Guardian Page 4

  “Oh, stop.” She got out and put her helmet on.

  Faint hissing lingered for two seconds as it sealed to the neck ring on her armor. The visor filled with tactical displays, a small overhead view in the top left corner, and an ammo counter from a wireless link to the E-90. It converted the full e-mag’s charge from a percentage to equivocate forty shots remaining. Division 0 personnel appeared with blue glowing outlines in augmented reality, complete with their names and ranks floating over them as if she’d walked into a collision between Monwyn MMO and real life.

  “Agent Wren, this is Lieutenant Commander Arroyo.” A man’s voice filled her helmet. “Come to the MCP.”

  Who is that? A part of her felt like a kid being ordered around by someone else’s dad. Where was Captain Eze? Not that it mattered; Arroyo outranked him. She spotted the commander’s name bar floating in space up ahead, and ‘eye-clicked’ on it. A small virtual panel opened with a handsome Hispanic man’s portrait. LCMDR (O4) Arroyo, Miguel. Division Zero Tactical Operations. Oh, no wonder I’ve never seen him… he’s Tac.

  She jogged across the street-turned-parking lot, surrounded by staccato camera flashes of bright azure. Lieutenant Commander Arroyo met her by the trailer of the mobile command post, near a ramp formed by a section of the sidewall that had lowered into a ramp. She snapped to attention and saluted him. “Commander.”

  His return salute came crisp and abbreviated. “Agent Wren. I’m sure you are curious why I-Ops was called to a tactical event.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind, sir.”

  “Well. Most of your brethren are on crowd containment detail. Command has directed me to have you manage another problem.”

  “Sir?” She snuck a glance left at a cluster of tactical officers huddled behind two black A3Vs, one with Captain’s insignia on his shoulders. The massive six-wheeled armored vehicles blocked them off from any possible attack originating from the building. “All due respect, but this seems like overkill for what’s going on.”

  He set his hands on his hips. “I’m inclined to agree with you. How much do you know?”

  “Only some of that jackass Harris’s people have been taken hostage. Are we sure they’re not staging this?”

  “Let me verify.” Dorian ran off.

  “That is correct.” Arroyo raised an eyebrow as Kirsten’s head turned to follow her partner into the distance. “Is something… oh, wait. You’re one of those. What did you see?”

  “My partner is a ghost. He’s going to scout the inside.”

  “Your partner?” He chuckled. “Please tell me that’s not official…”

  “No, sir. It is unusual. My particular skill set and assignments haven’t been much for keeping a live partner willing to work with me. It’d have to be another astral sensitive and the only other one I know of who isn’t prepubescent is assigned to East City. Been doing okay as is, so they haven’t made a big deal out of it.”

  Lieutenant Commander Arroyo chuckled. “You’re still a kid yourself.” His casualness faded back to a military bearing. “Anyway. We have determined that between six and ten psionic suspects have abducted four or five individuals affiliated with the Reverend Harris’s anti-psionic church. As you can imagine, the brass is highly concerned with the potential harm this could cause to public opinion. We can’t afford to make martyrs of them. Your responsibilities here include damage control on the part of any NewsNet personnel who seem likely to spread false stories.”

  “Sir?”

  “Agent Wren, you are hereby authorized on the order of the Command Council to utilize your suggestive abilities to prevent NewsNet employees from disseminating classified information to the public, especially if things go south. This includes, but is not limited to, ordering them to go home, turn over recording equipment, delete files, reveal anything they have learned, or forget what they have seen.”

  “I… they want me to make people forget?” She blinked. “Sir, that’s not within my ability. I’ve only got a Grade 3 certification with Mind Blast… I can’t erase memories… besides, isn’t that… wrong?”

  “At the moment, most people view Harris and his cult as crazy. You know how the NewsNet is. If they can splice together enough of a video feed to make it look like we went in there and killed them, they will. You are to prevent that. We’re not asking you to make them lie.”

  “Yes, sir.” A storm raged in her gut.

  “This is probably a damn stunt to garner media attention. Past encounters lead us to believe they are fanatical enough to accept loss of their own lives to further their agenda. We’ve locked down all data feeds from the building, and so far, we haven’t detected any attempts to breach the temporary firewall. If they were planning to broadcast a massacre, they haven’t gotten started yet.”

