Truancy City

by Isamu Fukui

  Floe looked away. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

  “Figures.”

  “I got my reasons, Joe, and the Educators thought they were good enough.”

  “Well if they’re so good, why don’t you share them with us?” Joe said. “Risking my neck is bad enough without wondering if there’s a Truant in our unit.”

  Floe glared. “You never complained when I was out there watching your back!”

  “Stupid me, huh?” Joe laughed. “The Truancy seemed to do a pretty good job predicting our movements back there. How do we know you’re on our side? You won’t even tell us why you support us!”

  Sepp began to look a little alarmed. “Hey guys, why don’t we all just—”

  “So tell us why you joined, Joe!” Floe retorted. “Let me guess, you were failing school hard, right? Instant graduation. You’re here because you’re too dumb to be anywhere else!”

  Joe jumped to his feet. On the other side of the fire Floe got up as well, unintimidated by the difference in height. Cross was in a bad mood and his head was still hurting, but he had no choice but to intervene.

  “Both of you shut up!” he snapped. “You’re acting like children!”

  Joe rounded on Cross.

  “You wanna fight too, boss?”

  Blood began pounding in Cross’ head again, and his instinct roared for him to say yes, to beat Joe so completely that he would never dare to challenge Cross again.

  “You wouldn’t stand a chance and you know it,” Cross said coldly. “We are not enemies, Joe, and you’d better think twice before changing that. Floe isn’t your enemy either—she’s proven herself plenty of times. She fights for the same reason the whole Militia does.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?” Joe demanded. “I don’t know about you, but I kill Truants ’cause they try to kill me!”

  “We kill each other because we’re at war, that’s not why we’re at war.” Cross spoke as though addressing a child. “Edward explained this when he first formed the Militia. We’re fighting to prove that we can think and choose for ourselves. We’re fighting to prove that not every student is a Truant!”

  There was silence for a few moments. Seizing the opening, Sepp began clapping. The sound rang hollow in Cross’ ears.

  “That’s right, we’re all friends here,” Sepp said. “Now why don’t we just cool off for a couple of hours and then figure out what we’re going to do? I can stand watch—”

  “I’ll do it,” Cross said. “You all take your naps.”

  Joe still seemed to be sulking as he lay down on a bench, but the situation had been diffused. Suddenly exhausted, Cross stood up and slipped through the station turnstiles. Taking up watch inside the ticket booth, he began to think about the rhetoric he had used and how easily it had come.

  It was all meaningless, of course. Proving individuality through conformity was a contradiction. Edward had even said as much in private when he manufactured the rhetoric a year ago. And so Cross didn’t believe in any of it himself—how could he, when he knew it was all a lie? A lie that, somehow, had become his life.

  Cross looked at the glass of the booth, searching for his reflection. For some reason he expected to find that it had no face. If not the Student Militia, what did he really believe in? Cross’ headache worsened as he slipped back into memories of his time with Edward.

  * * *

  “Pathetic!”

  Cross winced as he hit the floor. A pair of emerald eyes glinted as Edward scowled at him from above.

  It was a position Cross had gotten used to. Though his days at school went mostly unchanged, his new life at the orphanage was dominated by Edward. At their first meeting the ruthless boy had confessed his mad ambition for power. Ever since then he had been trying to persuade Cross to join him.

  The two of them had been fighting tonight. This was a game Edward insisted they play, one that Cross would always lose.

  “You know your techniques, Cross, but you don’t use them for real,” Edward said, crouching down. “Your father had you so beaten that you can’t even defend yourself. You’re a wimp.”

  Cross sat up. “Sorry.”

  “My patience has limits, Cross,” Edward said. “I know you have it in you to fight back. I saw you struggle with those thugs when we first met.”

  “That was only because I lost my temper.”

  “Exactly!” Edward’s gaze intensified. “You’re not particularly talented, Cross. You can’t even think for yourself. Do you know why I bother wasting time on you like this?”

