by Ben Chaney
Son of Sedonia
A NOVEL BY:
Ben Chaney
For Mom, Dad, and the amazing friends
who pushed, supported, and tolerated my
excuses along the way.
...
And for anyone with a wall to climb.
CONTENTS
Prologue
PART ONE: Family
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
PART TWO: Choices
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
PART THREE:Consequences
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
PART FOUR: Civilization
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
PART FIVE: Destiny
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
JOGUN’S SHOULDER BAG swung wide as one of the grown-ups knocked into it. He stumbled on his scrawny, six-year-old legs in the dusty Falari Market street. Might as well have been invisible. There in the morning crowd, that was a bad and a good thing. Bad because he got treated like shit and people ran him over. Good because they didn’t notice his hands darting in and out of their pockets. At least most of the time. Sometimes he had to run.
Jogun steadied himself then shrugged the strap back into the callus on his shoulder. The pinching weight made him smile. It had been a good day. A few jewels made of polished glass and circuit board shards. A whole bottle of aspirin. Two nine millimeter magazines, one regular and one hollow point. Even a small propane tank, half full. All of it clinked heavily in his bag as he made his way through the buzzing market. No way he’s gonna hit me tonight... He breathed a little easier, but there was one last thing on his list before going home to find out.
He saw it ahead to his right, piled on a high counter. Bread. Long loaves of it, fresh from the cinder block ovens. He waded through the crowd of colorful fabrics and stood at the end of the line to wait his turn. Stealing food was a sin. Prayers didn’t come true if you used sinful bread at the Stepstones. The baker called him to the counter.
“Whatchu got?” asked the baker, scowling down at Jogun through dark, black wrinkles. Jogun rifled through his bag and came up with the aspirin. He grabbed the lid and twisted hard, but the cap wouldn’t budge. Not givin’ him the whole thing... He tossed it back in the bag and kept digging.
“Ain’t got all day, boy! C’mon!”
Jogun’s little fingers closed around one of the jewels. Tiny gold lines glistened in pretty patterns on its shiny green surface. He reached up and handed this one to the frowning baker. The thin, flour-covered man squinted at the jewel, put it in his pocket, then tossed a quarter-loaf down to Jogun.
“Thank you,” said Jogun, smelling the loaf. As his stomach growled, a low rumble rolled down through the market. Everyone’s head snapped up. The slate gray sky hung heavy above them. Rows of tiny white headlights crept in long straight lines against the clouds. Afternoon aerial traffic from the City. As the crowd whispered rain prayers to God or gods, Jogun frowned up at the distant cars. I hope you all crash. He stuffed the bread in his bag and set out west toward the Rasalla River.
The Blue Ladies gathered past the edge of the Stepstones’ concrete shore, ankle-deep in the shallow, oily water with hands locked in prayer. Dwellers of all kinds gathered at the water’s edge, sending little floating lights downstream. Jogun approached the beached long-boat by the water. The Blue Lady inside smiled up at him and happily showed her lack of teeth in the light from dozens of candles.
“A good day for prayers, young man,” she said. “God has shown he’s remembered us.”
“One, please,” Jogun said, passing the quarter-loaf to her.
“Bless you, sweet boy, here you go.” With both sand-colored hands, she offered him the flower. Cut soda-can petals splayed out in colorful layers of red, silver, and green. A squat wax candle filled the center. Head bowed, he accepted it. With a long reed, the old priestess passed flame from her candle to his.
“Go on,” she smiled warmly and nodded to the River.
Jogun walked carefully down to the edge, found a bare spot by the water, and knelt. He closed his eyes.
“God hear me,” he said under his breath. “Please protect Mama, and me, and my new baby brother or sister and make Dad go away. I promise I’ll take care of us after. Amen.” Jogun stooped, placed the flower gently in the water, and let go. He watched the light float past the Blue Ladies and toward the round mouth of a tunnel. There, it joined the other prayers in a flickering, starry stream. The first drops tapped his shaved head like an answer. He stood and looked up, savoring the damp, earthy smell.
