The Shadow Fixer Page 25

  “You’re exaggerating a little. We usually average one every two weeks.”

  “Still. I can’t even take a breath before another one happens.” She swung back around to face her terminal. “At least there’s some information now. What the hell is Aethervein?”

  She ran a GlobeNet search, taking a few tries to get the spelling right.

  According to the Net, Aethervein was a relatively new band who’d released their first album about a year ago. In a short time, they’d amassed a fair amount of fan pages and message forums. Kirsten poked a link, starting playback on a track titled, ‘The Halls of Introspection.’ Dreamy electronica underscored a female voice singing in tones rather than words.

  “This sounds like the sort of music people on Flowerbasket get high to,” said Dorian. “Mellow, spacey, repetitive.”

  She tapped her finger on the desk, listening. “It’s not bad.”

  “No. Not remarkable either. There are a ton of groups out there like this.”

  “Would you call it noise?”

  Dorian chuckled. “No. This would put ghosts to sleep, not drive them into a destructive rage.”

  “Time to abuse police privileges.”

  “How so?” asked Dorian.

  She cracked her knuckles. “Nikolas said Aethervein when I asked him about the noise. There has to be some connection. So, I’m going to figure out who’s in this band and go talk to them.”

  “It’s not an abuse of police privileges unless you’re a fan and only using your access so you can meet them.”

  “Well, considering I just found out about them yesterday and they’re connected to multiple open Inquests, I think I’m safe.” She accessed the government database, pulling up the official registration for the band Aethervein.

  Her NetMini rang, playing the ringtone associated with her personal PID rather than the Division 0 one she gave out to people involved in paranormal events. Off the top of her head, she could only think of five people she’d given the PID to: Evan, Sam, Nicole, Nila, and Captain Eze. This caller didn’t display any identity information.

  “Suri, log this connection and send it to Div 2 if it turns out to be suspicious. Please.”

  “Okay,” chirped the AI.

  She answered. “Hello?”

  A relatively generic brown-haired Caucasian anime cartoon man appeared, obviously an avatar. “Oops. I may have the wrong number. Are you the one who deals with ghost problems?”

  “Yes. Who is this and how did you get my PID?”

  The cartoon man grinned so hard his nose disappeared. “Excellent! Wow, I was expecting someone older. Are you eighteen yet?”

  She frowned. “If you’re hitting on me…”

  “No. Promise. Just kinda wrong asking a kid to visit a bad area.”

  “I’m not a kid, and you haven’t told me who you are or how you got this PID.”

  A sweat bead the size of a potato appeared at his left temple. “Ehh, I’m good online. Doesn’t really matter.”

  “You’re a hacker.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Someone’s got a fan club.” Dorian winked.

  Kirsten sighed.

  “Hacker… whatever. I’ve been called worse. Look, I need your help. Some super crazy shit is happening. This dude is appearing out of thin air, breaking stuff. Been hearing demonic laughter, breathing, footsteps, swear something straight-up grabbed me by the neck. Shit’s been thrown at me. I’ve been pushed at windows and stairs. Even had a power cable try to stab me in the eye.”

  “Wow. Wonder what he did to piss off a spirit.” Dorian whistled.

  “Can you help me?” asked the guy. “I found a spot where the attacks have more or less stopped, but it’s not a great area. If I stay here, the locals are going to be a problem. If I leave, the ghost is going to kill me.”

  “Not a great area sounds like black zone,” deadpanned Kirsten.

  “Must be a really horrible one if a ghost won’t go there.” Dorian chuckled.

  “Where are you?” Kirsten pushed the Aethervein lookup aside and brought up a sector map along with another lookup window. “And who are you?”

  “I’m a quarter mile away from the southern border of Sector 1509, near the eastern corner.”

  She scrolled the sector map to 1509. Sure enough, it had been blacked out of the system due to ‘extreme danger of violence.’ 1509 sat on the edge of the city by the ocean, close to the southern end of the elevated city plates. The actual ground under the city in the same region had once been called Long Beach, part of Los Angeles.

  “Full of Angels…” Kirsten tilted her head side to side. “Gang issues?”

