Son of Sedonia

by Ben Chaney

  “Okay,” was all she said. Liani brought the van to a stuttering stop among the other randomly parked transports in the plaza.

  “Not bad, Li-Li,” Corey said, “thanks for not wrecking her.” This time, his shit-eating grin managed to loosen some of her tangled nerves. She still shot him a dirty look. As the cockpit and passenger doors squeaked open, the three of them got a first-hand look at the chaos on the ground.

  Wellington was a nowhere place on the map. Just another strip mall tier with attached housing complexes and low-rent office space. Certain kinds of people lived their whole lives in these neighborhoods. Today, all kinds clogged the sidewalks and bridges. Wealthy celebutantes on their way back to the Mesa from vacation had to carry their designer bags alongside waiters, shop owners, and cart retrieval kids from the grocery store. Even the homeless. Some had their families with them. Most others weren’t so lucky, trying to dial their loved ones through jammed bandwidth in their Neurals.

  Liani, Corey, and Matteo walked to the end of the queue for Wellington Station, and started the wait. Seeing everybody glued to their Neu feeds, Liani reached to touch her temple. Stopped. Right. No unnecessary signals. They didn’t have the rings anymore, and couldn’t risk any waves. She hadn’t even realized she was about to turn it on. Matteo was the only one around who didn’t have some kind of window up. Now you know he’s not from around here.

  The crash of a storefront window sent a shock through the crowd, interrupting their idle Neu browsing. Looters climbed through the broken glass, and came out with electronics, sack-fulls of credit sticks, and anything else that wasn’t nailed down. The owners soon gave up trying to stop them. To her disgust, Liani saw a cop standing oblivious beside the crowd, directing traffic to the station. As she came up with the particulars of her rant, she got a better look at his face. Blond and fat-faced with an outbreak of freckles on his cheeks.

  “Jesus, he can’t be over eighteen!” she said.

  “Early graduation from the Academy,” said Corey, “Must’ve just dumped ‘em onto the streets; all the real cops either off fighting or patrolling the skyline.”

  The young officer, crestfallen, seemed to hear him. Matteo scanned the crowd and surrounding sky for any sign of trouble. Liani sighed. Poor kid. She felt the need to say something to him. Though, she had little comfort of her own to give.

  “Hey Matteo,” she said as they shuffled forward with the thickening queue. Hearing his name, the boy brightened a little. “You know much about the East Side?”

  He shook his head, ‘No.’

  “I think you’ll like it. A lot of public green zones, cute little privately owned cafes and coffee shops, all kinds of theaters and museums. With so many of us going there, a lot of it will probably be open for us to check out,” Liani said.

  “If they let us out of whatever refugee camp the stick us in...and if we’re not caught and branded traitors in the meantime,” Corey added.

  “Not helping,” said Liani. Corey pressed his lips together and darkened. She rolled her eyes, feeling the dead air effect he always got when he had something else to say. Usually a lot.

  “We shouldn’t go East,” Corey said, finally bursting.

  “And there it is. Why shouldn’t we go East, Corey?” It had been a long night and an even longer day. Her hands still trembled from their near-death experience in the Outer Ring. She wanted to go further than East, she wanted to head out past the coastline and Sedonia Bay to one of the outlying island chains and hide under a martini bar. But here she was. Saving the boy from out of town. Doing the ‘right thing.’ Whatever the hell that means. Liani braced herself.

  “Matteo’s memories. The files. They tie all this together,” Corey dialed his voice to a whisper, “The City, the Slums, Rindal, the Revolution, everything! We have to get back to Illyk and his people. Spread the story and—”

  Liani cut him off, straining to keep her voice low at a hoarse whisper.

  “That’s suicide! Even if it were possible…Jesus! You don’t even know what they found in his head, you just have theories!” People around them began taking notice with sideways glances. Information drifted together in Liani’s head and her green eyes went wide. “You’ve been talking to them…?”

  “It is possible, Li. And we have to. This City’s time has been coming for decades. You can’t have so few people with so much and so many with so little. The many will always realize that they hold the real power. It’s started with the Slums and it’s continuing into the Outer Ring. It’ll all be for nothing if we don’t wake people up to the truth!”