“Thank you.”
The rain built to a downpour on his way home. Dwellers danced and sang on the rusted streets, balconies, bridges, and rooftops beside their catch basins. Too many languages to count. Jogun broke into a run through the muddy neighborhoods. He’d be in for it if their basin wasn’t flipped...but maybe his prayer had come true.
He was completely drenched by the time he got there. His thin, oversized tank-top clung to his narrow frame. The grey-green freight container apartment sat highest on the Stack, staring down at him. The fight last night had been one of the worst he could remember and the look on his mother’s face was fresh in his mind. Sad. Broken. Surrendered. The way she had cradled her swollen belly...
Their plastic front door was cracked open when he reached the top of the rickety stairs. The water basin sat upside-down and unmoved next to the door. Jogun flipped it over to let the rain collect and used some to rinse the mud from his feet. Through the crack in the door, the apartment looked pitch black. He leaned in.
“Dad? Mama?” His voice came out in a squeak. No answer. He strained to hear through the noise inside. Rain on their metal roof sounded like machine-gun fire. Not home. He breathed a sigh and walked in. When the door shut, a faint whimper rose above the noise. He tensed as he saw the pale light at the far end of the room.
Jogun’s father stood motionless outside the back door on the balcony, facing the shining Sedonia City skyline in the east. Jogun’s eyes adjusted to the dimness of the apartment. Signs of both last night’s fight and a new one were all around. Overturned crates, boxes, and tables. Their radio smashed to pieces in the corner. Broken bottles and glass lamps shattered and scattered and now...blood. A lot of blood. A spreading puddle of it led to the family mattress and stained the edge. A soaked woolen blanket covered a limp, curvy shape on the bed.
Jogun’s heart sank and pounded near his stomach. The fingers on his small hands flexed as one foot crept in front of the other toward the bed. Keeping one eye on Dad, he knelt next to it. Pulled back the blanket.
The wide-open pupils of her blue eyes stared at hi
m. Through him. The color had gone from her light brown skin. Her full lips gray and dry. Jogun dropped the blanket and threw up beside the bed.
“That you, boy?” his father said without turning. “Toss that bag in the corner, I’ll look through in a minute. Better be more’n last time.” Jogun heard the whimper again, louder now and coming from the balcony door. The baby! Shaking and dizzy, Jogun got to his feet, picked up his satchel, and reached inside. Closed his fingers around a pistol grip. Hesitated.
“Ma...Mama—”
“Told the bitch she couldn’t have any more. Now I gotta deal with it.” It sounded like he was talking about the chores or something. Jogun’s hand whipped out of the bag gripping the jet black nine millimeter pistol. It was so heavy he almost dropped it.
The big man turned with a sneer twisting his dark leathery features. A brown-skinned, newborn baby boy lay naked in his arms. It sputtered and coughed between brittle cries in the rain.
“If I gotta take that from you,” Jogun’s father growled, “you won’t get it back.” They glared at one another as the room dimmed. Another clap of thunder. Shoot. Shoot! Jogun’s trigger finger wouldn’t obey. His arms drooped under the weight of the pistol. Dad snorted. Turned back into the storm.
Jogun couldn’t hear a thing over his throbbing heartbeat. Sobs choked in the back of his throat. Then a sharp wail ripped through the room. His baby brother’s. Jogun raised the gun and pushed back the hammer with both thumbs. He squeezed the trigger.
1
Brotherhood
Twelve years later
ON TOP OF a low island chain of concrete apartments, Matteo could almost see everything. Didn’t matter that he was short, sick, and weak. Countless hazy miles of the living, breathing Slums surrounded him. The cracked, sun-drenched streets. Tin roofs and awnings sticking out from cheap brick apartments. Gutted spacecraft and hull fragments turned into neighborhoods. And a dizzying network of scaffolding, catwalks, and plank bridges tying it all together. He grumbled at the mess. Squinted further east through the early afternoon heat.
