by Ben Chaney
Six, eight, twelve, f-fourteen. Matteo climbed the rickety metal stairs to their apartment two at a time as he’d seen Jogun do. His scrawny thighs burned and trembled by the time he reached twenty-four, and there were forty-two to go. He grumbled and changed to slow single steps. The stairs coiled around the stack of freight container apartments where Jogun had raised him. The ragged, torch-cut window holes were creepier tonight. None of the usual candles, glow lanterns, or day-charged solars. Dark shapes moved around inside, speaking in hushed voices. Lockdown here too? Robos must be really pissed...
Dozens of tenants lived in this Stack. He passed a few sitting out on their balcony and a quick glance told him they were stoned. Sway addicts. Red powder caked their noses as they sat and stared up at nothing with giant pupils. Cigarettes smoldered at the filter in their stained hands. Further up, a man and a woman spilled out of a doorway in front of him. The man staggered back on a familiar prosthetic leg. They screamed at one another, punching, kicking, and clawing. Raia’s dad, shirtless and missing teeth, slapped the straw-haired woman. Matteo waited, keeping his eyes on his feet.
“Hey, shut the fuck up, up there! The Robos are sweepin,’ goddammit!” a hushed, rasping voice called up at them from nowhere. Raia emerged from the house, tugged her mother and father back inside, and grabbed the door. She paused when her glance met Matteo’s. A purple bruise surrounded one of her perfect blue eyes.
“Are you okay?” Matteo asked, barely loud enough to hear. She crinkled her nose in a show of disgust.
“Freak!” She yanked the door shut. Tingling upset washed over him as his mind wrestled with the word. Maybe she said it to push him away and protect him from the other kids? Maybe to protect herself from Oki? Or maybe I AM a freak... Matteo hung his head, hid his tears, and stomped up the stairs.
He finally arrived at the top apartment, entered, then shut the plastic door behind him. His legs wobbled as staggered to the floor mattress and flopped down. Wincing, he rubbed his thighs just above the knees. I’ll get stronger. I’ll do it or die trying. A fantasy of running with Jogun materialized. Jo ran with his satchel and pistol as he’d done earlier that day, and Matteo carried a fearsome assault rifle with flames painted up the mag, over the bolt, and curling at the butt-stock. The muscles of his body rippled and pulsed as his powerful legs launched him over alleys and up massive flights of stairs...taking steps three, four, or five at a time. Jo fell behind and called ahead, begging Matteo to slow down. But Matteo went faster. Faster. Faster. He ran until he reached the Border. Looking up, he flashed a brilliant white smile. No plastic tube in his nose. With the deepest, clearest in-breath he’d ever taken, he crouched and then exploded upward in a soaring arch over the Border. Jo became a spec far below him. He turned away in mid-air to look at the City. Only he was high above it, looking down.—
The book! Matteo wiped his cheeks, reached under his hoodie, and pulled out the magazine. His eyes strained to look at his prize. Too dark in here... He reached for the battery lamp then stopped. Right. EXOs. Matteo tucked the magazine under his arm, pushed himself up on shaking legs, and almost buckled again. Grunting and fighting to stay up, he crossed to the balcony door. Heaved it open, spilling the fake dawn of a billion City lights across the hard floor. Matteo sighed. He stepped out onto the balcony and willed his aching limbs up the ladder to the roof.
The attempt to sit became an awkward fall onto his hip. He swallowed the pain and pulled his legs to the cross-legged position. Bent over the magazine in his lap. The colors were ruddy and brown in this light, but the shapes on the cover were clear. Drawing in as deep a breath as he could from his airtank, he opened to the first page.
Jogun opened the plastic door of the apartment and limped inside. He lowered the satchel to the floor, then paused in the pitch black. He listened for Matteo while his eyes adjusted, but heard nothing in the close hot air of the apartment. A twinge of worry came over him. He shuffled toward the mattress and crouched beside it. Empty. Where the hell is he? The balcony door creaked slightly open and a sliver of dim orange light entered. He hated that Matteo loved that balcony so much.
“‘Teo?” A moment passed, then two light knocks clanged through the metal ceiling. Jogun puffed a sigh and walked to the balcony door. He climbed up to find Matteo pouring over pages of a magazine. The boy didn’t seem to notice him.
