by Isamu Fukui
“Now you’re getting it!” Rothenberg shouted. “It took you long enough! Where is that damned backup?”
“We’ve sent a call out for all District 5 officers to head to your location, sir,” the voice said. “We’ve also posted a lookout for the suspect you described—”
“Just the District 5 officers?” Rothenberg roared. “I can count those on one hand! Listen to me, idiot: Get every last Enforcer in the entire lower half of the City down here! We’re going to sweep every inch of Districts 7 and 8! We’re going to find that kid even if we have to burn those districts to the ground! That’s an order, do you hear me? Get everyone down here now!”
There was a pause.
“Chief Truancy Officer Rothenberg, sir, please stand by. We’re transferring your communication.”
“Transferring? What?”
Rothenberg growled angrily as a click on the other end indicated that he was now talking to someone new.
“Listen up, you uneducated fool!” Rothenberg snarled. “If this doesn’t concern getting every Enforcer in the City down here at my disposal, then I don’t want to hear it!”
There was another pause, and then Rothenberg felt both his anger and ego deflate rapidly.
“CTO Rothenberg,” the new voice said darkly. “This is the Mayor.”
Rothenberg gulped, a motion that made him look like a goldfish gasping for air.
“My apologies, Mr. Mayor,” Rothenberg said, bringing his voice back under control.
“Save your apologies for later, Rothenberg,” the Mayor snapped. “I need to see you in my office, immediately.”
“But I didn’t know that it was you, sir!” Rothenberg protested. “The man I was talking to didn’t tell me who he was transferring me to!”
“Stop that blubbering, I’m not going to fire you,” the Mayor said.
“Then . . . why do you want to see me?”
“It’s about the . . . suspect that you claim attacked you.”
Zen swiftly bore Noni through the dark alleys of District 8, heading towards the closest hideout that he had been able to find that day. As he walked, he contemplated how unnaturally light she felt. He wasn’t sure exactly how much she weighed, but it couldn’t have been much; it was like carrying a feather. That was fine with him, though, as it made carrying her all the easier.
Zen began to consider his earlier actions, debating whether or not it had been a good idea to tip off the Enforcers and Educators so early on. He had done so mainly for two reasons. First, he was sure that his father would get Umasi to spill everything that he knew anyway. And secondly, it had been hard to resist the opportunity to give those men what they deserved. Still, the Enforcers would be on high alert now, looking for him specifically. He would have to tread carefully.
Zen spared a glance down at his live burden—barely live, at that moment. She wasn’t quite skin and bones just yet, but she wasn’t far from it either. Not only that, but her clothing also seemed painfully thin for the weather; if she didn’t starve to death, she quite possibly would’ve frozen to it. And then there were the fading bruises all over her body. Someone had mistreated this girl before the Enforcers, Zen noted. It was surprising, really, that she was still alive.
She was tougher than she looked, Zen concluded. In time she might become physically formidable—but Zen had a hunch that her mental and emotional wounds ran deeper than her physical ones.
Zen now began to wonder why exactly he had been compelled to bring her along with him. She wasn’t an enormous burden, and could become a useful asset in the future. But on the other hand, no matter how light, she was a burden, and a significant responsibility, and he wasn’t even sure that he’d feel guilty if he left her behind. He was finding it hard to feel guilty about anything of late.
Zen looked back down at Noni once more. Her dark hair was filthy and matted and hadn’t been cut in a while. Her abject thinness left her looking disturbingly gaunt. She was dressed in rags and hauntingly pale. But despite all that, Zen was certain that under better circumstances she had the potential to look pretty . . . and yet he knew decisively that he possessed no physical attraction for this bedraggled girl. So then what was it?
Perhaps it was just curiosity, Zen postulated. Or perhaps some part of him was still capable of sympathy, and wouldn’t allow him to leave her to die. Perhaps he needed an assistant—someone he could trust, and who would in turn trust him absolutely. That would fit. Zen could no longer count on his brother, but something about Noni made him feel confident he could count on her.
Whatever the reason, Zen decided then that he would accept her well-being as his responsibility. This was no casual decision; whenever Zen resolved to do something, he always saw it through to the end. He would take this traumatized victim, lying helpless in his arms, and he would see her become someone truly powerful—someone who could outlive him.
11
RUN AWAY
Are you absolutely sure that’s what the child looked like?”
Rothenberg suppressed a growl, frustrated at having had to repeat his story for maybe the tenth time over the past few hours. If he had been anywhere but here, in the Mayor’s Office, he probably would’ve thrown a tantrum. Merely being in the presence of the Mayor had sent a chill down Rothenberg’s spine. Then again, that might’ve just been the air-conditioning, which had bafflingly been kept running even at the onset of winter.
“Yes, sir.” Rothenberg nodded. “I’m positive.”
“And you’re telling me that he killed an Enforcer?”
“Yes, sir, my partner,” Rothenberg said, leaving out the embarrassing detail about how the boy had used Rothenberg’s own knife to finish the job.