  “Commander, Agent,” said a woman with a deep, scratchy voice.

  Kirsten stared like a deer facing a speeding car at a short, but muscular woman in black psi-armor. Her hair, black on top, silvery-grey at the sides, had been cut short. She’d have thought it a pixie, but the woman didn’t look anything close to ‘cute.’ According to the augmented reality nameplate floating over her head, the approaching woman was Area Chief Helena Larson, equivalent to a brigadier general.

  Both Kirsten and Arroyo rendered salutes, though the Commander’s was almost casual by comparison, as was Larson’s.

  “What’s this I hear about ghost recon?” Chief Larson’s boots clanked on the ramp, falling silent once she reached the plastisteel ground.

  Kirsten gave her a brief overview of Dorian and his plan to look around inside.

  “I see.” Chief Larson gestured at the cluster of tactical officers. “Our insertion teams have been evaluating an entry plan, and so far they’re telling me they can’t see a way in short of rushing the front door and kicking off the fireworks. It would be quite helpful if this ghost of yours happened to exist.”

  “I assure you, Ma’am. He exists.” She twisted left, watching the tactical squad argue with each other. One woman’s voice rose above the din pointing out an old access shaft from the building’s boiler room down into the city plate. They crowded closer, poring over a large holographic screen. Dorian emerged from the front of the building and jogged toward her. “He’s coming back now.”

  A shrill scream reminiscent of a classic horror movie bimbo rang out.

  All eyes turned to an adjacent alley, where a man in a tattered coat sat up out of a pile of trash, one leg still inside a plastiboard box, his face a mask of sheer terror. He went cross-eyed as perhaps a hundred individuals scanned his surface thoughts―the telepathic chaos made Kirsten wince. The connection dropped as he fainted.

  He’s afraid of cops. She almost laughed, but felt guilty about it.

  Dorian walked up next to her. “Well, it’s not a setup. There are six people holding four hostages in a boiler room a level below the street. One of the hostage takers is operating a portable terminal tapped into the security system of the building. I eavesdropped for a bit. Sounds like their plan is to flee through the beneath at the first sign of entry. The hostages are lined up against the left wall, secured to pipes with cheap physical handcuffs.”―he mimicked someone forced to hug a fat pipe ―“Probably ordered them on the spur of the moment from a sex shop.”

  Kirsten suppressed a shiver at the memory of Konstantin’s ‘dungeon,’ and relayed everything to Larson and Arroyo.

  “What sort of weapons do they have?” asked Larson.

  “One of the suspects is a minor boy, who is not armed. The rest have an assortment of handguns, small automatic weapons, and one woman has a katana. None of them noticed me, though they all reacted to my presence.”

  Kirsten relayed his assessment.

  “Did your ghost hear any of their intentions?” asked Chief Larson.

  Dorian nodded. “Yes. The youngest of the HTs appears to be a telepath who the others believe strong enough to erase the hostages’ hatred of psionics.” He shied away from Kirsten’s gla
re. “He’s about Evan’s age.”

  “Something wrong, Agent?” asked Arroyo.

  “Commander…” She took a breath to keep herself as calm as possible. “Dorian says the juvenile suspect is… only around nine or ten years old.”

  Both Larson and Arroyo mumbled curses under their breath.

  “That’s just fucking wonderful.” Arroyo glared at the floor. “Wren, you’re not to let word of this reach the NewsNet people.”

  “That’s over her skill set, Miguel.” Larson glanced at her armband computer. “Ashford is on the way, but we need to get everyone out of there first… preferably alive.”

  Arroyo’s caramel-hued face paled several shades. “Understood, Ma’am.”

  “Any other kids?” asked Kirsten.

  “One of the hostages looks young. Maybe twelve to fourteen.” Dorian kicked the toe of his non-boot at the ground. “Of the four, she’s the only one not spewing a steady stream of condemnation at them. She kept her head down.”

  “Probably terrified.” Kirsten fumed to herself. “Her parents load her up with bullshit and then we have idiots proving them right.”

