Truancy Origins (35 page)

And yet Umasi
hadn't
killed Zen. Not even when he had the chance, not even in the moment of his greatest fury. It had been the girl with the icy eyes who had cooled his madness that day, when she had been prepared to give her life for Zen's. But Umasi had had time to think about the battle he had witnessed, the madness that he had traveled through. Beliefs he had claimed to hold for years had been tempered in the heat of battle, and Umasi knew now that he was sick of death. That if he faced Zen again, alone, nothing was likely to change.

Killing was a step he wasn't prepared to take, perhaps a step that he would never be prepared to take. Perhaps Zen would truly be unstoppable. Zen was the war bringer, and Umasi, being the pacifist, was in no position to stand in his way.

“Too bad, Red,” Umasi said as the light of the remaining embers cast his face into shadow. “I won't be avenging you after all.”

With that, Umasi spun around and returned to his apartment, the last of his anger dissipating as he lit the stove and began brewing lemonade.

 

R
othenberg sipped halfheartedly at his mug of coffee, not enjoying it in the least. He really was in a foul mood.

This was not an uncommon occurrence. Rothenberg's fickle temper was as legendary as any of his other traits, and ordinarily people would just avoid him, knowing that he'd cool off soon enough. But today hadn't been an ordinary day, and his disposition was uncommonly foul. It wouldn't have been so bad if his hopes for the day hadn't been so high, but having come so close to his goal only to be humiliated instead had plunged him into a truly dangerous mood.

And Rothenberg's mood was usually a good indicator of how long some poor kid had left to live.

“I'm going out,” Rothenberg announced to the rest of Enforcer Headquarters as he slammed his coffee down onto a desk.

“Where exactly are you going, sir?” one man asked.

“Hunting vagrants,” Rothenberg said as he stood up and went for his coat, “and then I'm going home.”

Nearly everyone in the room shivered at that pronouncement. Ever
since Rothenberg had been given unlimited power among the Enforcers, rumors had gone around about Rothenberg's thoughts on parenthood.

“But, sir, what about the investigation?” an Enforcer asked.

“We've already doubled the patrols and planned thorough sweeps of all abandoned districts,” Rothenberg muttered as he slid his coat on. “That's enough for today, it's not like there's anything else we can do.”

“Shouldn't we at least be running down some leads or som—”

“WHAT LEADS?” Rothenberg roared. “WE'VE GOT NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL!”

The whole room was silent. This kind of behavior had hardly ever been seen at Enforcer Headquarters, and it had certainly never been displayed by a commanding officer before.

“Our best lead led to a trap, and all we've got to show for weeks of effort are a bunch of wrecked cars and dead men,” Rothenberg continued. “The sweeps begin tomorrow, and if it's war they want it's war they'll get, but until then I've got vagrants to deal with.”

More silence. The Enforcers all knew that when Rothenberg worked himself up into a frenzy he could go out on patrol all night long without sleep. One bold Enforcer took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but Rothenberg quickly cut him off.

“Save your breath,” Rothenberg snarled. “Not even the Mayor could get me to stay here now.”

Just then, another Enforcer burst into the room, interrupting the exchange as he panted, clutching a cordless phone.

“Sir!” The Enforcer saluted, holding out the phone. “It's the Mayor. He wants to talk to you. He says it's urgent.”

Rothenberg shut his eyes and willed himself not to start smashing things in frustration. He could
feel
his subordinates silently laughing at him. Suppressing a snarl, Rothenberg snatched the phone out of the other Enforcer's hand and brought it up to his ear.

“Hello?” Rothenberg said.

“Mr. Rothenberg,” the Mayor greeted coldly. “It's been a while since you've bothered to update me on your search.”

“There hasn't been all that much to report, sir,” Rothenberg lied, shooting glances around the room as if daring someone to contradict him. “We've been running down a few leads, but we don't have a location yet.”

“Is that so?” the Mayor mused. “Then I suppose you can explain the disturbance today in District 15?”

Rothenberg swore under his breath. How had the Mayor found out so quickly?

