Son of Sedonia

by Ben Chaney

  “Everyone out,” said Jogun. The Black Hoods nodded and obeyed. Oki lingered.

  “Hey man, you sure you want to—”

  “OUT!”

  Oki sucked his teeth and walked to the door, kicking an EXO’s bloody stump of a foot on the way. The man yelled in pain as Oki stepped out. Jogun crouched beside the Sergeant.

  “Where did you take him?” Jogun asked. Kabbard stared into him. Gray eyes as still as a dead man’s.

  “Take who?”

  Jogun sucked in a breath and swung the pistol hard, cracking Kabbard across the jaw. Blood spattered the smooth concrete wall.

  “WHERE?!”

  Kabbard winced, worked his tongue against his inner cheek, then spat a glob of red on the floor at Jogun’s feet. Said nothing. A moan from beside them answered instead. A young EXO stirred on the floor. Burns and char marks covered much of his body. Black blood seeped from both his nose and a gash in his forehead.

  “Sir...?” the officer squinted and tried to push his way up. Like some kind of old blind man back in the Temple. Jogun glared at Kabbard.

  “Maybe I’ll ask him. ‘Scuse me, officer...” he read the name stitched into the blackened uniform, “‘Vaughn!’ Do you know where this man right here took my baby brother?” Jogun trained his gun barrel on Vaughn’s exposed right knee. Only pitiful moans escaped the officer’s lips. Jogun kept his eyes locked on Kabbard’s.

  “Do you. Know where. This man. Took my baby brother...?” Jogun gnashed his teeth together as tears welled in his eyes.

  “Wha—?” Vaughn said.

  BANG! Vaughn’s kneecap shattered in a spray of bone and blood. The man screamed, then passed out. Kabbard lunged forward, forgetting his own knees. Added his own scream. Jogun slapped him in the face. Fighting down the urge to retch, Jogun pointed the gun at Vaughn’s other leg.

  “Where.”

  Kabbard panted in ragged gasps through his teeth. He wasn’t laughing anymore. He glared up at Jogun again. Squinted.

  “Son of a bitch...I remember you...You’re the Slum-Fuck I put away for murdering Kathy Roland. Mousey little house-wife type. Real pretty. Didn’t deserve to go out like that, but you motherfuckers,” Kabbard glanced at Vaughn’s leg wound, “You put her down like a dog. And now you want your ‘baby brother.’ Just what in the hell makes you think you deserve something like family?”

  It felt like a shotgun blast to the gut. Stitches that closed the long hidden wound ripped apart, spilling the terrible memory inside. The night of the storm. The cold, wet dark of the apartment. Mama dead and bloody on the floor. And him. Dad. The man who was supposed to love and protect them. The man who ordered Mama not to have any more kids, but still raped her when he felt like it. Standing out on the rain-soaked balcony with a baby in his arms. Jogun felt the gun in his hand now as he did then. Heavy. Slippery from sweat. The tug of his finger against the trigger, helpless as his father dropped the baby over the side.

  But Matteo...The Gift. His second chance. Even though he didn’t deserve it. That meant it was a gift of grace...not a reward. A gift from God. He would do right by God and protect his gift. Didn’t matter what it cost. He stood, walked over to Vaughn, and pressed the gun barrel to the officer’s forehead. Watched as Kabbard seethed in the corner.

  “You son of a bitch...SON OF A BITCH!” Kabbard howled. Jogun lifted the gun and chambered a round. Inhaled sharply as he pushed the barrel harder into Vaughn’s head.

  “NO! Stop...” Kabbard said, gathering the will to say it, “Fuck Sato...”

  Jogun waited, feeling the terrible moment. Fear of the answer suddenly choked him.

  “They’ve probably got him by now. Top floor of the tallest building in the City. Can’t miss it,” said Kabbard. Jogun stood, holstered the pistol, and stormed to the door.

  “Probably dead now though,” Kabbard snickered. Jogun paused. Took the gun back out.

  “At least...I hope he is,” said Kabbard. Jogun crossed to him in a heartbeat and jammed the pistol barrel into the man’s sneering skull. Kabbard pushed into it.

  “Go ahead, go on, DO IT! Do it, you fucking piece of shit, this is what you are, this is what you do, DO IT!”