“What? No ‘Hey big brother, welcome home! Glad ya didn’t get shot’?” said Jogun, walking over and sitting down beside Matteo. His little brother blinked and shook his head as though waking from a Sway trance.
“Huh?”
“Nevermind. Get what you needed from the Doc?” asked Jogun. Matteo nodded and demonstrated with a smooth, deep breath. “Good good. He gave you that too I guess... Can I take a look?”
Grudgingly, Matteo held the magazine up. Above chunks of text that Jogun couldn’t read, a picture of a giant crane atop a skyscraper spread across two pages.
“Oh...I see.” said Jogun. Matteo pulled the magazine back and turned to the next page. Jogun chuckled. “Dammit, Utu...I need to have a talk with him.” Jogun stretched and laid back on the tarnished metal roof. Hands behind his head, he stared up at the twinkling flow of traffic. Matteo sighed sharply.
“About what?”
“About fillin’ your head with all...this,” Jogun waved a hand at the magazine. Matteo sat motionless, staring at the book. Jogun sat up. Leaned forward to grab eye contact.
“And I know you don’t like to hear about it, but maybe one day it’ll sink in. Out here, you gotta keep focused on what’s in front of you. You starve, catch a bullet, or get locked up if you don’t.”
“Like Dad did, yeah I know,” Matteo snapped.
“Y-yeah... Like him.” Both of them went quiet. Jogun dug around in a cargo pocket for the hand-rolled cigarettes there. Hearing Matteo’s nasally breath, he released the pack and took his hand back out. Flexed his fingers. Drug addled ravings rose from a few floors below. Matteo fidgeted with the corner of the magazine’s frayed binding.
“I wish I could remember something about him. Anything,” Matteo said.
“Wish I could forget,” Jogun stood up. That dark apartment flashed again through his mind. Instinct turned him to look down at the boy. He saw the magazine clutched in the tiny hands, pulling his little brother away. In one quick motion, Jogun crouched and snatched it up. Matteo lunged after it but grasped only air.
“Man, look at that wall!” Jogun thrust a pointing finger at the giant concrete barrier in the distance. It loomed high above the shanty towns that clung to its base. Tiny red lights set at wide intervals pulsed along the top edge, and pillbox watch towers punctuated each broad slab of concrete. Everyone in the Slums knew of the big guns stationed in the towers.
“What does that say to you?!” asked Jogun. Matteo blinked back tears and turned away.
“It says ‘Don’t bother! We don’t want you here!’” said Jogun. Seeing tears run down Matteo’s cheeks, he buckled. Smoothed his voice.
“Dad wouldn’t get with that. Always talkin’ about buyin’ and killin’ his way in. How Mama and me cost too much already and she couldn’t have no more... It got him killed, ‘Teo, and he took Mama with him. Almost took us.” Jogun sat again. Leaned toward his little brother.
“This right here is your home. These are your people,” Jogun waved a hand over Rasalla, “Smart as you are, you can find a way to help us all out right here...make things better here... understand?”
“Y-yeah...” Matteo sniffled.
“And don’t ever let me catch you with a gun in your hand again, aight? Bad enough one of us got blood on his soul, ain’t no need for you to have it too,” Jogun said. Matteo sucked in a sob and nodded.
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Cool,” Jogun said, “Love you, big man...” He wrapped an arm around his little brother and pulled him in close. Matteo hugged him back. Jogun both heard and felt Matteo’s stomach growl.
“Boy,
you forget to eat again? How you expect to get stronger if you don’t—” Jogun froze. His eyes rolled down to his left arm. A shiny, jagged barb stuck out below ‘T99’ on his shoulder. Dead cold spread out from it. His mind screamed as he watched himself slump and topple, sprawling him flat on his back. The sounds of thumping footsteps and whining servos approached from all sides. Matteo threw himself over Jogun’s limp body.
“Don’t move, kid!” One of four EXOs shouted. They surrounded them, glaring through lifeless black visors.
“Just stick a spur in him!” said another EXO. Behind his back, Jogun felt Matteo’s hand close around the pistol grip.
“Stand the fuck down, Shima! Stun this one and his heart could stop. What do you think happens when all of Rasalla learns we killed a sick kid? Just pull him off.”
The one they called Shima nodded, then approached the brothers. Matteo started pulling the pistol out from Jogun’s waistband.
