by Isamu Fukui
The Truants moved the bodies of both friend and foe, and then took positions all around the open door. A few tardy Truants emerged, sputtering from the smoke, but right behind them came a number of Enforcers, who were cut down before they could return fire. For a moment it looked like they were safe; there was no other way onto the roof, and with the narrow chokepoint of the door they could hold off an army with their handful of survivors.
Then, over the din of the firefight, Zen heard a loud beating noise, and was seized by dread. Spinning around, he saw the helicopter just as it came into view above the rooftop. The helicopter itself had no weapons, and Zen could see right through the cockpit window. The pilot was unarmed, the chopper not meant for combat. Still, as other Truants turned to see what was going on, the mere presence of the flying machine seemed to inspire terror in all of them. Even Zen was worried, but he wasn’t yet sure why. Then the helicopter seemed to tilt forward, its rotor head nearly skimming the rooftop. Zen abruptly realized what it was about to do, and in that moment made his own decision.
The other Truants scrambled for cover as the helicopter advanced, haphazardly attempting to slice them with its rotor head. Zen felt rather than saw Noni standing by his side even as imminent death roared towards them. In a clean, fluid motion, he drew a bottle with a rag stuffed in its neck from his windbreaker, lit the rag with his lighter, and then hurled the bottle at the oncoming helicopter. A second later the bottle burst into what looked like liquid flames, and suddenly the entire helicopter was alight. The helicopter banked upwards, flew shakily over the entire block, then plummeted out of sight some distance away, leaving behind a trail of smoke.
Noni let out a muffled gasp of delight, but Zen felt no elation, no sense of satisfaction as he turned around to face the ongoing battle. The helicopter was down and out, but the damage was already done. The Enforcers on the stairs had managed to establish a hold on the roof after the Truants had scattered, and now the firefight had resumed. Zen knew that more Enforcers would be charging up the stairs at that very moment, and that it was only a matter of time until they were hopelessly outnumbered. Making a hasty decision, he joined the other Truants who were crouched behind large metal vents. Noni followed, and Zen was satisfied to see Frank among the other survivors.
“This building is close enough to others to safely jump across to another rooftop,” Zen said. “When I say go, we will all scatter. Everyone head for a different building, hide if you can find a safe place, reach the living districts if possible, and return to District 15 eventually—it’s been fortified. Stay off of the snow; it’ll betray your trail. Good luck, and GO!”
Zen timed his command to coincide with a brief lull in the fighting. The Truants scattered in all directions, Zen and Noni fleeing down onto a rusty old fire escape and into an abandoned brownstone. Though there was no sign of pursuit, Zen felt a dark feeling growing in his gut as they fled. This had once been a hideout of over thirty Truants, and the survivors had numbered less than a dozen. Zen felt no sadness, just frustration and anger. He had underestimated Rothenberg and his Enforcers, and the Truancy had paid the price. This was their first defeat, and Zen swore that it would be the last that Rothenberg would ever score against them.
28
THE PRICE OF KNOWLEDGE
Tie.”
“Pardon me?”
“Three move repetition. That means a tie.”
Umasi blinked and looked down at the board, their previous moves flitting through his head. Edward was right. They had been playing chess with a set that Edward had brought the previous day, and this was the first time that Umasi had failed to win. He’d had the upper hand, but allowed himself to get careless, not even paying attention as he followed Edward’s king with his bishop back and forth. Umasi offered his hand, not at all displeased at having snatched a draw from the jaws of victory. On the contrary, he was happy for Edward, who had confessed to being a novice at the game.
“Well played, Edward,” Umasi said. “I’ve had a couple visitors before you, but I must say you’re shaping up to be the most dangerous student of them all.”
“You did well yourself, Mr. Umasi.” Edward shook the proffered hand, satisfaction on his face.
“Would you like to go again, or shall we call it quits?”
“I think that a tie is a good note to end on.”
“I can’t argue with that. You’ve improved markedly since we started playing.”
