Truancy Origins (61 page)

“Yes, ma'am,” Cross mumbled.

“Is this the boy you were talking about earlier, madam?” Edward said, turning sideways to plant his feet on the floor.

“Yes, dear, I told you that we might have to put him in your room,” she said anxiously. “Is that all right?”

“Of course. I know how much trouble it is for you, with all the other rooms stuffed full,” Edward said. “I wouldn't want to inconvenience you any more than I already do.”

“Oh not at all dear, not at all!” Mary said. “Cross here seems like a quiet child, I'm sure you'll get along well. Cross, this is Edward, you're going to be rooming with him from now on.”

“Hello,” Cross said quietly.

Edward got up and walked over to Cross, his hand outstretched. As Cross hesitantly shook it, he got a good look at Edward's face for the first time. In an instant he realized that they had met before, when he had been lying facedown on the street after being attacked by miscreants.

“Hi,” Edward said warmly, reaching down to take Cross' luggage. “Nice to meet you. Please come in.”

“Thanks,” Cross muttered. He'd seen enough to know that Edward was the one calling the shots around here, and life under Rothenberg had taught him that it was smart to please the one calling the shots.

Mary, who had been watching carefully, beamed at them both.

“Well,” she said, “I'll let you two get to know each other a little better. I've got some things to take care of now, but if there's anything you need just let me know.”

“Thank you very much, madam,” Edward called.

Mary smiled even wider, and then the door shut, leaving them both in relative darkness. Edward paused for a moment, and then turned to face Cross, his expression shrewd.

“Well, now that she's gone, we can speak frankly,” Edward said. “You're that kid that got roughed up a while back, aren't you? That makes you one of the few around here who know the real me. It would be best to stay out of my way—but you already knew
that,
didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“You're not stupid, I can see that much.” Edward narrowed his emerald eyes. “And you're not afraid of me either.”

“No,” Cross agreed.

“You think you've seen worse. I like that,” Edward announced, walking over to deposit Cross' luggage onto an unused bunk. “Just don't let it get to your head.”

“I won't,” Cross promised.

“And I believe it,” Edward said, plunking down onto his bunk again. “Sit down, won't you?”

Cross obediently moved to sit on the bunk that Edward had chosen for him.

“I heard from the staff earlier that your father got hurt,” Edward said. “What did he do anyway?”

“He is . . . was an Enforcer,” Cross answered. “His name is Rothenberg. That's all I know, really. They didn't tell me anything.”

At the name Rothenberg, Edward suddenly sat up, keen interest glinting in his venomous eyes.

“Rothenberg?” he repeated. “I don't believe in destiny . . . but this is quite the coincidence.”

Cross blinked. “You knew my father?”

“We met. Twice.” Edward smiled in a way that made most people shiver, though Cross seemed unaffected. “You interest me, Cross. Something tells me that we
are
going to get along a lot better than I did with your father.”

“You know what happened to him.”

“His time ran out,” Edward said, leaning forward. “But that's not what's important, is it? Let me tell you what's going on in this City right now, Cross. And after that, I'll explain how
our
time is fast approaching.”

 

T
he first warm rays of spring sunlight cascaded down onto District 19. Snow and ice that had until long clung stubbornly to rooftops and scaffolding finally bowed out to the light, melting gradually to form small waterfalls and brilliant sprays that glittered in the sun as they crashed down onto the streets below. The winter had passed, spring was here, and light had earned its place alongside the shadow.

Finally at peace, Umasi paused, allowing himself to admire the warmth of the sun and the sound of the water. For this day, at least, there would be no shadows over his stand—perhaps none even over the entire district. Having finally disposed of the last of his responsibilities, he felt truly free now, a wonderful sensation that seemed to bubble from the inside out.

Umasi wasn't exactly sure why he had delayed so long in writing the letter to the Mayor, but now that he had made his neutrality known, the last of his worries had faded. He could safely isolate himself from the rest of the world now, until the day he died, or until the coming war reached his doorstep. The Mayor would know better than to test him, and as for the boy who now called himself Zyid . . .

