Truancy Origins

by Isamu Fukui

  Red’s voice was bitter as he relayed the story. Umasi glanced over at him. Cheating was one of the most vilified acts in the City. Any student found guilty of it, or even suspected of it, was lucky to avoid expulsion, and if they did the Educators made sure that word of their misdeeds would follow them like a curse.

  But as Umasi dwelled upon Red’s fate, he realized something. It was as if a ray of light had cut through the darkness the Educators had cast in order to illuminate the truth.

  “Red,” Umasi said, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Red turned to look at Umasi in surprise. “What?”

  “Helping someone else at great risk to yourself, with no guarantee of a reward?” Umasi said. “That sounds more like generosity to me.”

  Red blinked at that.

  “Generous or not, it’s still a crime.”

  “It’s a crime because the Educators say it is,” Umasi said, “but who is the victim?”

  “Well,” Red said uncomfortably, “say someone who earned his grades alone applies for something and gets outdone by someone I helped. You have a victim there.”

  “Imagine that you help a needy friend get a job over the head of someone who tried alone,” Umasi said. “Would you have done a wicked thing?”

  “But that’s not the same thing, tests are supposed to—”

  “In both cases you have a victim of competition,” Umasi said. “Should you really be condemned for helping a friend over an obstacle at great risk to yourself?”

  Red had no answer to that, but jogged on in silence, apparently deep in thought.

  “Risking your own neck to help someone when you know you could be punished and vilified for it,” Umasi continued, “that shows spirit, the very thing that the Educators seek to break. They can only completely succeed when there is no selflessness like yours left to challenge them.” Umasi turned to face Red. “Red, my father did you a great wrong, and I’m sorry that it landed you here.”

  “You know,” Red began, “all these years the Educators had me convinced that I got what I deserved. But now I’m not so sure.”

  “Few people deserve what you’ve gone through,” Umasi said, shaking his head. “It’s all wrong. This entire City is wrong.”

  The two continued to jog in silence for several moments after that, the only noise their footfalls upon the bare asphalt.

  “Yeah, well, enough about my debatable past,” Red said. “What about you? You’re just out here because of what your brother did, right? No matter how you look at it, you’ve been squeaky clean compared to me.”

  “My brother is guilty of enough crimes for the both of us.” Umasi frowned. “The Educators may be wrong, but he’s the farthest thing from right that there is. I could’ve stopped him before. I should’ve stopped him before. I didn’t, and now every time he kills it’s just as much my fault as it is his.”

  “Now, that’s just stupid,” Red said. “He’s your brother, and from what you said you weren’t nearly as strong back then as you are now. What were you supposed to do?”

  “Tell someone. Fight him. Sabotage his efforts. Anything, really,” Umasi said. “I was a coward. I was too afraid to even try.”

  “But that’s all in the past now, huh?” Red said.

  “That’s right.” Umasi nodded. “I’m not so weak anymore.”

  “Well, strength and fighting isn’t everything,” Red said. “Let’s see how much faster you’ve gotten, shall we?”

  Without warning Red launched into a sudden sprint, darting forward like a rocket. After a moment’s pause, Umasi gave pursuit, his legs a blur as he struggled to catch up.

  “That was a dirty trick, you cheater!” Umasi said with mock anger.

  Red just laughed, and Umasi joined in. As they ran, neither of the two children could remember a time when their hearts had felt quite so light.

  So, you must be Chris.”

  Chris licked his lips as he looked across the sterile table at his interrogator, a massive man with nearly shaven, graying red hair that he knew must be Rothenberg. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, illuminating them both, and Chris couldn’t help but sweat under the vicious gaze of the towering Enforcer.

  “I asked you a question, vagrant!” the man shouted, slamming a fist against the table.

  “Yes, yes, I’m Chris!” Chris squeaked. “You . . . you’re Rothenberg, right?”

  “No,” Rothenberg said in a dangerous voice. “To you, I am ‘sir,’ ‘Chief Truancy Officer,’ or ‘Mr. Rothenberg,’ got it?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Rothenberg!”