  “No.”

  “It’s because you have two things that are useful to me; your obedience, and your anger,” Edward replied. “That rage needs an outlet … and I intend to provide one.”

  Edward offered Cross his hand. Cross took it and rose shakily to his feet, only to have Edward punch him in the stomach without warning. Cross dropped like a stone, and anger flared inside him. He kept it bottled up.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way, Cross,” Edward continued. “You don’t have to suffer, helpless, as you’ve been doing your whole life.”

  “I haven’t—”

  “But of course you have,” Edward sneered. “Don’t you want to taste what it’d be like to be the bully for once? Or will you forever let yourself be the bullied?”

  Cross glared up at Edward. “You’re the one beating me right now.”

  “Then get even with me, Cross.” Edward spread his arms. “I’m right here. What are you waiting for?”

  Cross gritted his teeth. “I won’t give you what you want.”

  “Of course.” Edward smiled. “You refuse because you think you’re at rock bottom and can sink no lower. You think that cruelty is still beneath you.”

  Edward crouched down and looked Cross in the eye.

  “But there’s no such thing as a bottom, Cross,” he whispered. “No matter how far you’ve fallen, I can always bring you lower.”

  Cross looked back into Edward’s face, and for the first time he shivered at what he saw.

  * * *

  Cross was jolted from his reverie as a voice whispered from the doorway.

  “Hey, Captain.”

  Cross did not turn around. “What do you want, Floe?”

  She shifted. “Just wanted to thank you for backing me up there.”

  “It was nothing.”

  Floe watched him from the doorway, a silhouette against the firelight.

  “You remember why I defected, right?”

  Of course I do, how could I forget? Cross wanted to say, though he remained silent. His heart was racing again, this time speaking of different instincts than killing. As usual, he fought it down.

  “We have a long day ahead of us, Floe,” Cross said at last. “You need whatever rest you can get.”

  With that, he leaned back in his chair, still facing away from her. Through cracks in his eyes he watched her silhouette reflected in the glass. After what seemed like hours, it left.

  Relieved to be on his own again, Cross turned his thoughts back to the war. At this rate the fighting would be over soon. Somehow that thought bothered him. The idea of losing the war was bad enough—the possibility of returning to a City at peace was even worse. He knew in his heart that such a City would have no place for him.

  As time slipped by Cross began to wonder if there was any way left for him to spend his life doing something that mattered.

  * * *

  Umasi knew that Zyid had twice infiltrated City Hall by going right in through the front doors. That was during a time when City Hall was still the seat of power in the City, and no one believed it would ever be attacked. Now, in its waning days, the building was crawling with more guards than an anthill.

  Umasi had almost made it to the stairs without being discovered when he turned another corner and abruptly found himself face-to-face with an Enforcer.

  “Wha—”

  The man went for his gun. Without pausing to think, Umasi drew a sword.
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br />   There was a flash of white, and then a splash of red. The gun clattered to the floor, and the man staggered backwards, clutching his bloodied hand. Umasi broke into a run, relieving the man of his radio as he passed by. He didn’t bother to knock the guard out; either way, he knew he wouldn’t have long before the alarm was raised.

  Reaching the stairwell, Umasi took the steps three at a time. By the time he reached the third floor, alarms were ringing throughout the building. A door swung open. Before the Enforcer could realize what was going on, Umasi kicked the door into the man’s face, knocking him out. Umasi took off again before his victim hit the ground. More footsteps and shouts echoed from below.

  The fifth floor. Umasi opened the door and stepped inside, only to duck back out as a gunshot clipped his windbreaker. Of course the Mayor would have guards outside his office.

  The footsteps from below were getting louder. Umasi reached into his jacket and pulled out a crude white cube with a match stuck in it. Igniting a lighter, Umasi lit the match and threw the cube through the doorway. The hall began to fill with white smoke.