“An exaggerated case of friendly fire,” Rothenberg said through gritted
teeth. “The boy armed a few starving vagrants, and the Enforcers got trigger-happy.”

“And that would explain all the Enforcer patrol cars that were destroyed?”

Rothenberg grimaced.

“I don't know what to tell you, sir,” he said at last.

“How about the truth?” the Mayor suggested coldly.

There followed an uncomfortable silence as Rothenberg was rendered speechless, sweat beginning to run down his neck. When the Mayor spoke up again, his voice had a dangerous edge that hadn't been there before.

“I am not pleased with you, Rothenberg,” the Mayor said. “Let me make it clear now that I don't buy any of your excuses. Luckily for you, I'm not so interested in the truth. In fact, I don't even
want
to know what exactly happened today.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I'm not finished,” the Mayor snapped. “What I
am
interested in, and what you've failed to do, is see my sons safely returned home. I will be sending one of my aides to keep an eye on your progress. You have three more weeks, Rothenberg, and be glad that I'm being that generous.”

With that, the Mayor hung up, leaving Rothenberg clutching his receiver so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Rothenberg glanced around at the other Enforcers, all of whom were looking at him expectantly. Rothenberg let out a deep rumbling sigh and clenched his fists.

“All right,” Rothenberg said, “our workday's been extended a few hours. Let's get back to it.”

 

Z
en stood in the center of the flower shop, under the single lightbulb that was all that cut through the darkness of the night. Though he was not the tallest Truant present, he seemed to tower over all the others as he rapidly issued orders. Despite their victory, there had been little time for celebration. Now that the conflict had started in earnest, Zen had no doubt that the Enforcers would be stepping up their operations, and that the Truancy would have to match them to survive. As he finished discussing their stock of explosives with Aaron, Zen turned to give Gabriel a new assignment, stubbornly ignoring the injuries he had sustained at the hands of his brother. Zen had resolved not to think about
those
until he'd done what needed to be done.

“Who is he, exactly?” Gabriel asked as he looked down at the photograph that Zen had presented.

“He's called Ralph, but his name isn't important. What's more significant is that he's
technically
the Chief of the Enforcers,” Zen said.

“Technically?”

“I've done a little investigation, and it seems that our notorious friend Rothenberg has been temporarily given complete control over the Enforcers to aid him in his . . . search,” Zen explained. “That would create a conflict at the highest level of command, and
that
simply won't do for a functioning organization. I can only presume that the Mayor has ordered Ralph to step aside to allow Rothenberg to pursue his search. That would explain his recently acquired habits, at any rate.”

“What habits?”

“He tends to frequent one particular bar in District 9 these days,” Zen said. “It seems that he's taken to drowning his woes in drink. Having his power stripped has not agreed with him.”

“So that's why you want us to take him out in District 9,” Gabriel observed.

“Exactly.” Zen nodded. “When he stumbles out in his usual stupor, he'll hardly be in any condition to make a fuss. Make sure that there are no witnesses, and then take him out.”

“This guy hasn't done anything to us,” Gabriel said uncomfortably. “I haven't heard of him ever killing anyone.”

“Don't go soft on me, Gabriel,” Zen said sharply. “It was by this man's hand that Rothenberg was promoted into a position to slaughter the vagrants. Ralph knew the type of man Rothenberg was. He just hired him to do the bloody work he didn't want to take responsibility for himself.”

Gabriel frowned. It seemed that no one was truly innocent in this City.

“All right,” Gabriel conceded. “But why not go after Rothenberg himself?”

“Several reasons,” Zen said. “Firstly, while he is not quite stupid, he does have the fatal flaws of overconfidence and underestimation. He keeps expecting frightened runaways, not an armed rebellion. Consequently, he can only bungle to our advantage until, perhaps, he is forced to face reality.