  This meeting was not off to the start that Chris had hoped for. They were currently in the District 14 Enforcer Station, a locale that Chris had frequented as a vagrant, and one that was conveniently close to the Truancy’s hideout in District 15. He had managed to slip away while supposedly gathering materials from abandoned houses, and he knew that he wouldn’t be missed for at least another hour. When he marched into the station, he had expected to be treated as a hero. Instead, he’d been hustled into a dark interrogation room by a group of special Enforcers who identified themselves as Rothenberg’s team. Chris had quickly been joined by their redoubtable boss.

  “So, Chris, when you called you mentioned that you had some interesting information for me,” Rothenberg said. “Did you mean that you wanted to lead your little rat pack to the slaughter again?”

  “No, sir,” Chris said, excitement overtaking his fear. “Better.”

  “Let’s hear it then,” Rothenberg said, a note of eagerness in his voice.

  “There’re these kids, these crazy student dropouts,” Chris said. “They . . . they’re forming a rebellion against the Educators! And they’ve let me join them!”

  Rothenberg stared. Then he laughed for a moment, before stopping abruptly and raising his fist again.

  “Listen carefully boy,” Rothenberg said, “I have no patience for lies.”

  “It’s no lie, I swear it!” Chris insisted. “This clean kid came outta nowhere with guns and knives talking about a rebellion. He called it the ‘Truancy.’ He said his name was Z, I think it must be his initial or something.”

  “The leader’s initial . . . is Z?” Rothenberg repeated.

  “Yeah . . . does it mean something to you?” Chris asked.

  “It might. What does this boy look like?”

  “Uh, long dark hair, dark eyes, kinda yellowish skin,” Chris said. “Talks like an adult or something, wears all black from what I’ve seen.”

  Rothenberg’s fist moved, and Chris cringed before realizing that Rothenberg was pumping it in the air as if in triumph. Chris stared at the uncharacteristic display. Then, as if suddenly realizing how silly he must look, Rothenberg froze and brought himself back under control.

  “So, Zen is playing rebel now, is he?” Rothenberg chortled. “That’s cute.”

  “He—Zen, that is—calls it the Truancy,” Chris said, mentally cataloguing what he knew must be Z’s full name.

  “I don’t care what he calls anything,” Rothenberg said impatiently. “Where is he now? This supposed leader?”

  “He’s set up a base in District 15,” Chris said, “but, well, he’s got a lot of guys around . . . and guns, and I think I heard them talking about bombs.”

  “They can talk about whatever they like.” Rothenberg snorted. “I’ll just send in a bunch of patrols to scare them off and grab the head brat.”

  “Sir, I think you should be a bit more careful,” Chris said. “Both of the times I turned in my gang the Enforcers showed up with too few people and a bunch escaped. So maybe . . . maybe . . .” Chris faltered, seeing Rothenberg’s eyes narrow.

  “Watch who you criticize, boy,” Rothenberg growled.

  “Ye-yes, sir,” Chris said, wilting under that gaze.

  “But if you think that they’re so dangerous, I don’t see any reason not to go in full force,” Rothenberg said, his tone brisk now. “I’ll send in more than enough patrols to exterminate every vag
rant in the City, but I’ll need you to provide an opportunity for us to snatch that leader. I want him alive. Can you help with that?”

  A genuine smile spread across Chris’ face.

  “I’d love to, sir.”

  “Excellent.” Rothenberg handed Chris a cell phone. “My personal number is in there. When the time is right, let me know, and they’ll never know what hit them. Now, you better get back to the other brats before they notice you’re missing.”

  “Sir, there’s . . . well . . . my payment?”

  “Bring Zen to me alive and I’ll set you up for life.”

  “In a living district?”

  “In a living district,” Rothenberg said distastefully. “Now get out of my sight.”