  “Not so sure.” Dorian walked over to stand beside her. “The Angels prefer civilization. Can’t sell chems if there aren’t people around with credits. 1509’s most likely collecting random miscreants, crazy augs, and possibly some small self-contained gangs who don’t leave the area.”

  “Great…” She grumbled.

  “Hey, kiddo,” said the hacker. “I’ll pay you fifty grand if you get this thing off my ass.”

  “I’m not a medtech. Don’t do moles.”

  He laughed. “Seriously. Fifty grand if you can stop this… whatever it is from killing me.”

  “Have you killed anyone or been responsible for any deaths in the past twenty years?” asked Kirsten.

  “If I have, it’s been an accident. Took a bot or two out of the sky. It’s possible they crashed into someone, but I doubt it.”

  “I need to know what I’m getting into. What the heck is your name?”

  “Max Buffer,” said the hacker.

  “Wow. Look, dude. I’m blonde, but I’m not that blonde. I know what a buffer is, and you’re about to max out my patience buffer. Aren’t you hacker types supposed to be egomaniacs? Proud of your accomplishments? What’s your handle?”

  Dorian chuckled.

  “It doesn’t ma—AAAH—ter.” The animated head whipped to the side, screaming from a mouth big enough to swallow a watermelon whole. “Holy shit… uhh, okay. Fine. I’m Plasmahawk.”

  Kirsten scowled. “What are the odds?”

  “Probably not too bad considering he’s likely hacked at least half the city’s shower units. I imagine quite a few people want this guy’s head on a plate.”

  “I meant what are the odds this guy calls me?”

  “There didn’t seem to be any other option for seriously dealing with an angry spirit.” The huge sweat bead reappeared on the anime figure’s head, along with a cheesy smile.

  She locked her desk terminal. “Okay. I’m on the way. And you don’t need to pay me.”

  “Excellent.” He grinned. “Head to the southeast corner of Sector 1509. Once you’re close enough, I’ll send a waypoint to your ’Mini.”

  “Sounds like a trap.” Dorian put a hand on her shoulder. “Why doesn’t he send it now?”

  “All right.” Kirsten ended the call. “Suri, please package the entire recording up and send it to my official inbox, copy Div 2 and Sam with a request to verify the origin.”

  “Okay,” chimed the NetMini.

  “He’s not sending me the waypoint now because he’s afraid we’ll roll in with a Division 6 assault squad to arrest him. If he sees too many of us coming for him, he’ll take his chances with the ghost. If it’s only me, he’ll show me his front door.”

  “You’re going, aren’t you?” Dorian folded his arms.

  “Yeah. Can’t let a ghost kill someone, even a jackass like Plasmahawk.” She fast-walked to Captain Eze’s office. “Cap?”

  He looked up from his terminal. “Good afternoon. What’s on your mind?”

  “You know the guy with the autoshower ransomware? Plasmahawk?” She tapped her NetMini. “He just called my personal PID asking for help. Looks like he has a ghost trying to kill him. Sounds fairly serious. He used the word ‘demonic,’ but it’s unlikely an abyssal.”

  “What makes you so sure it isn’t?” asked Captain Eze.

  “He lived
long enough to track me down and call me.” Kirsten rested her hands on her hips.

  “All right. You know where this man is?”

  “Generally. Sector 1509. For some reason, the ghost is leaving him alone wherever he is now. I’m guessing he’s found an old bit of sanctified ground or someplace where the energy is off-putting to spirits. He’s going to send me a more exact waypoint when I get closer. Can you put a tac team on standby in case I get in over my head with the locals?”

  “You don’t want to lead a team in?”

  “He’ll spook and not send me his location if he sees a whole team coming.”

  “Depends on how scared he is of this ghost.” Dorian tapped his foot. “He did tell you his name rather than risk you not going.”

  She looked at him. “Yes, but giving me his name makes him more likely to be afraid of a team. If we didn’t know who he was, he wouldn’t be worried.”

  Captain Eze leaned back in his chair, lips pursed. “All right. I trust you’ll be as careful as possible. I’ll have a tactical unit shadowing you from a distance.”

  “Thanks, captain.” She smiled and hurried out.