The Mayor sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he leaned back in his chair. Rothenberg said nothing, but watched the Mayor confusedly. He had met the Mayor only in passing before, but the City’s leader had a reputation for being tough and unyielding, not weary and feeble. What’s more, Rothenberg couldn’t even begin to imagine what the Mayor’s personal interest in the murderous boy was.
“Do you have any children, Rothenberg?” the Mayor asked suddenly.
Rothenberg frowned, wondering what that had to do with anything. The question made him uncomfortable, largely because he never ceased wishing that the answer were no.
“I keep one son, sir,” Rothenberg said. “His name is Cross.”
“Cross,” the Mayor repeated idly. “That’s a fine name. Well, Rothenberg, you know what it’s like to be a father, and you’ve already met him in person. Whatever else can be said of you, no one disputes that you have a knack for getting things done. I’m going to entrust you with a very secret, very important task.”
“You can count on me, sir,” Rothenberg promised immediately, sensing an opportunity for a promotion.
“What you learn now cannot be repeated to any other individual,” the Mayor said, looking sternly at Rothenberg. “There are absolutely no exceptions. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, sir.”
The Mayor regarded Rothenberg for another moment, as if second-guessing his own decision. Then the Mayor shook his head and picked up a sheet of lined paper from his desk and held it outstretched. Rothenberg accepted it, and quickly realized that there was a note scribbled on the paper. The Mayor watched calmly as Rothenberg’s eyes widened as he read.
“Are you beginning to understand why I’ve called you here?” the Mayor asked dryly.
“The boy that attacked me . . . you think it was one of your sons?” Rothenberg exclaimed, still examining the paper with disbelief.
“The description you provided matches that of Zen, who is mentioned in that note that his brother left behind,” the Mayor explained as he folded his hands together to stop them from shaking. “It seems that he discovered an Educator secret, and has reacted . . . rashly.”
“So we proceed in hunting him down and killing him?” Rothenberg asked eagerly, if a bit foolishly.
“Out of the question,” the May
or snapped, glaring at Rothenberg. “I’ve already instructed the Enforcers to ignore your report and your prior orders. Officially, this ‘attack’ never happened. If anyone asks, the story is that you had a few too many drinks when you made the call—your temperament at the time would certainly support that notion.”
Rothenberg’s nostrils flared like a bull’s, but he kept his silence as the Mayor continued glaring steadily at him.
Before the meeting, the Mayor had pulled up Rothenberg’s records and discovered that the man had a history of aggression problems dating all the way back to school . . . where corporal punishment had been used to curb his violent tendencies. The Mayor envisioned the Enforcer as a sort of hound dog—useful for fetching things, but it had to be kept on a short leash, lest it kill rather than track.
“Let’s get to the point,” the Mayor said. “I want you to locate and arrest the boy who attacked you, but he must be brought back to me unharmed. I cannot emphasize enough that this whole thing must remain secret. No one can know that he’s missing, and no one can know what he’s done.”
“You want me to handle this all by myself?”
“Of course not.” The Mayor snorted. “You’ll have all the Enforcers’ resources at your disposal. Just ask for anything, and you’ll get it. But remember, no one, and I really mean no one, can know what your agenda is.”
“What about the boy who wrote this letter, this”—Rothenberg looked down at the paper once more—“Umasi. What about him?”
“I expect that he’ll be back in a day or two,” the Mayor said confidently. “It’s Zen that I’m worried about. But if you can bring in both, that’ll be even better.”
“And what happens when I succeed?”
“If you succeed,” the Mayor emphasized, looking Rothenberg straight in the eye, “I’ll see to it that you get promoted all the way up to Chief Enforcer. Just remember that if anything happens to either of my sons, I will hold you personally responsible.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Mayor,” Rothenberg assured. “I’ll bring them both back unscratched.”
“You better, Rothenberg,” the Mayor said, turning his chair around so that his back faced the Enforcer. “Or you’ll wish you never graduated from school.”
So, how is it?”
Noni looked up at her rescuer, who was now placidly sitting across from her. She imagined that he was talking about the canned soup that she had, very tentatively, been sipping. For some reason, she felt secure in the boy’s company, intimidating and dangerous though he was. But even so, she couldn’t stop her spoon from shaking as she tried to answer.
“It’s . . . good . . .” Noni managed to reply as she brought another quivering spoonful to her mouth, thinking that it was the best thing she had ever tasted.
Noni had awoken in an unfamiliar room, someplace warm, resting upon something soft. It was dark, and she wasn’t sure if it was night or day. She was confused at first, not knowing where she was or how she’d gotten there. But soon it all came back to her—the boy with the apple, the angry men, the knife. Noni shuddered. But then there was the other boy, the one who had hurt the men, the one who had stopped them from hurting her! But he wasn’t there when she awoke.
She had felt scared then, all alone in the dark on a makeshift bed of rags, wondering if she’d been abandoned again. She clutched her blanket to herself, staring into the darkness with wide, unblinking eyes, twitching at every shadow, every creak of a floorboard, imagining a massive man with a knife coming for her again. But then her rescuer had returned, bearing proper bandages and stinging ointments and other things he used to treat her wound. Now it was bound up and didn’t feel so painful anymore. He had mended her other cuts too, but more than that, his presence alone made her feel better somehow. Here was a monster more frightening than all the others . . . but this one was on her side. Scary people had never been on her side before, but now that one was, she felt safer than she could ever remember being in her whole life.