“Well, I’ve gotten to know your style.”
“True. An unknown adversary is more intimidating than a familiar one.”
Edward raised his eyebrows at the mention of intimidation, but said nothing as Umasi poured them both another cup of lemonade. It had been several days since Umasi had first hit it off with Edward, who had since proven himself at every turn to be a fast learner and an academic, if not his intellectual equal. During their first conversation at the stand, Umasi had listened in fascination as Edward had recounted his numerous scholarly achievements, enough to put Umasi’s own to shame. Umasi pitied Edward in a way, ignorant as he was of the truth behind the City’s schools, and yet he seemed so content that Umasi could not bring himself to shatter the illusion. Besides, Umasi could hardly be critical, as he had once taken pride in academics himself. Instead, Umasi had expressed their mutual affinity for learning, and Edward had returned the next day with a pile of various books that now rested beneath the lemonade stand.
Umasi would never have called Red or especially the nameless vagrant unintelligent, but necessity had forced them to focus their wits on survival while Edward seemed content to focus on expanding his knowledge. Edward’s unusual sharpness was also compounded by a certain competitiveness that vaguely bothered Umasi. Upon finding out that Umasi knew how to play chess, Edward had brought the set the next day and now seemed almost obsessed with winning. To be sure, Edward seemed to bear his losses well, but Umasi could tell that they irked him by the angry look in his eyes and the way his jaw set at the end of each match. Umasi dismissed this as Edward’s drive to improve. After all, Edward was nothing if not respectful, even taking to calling Umasi “mister.”
In between games or intellectual discussions, Umasi and Edward would share information that was much more precious to the two of them. Edward was always keen on hearing more of Umasi’s history, though Umasi recounted his life story selectively and cautiously. He was still wary about revealing the whole thing to anyone. For his part, Umasi was always eager to hear more news of the City, which Edward supplied both with verbal summaries and gifts of newspapers. Nothing in the papers indicated anything out of the ordinary, which had set Umasi somewhat at ease.
“So, what was it like, living with the Mayor?” Edward asked.
“Less exciting than you’d think,” Umasi replied. “He was busy with work more often than not, and whenever I spoke with him he was just my father, not the Mayor.”
“Yeah, but getting to live in the Mayoral Mansion, with so much important stuff going on around you,” Edward said, “I’d have traded my entire life at the orphanage for five minutes with the Mayor!”
It almost seemed as though Edward knew more than he was letting on, but before Umasi could question it, Edward’s words reminded him of something.
“Edward, why not tell me about your own life?” Umasi suggested. “You mentioned that you live at the orphanage. I admit that that sparked my curiosity.”
In the time they’d known each other, Edward had struck Umasi as a singularly emotionless individual. Aside from the rare glints of frustration behind those green eyes, Edward seemed perfectly at ease in everything he did or spoke about. It was disconcerting, and Umasi was curious about what might be hiding beneath the shell. Umasi was almost certain that Edward would be hesitant about revealing his own past, but to his surprise, Edward replied almost immediately, as though he’d rehearsed it a hundred times before.
“My parents died when I was seven years old,” Edward said. “I don’t really remember them that well, but I�
��ll never forget the night they died.”
“If you’re not comfortable—” Umasi began, but Edward waved his words away.
“It was their anniversary. My parents left me at home to go out for dinner. I wanted to come too, but it was their night and . . . and they left me with a babysitter,” Edward said, his voice shaking now. “And they never came back. At first I thought they were late. The babysitter tried to put me to bed, but I refused to sleep until I’d seen them. The night dragged on and the babysitter left, I was all alone. And then the Enforcers came to my house, and told me there’d been a freak car accident . . . that three people were killed, and two of them were . . .”
“I’m sorry,” Umasi said quietly as Edward’s voice trailed off.