  “Truth,” Matteo said, as though the word punched a fresh bruise. He hadn’t said one word since the escape, seemingly lost in some corner of his brain. Liani had heard that enhanced, clear memory was a side effect of popping the Neural firewall, lasting a good while after. Like vivid, waking dreams.

  “What happened to him belongs to him, you asshole,” said Liani, “We can’t force him to hand over the worst parts of his life for your crazy ideals!”

  “Crazy, Liani? Really? After all we’ve seen? All you’ve seen?” Corey said.

  “What is the truth?” asked Matteo.

  “I knew it! I knew before this is over, you’d rub that in my face! I hate that I didn’t act in time! I’ll never forgive myself! But that doesn’t change the fact that Matteo—”

  “This is bigger than him, Li! Bigger than all of us!”

  “What. Is. The. TRUTH?!” Matteo yelled into Corey’s face, locking on with bloodshot eyes. The murmur of the refugees died around them. Liani took it upon herself to run damage control.

  “His cousin,” Liani pointed to Corey, then shouted to the crowd, “Asking if there really is a twelve-story skate park on the East Side. Move along!”

  The shell-shocked throng turned back into the march as they approached the broad mouth of Wellington Station’s front gates. Corey leaned to Matteo’s ear. Spoke slowly.

  “The Truth: your family died because a few of the highest players in the City thought your dad talked too much. He tried to warn people of what was happening to them. The price hikes. The food shortages. The fuel stoppages. The constant raids on the Slums. The congressional votes that allowed district by district to be sucked dry and left to rot. Building the Border was supposed to stop the spread of poverty, but many of us know why they really built it. To make people feel safe enough to die slow from debt and self-consumption. Put them to sleep to keep the money train rolling as long as possible until the wheels came off, and then bail on humanity! Look around and see it now! The wheels are definitely coming off.”

  A few in the crowd eavesdropped. Others clasped their hands over their children’s ears and pushed away through the crush. Liani felt for Matteo’s reaction. The boy was hard to read.

  Ahead of them, armed rookie police stood in sparse guard at the turnstiles. Progress crawled along as each and every citizen was instructed to stop, scan their chip, and pass through. Liani stopped and looked at her forearm.

  “Scan your chip and move along!” One of the young officers held his SMG at the hip, pointing it at them. Liani and Corey froze with Matteo watching behind them.

  “NOW!” screamed the officer, glaring at them down the sight of the gun. Corey stepped in front of Liani and rolled up his sleeve. He looked at her as he scanned in. She read his face. ‘No choice.’. Liani took a deep breath and rolled up her sleeve. It’s over.

  “‘Others have to see,’” Matteo intoned. Liani looked back, seeing him examine the crowd. The turnstiles. The guards. Out of nowhere, Matteo leaped up onto the scanner and hopped down on the other side. The business end of a SCPD rifle greeted him in seconds.

  “Back in line and scan!” The same cop screamed in the voice of a nervous teenager trying to sound bigger and older. Matteo was a hard-eyed statue. People in the crowd noticed and started recording.

  “Back in line, NOW!” Calm as water, Matteo took a step forward. Then another. And another. The shot never came. Liani’s l
ips parted as the scene unfolded before her. She started her own recording. Down the row, a square-shouldered young man with a shock of white hair planted a foot on his turnstile and stepped over. He turned and helped a cleaning lady over the bars. Few became many. Many became all. The refugees swept over the entrance in an orderly, silent deluge. As she walked across the tile floor of the vaulted station hall, Liani saw a few of the cops shoulder their guns, join the crowd, and press toward the platform.

  The previous Superway cars sped away as the empty ones arrived. The doors hissed open, and bodies piled in. They filled the seats, squeezed into corners, pressed together in the aisles, and sat on the laps of strangers. Damp, still air tensed as the far-off thump of an explosion reminded them to be afraid. Liani rested her cheek on Corey’s chest. The lack of space didn’t give her much of a choice, but the warm, steady throb of his heart eased the pounding jackhammer in her own. Corey’s heavy paw rested on her back as the cabin chime sounded. The doors closed.

