Truancy Origins

by Isamu Fukui

  Rothenberg had lagged behind as the rest of his small task force had moved in to surround the Mayor’s son and his handful of supposed “bodyguards.” The boy Chris had promised an easy pickup; the four guards would be scattered, and their leader held at gunpoint until they arrived. Rothenberg had almost gone ahead in person, but had decided not to when the arrest would be so routine, so easy.

  Too easy, apparently.

  Rothenberg cursed aloud and squeezed his captive’s neck tighter, causing the unfortunate boy to sputter pathetically.

  “What is this?” Rothenberg snarled at the child. “What do you brats think you’re playing at?”

  “We’re . . . Truants . . . and you’re . . . going to die,” the boy choked out, and then spat in Rothenberg’s face.

  Rothenberg roared in outrage, dropping his radio and wringing the rebel’s neck like a stuffed animal. Several moments later, Rothenberg dropped the limp body to the ground as a subordinate Enforcer ran up to him, looking pale and horrified.

  “What’s going on?” Rothenberg demanded. “What the hell is going on?”

  “It’s the task force, sir,” the Enforcer explained. “The patrols that went ahead apparently all set off some sort of explosives while driving to the pickup point.”

  “Well, what do the survivors have to say for themselves?” Rothenberg asked menacingly.

  “There don’t seem to be any survivors, sir,” the Enforcer said. “Lots of gunshots and more explosions, but we can’t raise anyone on the radio anymore.”

  “Dammit!” Rothenberg kicked the dead boy’s body in frustration.

  “If I may suggest something, sir,” the Enforcer said, “I think we should scour the rest of District 15. We might catch some of them as they return to their base, and the informant did say they’d holed up somewhere in District 15 for now.”

  “No, you idiot!” Rothenberg raged, kicking the body again. “Don’t you see? It was a trick, that brat Chris was playing us all along. Holed up in District 15—hah! Who knows what other nasty surprises they’ve planted there for us? They just lured us out here so that they could ambush us! The boy’s info was phony from the start!”

  “If you say so, sir,” the Enforcer said. “What should we tell the Mayor?”

  “Nothing,” Rothenberg snapped. “Keep this quiet for as long as you can, I’ll talk to him myself when I have to. Now get out of my sight.”

  With that, Rothenberg stormed back to his patrol car and slammed the door shut, breathing heavily in his fury. He had been made a fool of today, by kids, no less. Nothing could have enraged him more than that. A dark expression gathered on his face as he ran a large hand over his bristly head. He might have lost this one, but he’d even the score, no matter how many dead children it took.

  Zen sighed and fired another shot into an Enforcer’s motionless body, just to be sure. Things had gotten a little hairier than he’d anticipated. He had not expected the Enforcers to be able to penetrate this far through their explosive traps, but from what he’d seen, things had gone well for the Truancy nonetheless. He had not seen any Truants fall, though Zen knew that there would have to be a casualty or two when the smoke cleared.

  Having sent Noni up to scout out the battle from a rooftop above, Zen had battled the two Enforcers that had reached him all alone. All the other Truants had stuck to their assigned positions, where Zen believed they would be more effective. He was on high alert, having just concluded a fierce battle, and so when he heard footsteps approaching him from behind he didn’t hesitate. Acting on instinct, Zen spun around and fired. The gunshot rang throughout the alley, and a figure crumpled to the ground.

  But as Zen bent over to inspect his victim, he was dismayed to see that it wasn’t an Enforcer, but an unarmed boy he didn’t recognize. He was sure it wasn’t a Truant, whose faces he all knew by now. Perhaps it was just a vagrant that had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Twinges of guilt wormed their way through Zen’s conscience, but he quickly suppressed them. He couldn’t afford to get emotional now, not at such a crucial juncture. It had been an accident. Unfortunate, but not intentional. Reassuring himself with those thoughts, Zen straightened back up.

  And saw Umasi staring at him with wide-eyed shock.