Now she was eating canned soup that he had warmed over the stove. She was so used to being cold that the warmth had felt strange to her at first, though it was immediately welcome. She thought that it was chicken soup of some sort, but it seemed so long since she’d tasted real food that she’d forgotten what it was like. But already she was feeling more alive than she had ever since . . .
Noni blinked back sudden tears. She couldn’t even remember what came after “ever since,” and yet even thinking about it made her cry.
“Why are you crying?” the boy asked dispassionately.
Noni liked it, how the boy didn’t seem to show any emotion. She wished she could be more like that.
“I don’t know,” Noni said timidly.
“Can’t remember?”
Noni nodded.
“You’ve probably got some unpleasant repressed memories. Sometimes they’re better kept that way,” the boy speculated, sounding as though he were speaking out of boredom. “Of course, that can’t be all that’s bothering you, but I’ve no way of knowing the rest.”
Noni liked that too, how he came out and said everything to her face. He made no effort to hide his thoughts, obviously because he didn’t care about anyone hearing them. If he hated her, she knew he would tell her without hesitation, and the fact that he hadn’t was enough to convince her that he didn’t hate her . . . not like everyone else had.
“Anyway, you’ve been physically patched up as well as circumstances allow, and I think we’ve handled the malnutrition problem for now,” the boy mused. “The only issue remaining appears to be the insomnia, and the only way to deal with that is for you to get some rest.”
Now that he mentioned it, Noni began to realize how very tired she really was. Her eyes remained wide, but stung from the effort. She had been so frightened for so long that she didn’t know when she had last gotten any real sleep. The boy began to lead her back over to the heap of cloth upon which she had been laid to rest, and she freely followed along. She eagerly lay down and managed to pull a blanket over herself as the boy stood up and slinked over into a dark corner where a bunch of documents had been spread out.
As he went, Noni suddenly remembered to ask something that she’d forgotten.
“Um . . . sir?” she said tentatively.
“Yes?” The boy turned his head around halfway to look at her over his shoulder.
“What . . . what should I call you?” Noni asked, her voice pitifully small.
The boy seemed to hesitate for a moment as he crouched there in the shadows. Noni cringed, immediately worried that she had somehow upset him with her question. But the boy merely shook his head with indecision as he turned fully around.
“I suppose that ‘sir’ will do for the time being,” he said. “Now go to sleep. We’ll have friends joining us soon.”
“Yes, sir,” Noni said obediently.
Umasi groaned in spite of himself and attempted to rise. He was swiftly rewarded with a brutal kick to the gut. As he crumpled back to the ground, a worn boot stomped on his back, and then another assaulted his ribs. The pain from the impacts was persistent, throbbing, and Umasi knew that if he survived he’d be black and blue all over.
As he lay on the ground, Umasi bit back a moan as he realized that the beatings he had received on the school courtyard might as well have been slaps on the wrists. The brutal force behind these blows had been unimaginable to him just days prior. He had never understood what it meant to be attacked by people who didn’t hold back, people with no mercy or restraint.
But he did now.
“Think we should kill him, Raphael?”
“No way man, take a look at those clothes and the backpack. Kid ain’t no vagrant—he’s a student. The Enforcers would torch the whole district if we killed him!”
“Psh, let ’em come, they’ll never find us.”
“You crazy, James? You forgotten the parking garage already? Chris would throw a fit if he knew you were thinking about bringing the Enforcers down here.”
“Come on, he’s had enough and we’re already late. The others might’ve ditched us by now.”
Umasi again repressed the urge to moan and rolled over at the sound of receding footsteps. His injuries punished him for every movement, but he refused to make any sound that would betray his weakness. Opening his one eye that wasn’t swollen shut, Umasi vaguely saw two boys running off with his backpack containing all of his supplies. The vagrants rounded a street corner, and then they vanished. Umasi felt a nasty sensation welling up in his stomach, but he clenched his fists and forced the vomit down. The only food he had left was inside his stomach, and he couldn’t afford to lose that now.
Life on his own wasn’t what he thought it would be.
Umasi wasn’t sure exactly what he had been expecting, but what he felt now was much worse than anything he’d experienced in his troubled dreams. It was despair, shame, guilt, disappointment, and a hundred other negative emotions all rolled into one. He had never felt worse in his life. His only consolation was that he had taken the beating without moaning, without betraying his weakness. There had been a time when degrading himself wouldn’t have mattered to Umasi, but in that moment when he had first faced possible death, with his life at the mercy of two who had none, he realized that he had nothing else left to defend but his pride. And so he had.
Umasi ruefully wondered if it was just his luck that sucked or if District 13 was to blame. Whatever it was, he had barely stepped within the boundaries of the abandoned district before the two thugs had appeared, both large, ragged, with a feral look in their eyes.
“Hey kid, that’s a nice backpack you got there,” the first vagrant had complimented.
“Uh . . . thanks?” Umasi had replied warily.