“Secondly, he's much more dangerous than the real Chief at present. Aside from his considerable Enforcer protection, he is renowned for his own physical prowess and marksmanship. I caught him by surprise once, but were he to be cornered alone again, it would take someone of extraordinary cunning and brutality to match Rothenberg,” Zen said. “Finally, he's notoriously unpredictable. He follows no exploitable patterns. He rarely even goes home, except to beat his son.”

Gabriel grimaced at that final pronouncement.

“I've already provided the details and the names of individuals you'll be working with,” Zen said. “This will be an easy operation, but also an important
one. The Enforcers will learn that they are not safe even when off-duty. If you have no more questions, you may go.”

Gabriel nodded again and threw a quick salute—not because he was required to, but out of genuine respect—and then spun around and left the flower shop. Barely taking time to catch his breath, Zen turned to address a waiting Frank.

“Frank, you and the other former vagrants know the abandoned districts better than any of the other Truants,” Zen said, to which Frank nodded. “Therefore, this most important assignment will fall to you. The Truancy's future success depends on turning the City's abandoned districts into safe zones where we can be relatively safe from Enforcer scouts.”

“I don't understand,” Frank said, frowning.

“It means that you will form a number of tiny crews to establish a presence in every abandoned district in the City,” Zen said patiently. “Not for long-term occupation, not to establish bases, but to heavily mine these districts with explosives—and whenever possible, attack Enforcer scouts and patrols.”

“If we're not gonna use 'em, what's the point of mining these districts?”

“To make the Enforcers fear them,” Zen said. “I want them to think twice about entering an abandoned district. I want them to know that they cannot do so lightly. Otherwise they would simply systematically search the City, and find and destroy our hideouts within weeks.”

“What if the Enforcers come in a big group?”

“If you've had time to prepare the traps, then you will be able to inflict far more damage on them than they will to you,” Zen said. “The goal here is to cause maximum damage with minimum cost. Take whatever Truants you need, and speak to Aaron about the explosives. I want you to move out tomorrow—I have no doubt that the Enforcers will have begun sweeping the abandoned districts by then. This is a race for control, and if we lose then we will have nowhere to hide. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. If you have no more questions, you may go.”

As Frank left, Zen let out a tired sigh and looked around. The shop was nearly empty, all the other Truants with orders having already left. Slumping slightly, Zen walked over to a small folding chair in a dark corner of the shop and sat down. Over in another corner, Noni was quietly stealing glances at him as she threw knives at a wooden target. She had very quickly graduated from darts.

Zen shook his head and leaned back to think. Zen's guts still churned like butter every time his mind strayed to his latest encounter with Umasi.
Up until that battle Zen had not spared his brother a second thought, certain that he'd given up and gone home long ago. His sudden reappearance mystified Zen. Umasi no longer looked like a vagrant, and yet he clearly had not returned to being a student. So what had he been up to? What had he become? It frustrated Zen, having known Umasi all his life and yet not being able to understand or recognize him anymore.

Zen thought about the brown-haired boy that he had killed, the one that had set everything in motion that day. Had the boy been a friend of Umasi's? Zen did not recognize him, but it was the only thing he could think of that would explain Umasi's unprecedented reaction. Did Umasi even know that it had been an accident, that Zen hadn't meant to do it? Had he seen what had happened? Didn't Umasi realize that Zen was—and here Zen's gut churned most violently, for he could barely admit this to himself—sorry about what he had done?

No, Zen decided, definitely not. No wonder he had been so upset then. But what really bothered Zen was how easily Umasi had managed to beat him. Yes, Umasi had taken him completely by surprise, in more ways than one. But Zen had barely been able to put up a fight. That was unlike him. It had been as though his limbs had frozen, his mind blanked. It was as though he'd been paralyzed by . . . by
guilt.

Zen shook his head like a dog drying himself of water. Little though he liked to dwell on it, he knew that he deserved what he'd gotten. Perhaps that had been why he could not fight properly. But still some credit had to go to Umasi, who, aside from his uncharacteristic ferocity, had demonstrated a fighting prowess Zen had never expected of him. Gone was the naïve and weak boy he'd humiliated on the piers, and in his place had risen something undeniably powerful.