Leaning back in his chair, Umasi closed his eyes and thought back to the night it had all ended, and the words that had been exchanged after he had struck the last blow.

 

T
he world seemed a swirl of lights to the two brothers as they stared at each other on the icy ground. Zen's eyes were wide with shock, and
seemed almost accusatory as they bored into Umasi's own. Umasi could see that Zen felt cheated, and why wouldn't he? Not once in Zen's life had his abilities ever failed him. Never had he been so completely defeated, or come up against an enemy that was stronger than he. But now, even though he had fought dirty and with every ounce of his might, Zen had still lost.

“How does it feel to be the victim, Zyid?” Umasi whispered. “I've always known what it feels like. But you, you never have. Is that why you lack a conscience?”

Umasi tightened his grip on Zen's throat, and watched as Zen's eyes went glassy as he choked and sputtered, clawing feebly at Umasi's hand. Then Umasi released him, and Zen was dragging deep breaths into his lungs, his chest heaving pitifully.

“I'm going to let you live, Zyid,” Umasi said as he stood. “But I want you to remember this moment. I want you to remember it every time you take a life. I want you to remember what it is to be helpless, humiliated, and dying. Maybe then you'll understand why I chose not to go to war.”

Umasi stooped to swipe his sunglasses from the ground and put them back on. The scarf tied around his waist had come loose, and he retrieved that as well before looping it around his neck. Then he faced Zen again, and Zen looked up in awe.

Umasi stood triumphant, indomitable, the ends of his scarf fluttering in the chill wind. His body was framed by the glittering lights all around him, which were reflected in his dark, enigmatic sunglasses. Though his clothes were torn in some places and stained red in others, Umasi only seemed stronger for all that he had endured.

In that moment, Zen thought that it was the most impressive thing that he had ever seen in his life.

“I will return to District 19. Stay out of my business, and I'll stay out of yours,” Umasi said, snapping Zen out of his reverie. “I will tell the Mayor that my brother is dead. It's not so far from the truth anyway.”

With that Umasi turned his back on Zen and began walking away. As Zen watched him go, his conscience finally kicked in, and the sudden pain nearly overwhelmed him with its intensity. As he began to relive every sin he had ever committed, something cut through the haze of guilt. It was anger, and Zen latched on to it in desperation.

“You're no brother of mine!” Zen screamed. “You never were!”

Umasi didn't so much as pause, but instead raised his hand to wave backwards in farewell. Infuriated, guilty, and eager for death, Zen painfully propped himself up with one elbow, shouting at the receding figure with all the menace he could muster.

“If
you
won't kill me, then no one can!”

At that, Umasi glanced back at Zen from over his shoulder.

“No,” Umasi called. “Someday, another who can will rise.”

Umasi kept walking, out of sight and into the glittering night. Meanwhile Zen lay alone, defeated on the cold ground, knowing that he had truly been left behind. Then the memories returned, and for the first time in his life, he cried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You were right in the end, Brother.

Only now I wish that I were wrong.

Read on for a preview of Isamu Fukui's next book
Truancy City
tobe published by Tor Books in 2010

 

 

 

T
he tent was sweltering as the young woman opened the flap and ducked inside. It had been particularly humid in this region, and her gray combat uniform was woven out of nylon cotton, a fabric that didn't perfectly insulate against the summer heat. Her troops liked to joke about the clothing getting hot enough to bake potatoes, but the woman herself gave no sign of discomfort as she sat down at her desk and thumbed on one of a series of monitors around her.

As the monitor flickered to life, a gaunt and disheveled man appeared onscreen. Recognizing the woman, the man scowled and squeezed a chrome lighter with one hand.

“
You
. I should have known.”

“It's been awhile since we last spoke like this, Mr. Mayor,” the woman said. “That was nearly four years ago, correct?”