  Dorian jogged after her to the garage.

  * * *

  The seventy-five-mile flight southwest to Sector 1509 from the PAC took a hair over eleven minutes.

  To avoid having crazy cybergangers shoot missiles at the patrol craft, she decided not to fly directly into the black zone and circled around to approach from the southeast, cruising in over the grey Sector 1458. Based on the appearance of the buildings and general conditions at ground level, she kept flying west into Sector 1457, directly south of the 1509 black zone. From the air, the demarcation between grey and black took the form of a rapid decline in the integrity of high rises, and a near total lack of surviving glass in the windows. Within Sector 1509, the city looked like it had suffered a nuclear war, only with slightly less melting of the plastisteel structures. Destruction had, as it invariably tended to do, crept past the arbitrary square boundary of a grid sector on all three sides. The western border of 1509 had nowhere for the blight to creep, being the edge of the city plates overlooking the ocean.

  It seemed unlikely fish in the area overindulged in cybernetics and did chems, but she’d seen weird things before.

  She descended between rows of filthy high-rise buildings, skimming along about fifty feet above the traction-coated plastisteel roads. Wrecked cars, burn barrels, barricades for gang warfare, and the occasional working land vehicle went by below. People who stayed in grey zones typically didn’t shoot at police on sight but could become dangerous if provoked. Enough time spent in the armpit of civilization, a person stopped caring how much trouble they got into.

  A street a little over a mile from the start of the extreme decay finally offered enough open space to set down. Due to all the junk in the roads, only small ground cars could navigate here. The spectacle of a police patrol craft drew hundreds of curious locals out of various shadowy holes. Faces peered at her from high rises. Filthy kids dangling on fire escapes watched her go by. Vagrants emerged from alleys and trash bins, drawn by the unusual sound of ion thrusters.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Dorian.

  Kirsten frowned at a pack of pre-teens sitting with their legs through the bars of a fifth-story patio. “What are children doing here?”

  “Living… sort of. We’re not in the black zone yet.”

  She extended the ground wheels and set down in the middle of the road. “I’m not too worried. Street punks don’t usually mess with Zeroes. You know that. Div 1 always gives them a hard time. We don’t.”

  “Right. Shall I fly the PC to 1406?” He pointed at the closest non-grey sector. “If I don’t, you’ll come back to a bare frame. They’ll steal the armor right off it.”

  “You are exaggerating, but better safe than being grilled by an inquiry board over losing a PC.”

  He chuckled. “If we were Div 1, I’d make a joke about them being more upset at us risking the PC than your life, but we’re not.”

  “Div 1 isn’t that jaded.”

  “My dear sweet ingénue, they’re all that jaded. Division 0 people are simply harder to replace.”

  “What did you call me?” Kirsten shot him a sideways glance.

  “An innocent, naïve young woman.”

  She sighed at the dashboard and pushed the door up. Even expecting it, the stink made her cough. Sector 1457 smelled like the drain pipe out of a Division 6 locker clogged up with charred roadkill.

  A few hundred people, most of whom peered at her from windows overhead on both sides of the street, stared at her in curiosity. The patrol craft lifted off again, throwing a scattering of blue sparks across the ground.

  Beep.

  Her NetMini received an incoming directional ping, similar to how various common dating apps allowed people using it to find each other when close. Keeping a wary eye on her surroundings, Kirsten crossed the street, heading down a debris strewn sidewalk. A single police officer showing up in a grey zone stirred curiosity more than anything. Locals would react to a larger group by fleeing or possibly becoming violent, but only if they overdid it on chems. Sector 1509 hadn’t been the site of any military attempt to retake ground from the undesirable elements, so the denizens lacked access to abandoned heavy weapons. It didn’t prove no one had anti-armor rockets or explosives, however. Cybergangers frequently got a hold of illegal weapons on the black market and ended up hiding in disavowed sectors, confident the police would never go after them there.

