Son of Sedonia

by Ben Chaney

  “We’ll take one from...the foot.” It felt like a starving rat took a chunk out of Jogun’s flesh.

  “The...thigh.” Another chunk. Both wounds quickly started throbbing.

  “The belly. The chest. The shoulder and the...neck. Now don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

  Jogun trembled as he felt damp warmth weeping from each ragged hole. The Doc turned away. Jogun’s fingers all flexed in unison, slowly balling into a fist. His arm lifted. As sensation returned to him, he felt the cuts burn deeper and sharper. He willed his arm to the place where he’d heard the metal clinking. Fingers closed around something with a sharp tip. Jogun barely felt it cut him, but his hand jerked anyway, rattling the tray of tools.

  “What are you up to over there?” said the Doc, “fumbling for a weapon, are we? Interesting, very interesting...well, come on then, let’s see what you can do with it.” The Doc made a window with his thumbs and forefingers, then started typing on an imaginary keyboard.

  Frozen muscles started to tingle all over Jogun’s body as his mind screamed at them to obey. Gradually, they twitched. His stomach tightened, lifting his chest enough to slide two arms underneath. He rested, panting harder and harder. Then he swung his right leg over the slab. The left. With one final push he sat up, bloody blade gripped in hand.

  “Very impressive! Some signs of shock and obvious blood-loss, but you’re fighting through both the conditioning and the sedative. Don’t know how you haven’t—” Jogun doubled over, falling to the floor. From hands and knees, he vomited grey liquid across the linoleum. “Ah, yes, there it is.”

  The world spun for a moment. He shook his head, then picked a point to stare at. The Doc. One hand slid forward on the ground. Then the other. He crawled through smeared blood toward the man’s wide-eyed grin.

  “That’s it, closer...closer...closer.......!”

  Jogun arrived at the Doc’s shiny black shoes. Brought the blade forward.

  “Go ahead! I stuck you, now you stick me.” The Doc even crouched. Jogun lifted the weapon. It seemed to weigh fifty kilos. The old familiar aching queasiness gripped his abdomen, begging him to put the knife down. His hand dropped limp to the floor and the Doc stood. Turned to type more invisible notes.

  “Nano-conditioning versus primate. Nano always wi—”

  “Sh-shut the fuck up,” Jogun slung the blade around, hooked the back of the Doc’s foot, and yanked hard, slicing right through the tendon. Screaming followed as the Doc crumpled.

  “You! You—aaaahhh! Goddammit!” The Doc tried to stand. Screamed again and fell. Jogun pushed himself up to a sitting position, then reached up for the counter next to him. He pulled his burning body up, faced the Doc, and limped toward him. The knife glistened red in the fluorescent light.

  The Doc made a jagged ruddy trail as he scrambled back across the slick floor. He seemed to be aiming toward a wall panel. Jogun let him try.

  “That’s it. Closer. Crawl for your life,” said Jogun. The Doc got to the base of the wall and stretched his arms toward the panel.

  “Go ahead,” said Jogun. The Doc tried to get up on his good leg as he reached. Slipped on the blood-slick floor and landed hard on his bad leg. Screamed. Jogun crouched beside him, pointing the blade at his face.

  “HELP! HEL—!”

  “Shhhh,” Jogun brought the knife to within an inch of the man’s eye. “Good. You listen like that from now on, I promise I’ll let you go. You feel me?”

  The Doc nodded, staring at the point.

  “Is there an antidote to the Dose?” Jogun asked. The Doc paused, then shook his head.

  “N-no. It’s permanent.”

  “You’re lyin’, man.” With the tip of the blade, Jogun drew a sharp red line down the Doc’s face. “Try again.”

  “Aaaah! Okay, yes, yes there is! But it only works on subjects who’ve been Dosed less than a month, why would you—”

  Jogun drew another line.

  “AAAH! In those tanks over there, hooked up to the tray!” the Doc howled. Jogun turned to look. Against the wall, a battery of four plastic containers sat elevated. Hoses connected them to several tools clipped to the tray. Jogun crossed to them. Picked a tank from the shelf and disconnected the tool. A long, thick needle with several buttons on the side. Jogun looked at it a second, then crossed back to the Doc.

  “N-no! What are you doing?! I told you—AAH!” Jogun stabbed the needle into the Doc’s shoulder and pressed the largest button. A pneumatic hiss and a rush of liquid followed. Doc Yugi howled.