  “Hell with that,” said a deep voice from the tactical team.

  “It’s the only way in.” A female officer pointed at the schematic hovering in midair on a blue light panel. “Enter at this point, travel to this ladder, down to the surface, cross to this other ladder three hundred meters west, then back up here and here.”

  “For a bunch of bible beaters?” The big man shook his head. “Hell with that, Apps, I ain’t risking my team down there.”

  The tactical group fell into a debate about the dangers of The Beneath, though it seemed only one of them―Tactical Officer II Appleton, E., according to Wren’s display―was willing to consider the long way around. Comm chatter started up around Chief Larson looking for estimates on how long it would take a telepath of bare-minimum skill to reprogram the church members. Responses couldn’t come to a consensus; everyone kept saying it would be impossible to tell without knowledge of the boy’s ability… guesses ranged from forty minutes per person to five.

  A clinical male voice with the affect of a university professor silenced the comm channel. “The crucial issue is how deep-seated the hatred lies. If an individual has a specific reason to dislike psionics, such as a prior personal trauma, it would take far longer to negate. Someone merely following the crowd could be made to forget in less than a minute. Of course, my mechanism is replacing memory with blank space… which is far more permanent than constructing fictional reality overlays transparent enough to avoid the slow erosion of dissonance from peeling them away.”

  Kirsten looked down as dozens of Division 0 personnel succumbed to fearful silence at the words of Lieutenant Commander Ashford.

  “Ma’am.” Kirsten looked over at Larson. It struck her odd not to have to peer upward at someone in a position of authority. Even kindly Director Carter, head of all of Division 0, made her feel tiny. “If the tactical team rushes the front door, the suspects will be gone before they make it to the basement. Even if we deprogram anything that boy does, it could give the impression of interference.”

  “You sound like Carter now.” Dorian smirked.

  “I’d like to try to get in from beneath.” Kirsten glanced at the building. “I’m a suggestive, Ma’am. If I’m being ordered to skirt ethical boundaries already, I’d prefer to influence the HTs to stand down.”

  “You’ve no qualms about going under the plate?” Chief Larson blinked.

  “No. The feelings of unease psionics get down there is due to a large amount of spirits. Most of the rumors of mutants and, uhh, monsters, are fiction. It’s not a problem for me… I’ve, umm, spent a lot of time down there before.”

  Arroyo waved at the air. “Appleton.”

  A woman in black psi armor jogged over. Like Kirsten, blonde, though her jaw and overall stature hinted at Nordic ancestry, leaving Kirsten eye-to-breast with her. She exchanged salutes with the three of them. “Sir?”

  Kirsten’s came slow. Right. I’m technically a commissioned officer.

  “Still up for going underground?” asked Arroyo.

  Appleton nodded without hesitation. “Yes, sir.”

  “This is Agent Wren, I-Ops.”

  “Agent.” Appleton saluted her again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been following your mission reports for some time.”

  “Looks like you have a fan club.” Dorian winked.

  “Uhh. Thanks. We’re going through the Beneath. Ready?”

  Tactical Officer II Appleton nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “If anything looks like it’s going out of control, we’re kicking down the front door.” Larson gave Kirsten a ‘be careful’ stare, and trotted back up into the mobile command trailer.

  A nav dot opened in Kirsten’s heads-up display as Appleton set up a waypoint to the hatch cover. The route required going all the way to the natural Earth below the city due to the presence of a ‘hard wall,’ a point where city plate construction had stalled for a decade or two, believed to be finished before more construction picked up and kept going. The nearest passage in the barrier between plate interiors was over three miles away, a prohibitive trek on foot.

  They hurried down the street, turned right two blocks later, and headed into an alley.

  “What idiot designed this?” Kirsten grumbled. “No interior connections for miles?”

  Appleton squatted over the access hatch leading down into the plate. “Probably the same genius who got the idea to build a city on fifty-meter stilts.”

  “Uniform flat surface.” She rolled her eyes. “Something about maximizing efficiency to cram a giant nation’s worth of people into two cities.”