Towering bright and proud above the Slums, Sedonia City glittered in silence. Matteo’s big brown eyes traced the ivory skyscrapers at the center and carved each of them into memory. Early rush-hour traffic flew high overhead, to and from the center. Where do they go? He saw one ship had a cluster of glowing, blue-green engines on its belly. He watched it shrink into the skyline until his eyes watered. But as his gaze drifted down, his nose crinkled. The Border. A half-mile high, concrete barrier that separated City from Slum. He raised his hand in front of his face, blocking everything under the Border from view. Smiled.
The sting of the soccer ball came without warning, slapping him in the face. It knocked him off his tiptoes, down into the dust of the rooftop. Against the pain, he pushed himself up on shaky, bony arms. Realized he couldn’t breathe. Panic flushed through him as he fumbled at the clear plastic tube under his nose and pressed the release. Cool mint air rushed in. The airway relaxed.
A group of kids laughed and pointed at him. Oki, the biggest one, was beside himself. The asshole had hit his growth spurt much earlier than his gang but still swelled with baby fat. Yellow teeth glinted in his big mouth.
“H-HA! Hey Wheezy! Hey uh...you wanna pass that back over here? Gotta finish our game,” Oki sneered.
The patchwork, semi-flat ball rolled to Matteo’s feet. Head throbbing, he stared at it. Clenched his fists. He wanted to hurl it back at Oki’s head. Maybe bust out some of those crooked teeth. But the results of that choice played through his mind like a memory. Oki and the other thugs would chase him until he ran totally out of breath, then put another beating on him. He’d barely survived the last one.
Carefully, Matteo shifted to his skinned knees and pushed himself up.
“Pick it up,” Oki said. Matteo shot a glare at them. Softened when he noticed another familiar face in the entourage, peeking from behind Oki like an anxious mouse. Raia. The cute neighbor girl that lived a few family-boxes down in his home stack. She never looked at him...at least not for long. Her blue almond eyes always glanced away when he noticed her gawking. The airtank. The tube...me. People always looked.
But here on the roof, she didn’t look away. She stared hard along with the others, waiting for him to move. Matteo found himself shying away from her. Her eyes...so blue...
“PICK IT UP!” Oki shouted, making Matteo jump. They all laughed. All except her. Matteo swallowed bitter hate as he stooped and picked up the ball.
“Now lick it!” Oki said. Matteo stood perfectly still. Swallowed hard as he stared at the stained, worn out ball.
“Go on, bitch! Do it!” one of the others chimed in.
“Yeah! Come on, Wheezy!” said another.
“Oki...” Raia’s tiny voice broke through the laughing. Matteo looked up to see her place a gentle hand on Oki’s shoulder.
“Leave him alone, he’s—”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” Oki jabbed an elbow into her boney chest, knocking her down.
“HEY!” Matteo shouted. The ball left his hand and sailed through the air before he knew what happened. It arced, then hit the ground. Rolled to a harmless stop at Oki’s feet. A prickling acid wave crept over Matteo’s skull as the situation came back into focus. The gang burst to life behind a still, scowling Oki. Raia sat up, dirt caked to streaks of tears. She wiped them away and continued her jeweled stare.
“Ohhh shit! Wheezy done fucked up now!” one voice called.
POP! Oki stomped the ball flat. Everyone jumped. Six lunging strides and the oversized boy was right on top of Matteo. Inches from his face. Sour breath flowed over Matteo as he looked down and away, staying silent. Oki turned his ear toward him.
“What was that? Speak up, Wheezy, I can’t hear you with this shit in your face!” Oki yanked out Matteo’s nose tube then shoved him in the chest. The gang behind chuckled nervously as Matteo sputtered and coughed. Oki threw his head back and laughed. They laughed louder.
Tears stinging his eyes, Matteo forced down the fit. The words came to him, crystallizing out of the fog.