“And then I was sent to the orphanage, and the matrons were nice enough for a while. They never paid me much attention until the school got excited, of course, but at least they let me alone. Later I got placed in foster care and . . .” Edward swallowed. “It was terrible. My foster parents would get drunk and beat me for the smallest things, and my foster f-father would threaten m-me with a g-gun, and I missed m-my r-real parents so ba-badly . . .”
Edward stopped, apparently unable to go on. Umasi felt pity for the boy, and at the same time felt honored that such terrible secrets were being shared with him. Edward took a few deep breaths to compose himself, and then continued.
“Eventually, the Enforcers locked my foster father up, but that only made it worse when he got out,” Edward said bitterly. “Finally . . . just last week . . . some Enforcer named Rothenberg came along and brought me back to the orphanage.”
“Rothenberg?” Umasi repeated. “Chief Truancy Officer Rothenberg himself took you back to the orphanage?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Edward nodded. “He seemed a bit crazy to me, actually. Kept babbling about ghosts, and he mentioned something about a war.”
“War?”
Umasi felt as though he’d been doused with cold water. How could he have forgotten? He had really, truly forgotten, as though his last confrontation with Zen had been the end of it, as though it was all a thing of the past. He had allowed himself to become so insulated from the world that he hadn’t even pondered what his brother might be doing now. Seeing the stricken look on his face, Edward stared at him with large green eyes that were no longer teary but sharp and suspicious.
“Do you know what Rothenberg was talking about?” Edward asked.
Umasi hesitated, then was seized by a sudden need to confess all that he had allowed to slip from his mind before. The dams broke and he spilled his entire story from beginning to end, leaving nothing out. Edward sat respectfully silent throughout the entire tale, and though Umasi thought he saw a glimmer of delight in those emerald eyes, he brushed it off as honor at being let in on the City’s secret. By the end of the long story the sun was already setting and Edward had to leave. He thanked Umasi, promised to return the next day, and left with a spring in his step, leaving Umasi all alone to think at his stand.
Umasi remained there long after nightfall, under the spotlight of the streetlamp above, still unable to believe how careless he had allowed himself to become. He hadn’t even given a thought to the idea that people were actually dying at the hands of his brother. Umasi felt a sudden surge of self-loathing; he had been so selfish, so lovesick, so eager to philosophize that he had ignored the real and tangible chaos ensuing all around him. He had meant to adopt his nameless companion’s ideas, and yet he had forgotten the most important one of them—that pacifism must be tempered by realism.
Though Edward could not know it, his arrival had been like a breath of fresh air. Umasi was awake now as he had never been before. He would feel safe now in taking action, confident that he fought not with passion but with clarity. He would bring to bear all of the strength he had found since he’d abandoned education, strength that made him unrecognizable to anyone who had known him then. He was now ready to make his mark on the City, if only to erase his brother’s.
If the Enforcers could not do it, Umasi decided, then he would have to be the one to stop the Truancy.
So what do you think, Zyid?”
“Difficult, but not impossible.”
“I don’t agree. We can’t exactly march in through the front doors, can we?”
“On the contrary, that’s exactly what I intend to do, Gabriel.”
The two children stood side by side on a busy sidewalk, apparently gazing in through the show window of a toy store. Directly behind them, and clearly visible in the reflection of the glass, was the front entrance of the District 18 Enforcer Station. The boys were both appropriately dressed for the frigid weather, with neck warmers and woolen hats. Zen had actually worn his windbreaker for once, its hood pulled over his head to further obscure his appearance. None of the passing pedestrians spared them so much as a glance, intent as they were on reaching their destinations and getting out of the cold.
“I just don’t see it, Zyid. It’s an Enforcer station with who knows how many people inside it. We can’t attack it head-on like that,” Gabriel muttered.
“It’s just another building, Gabriel,” Zen said, folding his arms. “The doors are made of wood, and the guards are made of flesh and blood. They will yield to explosives and bullets quite easily.”
“So will we, though. Aren’t you worried about casualties?”
“Few things worth accomplishing are ever without risk, Gabriel.”