  “So you’re not afraid of the stories?” Appleton grabbed the rubberized handle, gave it a twist, and hauled the squarish hatch plate open. It rose on motorized struts with a soft hiss, emitting vaporous fog laced with a rotten-raspberry stink. “About what’s down there?”

  “Nope.” Kirsten stared at the hole, out of nowhere feeling ten years old again. “First time I went down there, I didn’t know any better, and I didn’t have any weapons.” She slipped down onto a ladder. Or shoes…

  “Heh. What did they send you under the city for?” Appleton hopped on as soon as Kirsten had descended enough to make room. “Someone hiding out?”

  “Yeah. Me. I was ten.” Kirsten made her way down twenty-four meters of sticky metal rungs, caked with all manner of industrial chemicals.

  “Aww. That’s so sad. I kinda freaked out when Zero showed up at my door too, but I didn’t run off.”

  “I wasn’t hiding from them. I didn’t even know they existed.” Kirsten stepped away from the base of the ladder and checked her armguard. She turned to face the navigation trail, ignoring the ‹no signal› warning at the top of the holographic screen floating over her forearm. A few feeble LED bulbs in brick-sized cages dotted the dark maze of pipes and passageways. Her toes clutched the inside of her boots at the memory of how it had felt to walk on the metal grating barefoot.

  Dorian settled at her left. “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “What?” asked Appleton, jumping the last three rungs. The clomp of her boots echoed in the metal cavern.

  “Talking to Dorian.”

  Appleton looked around. “That didn’t go over comms.”

  “I know. He’s right next to me.”

  “Oh!” Appleton laughed. “A ghost right? Hey, it’s okay if you wanna hang back.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything in the Beneath. It’s full of ghosts and I’m not worried about them.” Kirsten stepped over pieces of a broken wire conduit and headed along the passage indicated by the computer.

  “I meant once we get into the building.” Appleton grumbled. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s right they send thirteen-year-olds into the field. Your parents must be worried to death.”

  Kirsten stopped.

 
“Oh, shit,” said Dorian.

  “I’m twenty-two.” Kirsten glanced back at the taller woman. “I came down here to get away from my mother.” She paused.

  Appleton pursed her lips. “Well. Okay. I’m an idiot. I can’t come up with anything to say back.”

  “The last thing you should think about right now is your mother.” Dorian glided in front of her. Her shoulders chilled as he attempted to squeeze them. “Those hostages have simi―”

  Kirsten stormed through him. “I know. I know.”

  He burst into a rolling cloud of silvery energy for an instant before he coalesced ‘solid’ again, facing her.

  “What?” asked Appleton, running a little to catch up.

  “Dorian is worried I’m going to do something stupid because these idiots are bible-beating shitheads like my mother. She almost killed me when I was little because she thought psionics were the Devil’s work.”

  “Aww.”

  Kirsten whirled on her. “I don’t need your pity. At least, not anymore… I’m over it.”

  Dorian shot her a disbelieving smirk.

  “Sorry, Ma’am.” Appleton sighed.

  “Okay, maybe I’m on edge. Sorry.” Kirsten resumed walking. Two minutes later, she paused at the top of the ladder leading from the bottom of the city plate to the natural ground about fifty meters farther down. “I was a pretty pathetic sight back then, but I’m not that terrified little kid anymore.”

  “Astrals are pretty rare. How old were you when you drew field?”

  Kirsten lowered herself over the edge. “Sixteen. You?”

  “Eighteen. Got discovered by accident at a varsity Gee-ball game.”

  “Gee-ball?” Kirsten stopped and looked up. “You played Gee-ball?” Before Appleton stepped on her helmet, she hurried downward again.

  “High school, yeah. Everyone thought I was a phenom, until Coach Farkas from the Star Smashers watched the game video in slow mo.”

  “Star Smashers? The way you said that makes me think rival.” Kirsten disabled the suit’s active infrared night vision and concentrated on Darksight. In seconds, a narrow ‘flashlight tunnel’ of vision expanded to miles and miles of old, ruined civilization. Several high-rise buildings lay in ruins, no doubt victimized by century-past earthquakes that the floating city barely noticed. “Wow… This used to be a pretty big city here.”