  “Idiot! It won’t do anything to me; I haven’t been Dosed!”

  “Just makin’ sure it ain’t lethal. Question Two: How do I open the hatch?”

  “That button up there! The green one!” Doc pointed to the wall panel.

  “Thanks,” said Jogun. As the Doc started to relax, Jogun slashed. The knife sliced the Doc’s throat from ear to collar bone. White-gloved hands locked over the wound. Blood spurted through the fingers.

  “Y—! Y-y-you ssssaid—!”

  “Fuck you,” Jogun grabbed the antidote tank, stood, and pressed the hatch button. The door slid open. Fast as he could, Jogun limped out into the hall. A fever sweat broke out on his brow. Where’d they take you, little brother? He thought he’d heard the word ‘hangar,’ but which one? His pace quickened past the glass cells.

  “Hey! Hey wait!” called a muffled voice. Jogun paused. “P-please...port pin lock B, rear feed aperture, optimal approach vector—” A new face in one of the Decom cells. He looked to be younger than Matteo, and trembling from a recent Dose. Jogun’s hands gripped the needle tool and tank handle. Looked down the hall where they’d taken his brother. Looked back at the boy.

  “Ah shit. Hang on, I got you kid,” Jogun punched the wall plate as he’d seen the guards do. The door opened with a heavy click, and the boy spilled out of it. Jogun sat him against the wall.

  “This is gonna hurt,” he said. Before the boy could protest, the needle tool plunged into his thigh. The scream subsided quickly, replaced by a kind of deep silence. A twitch. Two. Then life flowed into the boy’s face as Jogun braced him.

  “Listen. A man in a black suit, he came through here with a slum boy and two thugs—”

  “Yeah...Yeah, I saw ‘em on my way in. Or, I think I did. Everything’s...”

  “I know, I know. Can you walk?”

  “I think so.” Helping one another, they stood. Struggled a few steps down the hallway, but didn’t get far. Pounding on the glass of a nearby cell stopped them. Then another cell. Then ten. Everywhere, muffled cries begged for help.

  22

  Cargo

  MATTEO FADED IN-AND-OUT to a blur of white hallways. So it was all a dream. I must be waking up. Utu gave me something to knock me out in the Temple, and it gave me crazy nightmares. He could almost taste the spiced incense of morning prayer. Nightmares...that’s it, that’s— A stab of pain shot through his knees as he was dragged through a hatch. The taste of incense turned to iron in his mouth and nose. His aching eyes rolled up to see the shape of a man in front of him. Kabbard...fuck. I am awake. Then Jo... Aden Rindal… He vomited what little he had in his stomach onto one of his captor’s legs.

  “Ah shit!” one of them said, wiping the spatter from his black slacks.

  “Pick him up. Let’s go,” Kabbard grunted ahead of them. The thugs snatched Matteo under the arms again and pulled him onward.

  “Shouldn’t we just...take care of him here, boss? Sato said ‘cease to exist,’ right?” said the blonde, hollow-eyed goon.

  “No,” Kabbard nodded toward one of dozens of security camera’s they’d passed on the way, “There’s better, quieter places to ‘cease’ between here and home.” Matteo did what he could to hold his head up. Saw a twisted grin curl the cheeks of the blonde man.

  Faster and faster, a prickling sensation returned to his extremities. Fear? Or the ‘counter-measures’? It didn’t matter. He tried to push everything from his buzzing mind and focus on his bod
y. Focus on the strength to jump Kabbard, tear his gray eyes out, and run.

  The four of them came to a large, square hatch door with a young guard posted outside. Matteo watched the freckled, dirty-blonde boy break a sweat in his slightly oversized Themis Staff jumpsuit.

  “W-where are you going with that prisoner?!” the guard blurted, “I’m going to have to see some authorization.” The boy’s rat claws fidgeted with the grip and foregrip of his SMG. Kabbard held up his hands.

  “Easy, son. Easy.” Kabbard gestured through the air, tapping buttons that weren’t there. The guard tapped a few of his own then went shock-white in the face. Matteo wondered at the exchange as the guard dropped the gun to dangle by the strap, and almost tripped on the way to the door panel.

  “Sorry, sir! Please excuse me, I—right this way!” The boy fumbled at the door controls, getting the combination wrong the first time. Kabbard sighed.