Before Gabriel could reply to that, two more kids emerged from the passing crowd and joined them in front of the toy store. One of them was a boy wearing earmuffs and the other a girl with a scarf wrapped tightly around the lower half of her face. Both Gabriel and Zen turned their heads slightly to acknowledge the newcomers.
“What did the parking garage look like?” Zen asked.
“We saw at least two dozen vehicles with Enforcer license plates, and that’s not counting the squad cars,” Frank replied. “I say we’re looking at maybe fifty to a hundred people in that building at any one time.”
“And the construction work that we saw on our way here?”
“It’s blocking an entire intersection,” Noni answered quietly. “Anyone driving in would have to take a detour.”
“That should slow down any reinforcements, but even so we can only expect a very small window of opportunity,” Zen mused. “Probably a matter of minutes.”
“How much damage could we possibly do in a few minutes?” Frank asked.
“Enough,” Zen said.
“Why did you pick this place anyway?” Gabriel asked. “What’s so special about it? What are you planning?”
“I have made the mistake of underestimating our friend Rothenberg,” Zen said. “His raid on District 13 cannot go unanswered. We can no longer afford to wait until the Mayor replaces him—we must eliminate him ourselves as soon as possible.”
“Then shouldn’t we be looking at Enforcer Headquarters?” Gabriel pressed. “That’s where he’d be, right?”
“Enforcer Headquarters has much tighter security, solid defenses, and hundreds of personnel. I believe that we have little hope of breaching that building right now,” Zen answered. “The District 18 Enforcer Station is a much more viable target, and it’s located in Rothenberg’s home district.”
“But how are we going to get him into the station?” Frank demanded.
“I do not believe that that will be difficult,” Zen said. “We will merely pretend to give him what he wants.”
“What he wants . . .” Frank repeated.
For several moments none of the children spoke as they thought, the sound of the pedestrians and cars in the street swiftly filling the void. Then, almost simultaneously, Frank, Gabriel, and Noni stiffened, having figured out exactly what Rothenberg wanted. It was Noni who spoke first, and for all of them.
“No!”
“You want to turn yourself in?” Gabriel added, flabbergasted.
“Pretend to turn myself in, Gabriel,” Zen c
orrected, inspecting a box of building blocks in the show window.
“You’re crazy. What makes you think they won’t shoot you on sight?” Frank demanded, his years as a vagrant having taught him to expect nothing but bullets from an Enforcer.
“Aspersions on my sanity aside, I have not come to this decision on a whim,” Zen said, his voice sharp. “I do not for a moment believe that the Mayor would allow Rothenberg to shoot me on sight. If I came quietly, he would want to find out how I know what I do, who else I have told, and what they are doing about it.”
No one could find an objection to this logic, and Gabriel, who alone knew of Zen’s parentage, wisely refrained from mentioning the other reasons which Zen had omitted.
“But how are we going to get away?” Frank asked, changing tack. “We’re marching right into an Enforcer station smack in the middle of a living district.”
“There’s a subway one block away.” Noni spoke to general surprise. “And District 19 is only five blocks away.”
“Noni is correct,” Zen said. “Additionally, I took note of the open manhole in the street. It seems to lead directly to the sewer mains. When we escape, we shall scatter. Most will take the subway, some will take the sewers, and some will flee to District 19.”
“How many do you intend to take with you for this?” Gabriel asked.
“Two dozen,” Zen said. “I do not underestimate our enemies, and we will need to cause enough damage and mayhem so that, even if Rothenberg survives, he will be finished when the Mayor hears what happened. Are we clear?”
The other Truants heard the finality in his voice and reluctantly began to nod. At that moment, the toy store’s proprietor, who had been watching them through the window, came out of the shop to address them.
“You kids have been out here for a long time. Looking for anything in particular?”
“No, sir,” Gabriel replied, “just trying to decide on a birthday gift for our friend.”
“Well, why don’t you come on in and look around?”