“D-don’t,” Jogun rasped through clenched teeth, “No...b-blood...” Jogun’s wild eyes met his brother’s. Matteo released the pistol as an Augged hand clamped on his shoulder. His bony arms tried to cling, but were easily ripped away. They tossed him to the side.
Jogun tensed as the four officers converged on him. His body was deaf to every plea for movement. They flipped him over like a carcass at the market and cuffed his wrists. The ranking officer stooped low next to him and raised the visor. Kabbard... The flat scowl and gray eyes few got away to talk about. The straight, sharp scar from chin to cheek left no doubt.
“You know my face, you piece of shit?” asked Kabbard. Jogun could only stare. “Good.” Kabbard turned to his officers.
“So our boy here must know what we do to lady-killing scumbags when we catch ‘em,” said one of the others. An older, deeper voice. Jogun’s face contorted as he tried to spit a curse. It came out in a weak hiss. Kabbard shrugged and stood up.
“You heard the man.” Kabbard nodded. Shima stepped forward and landed a kick into Jogun’s ribs. Two others followed suit, driving carbon-fiber toes into the kidneys and shoulders. Sharp cracks punctuated Jogun’s grunts. Through the pain, he saw Matteo crumple in the corner of the roof, hands pressed over his ears with eyes clenched shut.
“Pick him up.” Kabbard ordered. The EXOs lifted Jogun by his cuffed wrists. Kabbard touched under Jo’s chin. Raised the bloody head.
“Her name was Kathy. She was a District Attorney. A wife and a mother. I’d kill you right here if I weren’t already sending you to Hell.” Kabbard’s dead-eyes glared into him. The Sergeant’s finger servos buzzed as they curled into an armored fist. It cracked into Jogun’s jaw with a right cross. The world shocked to white, then went black a moment.
Straightening, Kabbard pressed two fingers against his throat.
“Omega-Two ready for pick-up.”
The throbbing of hover engines emerged from the background noise of the Slums and grew to a pounding roar as the drop-ship flew in. Jogun watched in horror. The black cockpit glass and pulsing red beacons at the nose formed a gaunt, lifeless face. A demon without mercy. A yawning mouth opened toward the rear of the thirty-foot craft. Dull fluorescent lighting blinked on inside, revealing rows of unconscious, bloody prisoners sat harnessed and bolted into metal flight seats. Two of the EXOs grabbed Jogun under the arms and dragged him toward the hatch. With agonizing effort, Jogun turned his heavy, shaking head. Looked at Matteo through eyes nearly swollen shut.
“M-matteo,” his mouth sputtered blood, “Y-you got this...” Something like a smile creased his broken mouth as the EXOs threw him inside. They found an empty seat, hefted Jogun’s limp body, and dropped him in. A bulky metal harness locked down on him. Kabbard and the officers stepped inside.
“We’re good here, button it up,” Kabbard said. The hatch door clamped shut, swallowing all of them. As the thrum of the engines picked up, the drop-ship listed heavily to the right, pulled up, then blasted off into the night sky.
Matteo whimpered. Though unhurt, he struggled to open his eyes. The rooftop was dark and quiet again, and wet black stains glistened on the metal. The magazine sprawled open near Matteo’s feet. Its pages flapped in the breeze.
5
Greater Good
SERGEANT KABBARD FELT the landing gear of the IG-6 touch down at last, though tonight he couldn’t let the relief of the dying engines fully take him. The worst part of the job waited outside the passenger hatch. He, Mason, and Shima unhooked their harnesses and stood up. Checked each prisoner’s restraints. Kathy Roland’s killer looked up as Kabbard tugged on the shackles. The swollen eye-pits stared, weeping bloody tears.
“Show time,” Kabbard said as he stepped to the door. Keyed his throat mic. “Rear compartment secure, open her up,” he said. The hatch hissed open, revealing a legion of reporters, camera men, and bright stinging lights. Their questions overlapped one another in a squabbling din that echoed through the main hangar of EXO Headquarters. Shima, the new kid, grinned and waved. Kabbard slapped the hand down. He felt bile rise in his throat as he prepped the broken, bloody scumbags for transfer. Cuffed at the wrists and ankles, each limp body was un-hooked and placed on a procession of hover gurneys. Kabbard sure as hell didn’t feel like a movie star. Covered in dried blood and Rasalla dirt, he stepped out.