  “Take your time,” said Kabbard. Finally, the beep sounded and the hatch door rushed open. The sounds of heavy equipment, shouting voices, and hydraulic tools spilled into the hallway. Matteo smelled the bitter flavor of hover engines. The hangar. They dragged him inside.

  All around, he saw the faces of Rasalla, or really the shells of Rasalla, busy moving like ants over garbage. Matteo felt a faint sadness in their expressions. Probably the only thing the Dose didn’t take. A lump formed in his throat as a skinny, sixteen-year-old kid made eye contact.

  Kabbard led them to a group of three ships, two of them wide and flat with beefy wingspans, the other one a sharpened, deadly curve of volcanic glass. Two Furies...and a Zeus. An article out of ‘22nd Century Military Tech’ had shown concepts of them. Matteo never thought he’d see one, let alone be shot into orbit by it. At the push of a button, the Zeus’ rear beetle-shell compartment split open.

  “In there,” Kabbard said. The two henchmen zip tied Matteo’s wrists and ankles, heaved him into the space, and shut the hatch. Matteo couldn’t see anything in the pitch black space, but could hear muffled hangar sounds between his gasping breaths. He pulled at his bonds, digging plastic into flesh. They wouldn’t give.

  Now what? Matteo shifted his arms behind him. Every kid in the Slums knew this trick. He stretched in the tight space of the compartment, tucked himself over his tied hands, and brought them under his legs to the front. Started feeling the door panel in front of him. His fingertips searched in the dark for any features. Almost entirely smooth except for the thin, tight seam around the edges. His heart sank. Jumped as the compartment quaked with a throaty roar. Engines! Any moment, the ship would lift off the deck and take him...where? No place good.

  He made a hammer out of his fists and pounded against the hatch.

  “COME! ON! COME! ON! CO—”

  A piercing sound shrieked through the compartment shell. It buzzed three times then paused. Three times again. A bit of data from his new memories knew exactly what it was. Class Four alarm...‘Prisoner Disturbance’? Matteo felt the humming engines power back down to neutral, settling the Zeus on the deck.

  Matteo’s eyes flashed wide. He brailled his hands on the door again, pressing until his fingers hurt. There had to be something... A seam! Near the edge of the door. Too thin to get a finger into, but it was there. A dent might do the trick. He twisted himself into position and cocked back an elbow. Rammed it into the panel. Still smooth. Blinking back the shooting pain, he tried with the other elbow.

  “AAAAAGH!” Matteo heard and felt a snap. He clutched his throbbing elbow and tried to bend it. His arm hurt like hell, but the bones were fine. The panel had buckled, making a quarter inch space. He dug the pads of his fingers into it and pulled. It popped loose in his smarting hands, showing sharp metal hardware on its underside. He sawed through the zip ties in seconds, then reached inside the hole. Felt mostly wires inside. The kind that could electrocute an amateur Cutter if the power was on...and the power was definitely on. The idling back there made everything vibrate in his hands.

  He threaded a cut tie through some wires, pulled them aside, and reached in. Found it. The door latch mechanism. And a pretty standard one at that. His hand barely fit into the space, cutting his knuckles as he worked his grip on the lever. A twist. Pull. Twist again. Then a pop. The hatch creased open with the sucking pressure of air. He freed his arm from the panel and peeked through the crack. No Kabbard. No thugs. He opened the door just enough and slid out to the ground, keeping low on the deck.

  No one noticed him in the chaos. His Themis issue jumpsuit helped him blend in as the other inmates worked the Class Four alarm protocol securing ships and placing them under guard, locking down the entrances, and sealing the air-locks to the outside. No one touched Kabbard’s ship. Not part of the Themis equipment manifest. The cockpit had been left in a hurry by the look of it...and the canopy was still open. He grinned.

  “No. Fucking. Way.”

  The inner airlock could be over-ridden. After the responsible inmate had just locked it down, Matteo trotted over. Set the lock on a timer release. He ran back to Kabbard’s ship, gave a quick look around, and climbed into the cockpit. The dash controls overwhelmed him at first, but the shapes, buttons, and icons soon clicked into known patterns. Flight stick, thrust, spatial navigation, fuel gauge. The mental model of a Themis Scout’s controls grafted on.

  So much adrenaline raced through him he felt faint. A series of switches, keys, and screen commands started the launch sequence. He trembled as he wrapped clammy fingers around the flight sticks.