  Chris hastened to comply as the door to the room slid open on cue. Rothenberg remained in his seat for another minute, excitement coursing through his body. The vagrant’s story about a rebellion had sounded insane at first, but Rothenberg realized that there was one boy who had managed to kill an Enforcer, right in front of him no less. Now the kid was actually trying to gather others to do the same. Rothenberg laughed. What foolishness. He knew where they were. Now he would simply wait for the ideal moment to move in, slaughter this ridiculous “Truancy,” and return its lunatic leader to his father.

  Red raised his plank to block Umasi’s, the two pieces of wood colliding with a dull thunk. Breaking the deadlock with brute force, Umasi gave a shove that sent Red staggering back. When they began this sparring match, Umasi had warned that he wouldn’t be holding anything back. Even so, Red hadn’t expected ferocity like this. Umasi was relentless, pressing the fight so aggressively that Red was almost convinced that Umasi was out to kill him.

  Red’s reflexes were good enough to parry the next attack, but before he could riposte, Umasi swung his board back again to slam painfully into Red’s shin.

  “Ouch!” Red yelped, hopping backwards on one foot.

  Without pausing for a moment, Umasi lunged again, thrusting forward to catch Red right in the chest, shoving him backwards so that he fell flat on his butt. Sitting prone on the ground, Red gingerly rubbed his knee as Umasi brought his weapon to rest lightly on top of Red’s head.

  “Okay, okay, I give up,” Red conceded as he dropped his own plank. “Man, if that’s how you practice fighting, remind me never to make you mad.”

  “Sorry,” Umasi said, suddenly looking embarrassed. “I may have overdone it a bit. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been worse,” Red said, standing up to highlight the point.

  Satisfied, Umasi walked over to where two bottles of lemonade were cooling in a stubborn patch of snow that hadn’t yet melted. He sat down and opened one for himself, then tossed the other to Red.

  “So Umasi,” Red said after taking a gulp, “what made you want to fight in the first place?”

  Umasi looked troubled by the question, but answered anyway.

  “I don’t want to feel inactive,” Umasi explained, “not after all I had to do as a vagrant.”

  “So your brother doesn’t have anything to do with it?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “So you want to get strong and beat your brother,” Red observed. “Is that for the good of the whole City, or is it about you?”

  “Probably some of both,” Umasi answered after a moment of thought.

  “Well there’s nothing wrong with self-satisfaction, but people don’t forget nobility,” Red said. “Just take a look at the vagrant ghost, for example.”

  “The what?” Umasi raised an eyebrow.

  “The vagrant ghost,” Red repeated. “She’s a legend among the vagrants—or at least, I thought she was. Lots of people told me they’ve seen her, but I never believed any of it until I saw her myself.”

  “You did?” Umasi said skeptically.

  “Yeah, the day I got away from your brother,” Red said. “She saved me from a Truant who had a gun.”

  “What did she look like, then?” Umasi asked, examining Red’s face as though expecting a joke.

  “Pure white, all over,” Red said. “Except the eyes; they were blue, but then they flashed red. And she had a chain, that’s what she used to knock out the Truant, I think.”

  “How can a ghost knock anyone out?”

  “Well I suppose the chain was solid enough,” Red said thoughtfully. “She didn’t touch him at all, of course, from what I saw. Then she disappeared.”

  “Even if you weren’t hallucinating,” Umasi said amusedly, “what’s it got to do with nobility?”

  “Oh, well, you know,” Red said, “since she saved me I kind of assumed that she wanders the City trying to help people . . . or something like that. Why else would she stick around, on the streets of all places?”

  “Maybe because she’s not real?”

  “Have it your way.” Red shrugged. “If you stick around in the abandoned districts long enough, maybe you’ll see her too. Back on topic; when are you actually going to stand up to your brother?”

  “I don’t know,” Umasi said. “When I’m ready.”

  “If you ask me, I think you’re ready now,” Red said. “You’re just too busy trying to convince yourself of it.”

  “What’re you suggesting, then, that I go looking for him this very minute?” Umasi asked.