“They don’t really like you,” Matteo said. It had come out in a whisper.
“The fuck did you sa—?”
Matteo struggled to smooth his ragged gasps as he straightened. Looked dead square into Oki’s beady, close-set eyes.
“They’re scared of you. They pretend to be your friend so you won’t hurt ‘em. But you do anyway. If you don’t keep ‘em scared, you got nobody. And havin’ nobody scares you.”
Matteo braced himself in the trembling quiet. Watched the thick fist cock back, fly forward, and catch him in the gut. The world went white. He doubled over, distantly aware of the kick that was coming next.
BANG! A gunshot split the moment in two. The kick never came.
“Fuck off. All of you,” said an older voice. On the next rooftop stood a fit, broad-faced boy of eighteen with a black nine millimeter pistol in hand. He turned his sleeveless shoulder to them, showing the characters “T99” tattooed in a triangle. Oki and the other kids scattered like roaches. Raia got up, hesitated, then scampered off to follow.
Matteo crumpled into a tight ball. Looked up through throbbing vision to watch where Oki went. Across those two wood bridges...then through Mr. Ramesh’s garden. He winced as he turned toward the sound of the shot. Scowled when he saw his older brother.
Jogun jumped across the gap in the rooftops and sprinted toward Matteo, holstering the gun in his waistband.
“Can you breathe? Are you okay?” Jogun wasted no time. He refastened the tube under Matteo’s nose, sat him up, and felt his rib cage. Matteo coughed hard. Glared at Jo.
“Come on, bro, talk to me!” said Jogun.
“I’m—I’m fine. You just—” Matteo tried to swallow in a dry throat. Pushed against Jogun’s grasp.
“I’m fine!” said Matteo, staring hard into his brother’s eyes. Jogun hesitated. Released his hands. Matteo rolled and pushed up, head swimming wi
th a sudden rush.
“Nah, you ain’t fine, kid! I told you to stay away from them! But here you are, sight-seein’ on their turf again...”
Matteo’s eyes fell on the gun in Jogun’s waistband. Fingernails dug into his sweating palms. Across those two wood bridges and through Mr. Ramesh’s garden... Tensing his arm in an instant, Matteo reached out. He snatched the pistol and lunged away toward the first bridge. As Jogun reached after him, a noise broke above the midday Slums. Both brothers stopped dead in their tracks.
It rose to a roar, echoing over the rooftops. It got sharper. Louder. They looked up in time to see a white, wedge-shaped object streak overhead. Its blade wings jutted through thrashing engine flames. A Pulsar HVX! Luxury class! Matteo’s pulse raced. Whoops and cheers sounded throughout the neighborhood. Jogun, without looking, held out his open hand. Matteo placed the gun in it. Jogun got to his feet, then turned.
“Stay. Here.” Jogun glared at Matteo, waited for a nod, then took off after the bulging smoke trail. He ran across a narrow catwalk, vaulted over a guard rail, and disappeared behind hanging laundry in an alleyway.
Matteo fidgeted in the excitement. It was luxury class! I saw it! His feet begged him to follow. Oki’s gang reappeared and ran past. Turned to wave ‘goodbye’ on their way after the ship. Oki back-pedaled to face Matteo and clutched his chest in a mock coughing fit. That was it. Matteo took three deep breaths from the tube and trotted off after them.
Jogun bounded from rooftop to rooftop, glancing up to keep the smoke trail in sight. Ahead, two young T99s in tank-tops, shorts, and running shoes darted up a fire escape and matched pace with him. Together they scrambled over walls, up ladders, and through the apartments of cowering dwellers. The locals cleared a path without complaint. Everything else in the Slums stopped when the Nines moved in force.
As the smoke thickened, they were joined by one, and then two more guys, all with ‘T99’ on their left shoulders. The wreck was close. Sour smells of charred carbon fiber and burning coolant confirmed it.
“The H3!” one of them shouted, “gotta make this quick, or it’s gonna go off!”