  Umasi burst inside, and in one smooth motion drew both of his ceramic blades. Through the confusion and the smoke he surged down the hallway. Umasi stopped before the doors to the Mayor’s office, and all four of the guards slumped against the walls, weapons slipping from their grasps as they clutched various wounds.

  Barely stopping to take a breath, Umasi tried the knob and found it unlocked. He opened the door.

  “I had a feeling it was you, Umasi.”

  Umasi froze. He had been expecting that voice, and yet it stopped him in his tracks. All of a sudden thwarting the security of City Hall and taking on its armed guards seemed like nothing compared to the challenge of facing his long-estranged father.

  “You should come inside,” the Mayor said, holding the door open, “before any of my guards make the mistake of shooting you.”

  Brought back to reality, Umasi entered just as the sound of the stairwell door slamming closed reached their ears. Heading off the Enforcers, the Mayor stepped out into the hallway.

  “Stand down gentlemen,” he ordered. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

  “A misunderstanding?” one of the Enforcers blurted. “Sir, Truants have penetrated the building, and some of them came—”

  “Just one, and he’s no Truant,” the Mayor said. “In fact, this boy has an appointment with me. Are there any injured besides the wonderfully incompetent fools lining the walls?”

  “Um … yes, sir, we haven’t got a full count yet, but—”

  “Any dead?”

  “Not that we know—”

  “Then call an ambulance, if we have any left, and get them out of my sight,” the Mayor snapped. “I don’t want to be interrupted for the next hour, under any circumstances, understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A moment later the Mayor reentered his office, and Umasi examined him critically from behind his sunglasses.

  “You didn’t have to treat them so harshly, Mayor,” he said. “They were doing their jobs as best they could.”

  “As were you—but your best was better.” The Mayor sighed. “I’ve been in short supply of patience and competent subordinates these past four years.”

  “So I’ve seen.”

  “You could have called me to let me know you were coming, you know,” the Mayor said, sitting down at his desk and regarding Umasi with tired eyes. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “I never expected to return here,” Umasi admitted. “But right now there’s too much at stake for me not to.”

  At that, the Mayor smiled. “You have no idea how true that is, Umasi.”

  “I’m here to try to convince you to end the war,” Umasi said. “After the outcome of last night’s battle you must realize that your situation is hopeless. The Truancy is willing to negotiate.”

  “And you’re empowered to negotiate on their behalf?”

  “I am.”

  “Does that mean you’ve picked a side after all?”

  “It means I made a promise to my brother,” Umasi said, “a promise to the leader of the Truancy. I made it one year ago.”

  It took a moment for the Mayor to understand the implications of what Umasi had said. When he did, he sat up very slowly.

  “You told me,” the Mayor said, “that Zen died over three years ago.”

  “I did not lie,” Umasi replied. “By then there was nothing left of my brother. By his own admission, Zen was dead. Zyid was an entirely different creation.”

  The Mayor immediately recognized the name of the Truancy’s mysterious and feared leader—the boy he had hunted for over a year without success until his death had been announced by the Truancy. “Are you telling me…”

  “That Zyid was once your son?” Umasi finished. “Yes.”

  The Mayor slumped in his seat, a numb look on his face.

  “All that time, I was trying to avenge his death…” the Mayor murmured. “All that cruelty, all that violence … and it was against him, all along?”

  “He wouldn’t have wanted you to go easy on him,” Umasi said. “He never thought of the conflict being between father and son. For him it was a struggle between the Mayor and Zyid.”

  “How … how did he die?”

  Umasi knew why he was asking. The Mayor wanted, needed to know if he had caused his own son’s death.

  “He was not killed by Enforcers,” Umasi said, putting that fear to rest. “He died in a duel he had arranged with his own successor. It was his intention to go out that way.”

  “Were you there?”

  “I was. In his final moments.” Umasi fingered his windbreaker. “I wear this and his sword in his memory.”