  “Well I dunno about that,” Red said, glancing up at the setting sun. “It’s getting late, and I’m getting hungry. How about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Sure, why not?” Red replied. “From what you just showed me back there, you’re damn ready to take on anyone one-on-one if it comes down to that.”

  Umasi hesitated for a moment, then looked over at where Red’s weapon lay discarded and creased his brow.

  “You might have a point,” Umasi said. “But there’s still the problem of finding him.”

  Red smiled. Finally, an opportunity for him to feel helpful.

  “Well you see, about that . . .” Red began. “When your brother was giving his little speech, he did mention a little place where he was setting up headquarters.”

  “You mean . . .” Umasi suddenly sat up very straight.

  “Yeah, I know where your brother and all of his buddies are.” Red nodded. “Or at least the district where you can find them.”

  “Can you tell me how to get there?”

  “Of course,” Red replied with a grin. “And I’m coming too, whether you want me there or not.”

  Umasi stared at Red for a moment, and then a slow smile spread across his face.

  “I haven’t known you for all that long, Red, but it’s been long enough for me to know that you’re a good friend,” Umasi said. “Thanks.”

  Red felt color rushing to his cheeks. It was kind of embarrassing, but so meaningful, being called a friend after having lived for so long without any.

  “I’m honored” was all he could say.

  You’re certain of this?” Zen asked as he gazed out the flower-shop show window.

  “Completely,” Gabriel nodded. “He’s working with the Enforcers, all right, and from what I overheard when he was on the phone last night, he’s been doing it for a while.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but I’d like to be sure before I act,” Zen said. “You say he actually entered an Enforcer station?”

  “No mistake there. I even got a look at the guys he’d been meeting when they came out after him. Hell, I recognized one of them. The huge bastard with red hair, Rothenberg. I’ve seen him on the news before.”

  “Rothenberg? Interesting,” Zen mused. “I can only conclude that my dear father was desperate enough to send that mutt out to retrieve me.”

  “So what are you gonna do about all this?” Gabriel demanded. “The Enforcers might be here any minute now.”

  “I doubt it.” Zen shook his head.

  “But how can you be sure?” Gabriel pressed.

  “I would in fact be worried about Rothenberg barging in here today,” Zen allowed, “if
I didn’t believe that he would wait on Chris’ word.”

  “So what do we do?” Gabriel asked. “Take Chris into custody now?”

  “No, Gabriel, our friend Chris has offered us a unique and valuable opportunity,” Zen said with a faint smile. “We can turn this to our advantage. This is the chance I’ve been waiting for to make our debut to the Enforcers.”

  Gabriel looked at Zen strangely. “I’m not following.”

  “It’s rather simple, really,” Zen explained. “I will now be able to dictate when and where we fight, and be certain that the Enforcers will show up to fall into the trap.”

  “How?”

  In response, Zen pointed outside the window. Gabriel looked out and spotted Chris talking with another former vagrant.

  “You’re going to feed him false info,” Gabriel realized.

  “That’s right. I’ll provide the Enforcers with an opportunity that they can’t resist.” Zen nodded. “Would you be so good as to bring Chris to me?”

  Gabriel hastened to comply, and moments later Chris stood before Zen, a look of anticipation on his face.

  “You wanted to see me?” Chris said.

  “That I did,” Zen agreed, his voice pleasant. “I’ve come to believe that the reason you’ve not been fitting in so well is that I’ve been giving you unsuitable tasks. However, I think I’ve finally found a job that fits you—something simple, but very important. You see, tomorrow I will personally be moving to a location on the edge of this district, where I hope to establish our permanent Truancy headquarters.”

  “So what do I do?” Chris asked.

  “You’ll be leading my personal bodyguards,” Zen said. “It won’t be too much work, I assure you—there’ll be no more than four for you to manage.”

  “Only four guards?” Chris repeated, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice.

  “I want to travel inconspicuously,” Zen explained. “Any more than that and we might attract attention. We’re still no match for the Enforcers, you see. It’d be a disaster if even just one patrol spotted us.”