  The trigger squeaked as Jogun squeezed harder and harder, waiting for the pop.

  “You tell Governor Sato, I’ll see him in Hell,” said Kabbard.

  In the space of three breaths, Jogun stopped. He jerked the gun to the side and buried three rounds in the wall. Kabbard looked up, confused.

  “Maybe that is where you’re goin’,” Jogun said, standing up, “Or maybe that’s where you are.” He holstered the gun. The Black Hoods rushed in, having heard the shots. Jogun turned and pushed through them.

  “Prep one of the Scouts,” he said.

  45

  Birthright

  MATTEO DROWNED IN the space between sleep and consciousness. The memories of his life whipped through him with no sense of order or time. His capture on the Superway replayed in front of him, teasing his sense of the present enough to pull him awake. Harness straps held him in a hard plastic seat. Two figures sat with their backs to him in the cockpit ahead. The image blurred as the stern, suited men morphed into Alan and Patricia. Mom and Dad.

  Everything snapped to high-detail. The smell of plastic and his mother’s orange-cream perfume in the transport cabin. The sound of their voices murmuring to one another...getting louder. He felt his soft blanket brush smoothly over his delicate skin. Then it all went wrong. So loud. His entire world started shaking as he cried from the car-seat. Mom’s body went limp. His Dad’s face reflected in the glass. ‘...remember forever...we’ll always love you!’

  The hatch opened beside him and, for a moment, Jogun stood there. But as his young older brother climbed in to take him home, it transformed into one of Kabbard’s men. The bug-eyed blonde one with the cold straight face.

  This is real! He jumped away inside, then realized his body didn’t follow. Fuzzy dullness buried all his limbs in thousand-ton cotton. The blonde went to work on the strap buckles, tossed them aside, then pulled Matteo out of the seat by the arms.

  “At fuckin’ last!” one of them said.

  “Seriously,” said the other.

  Matteo could only watch as his body flopped to the ground. Pain shot through him, giving his limbs a sickening jolt. They woke up in waves. Suddenly he could move his head. His legs and feet dragged on some kind of landing pad. As he looked around, he realized something was off. No buildings anywhere to the left or right. Not behind him either. Only the dead, navy sky of pre-dawn, stretching on forever, and a thin tower poking up into the sky from the pad. A tiny red dot blinked at its peak. The same light that had lulled him to sleep on more nights than he could count. Sedonia Tower! The only building tall enough to stand above all the others.

  They dragged his waking body down a curving ramp to a steel plated door, and buzzed their way in. Matteo put weight on his feet, but they were kicked out from under him.

  “No sir, no more running for you,” said the blonde. The two flights of stairs beat his feet and shins so badly that he let himself go limp at the bottom. Better if they think I can’t move, anyway...

  He was brought to a wide open room off the hallway. High, bright ceilings. Men and women wearing what had once been neat, rigid clothes paced through the arrangements of sleek furniture, babbling into their Neurals. Panic hung rotten in the air as Matteo listened and kept still.

  “Well can you confirm or can’t you? I’ve already got reports of three Inner Ring attacks in Shibuya, Montos, and The Primaeum, I need to know if you’re telling me about one of those, or a new one! You’re in Whitlatch...?—Hey, we got another sighting in Whitlatch! Insurgents coming up from the municipal buildings!”

  “...flyby has verified, EXO HQ has been destroyed, and our assets on the ground are dropping fast!”

  “This is Governor Sato! All patrol birds in the air, deviate to intercept the Inner City targets, repeat, deviate to intercept Inner City targets!—
Christ, where are the fucking Feds?! Somebody try Prescott agai—” The man stopped as Matteo was deposited in front of the broad, crescent moon desk. The rest of the room stopped with him. Stared.

  Matteo looked up wearily and squinted to study the man’s expression. It read like a leather-bound book. Wide-eyed. Thin mouth gaped. Thick chin quivering slightly. But why? Even with his fine-tuned memory, Matteo had never seen this person before. But this ‘Governor Sato’ looked like he’d seen a ghost.

  “Sir?” said one of Matteo’s handlers.

  “Uhh...umm...Nicks, Andreas...great job guys...lock him down in the suite for now, I—my City is burning,” Sato said.

  “Yes sir.” Matteo heard them groan as they turned around.