  For several long minutes the Mayor sat limp, like a puppet without a puppeteer. Umasi was starting to become concerned when the Mayor finally spoke.

  “What does the Truancy have to say to me?”

  “The war is as good as over. If you are willing to cooperate, the Truancy is willing to incorporate you into the process of reconstruction,” Umasi said. “Ideology aside, you know a lot about how to make the City function, and the Truancy recognizes that you’d be valuable in that capacity.”

  The Mayor paused. What came next surprised Umasi.

  “Fine! I surrender! The City is theirs!” The Mayor laughed. “And what then? Has the Truancy given a thought to what they’ll do when there’s no more Mayor?”

  Umasi frowned. “Well, first they would try to rebuild, get utilities working, restore order—”

  “If only things were that easy.” The Mayor shook his head. “No, Umasi, what’s been started here can no longer be ended by me or you. I admit your generation has won, and now you will inherit my burden. It’s time that you learned the truth behind this City. It’s time for me to tell you about the Government.”

  Umasi blinked. “Government? Isn’t that you?”

  The Mayor surveyed Umasi gravely, but just as he was about to speak he was interrupted by a loud beeping. Startled, the Mayor spun around and stared at his monitor.

  “Impossible,” he whispered. “They haven’t made contact in a year.”

  Sensing that something important was about to happen, Umasi held his silence. With shaking fingers, the Mayor pressed a button on his keyboard. The image of a gray-eyed woman appeared onscreen.

  The Mayor blanched. “You. I should have known.”

  “It’s been awhile since we last spoke like this, Mr. Mayor. That was nearly four years ago, correct?”

  5

  HER REVENGE

  A single gunshot.

  That’s all it took to send Sepp, Joe, and Floe from sleeping to panicked in the space of a second. The three students were on their feet with eyes wide and hearts pounding before any of them had a conscious thought. That panic quickly turned to ire when all they found was Cross standing in the ashes of the fire, his rifle pointed at the ceiling and a shell casing at his feet.

 
“What the hell?” Joe bellowed.

  “I had no time to tiptoe around to each of you and gently shake you awake,” Cross said. “As a bonus, you are all already alert.”

  Sepp sighed and rubbed his eyes. “How long were we asleep?”

  “Two hours. It’s past noon now. That’s precious time we can’t afford—for all we know the Truancy has gotten as far as District 2 already.”

  Floe huffed and smoothed out her skirt.

  “I hope you have some kind of plan after waking us up like that,” she said. “Otherwise we might as well just sleep in until the Truancy controls the whole City.”

  In response Cross kicked a pile of clothing stacked neatly next to the bonfire. They were little more than grungy rags, the sort of attire that Truants seemed to love and Students would never be caught dead in.

  “I scavenged these from outside,” Cross said. “Get changed.”

  Joe made a face. “Are any of them from dead Truants?”

  “Yes,” Cross said. “You’re welcome to go naked instead.”

  For a few seconds they stared at the clothing as though weighing the option. Then Floe shrugged and began to change on the spot. The boys averted their eyes as she reached for the only set of female clothing in the stack. Her example got them moving, and in no time they were all dressed like Truants.

  “All right then,” Floe said. “What’s the big plan, Cross?”

  “We have no sure way of returning safely to our lines, and we have no time to waste waiting for an opening,” Cross said. “There’s only one way that we can possibly make a big enough difference at this point.

  “We’re going to assassinate the leader of the Truancy.”

  Silence. Sepp began laughing until he finally began to suspect that Cross was serious.

  “Are you serious?” Sepp asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Cross, that’s crazy!” Floe protested. “You can’t really think that the four of us could pull that off. You have no idea what Takan is capable of, where he might be, what his guard is like—”

  “But you do, and you can help us plan this,” Cross pointed out. “Remember all of that destruction last night? That could be happening in District 2 right now. Don’t you want to do something about that?”