restraint. Kidnapping. Reckless endangerment…” Dorian picked a bit of lint from his uniform. The same bit of lint that always reappeared in the exact same spot. “Suppose he’s a bit small to blather on about the full list of charges. The advocate will go over it with him—if you file them all.”

  A weak smile almost slid out from under her guilt. “There’s some other stuff we usually explain, but you’re too young to be legally responsible to understand it. I want you to know that what you did was dangerous and wrong, and you are in a bit of trouble. However, no one is going to harm you. You’re lost and hurting, but you don’t need to be afraid. Division 0 isn’t like other types of police. There aren’t so many of us. If you trust us, we can help you, okay?”

  He nodded, still staring into his lap.

  “I don’t think you really wanted to hurt those officers.”

  “No. I wanted them to do their job. They’re supposed to find killers. Juan Miguel died, but because he ran with the Scorpionz, the cops don’t care.” He bounced in time with ‘they don’t care.’

  Kirsten closed her eyes. Ten-year-olds should be upset about bedtime or too much homework, not on their way to detention… She hated having to arrest a child, but she hated the situation he’d landed in more. Still, he had used his abilities both against the police and in a way that could’ve killed someone. The secure dorms aren’t as bad as prison.

  “I really wish you would have come to us. Division 0 I mean.”

  “They don’t care about gang stuff either.” Rafael kicked his shoe at the floor.

  The psi inhibitor made surface thought skimming difficult. Random whispering voices and sensory input blurred the contents of his mind, but Kirsten got enough of a peek to understand he didn’t at all care what happened to him.

  “Tell me about Juan Miguel. What was he like?”

  “What for? He’s dead.”

  “So is my partner, but he’s still here.” Kirsten nodded toward Dorian. “I’m an astral sensitive. Maybe I can find him. You told the officers he’s older than you and protected you? Good chance he might still be out there somewhere, unable to move on because he’s worried about you.”

  Rafael looked up, eyes wide. “Really?”

  “Yes. Dorian? Little help here?”

  He leaned into the back seat, his head shifting shimmery-translucent for a few seconds, casting pale whitish light around the car.

  “Whoa,” whispered Rafael. “He’s not a hologram… I felt him. Even with this thing on my head.”

  “How old was Juan Miguel?”

  “Eighteen. Our parents died a couple years ago. The cops didn’t care about them either ’cause of gang stuff. They weren’t even in a gang, but where we lived, cops think everyone’s bad.” He tugged at his arms, but wound up wiping his nose on his knee. “Juan died like two weeks ago, and when I brought the cops to him, they laughed… made jokes about cleaning up the city and stuff, one even said a scorpion got stepped on. They said a detective would show up, but no one did. I just want someone to find out who killed my brother.”

  He succumbed to crying.

  Kirsten re-swallowed the lump in her throat. Maybe I am too soft for this job. Or it’s because he’s not much older than Evan. “Rafael, listen to me. I’m an investigator, too. I don’t usually work cases that aren’t related to spirits or non-psionic crimes… but I promise you I’ll do everything I can to find who killed Juan Miguel.”

  The car steered itself around in a gentle descent toward the road in front of the PAC.

  “You’re just—” He stared into her eyes. “Okay, maybe you’re not lying.”

  She couldn’t reach to pat him on the knee from the front seat—arms too short, car too big—so she put on her most reassuring smile. “It’s not up to me to detain you or not. Too many cameras caught it, and you attacked police officers. But don’t be scared. You’re psionic and a child, so you’re headed for the secure dorms, not jail. If you’ve been living on the street, it’s an improvement. And I’m serious. I will do whatever I can to find who killed your brother. Even if I have to ask the dead for help.”

  He almost smiled.

  2

  Priority Ten

  Kirsten lay draped over her desk, feeling like she’d just fed a live bunny rabbit to a trash disintegrator.

  She’d brought Rafael in for intake processing, but couldn’t bring herself to keep walking away when he’d started yell-begging her to stay with him. He’d even wanted her to stay with him while he showered. At least with her there, they didn’t leave the inhibitor on him. Between her greater rank in Suggestion and an Admin telepath confirming the boy had no intent to use his abilities to attempt an escape, they mostly treated him like any other kid brought in… except for the pink detainee jumpsuit.