“Not long enough. I would have preferred never to see you again.”

The young woman smiled faintly at the monitor, her stormy gray eyes glinting.

“Don't tell me you haven't been expecting a visit from us, Mr. Mayor.”

“Actually I'm wondering what took you so long,” the Mayor said, flicking his lighter open. “Nearly a year since the rebellion went public? You're much slower than I'd heard . . .
Iris
.”

If the young woman was rankled by the mocking use of her name, she hid it well. Unperturbed, she leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers all the way through her dark, wavy hair, ending at the nape of her neck.

“If the decision were mine alone I would have come four years ago, at the first sign of trouble,” Iris said. “Things are a bit different now. I had to make sure I was bringing the military with me.”

“I heard you're a Lieutenant General now,” the Mayor said. “Shouldn't you have that military in your back pocket?”

“If only.” Iris sighed. “Sometimes I feel like it's the other way around.”

The Mayor frowned and clicked his lighter shut.

“Why are you calling?” he demanded. “Why now?”

Matching the Mayor's shift in demeanor, Iris sat up straight. Her voice, once politely neutral, now turned cold and hard.

“I didn't wish for this conversation any more than you, Mayor,” she said. “Procedure requires me to warn you that you have forty-eight hours to surrender yourself to Government custody and yield control of your City.” She smiled wryly. “If you refuse—and I expect you will—then you will be detained and the military will achieve control by itself.”

“Good luck with that. You'll need it.” The Mayor laughed bitterly. “I take it that you're camped just across the river, then?”

“I'm afraid that's none of your business.”

“Well then,” the Mayor growled, leaning forward, “all I have to say to you and your wretch of a father is this—
come and get me!
”

Iris brushed her forehead with her knuckles in a mild show of annoyance. The Mayor sat stoically, clearly expecting an additional outburst of some kind. But when Iris spoke again, her voice was oddly hushed.

“Where are the boys? Are they still alive?”

At that, the Mayor's face flushed red with anger.

“I'll die myself rather than tell
you
anything about that.”

The screen went dead. Iris slammed her fist against the desk.

“Yes,” she muttered. “You will.”

 

W
ho was that?”

The Mayor sighed and turned to face his guest, a boy sitting on the other side of his mahogany desk.

“A representative of the true Government of this City,” the Mayor replied, “and someone I had hoped you would never meet. It's a long story.”

“I've got time.”

“But the City doesn't,” the Mayor said sharply. “It's too late to explain the entire history of the Government, and frankly I don't know it all myself. What I can tell you is that they cannot be crossed. They are powerful beyond your imagination; their rule encompasses thousands of cities, and their military makes our Enforcers look like a joke.”

“And this City is one of the many under their control?”

“Yes and no,” the Mayor said. “This City is special—one of a few that the Government isolated decades ago.”

“Why?”

“Because of a storm of civil unrest that nearly destroyed them.” The Mayor flicked his lighter open. “It was before my time, so I don't even
know what the riots were about. But I do know that in the bloody aftermath, the Government decided to take extreme measures to make sure that nothing like that would ever happen again.” The Mayor smiled now. “The only problem was, no one could agree on which extreme measures to take.”

The boy inclined his head.

“So they created the Cities as experiments.”

“That's a bit misleading,” the Mayor said. “The Cities were already there—the Government merely isolated them from outside influence and implemented a different philosophy in each. Until four years ago, this City was considered the most promising of all.”

“And what was the philosophy behind this City?”

“It was simple.” The Mayor clicked his lighter shut. “The founders believed that
education
was the key to controlling a population.”

 

S
trapped across Iris's back was a black pole about three feet in length, which she now removed as she emerged from her tent. Pressing one of two buttons on it, she smiled as two metal ends instantly extended from either side of the pole, effectively forming a staff. Tapping one end against the ground, she glanced over at the shade where a colonel, a member of her staff, had been waiting.