  “Alright, time to walk,” said the squat, short-haired one called Nicks, “Tired of carrying your ass.”

  They picked Matteo up and set him down on stinging feet. He could carry his weight again. The office revved back to life with phone calls and voice commands as he was escorted to the door. But a woman entered before they could leave. Middle-aged, full-figured, and beautiful, with smoke-colored hair flowing over the back of her summer dress.

  “Enota!” she called into the room. The Governor raced around the edge of his desk, pushed past a few assistants, and took her in his arms.

  “Oh thank God, Jada!” Sato said, “When I heard about Shibuya—”

  “Shhh...I’m here. I’m safe. And you need to get back to—Who is this?” she asked, looking Matteo over. Something warm and reassuring about her face...the concern written there. Sato seemed to tip off balance.

  “Oh—this...this is—”

  “Aden,” Matteo said, “My name is Aden.” He felt Nicks and Andreas tighten their grip, but they stopped short of showing it.

  “Aden...” said Jada. The sweet cream color drained from her expression as she turned to Sato, “...Rindal?”

  Sato’s stunned silence seemed to be enough of an answer for her. She touched her fingers to her lips as tears welled in her eyes.

  “My poor baby!” she said, leaning in to embrace him. Andreas stopped her with a firm hand. Shook his head.

  “Wha—? What’s going on here...Enota?” Jada asked. Matteo looked for an answer too, starving for the pieces he was clearly missing.

  “Jada I...I can’t right now,” Sato said.

  “You’d damn well better try!” said Jada, unmoved. Sounds of distant combat chattered in the stillness.

  “I—we found him—”

  One of Sato’s aides jumped out of his seat.

  “Sir! Just got a line from Prescott, the military is mobilizing!”

  A cheer ripped through the office. People hugged each other. Some kissed. Sato drooped, puffing a leaden sigh.

  “Package our intel and set up the Feed! I want them patched through to commanding officers on the ground ASAP!” His smile dimmed as he turned back to Jada, “I’m sorry, there’s—”

  “Go,” she said, “The City needs you...but we’re far from finished here.”

  Jada followed behind with her escort as Andreas and Nicks pulled Matteo down the arched corridor. Dim, yellow light fixtures glowed on the walls, casting strange reflections as they walked. Matteo twisted his head back to steal another glimpse of Jada, but a sharp tug from Andreas and a hidden gun barrel in his ribs told him to try again later. They won’t do much while she’s around... The main threads of a plan wove together in his mind as he got to the elevators.

  “Where are you taking him?” Jada asked. Andreas punched a button on the wall panel and stared at the closed metal doors. “Uh huh, okay...” said Jada as she squeezed in between them and the doors. They opened behind her, “Think about laying hands on me again. Think real hard.”

  “The Exec Suite,” Andreas finally said.

  “Thank you,” Jada said. She nodded and stepped aside. Matteo watched her disappear behind the closing metal slabs, along with his flickering hope for escape.

  When the elevator opened again, Andreas pushed Matteo out into a small, circular room with three carved wooden doors. High-backed chairs with curving animal legs stood guard next to each of them. Matteo’s boots clomped loudly on the marble floor as he stumbled to right himself.

  “So he gets locked up in one of these? Really?” asked Nicks.

  “That’s what the man said,” Andreas crossed to the center door and scanned his forearm on the side panel. It beeped. The door jarred with a soft click and Nicks pushed it open. He whistled as the lights came on inside.

  The room was enormous. Big enough to house at least twelve Rasalla families and their relatives. The floor stepped down in plush carpeted terraces to a central area where high arched windows pushed up the ceiling. Couches, recliners, foot rests, and all other kinds of inviting, obese furniture sat waiting throughout the room in pleasing, flowing patterns. Matteo recognized a bar off in one corner with an array of handsome stools and back-lit bottles of liquor on the wall. A kitchen in another with pristine, high-end versions of appliances he’d seen dropped from Pit Scows. And there were other doors set in the perimeter walls. MORE rooms...? No fantasy he’d had on the roof of the rusted family apartment ever came close to this.

  A fist rammed into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Matteo doubled over on the floor, coughing. His hands sank into the silky, fat threads of the carpet.