  “I know how to fly this thing... I’M GONNA FUCKIN’ FLY THIS THING!” He touched the down-thrust, lifting the Zeus from the deck. The feather-touch of the flight stick surprised him, causing the craft to tip and scrape the landing gear against the ground. It took a second for his heart to climb down out of his throat. Inmates outside turned to notice.

  Matteo taxied toward the airlock door. Within seconds, it slid open on the timer. Almost...! Sudden tugs on the left and right wings rocked the cabin. Outside, the inmates struggled to either pull the ship down or climb the wings. Matteo tapped the throttle, throwing everyone off as he darted into the airlock. The Zeus’ nose struck and dragged on the outer doors with a sickening screech. Matteo winced. There goes the paint job. He laughed.

  Sensing the weight of the ship, the inner airlock doors shut behind the Zeus. The outer doors would be tricky. Can’t open them from outside the Zeus...can’t put in a request to control...the only way would be to— Another childlike grin creased Matteo’s cheeks. He searched the dash and found it. ‘Weapon Safety.’ He clicked it free on the switch marked ‘.75 Machine-Gun,’ then gripped the flight stick. He pinched his eyes shut instead. Sucked a breath into his stomach. Squeezed the trigger.

  The concussion shook the airlock. Tiny cracks formed on the canopy glass with each gigantic muzzle flash from under the wings. The outer airlock took five or six gaping holes before flying off its hinges and out into the canyon beyond. Matteo panted like a maniac. Shook it off.

  “HA HA HAAA!” He punched the thrust controls the craft shot out of the air-lock.“WHOA!” The ship darted directly toward the opposite canyon wall. He throttled back and pulled up hard, shooting straight up and out of the canyon. Smoothed. Through the glass, a field of shimmering lights spread across endless night. He’d glimpsed them through the porthole of the prisoner transport, but now found himself lost among them.

  Awe, excitement, terror, nausea...time seemed to stop entirely, dangling him over the edge of some bottomless pit he had no way of imagining. It was too much. He looked back at the controls and tried to breathe past the spinning in his gut. A display showed him on a flat grid with a handful of stars highlighted and labeled. The highlights changed as he moved the flight stick. Reference points. Scouts used them to reorient themselves if they were knocked out of orbit by a blast or outgassing. He leaned the stick hard left, trying to ignore the dizzying rush of the Universe above the canopy.

  The lunar surface appeared below and the Earth beyo
nd. The sight seized him. A lonely blue and white ball floating in an ocean of sparkling black. Home. He felt tears coming and he smiled. Pushed the flight stick forward. The craft dipped toward the lunar surface and strafed the fields of craters. Matteo rolled left. Rolled right. Wove through mountain ranges and cliff-sides. He pulled up, pointed the nose at the blue planet, and punched the throttle to maximum.

  23

  Mission

  Minutes Earlier

  KABBARD, ANDREAS, AND Nicks waded through the crush of Themis employees in the corridor to the Control Room. The alarms along the hall screeched in triplets, stoking fevered panic in the filtered air. Kabbard felt it too, but it underscored the next thing to do. Get to command. Get a sit rep. Organize all these bodies. They were out of shape. Slow. Drummond especially. All used to dealing with a completely pacified population of drones. But a real Class Four alarm? An insurrection? That meant that at least a handful of Rasalla’s hardest and fastest had somehow bucked the conditioning and gotten loose. The match in the gas tank. People were going to die.

  Pushing past a few engineers, Kabbard entered the Control Room. Switched on his government Neural override and surveyed the scene. Technicians worked at several surveillance stations, searching through CCTV feeds on hovering Neural screens. Some of the servers had been cannibalized for parts or weren’t functioning at all. Desperate teams struggled in tangles of wire to get them back to limping. On the wall-sized screen at the head of the room, an overall picture emerged. Flashing red dots spread from section to section, radiating outward from the infirmary. The skeletal slum rat with the bloody fists flashed through Kabbard’s memory. He dismissed it.

  Drummond hobbled from station to station at the call of his name. A tech would give a report or ask for orders and, before Drummond could answer, another shouted for him. The nervous breakdown was written on his sunken face. Worse, it was spreading.

  “Everybody calm the fuck down!” Kabbard shouted. The force of the command seemed to hit everyone in their chests. Stunned, they listened like guilty children. Kabbard paused, allowed the moment to settle, and pitched his voice clearly.