  Slowly, disbelievingly, Umasi crouched, staring at his fallen friend. Red still stubbornly clung to life, his chest heaving up and down, but there was a lot of blood, and Umasi knew he was doomed. With one hand, Umasi turned Red’s head to face him, and found that Red’s eyes were still open as he breathed in pained gasps.

  “It’s all right . . .” Red breathed, bringing a hand to his appendix. “Hit me here . . . it hurts . . . less . . . now . . .”

  Red’s voice trailed off feebly, and Umasi numbly looked at Red’s wound, which was too high to have actually struck the appendix. Still, Umasi couldn’t find the words to correct him. He couldn’t find any words at all. He could only watch as, one increasingly ragged gasp at a time, Red’s life faded out there in the alley, right before Umasi’s eyes.

  Silently, Umasi rose, eyes fixed on the boy he’d known for only a few days, and yet one he counted as his only friend. He might’ve stayed there in shock forever, if Zen had not spoken up at that moment.

  “He was collateral damage,” Zen said coldly. “Nothing mo—”

  Umasi’s fist slammed into Zen’s chest. Zen’s eyes widened in shock, the wind completely knocked out of him. The next thing he knew, Umasi’s foot connected with his gut, shoving him backwards, leaving him sprawling on the ground. Zen looked up at Umasi and froze, suddenly feeling true terror for the first time in years.

  Zen had never seen his brother like this before. Umasi’s face was contorted with rage, his dark eyes shining with fury as he advanced upon Zen’s helpless form. Zen quickly scrambled to his feet, throwing a quick punch at his oncoming assailant, only to have his wrist seized effortlessly. Before Zen could move, Umasi lunged forward headfirst, slamming his forehead into Zen’s face.

  Zen crashed against the brick wall behind him, his nose bleeding as Umasi brought his knee forcefully up to collide with Zen’s ribs. Zen gasped in disbelief and pain as Umasi proceeded to punch him repeatedly in the belly. As he wheezed, Umasi seized Zen by the neck and threw him to the side. Winded, Zen landed on the ground clutching his gut.

  Looking around the alley, Umasi spotted a rusted crowbar lying on the ground. He seized the weapon and spun around with grim determination, prepared to finish his brother once and for all . . .

  And suddenly found himself staring into a pair of wide, icy, pleading eyes.

  “Get out of the way,” Umasi said in a low, dangerous tone.

  Though the girl who stood before him had a black scarf wrapped around her lower face, Umasi recognized her as the one Zen had called Noni when they met at the pier. She refused to budge, staring at Umasi with those disturbing blue eyes. He growled menacingly, raising the crowbar above his head. The girl flinched slightly, though she didn’t move an inch.

  “GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Umasi roared.

  In response, Noni stretched her arms out to either side, shielding Zen. Zen looked completely thunderstruck as he stared up at the girl that had interposed herself between him and his brother. Umasi snarled with frustration and stepped to the side, trying to get around Noni. She matched his movement, always placing herself between him and Zen no matter where he moved.

  Finally, Umasi raised the crowbar again in aggravation and brought it swinging down at the stubborn girl.

  “Noni, move!” Zen shouted.

  She didn’t listen, shutting her eyes as she waited for the blow.

  It didn’t come. Opening her eyes, she saw the scary boy breathing heavily as he glared at her, the crowbar quivering an inch from her head. Then tears began running down the boy’s face, and he dropped his weapon to the ground where it clattered loudly. Crying quietly now, he walked over to where the dead child now lay in a pool of his own blood, and gently lifted the body and slung it over his shoulder. />
  Ignoring the blood spilling all over his clothes, Umasi spun around and walked out of the alley, his shoulders still heaving with silent sobs as he went. Noni did not lower her arms until he was safely out of sight.

  21

  MAKE LEMONADE

  Umasi opened the box of matches with shaking hands. Everything was ready, at last, yet he couldn’t bring himself to finish it. Red had been a friend when he had none, the only one to stand by him as he confronted his own brother. But Umasi had failed in the end, and his friend had died for nothing at all. Gazing over the edge of the pit that he had dug in the soil of an abandoned construction site, Umasi looked down at the body that lay within, resting atop a neat pile of planks that he had arranged.