  “Don’t get too comfortable, shithead,” said Nicks, cracking meaty knuckles. Matteo fought for breath as the two goons walked out of the room and slammed the door. His airway winked open with each sucking gasp, gradually making the familiar sound. He gnashed his teeth together. Forced himself to sit back on his heels.

  The room was dead quiet. Against the ringing in his ears and wheezing in his throat, his every move made some kind of god awful noise. The City clothes chafed him. He tore his puffy white vest off and flung it aside, followed by each of his skin-tight long sleeves. The boots weighed heavy on his legs. He clawed at the buckles and yanked them off one by one, freeing his calloused bare feet. Better. He winced as he rocked forward to stand.

  The thought of looking for a weapon crossed his mind. There had to be one somewhere. A knife from the kitchen, maybe, to sink into Nicks’ skull. But as he looked around, feeling the carpet caress his toes, his body begged him to relax. To take it in. He limped down the carpeted terraces to the common area and ran his rough fingers over the supple fabric of a couch. The cushion swallowed his hand as he pressed into it. On the low glass coffee table, a colorful mutant plant reached out of a silver vase. He took one of its velvet red and yellow petals between his thumb and forefinger. Smelled the sweet, heady fragrance. It gave him a fleeting buzz.

  Boom. The low thud vibrated the still, clean air. Matteo looked to the arched bay window and saw a burst of hot orange rise into the twilit sky. As it faded, another rose. Fainter and further away to the left. Boom. The distant sound caught up with it. Matteo felt sick as he took a step toward the window, the floral perfume still in his nose.

  Boom. B-boom...

  He reached his reflection in the crystal glass, cupped his hands against it, and looked through. Fires. Great twisting columns of blackening fire swirled up to the sky from places throughout the dark, vertical landscape of Sedonia City. The tiny point-lights of ships darted through the structures, firing bursts of white streaks. A few ships popped in flashes of light as they crashed into glass and steel. Matteo staggered away from the window. The reflection of his heavenly prison surrounded him, broken by the molten clouds rising in the distance. His hands balled into fists.

  He picked up the silver vase, dashed the flowers over the couches, and threw it crashing through the coffee table. Shards of glass dug into the soles of his feet as he grabbed the legs of a plush white chair. Flipped it over backwards.

  “It’s not real!” he screamed as he picked up a slender standing lamp, “None of it’s fucking real!” He turned and threw it at the bay window. It bounced harmlessly off, leaving a pathetic scuff mark on the safe
ty glass. In midstep to try and use the lamp as a club, Matteo heard voices from outside. Shouting.

  Matteo sprang up and sprinted to the kitchen, tracking bloody footprints behind him. As the main door beeped open he spotted a wooden block of knives, yanked out the biggest one, and ducked behind the counter, slipping in his own wet tracks. The wheezing betrayed his struggle to keep quiet.

  “Aden?” a woman’s voice called out. Jada... His grip on the knife handle loosened, but he stayed down, listening in breathless silence.

  “Oh my God,” she said.

  “Tried to tell you, ma’am, the kid’s dangerous! You shouldn’t—”

  “Get out. Both of you.”

  “Ma’am, your safety is—”

  “You would have to drag me out,” she said, “Making my safety a moot point. So I’ll repeat. Get. Out.”

  A silent moment passed. Then the door shut.

  “It’s just you and me now,” said Jada, “I brought some food...unless you’ve found something in the kitchen.”

  Matteo tensed, seeing the bloody trail he’d left on the floor. He leaned slowly out from behind the counter. Saw Jada with her back turned, setting a steaming tray on a long, glass table. Rich smells of sweet meat and exotic spices drifted over to him. He got up, hesitated, then set the knife down on the counter.

  “Come. Have a seat with me,” she said, pulling out a chair for him. The tray made his mouth water. A slab of thick, brown meat sat in its juices on a square plate, flanked by steaming green veggies and a soft, fluffy pile of something he’d never seen.

  “Catering leftovers, I’m afraid...but I’ve brought them back to life as best I could. Hanger steak, green beans, and mashed potatoes.”

  When he didn’t move, she sat in the chair adjacent and began cutting the steak into bite-size chunks. She stuck a fork in one and took a bite.

  “See?” she said, smiling with her mouth full, “Delicious.”

  Matteo couldn’t help but smile back. He slowly crossed to the table. Sat down. His eyes darted between Jada and the plate of food.