“Sergeant! Sergeant!” one of the voices called out from the paparazzi, “Which one killed the District Attorney?”
Kabbard looked at the bodies. Pointed to the boy who had shown up in the last mem-data entry on Mrs. Roland’s RFID chip. A skinny, malnourished kid of eighteen covered in bruises, blood, and clear bone breaks. Kabbard knew what was coming next. The GloboMetro press corps wanted a monster. A raging, evil face to justify the fear of the people beyond the Border. This little shit-bird didn’t qualify.
“Sergeant, how do you account for the prisoner’s condition?”
“Resisting arrest,” Kabbard said as he tried to push past the throng. The voices shouted more questions until one cut above the rest.
“Sir, Kathy Roland was a staunch defender of due process and fair treatment of the Dwellers! What do you think she would say about this?”
Kabbard stopped in his tracks. Turned to face the reporter. A jumped up twenty-something metroboy with short, carefully shaped hair and a pound of makeup. An Inner Ring yuppie who’d never known real horror.
“She can’t say anything now. This Dweller shot her in the face for the contents of her vehicle. Happened plain as day in the mem-feed, so we were able to get the conviction on the way here, now if you’ll excuse us...” Kabbard, Shima, and Mason towed the line of prisoners to the acquisitions team while the other officers corralled the press.
“Fuckin’ vultures,” Mason muttered.
“Just another part of the machine,” Kabbard said. He was tired in his bones. The fighting would never stop, outlasting his last breath by centuries. And the City would always demand more. The procession stopped at the acquisitions team and the transfer shuttle. As the bodies started tracking into the cargo hold, most of their eyes were wide open. Scanning the high ceilings of the EXO HQ bay in animal terror. Tears streamed through the dried blood on the murderer’s cheeks.
“I could use a drink or twelve,” said Mason, “Dive Bar? Kid, you in?”
“Hell yeah!” Shima said, pushing the gurneys along.
“Sergeant!” an unfamiliar voice spoke up, stopping Kabbard before he could decline Mason’s invitation. A blonde haired, bug eyed man in his late twenties stood behind the officers. His suit was clean, pressed, and perfect...the kind that screamed ‘Government.’
“My name is Andreas,” said the young man, “Sedonia Chief of Security. Mister Sato would like to speak with you.”
“Look, son, it’s been a day and I really don’t feel like a long ride up to the Tower, so—”
“Follow me, please,” said Andreas.
Kabbard recognized an order when he heard one. He looked at Mason. The old vet snorted a laugh, and nodded toward the Suit.
> “Go ahead, we’ll finish up,” said Mason.
Andreas led the way down the platform and across a skywalk to the main complex. The massive structure of equipment bays, barracks, and office space rose from the sixtieth floor to the hundred-and-twentieth. The angled prow of the building stood sentry over the Outer Ring, the Border, and the twinkling Slums beyond.
From the main lobby, they took the elevator up to the executive level. Commander Gorman’s office. Sato’s here? In person? Kabbard thought to ask, but knew Andreas wouldn’t answer. Suits were like that...solid gold rods shoved so far up their ass that they’d never bend over for the ‘lower folk.’ Andreas swiped his chip arm over a security plate and the elevator doors opened onto a long windowed hall. They turned right through the double doors to the main conference room. Voices inside.
“—for us, we’ll of course be in your debt,” Governor Enota Sato turned in his chair, “Sergeant Kabbard! Thank you for coming and apologies for the interruption...I’m sure you’re ready to clock out for the night. Please, have a seat...care for a drink? This eighteen-year-old Choril Scotch isn’t going to drink itself.” Sato pulled a fluted crystal bottle from the center of the table and started to pour into a short glass. Commander Gorman sat opposite to Sato with a glass of his own.
“No thank you, sir, I’m still on duty. Water would be fine,” said Kabbard. Though polite as he could manage, it still sounded like a rebuke. Not giving much of a damn, he walked to one of the high-backed chairs and took a seat. The bouncy cushions felt strange against his bulky Augmentors.
“Good man. The Commander and I were just discussing what a good job you did this evening. You handled yourself very well with the press...not an easy task, I know,” Sato said, smiling.
Kabbard frowned. Darkened.
“I told the truth. Katheryn Roland deserved justice,” said Kabbard.