  For the most part, it proved true. Pursuing a suspect into a black zone required almost as much effort as overthrowing the government of a tiny Third World nation. The cost involved in mobilizing a large Division 6 assault—or sending in active military personnel—far exceeded the presumptive value of capturing a criminal. Plus, as Captain Eze told her on more than one occasion, conditions in these places amounted to worse than prison—mostly because more people would actively be trying to kill them at any one moment and no one brought them food at regular intervals.

  Off-gridders and fringers stared at her as she walked among them. A few had cybernetic arms, eyes, or legs, though none wore the insignias of an organized cybergang. She scanned the surface thoughts of anyone who gave her a bad vibe. Most were confused at seeing one cop so close to a black zone. Once they realized the significance of her uniform, people mostly retreated behind a wall of fear toward psionics. One guy with red cybernetic eyes thought she looked like a fourteen-year-old. He argued with himself over the urge to help her ‘get out of the bad part of town.’ He’d picked up on her being psionic by the Division 0 uniform but didn’t completely trust she wouldn’t ‘freak out’ and melt his brain. Still, his protective urge surprised her, even if being mistaken for a kid annoyed her.

  Guess it doesn’t really bother me too much, or I’d go to Reinventions. They could make me taller, give me bigger boobs, curvier hips. She mentally stuck out her tongue at the idea. What a waste of money. How many people could eat for the cost of vanity?

  A wiry man stepped in front of her. Metal lens eyes sticking a few inches out from his face whirred, focusing down at her. Spikes covered his giant metal shoulder pads, almost as sharp as the spiky blue hair sprouting from his scalp. She peered up at him, disturbed at the realization the shoulder pads appeared to be screwed into his flesh.

  “Police ain’t allowed here,” growled the augmented thug.

  “Says who?” asked Kirsten.

  His iris lenses widened, whirring faintly. “The hell you think you’re talkin’ to?”

  “An idiot with too many microchips where brains should be.” She frowned. “Go away.”

  Everyone within thirty or so feet able to see the glow in her eyes fell silent.

  The aug twitched, a line of drool rolling over his chin. His iris lens eyes snapped shut for a millisecond in a simulation of blinking. Two seconds later, he strode off in a random direction as urgently as if he had ten sec
onds to get to a toilet before his ass exploded. People continued gawking at her.

  She checked the waypoint on her NetMini and resumed walking.

  Telempaths have it easy. A little radiant fear keeps the morons away. They don’t have to kill anyone in places like this.

  Amazingly, she passed a few shops and food vendors still in operation despite being a quarter mile away from a black zone. Even the violent idiots need to eat. She couldn’t decide if the people running businesses here qualified as brave, foolish, or desperate. Food served by a person behind three-inch-thick bulletproof armored glass had to be the sort of stuff one ate when choices ran out.

  People thinned out block after block. Eventually, after she’d gone a few cross-streets into the official black zone, she felt like the lone survivor of the end times, wandering between collapsing high-rises. A brownish-grey ‘sand’ formed from the long-ago crushed remains of a million windows, decorative siding fallen from the sides of buildings, destroyed furniture, machinery, and various chemicals crunched under her boots. The sediment gathered in windblown piles against wrecked cars or the sides of buildings.

  Proximity to the ocean lent a noticeable salty flavor to the air. Old street signs scattered around on the walls or stuck to the sides of ruined cars hinted at an open access to the Beneath nearby. Someone in the area had evidently developed a fondness for scavenging stop signs, one-way signs, rectangular green street name signs, and so on. Even a few ancient license plates hung from walls like ornaments.

  If anything existed akin to a sense of nostalgia for a place one hated and feared rather than looked fondly back on, Kirsten experienced it. The trappings of three centuries ago everywhere brought her back to the two years she’d spent living in the Beneath as a child. Other than a few fond memories of nice ghosts looking after her, she mostly had horrible memories of being down there. Near starvation, running away from crazy tribals or the Discarded, sleeping in trash, hoping no one found her before she woke up, struggling to find food. Worst of all, the man who took advantage of her when she’d been twelve. In a strange way, she considered him responsible for her present life. She would never credit the man who coerced her into having sex for food as any sort of savior, but if he hadn’t terrified her enough to flee to the surface, she’d have stayed down there, grown too big to fit through the pipes, and spent the rest of her—probably short—life living like a wild creature.