  Matteo turned and caught a glimpse of the two of them as the train started to move. He quickly shied away and stared out the window at the clouds of smoke shrinking into the West. Liani sighed. Sorry, buddy. She lifted herself back up from Corey’s embrace and reached forward to stroke the thickening stubble growing on Matteo’s head. The shrug told her to stop.

  “You said gettin’ back to...your friends was possible. If it is,” Matteo pulled a rectangular memory drive out of his vest pocket, “I wanna help.”

  Corey nodded, took a look around, accepted the drive, and quickly slipped it into his jacket. No one else saw.

  “We don’t have to go the way we came,” Corey lowered his voice, “Three stops from here, there’s an Inner City municipal building with a direct line down to the Foundations. Under it, too. Should have railcars down there that they use to check the grid. If we get our hands on one, Illyk’s people can meet us halfway.”

  “Shit,” Liani said, the gravity of it pressing on her, “Couldn’t you just send it as an attachment or something?”

  “Can’t. The Net’s overwhelmed. The transfer would take too long, and we’d get nailed before it even hit ten percent. A giant upload into a war zone would send up more than a few flags. Illyk has the gear and the connections, Li. They know what to do with it. We have to go.”

  Liani groaned to herself.

  “So let’s go,” she said. The words weren’t one second past her lips when she saw it through the window. A Fury Class transport dipped down at the rear of the train and accelerated along the curve of the connected cars. Scanning. Panic vibrated through the crowded train car as people turned to notice it. Tightly packed bodies surged in place. Payback for rushing the gates? The same thought seemed to occur to everyone as the train powered down to a dangling halt on the tracks.

  “No, no, no, no, NO!” Matteo said as the Fury slowed, then hovered beside their train car. He squirmed in place, but couldn’t budge in the crowd.

  “The cops?!” Liani asked.

  “Kabbard!” Matteo shouted as the doors slid open behind him. A middle-aged food vendor howled as he fell back through the open door. Liani’s hand shot out, catching Matteo by the wrist before he could slip. The side hatch to the Fury swung open, revealing a suited man with a submachine gun. Against the blaring noise of the engines, a cold, clear voice spoke over the PA.

  “Please remain calm. The train will resume shortly. We apologize for the inconvenience.” The suited man aimed his weapon at Matteo’s back and fired. Screams filled the tight compartment. Liani added her own as she watched Matteo slump forward.

  “Spurs! They’re just spurs!” Corey shouted to an unhearing crowd.

  “Please remain calm,” The voice repeated over the PA. With a blast of air, the Fury sidled in closer to the exit door. The man in the suit reached and grabbed Matteo with the gun trained on the crowd. Liani struggled to keep her grip on the boy.

  “Li, you have to let him go! Li! There’s nothing you can—LIANI, LET GO!” Corey shouted, wrapping a powerful arm around her stomach. Liani felt Matteo’s clammy skin slip through her fingers as he was pulled from the train and onto the Fury. The suited man zip-tied Matteo’s limp arms as the hatch clamped shut. The train door slid smoothly to close.

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” said the PA. The hum of the train rose as they ramped back up to top speed. The Fury lifted, turned, then sped off North and East. A blue, shimmering wake faded in the air behind it.

  Coming to her senses in Corey’s arms, Liani jerked free, spun around, and slapped him across the jaw. Corey took it without a word. His sullen gaze drifted to the floor.

  “Why?” said Liani.

  “They would have opened fire...those guys—”

  Liani slapped him again.

  “He trusted us! Trusted me! How could we just give up on him like that?”

  “We haven’t,” Corey said meekly. He pulled the memory drive partway out of his pocket, then stowed it, “We’ve gotta finish this.”

  Liani turned to the window and wiped her tears away.

  “It’s my fault,” she said, “All of this...if I had just fucking done something when I had the chance, it—” The sob choked her. As Corey placed a hand on her shoulder, she wrenched away. She couldn’t look at him anymore.