  Juvenile inmates in the secure dorms lived fairly well for prisoners. The major differences between it and the standard dormitory mostly consisted of locked doors and a regimented schedule with varying degrees of access to things like video games depending on behavior. His hope that she would find his brother’s killer eliminated any urge to lash out at the police, so the telepath, Rafael’s legal advocate, and the secure dorm staff all expected he’d be no trouble at all.

  Still, guilt clawed at her over the thought that a boy Evan’s age—well, older than him by a few months—would be sleeping in a locked room for the foreseeable future. Of course, she couldn’t really protest the situation. He had misused his powers against police. The true source of her guilt came from holding his future so directly in her hands. If he thought she gave up on finding her brother, or if she failed, he could easily go from basically a kid in a bad situation to an active problem—or just give up on life.

  Evan’s going to be ten in about five months. Next April. Crap. And there’s some holiday in two months, isn’t there? I need to get him some presents or something.

  A heavy sigh slid out of Kirsten’s throat. She’d grown up not knowing that one day, late in December, parents gave their kids stuff. Sometimes, adults even gave each other things. Her first experience with it had been around fifteen when Nicole gave her a little ragdoll when they shared a dorm room.

  She leaned back in her chair, half wanting to cry at the memory as if she watched some movie about an abused girl other than herself. But, she’d been so confused at why Nicole gave it to her, the entire dorm went nuts. Everyone there gave her something that day. None of it had been grand or expensive, but she didn’t care. That gesture had been the first crack in the door that finally allowed her to let the outside world in. She still had all the tiny ragdolls, figurines, and plushies in a box at home. Fifteen years of Wintermas all at once.

  “Wren, you okay?” asked Morelli.

  The shock of him initiating conversation with her stalled the emotions in her head to surprise. “Uhh, yeah. Just had to bring a kid in on felony assault. Being back in the dorm area set my thoughts wandering.”

  “You were SD?” Morelli drifted closer, one eyebrow cocked.

  “No, normal dorms. I didn’t break the law at all. When cops found me, they thought I was a normal kid until I mentioned ghosts. The psychiatrist didn’t believe me so I figured I’d prove it and turned on Darksight. He freaked out when my eyes started glowing. Called Division 0 and here I am.”

  Morelli folded his arms. “Damn. Sorry you had it so rough.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not jealous of anyone whose parents love them despite psionics.”

  “Man, the universe has some whacked out sense of irony, doesn’t it?” He shook his head.

  She blinked. “How so?”

  “You’re like the nicest girl in the whole city and you can Mind Blast.” Morelli chuckled. “Though, that’s a lot better than some psycho having it.”

  “I dunno. Maybe the universe does have a sense of humor.” She sighed. “A twisted one.”

  “Of course it does,” muttered Dorian. “Have you looked at Morelli?�
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  She snickered.

  “Well, as long as you’re okay.” Morelli smiled. “You were giving off some odd emotions.”

  “Since when are you an empath?” She raised both eyebrows.

  “Not sure when it started. Grade one. Just came up on the screening three days ago. Maybe it’s from hanging around all your spooky things.” He chuckled on his way back to his desk across the room.

  “If exposure to spirits gave psionic powers, I’d have them all.” She tucked closer to her desk and swiped at the holo-panels to unlock the workstation. “And no, I don’t want to know what being sat on by a one-ton demonic flea would do.”

  “Besides hurt?” asked Dorian.

  She raised her arm, pointing at the ceiling. “Yes. That sucked.”

  The file record for Juan Miguel Esparza contained a few mugshots of a young man with a strong resemblance to Rafael. He had evidently been a known member of a street gang, the Jade Scorpionz.

  Upon seeing that, Kirsten groaned and rubbed her temples. “Why do people do that?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Dorian from behind. “Your question was not vague enough.”

  She gestured at the intangible screen. “Scorpions with a z. Are the damn street gangs using marketing logic now? I mean like Kwik Kleen? Why do people feel the need to mangle words like that. It’s so frustrating.”

  “Well, it’s not their fault you spent all that time in school learning the correct way to put letters in order.” Dorian laughed.

  “Right?” She rolled her eyes. “I got half the schooling those people did and I feel like a freakin’ fid by comparison.”

  “Fid?” asked Dorian.

  “Yeah, when someone’s real smart, they put fid after their name.”

  He looked up from whatever indistinct object he ‘read.’ “I have not the first clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Grr. Hang on.” She pulled up a GlobeNet interface, hunted a little, and pulled up a record for a psychologist. “Here.”

  Dorian floated through his desk to stand beside her. “That’s PhD. You say the letters individually.”