  There should have been a funeral procession, Umasi thought, or an acknowledgment of some sort. But there had been nothing for Red. No one knew, and no one cared that this particular life had been lost that day. No one except Umasi, who had carried the body back alone, through empty streets, under lonely bridges, until he had finally returned to District 19, his home.

  Few vagrants ever died with someone to mourn them. Red, at least, would have one person see to his funeral. Umasi knew that parting words were appropriate, but he struggled to find some that fit. In the end, he decided upon the simplest.

  “I’m sorry,” Umasi murmured as he looked down at the friend he had failed. “I know that you wouldn’t have blamed me, but I’m sorry.”

  With that, Umasi solemnly lit a match and tossed it down into the pit, where it quickly ignited the gasoline that he’d poured over the wood. Soon all of it was ablaze, tongues of flame dancing upwards, slicing through the darkness, sending sparks flying upwards to join the stars. Umasi, however, continued only to gaze down into the heart of the fire and the body that burned within it.

  Soon black plumes of smoke began to rise, and a horrible smell—acrid yet sweet—reached Umasi’s nostrils. He didn’t flinch—not from the stench, or from the heat that seared his skin, or the smoke that stung his eyes. He remained perfectly motionless until the last of the flames had died down, leaving only glowing embers and a pile of ash.

  Umasi sighed, and the cool wind seemed to sigh with him. He had thought that cremating the body was the best thing to do. He wasn’t sure if Red would’ve minded rats gnawing at his corpse, but Umasi hadn’t been able to bear that thought. Now that it was over Umasi had decided to bury the pyre anyway.

  Umasi picked up a shovel and cast the first dirt down into the bottom of the pit. The embers still flickered at him as he worked, but he paid them no mind, as his was elsewhere. He should have felt sadness. All he could find was anger. He wanted nothing more than to swear on that grave that he would put an end to Zen, that he would make sure that no one in the City would ever have to feel such anger again. His brother had truly become a monster, a murderer, and there was no longer any question of reasoning with him.

  And yet Umasi hadn’t killed Zen. Not even when he had the chance, not even in the moment of his greatest fury. It had been the girl with the icy eyes who had cooled his madness that day, when she had been prepared to give her life for Zen’s. But Umasi had had time to think about the battle he had witnessed, the madness that he had traveled through. Beliefs he had claimed to hold for years had been tempered in the heat of battle, and Umasi knew now that he was sick of death. That if he faced Zen again, alone, nothing was likely to change.

  Killing was a step he wasn’t prepared to take, perhaps a step that he would never be prepared to take. Perhaps Zen would truly be unstoppable. Zen was the war bringer, and Umasi, being the pacifist, was in no position to stand in his way.

  “Too bad, Red,” Umasi said as the light of the remaining embers cast his face into shadow. “I won’t be avenging you after all.”

  With that, Umasi spun around and returned to his apartment, the last of his anger dissipating as he lit the stove and began brewing lemonade.

  Rothenberg sipped halfheartedly at his mug of coffee, not enjoying it in the least. He really was in a foul mood.

  This was not an uncommon occurrence. Rothenberg’s fickle temper was as legendary as any of his other traits, and ordinarily people would just avoid him, knowing that he’d cool off soon enough. But today hadn’t been an ordinary day, and his disposition was uncommonly foul. It wouldn’t have been so bad if his hopes for the day hadn’t been so high, but having come so close to his goal only to be humiliated instead had plunged him into a truly dangerous mood.

  And Rothenberg’s mood was usually a good indicator of how long some poor kid had left to live.

  “I’m going out,” Rothenberg announced to the rest of Enforcer Headquarters as he slammed his coffee down onto a desk.

  “Where exactly are you going, sir?” one man asked.

  “Hunting vagrants,” Rothenberg said as he stood up and went for his coat, “and then I’m going home.”

  Nearly everyone in the room shivered at that pronouncement. Ever since Rothenberg had been given unlimited power among the Enforcers, rumors had gone around about Rothenberg’s thoughts on parenthood.