  41

  Crucifixion

  “NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!” said Sato, standing behind his desk surrounded by open Neural windows. GloboMetro news feeds, scattered police reports, live satellite feeds, and several calls-waiting demanded his attention at once. And now, his assistants begged him to listen too.

  “Sir, it’s protocol!” his interim chief of security pleaded. With everyone else dispatched to the Inner and Outer Rings, the best Sato could find for the job was little more than a rent-a-cop receptionist. Where the fuck is Kabbard?!

  “I’m not going down in that bunker, and that’s final!” Sato roared, “I won’t hide from something that isn’t a threat! If you want to be useful, go find my wife and bring her here!”

  The kid actually saluted then scurried out of the penthouse office into the hall. Sato’s own lie rang in his ears. Not a threat? His subordinates needed to hear it. His strategists listening over the Neural channel needed to believe it. If they lost confidence in him, he was finished. And, as far as he could tell, the City would be too. Prescott’s promise of a timely intervention was nowhere in sight.

  Liquid-hot panic started to boil in his brain. He did his best to contain it.

  “Apologies for the interruption, Commander, please continue,” Sato said.

  “Right, well...as you can see on the map, there are five passable breaches in the Border with a sixth only partially opened. We’re tracking ground movement with satellite, but data is limited given that most of the insurgents aren’t chipped with RFID. Estimates put their numbers at five thousand and growing, not including their Themis issue and Slum-built aircraft. We never saw ‘em coming,” said Commander Gorman. The graying man should have retired a decade ago, but had no savings to do so. Firing him would have caused...complications with the rank and file, so Commander he remained.

  “Yes, yes, a surprise attack, I believe we’re all crystal clear on that part, Commander! What is the situation on the ground? What’s our status on a counter-attack?” Sato asked. His tongue was dry, but not for water. Several times, he put down the itch to dig the flask out of his jacket pocket. Right...it’s at home.

  “The attack totally decimated our first response EXO and Border Patrol forces, but scattered units are holding fast at the edge of the Outer Ring for now. But the perimeter is so full of gaps that... sir, my men believe that the insurgents are waiting,” said Gorman.

  “Are they? For what?” Sato asked.

  “Don’t know, but we’re not sitting around to find out. We’re rallying all EXO forces and any Red Gate grad who knows how to shoot for a counter-offensive within the next hour.”

  “SCPD on-board with this?”

  “Yes, sir, we’ve coordin
ated with their HQ, and each of the precincts is arming up best they can,” said Gorman. Sato’s Neural called out hesitation in the Commander’s wrinkled stone face. Pained hesitation.

  “But...?”

  “But none of them have combat experience anything close to this. My vets do, but they can only do so much with an army of rookies against a hostile army of seasoned killers! We need Federal help, and we need it fast,” said the Commander. No kidding. Sato had been on the horn since the attack began, begging Congress to approve military support. After some posturing and grandstanding, the only real answer he got was ‘Soon.’ That meant that they would likely intervene, but the bureaucratic process would make it a trek through the mud. Off the record, his representative told him the subtext. Not many were strictly comfortable with ordering shock troops to crush an impoverished, domestic group of people. Rebels or not. The poor in their own cities might take it as a rallying cry. All the more reason to publicly put them down! Sato fumed. Prescott’s influence would have been valuable here, but she was conspicuously absent. ‘Unreachable’ according to her office. Sato guessed that her Group’s influence was already at work. And had been for some time.

  “I’ve been given assurances, Commander, so that’s all I can give you for now. Make do with what we have, and keep them at bay in the Outer Ring. I’ll make it happen on my end,” said Sato. Gorman puffed, then swallowed whatever he really wanted to say.

  “Understood, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me...”

  “Good luck, Commander. We’re counting on you,” Sato said, hoping it would prod the man’s sense of duty. Gorman’s grim, straight mouth and hollow glare told Sato otherwise. The transmission ended.

  “The rest of you, I expect strict rationing of food, water, and power in your zones. Whatever it takes,” Sato said. A chorus of complaining voices filled his cochlear implant until one overpowered them all. It was Tycho Kirnden’s idiot older brother, Jeffrey. The Chief Magistrate of Inner Ring Zone 5: Whitlatch.