  “But, sir, what about the investigation?” an Enforcer asked.

  “We’ve already doubled the patrols and planned thorough sweeps of all abandoned districts,” Rothenberg muttered as he slid his coat on. “That’s enough for today, it’s not like there’s anything else we can do.”

  “Shouldn’t we at least be running down some leads or som—”

  “WHAT LEADS?” Rothenberg roared. “WE’VE GOT NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL!”

  The whole room was silent. This kind of behavior had hardly ever been seen at Enforcer Headquarters, and it had certainly never been displayed by a commanding officer before.

  “Our best lead led to a trap, and all we’ve got to show for weeks of effort are a bunch of wrecked cars and dead men,” Rothenberg continued. “The sweeps begin tomorrow, and if it’s war they want it’s war they’ll get, but until then I’ve got vagrants to deal with.”

  More silence. The Enforcers all knew that when Rothenberg worked himself up into a frenzy he could go out on patrol all night long without sleep. One bold Enforcer took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but Rothenberg quickly cut him off.

  “Save your breath,” Rothenberg snarled. “Not even the Mayor could get me to stay here now.”

  Just then, another Enforcer burst into the room, interrupting the exchange as he panted, clutching a cordless phone.

  “Sir!” The Enforcer saluted, holding out the phone. “It’s the Mayor. He wants to talk to you. He says it’s urgent.”

  Rothenberg shut his eyes and willed himself not to start smashing things in frustration. He could feel his subordinates silently laughing at him. Suppressing a snarl, Rothenberg snatched the phone out of the other Enforcer’s hand and brought it up to his ear.

  “Hello?” Rothenberg said.

  “Mr. Rothenberg,” the Mayor greeted coldly. “It’s been a while since you’ve bothered to update me on your search.”

  “There hasn’t been all that much to report, sir,” Rothenberg lied, shooting glances around the room as if daring someone to contradict him. “We’ve been running down a few leads, but we don’t have a location yet.”

  “Is that so?” the Mayor mused. “Then I suppose you can explain the disturbance today in District 15?”

  Rothenberg swore under his breath. How had the Mayor found out so quickly?

  “An exaggerated case of friendly fire,” Rothenberg said through gritted teeth. “The boy armed a few starving vagrants, and the Enforcers got trigger-happy.”

  “And that would explain all the Enforcer patrol cars that were destroyed?”

  Rothenberg grimaced.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, sir,” he said at last.

  “How about the truth?” the Mayor suggested coldly.

  There followed an uncomfortable silence as Rothenberg was rendered speechless, sweat beginning to run down his neck. When the Mayor spoke up again, his voic
e had a dangerous edge that hadn’t been there before.

  “I am not pleased with you, Rothenberg,” the Mayor said. “Let me make it clear now that I don’t buy any of your excuses. Luckily for you, I’m not so interested in the truth. In fact, I don’t even want to know what exactly happened today.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m not finished,” the Mayor snapped. “What I am interested in, and what you’ve failed to do, is see my sons safely returned home. I will be sending one of my aides to keep an eye on your progress. You have three more weeks, Rothenberg, and be glad that I’m being that generous.”

  With that, the Mayor hung up, leaving Rothenberg clutching his receiver so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Rothenberg glanced around at the other Enforcers, all of whom were looking at him expectantly. Rothenberg let out a deep rumbling sigh and clenched his fists.

  “All right,” Rothenberg said, “our workday’s been extended a few hours. Let’s get back to it.”

  Zen stood in the center of the flower shop, under the single lightbulb that was all that cut through the darkness of the night. Though he was not the tallest Truant present, he seemed to tower over all the others as he rapidly issued orders. Despite their victory, there had been little time for celebration. Now that the conflict had started in earnest, Zen had no doubt that the Enforcers would be stepping up their operations, and that the Truancy would have to match them to survive. As he finished discussing their stock of explosives with Aaron, Zen turned to give Gabriel a new assignment, stubbornly ignoring the injuries he had sustained at the hands of his brother. Zen had resolved not to think about those until he’d done what needed to be done.