Truancy City

by Isamu Fukui

  Whatever the reason, it was not excitement or logic that now ruled his actions, but instinct. Fear. Of course Iris had come after him herself, leaving her subordinates to chase down the others. She was fast, and her aim precise. Cross knew that he and the albino had only survived this long because of the winding alleyway and sheer luck.

  Bullets struck the wall next to Cross, and he ducked his head. As they rounded a corner, he pointed backwards with his sidearm and fired blindly. The move did not seem to impress Iris. The general responded with a shot that bounced off the wall and grazed his hand. Cross let out a curse and dropped his gun, clutching his wound.

  She was gaining, Cross realized. At any moment she would be able to get a clean shot. Cross had become almost numb to the idea of death, having narrowly escaped it so many times already. It was the anticipation that irritated him now; knowing what would happen but being unable to prevent it.

  Then without warning, something black, something huge fell from above. Cross had a vision of massive wings, and a series of irrational thoughts ran through his head. He heard Iris halt, and no more gunshots came. Though Cross was surprised, he did not turn around to see what had saved them. His nameless companion, however, did. Whatever she saw seemed to have an impact on her.

  “Him!” she cried. For the first time Cross heard shock in her voice.

  Cross didn’t know who “him” referred to, but his curiosity had been piqued. He himself was relieved that they’d been saved, and yet the albino now seemed more agitated if anything. Cross glanced at her.

  “Should we—”

  “Keep running.” The albino had her eyes shut. “He’s trying to buy us time.”

  “Who is?” Cross pressed. “Do you know whatever that was back there?”

  Just then the albino made a turn, so abruptly that Cross almost overshot her. She darted down some old stairs and into the subways. Inside the operator booth Cross could see Zen waiting for them.

  Looking relieved, the albino scooped the boy up in her arms and slipped over the turnstiles. Cross, still feeling tense, followed behind as they climbed down from the platform and onto the dark tracks.

  “To answer your question,” the albino said at last, looking at Zen rather than Cross, “I do know who saved us back there.”

  * * *

  The moment she detected movement above, Iris raised her rifle and fired. It was dark, too dark to see anything amidst the tangle of iron and brick. She clucked her tongue in disappointment as she realized that her bullets were piercing an empty windbreaker jacket. Visual misdirection, she realized as her rifle was knocked from her hands by her descending foe. Clever.

  The enemy thrust a sword at her neck. That was strange—a primitive weapon, but admittedly dangerous in such close quarters. Iris sidestepped the thrust and drove her knee into her assailant’s belly. The boy stumbled backwards, but recovered surprisingly well. That’s when Iris saw his face. She froze, her full attention focused upon the boy.

  “Zen?” she said.

  “No,” came the cold reply. “Umasi.”

  As miraculous as this encounter was, Iris swiftly suppressed any emotion. This was no time to lose her head. It was still a dangerous situation, and she would need her wits about her if she was to emerge with the desired outcome.

  “I’ve been waiting years for this,” Iris said softly, unhitching her staff from her back. “I never expected it to be so sudden. The best things in life really are surprises.”

  “So are the worst,” Umasi said, lunging forward.

  Iris jabbed her staff forward and pressed a button, extending it right into a surprised Umasi’s chest. Knocked off balance, Umasi stumbled for a moment, long enough for Iris to swing her staff around and hit him in the legs. Umasi fell to the ground, and like lightning Iris brought her staff down upon him. With impressive speed Umasi raised his sword to block the attack, supporting the blade with his flattened palm. Iris smiled, then pressed the second button on her staff.

  Nothing happened. No current traveled down the white blade, and no cry of pain escaped Umasi’s lips. Instead, he lashed out with his feet, catching Iris by surprise. The General stepped backwards to keep her balance, and Umasi leapt to his feet.

  “Not metal, then?” Iris said, glancing at the sword. “Ceramic, I suppose. I recall that we had a research lab in this City. Such facilities produce the ceramics used in our body armor.”

  “I suppose I should thank you then,” Umasi said, lunging forward. “Otherwise I might’ve been armed with plain metal.”

  “You might have been better off that way.” Iris smiled, dodging the sword stroke. “Ceramic knives were never approved for the military. Do you know why?”

  Umasi aimed at her unprotected waist. “Enlighten me.”

  Iris twisted her body to avoid the thrust, and then her hand shot out, pinning the white blade to the alley wall.

  “While ceramic can indeed be harder than steel,” Iris explained, “it is also far more brittle.”

  With that, Iris shrunk her staff and brought its weighted end crashing down on the end of the sword. The ceramic blade cracked, its tip broken off, and Iris released it, allowing a shocked Umasi to recover his weapon and stare at the damage.

  “Give it up,” Iris said. “You might as well be fighting with glass.”

  Gripping his broken sword tightly, Umasi’s expression hardened. “Where is the Mayor?”

  Iris tilted her head, surprised by the change of subject. “Dead, of course.”

  Without a word, Umasi drew his second blade. Iris sighed at the futile display and extended her staff once again. But Umasi did something unexpected; he speared a rag on the alley floor, and with one flick tossed it at Iris’ head. Reflexively Iris knocked the cloth aside with her staff. Umasi seized the opening, lunging forward with both blades. Iris knew she had blundered, but her reactions were still fast; she dived to the right, avoiding the first sword’s thrust—

  Only to realize that it was the one with no tip.

  Blood splattered onto the alley wall as Umasi’s long blade cut a gash across Iris’ arm. Ignoring the pain, Iris calmly recognized that the cut was shallow. Her arm would remain functional long enough to win the fight.

  By now she’d seen enough to understand Umasi’s fighting ability; his strengths were quick reflexes and good instincts, combined with creative feints. He was not afraid, but he was reckless, to a degree that she could exploit.

  Umasi’s next attack also drew blood, this time from her hand, but it also left him wide open. Many combatants would not have had the clarity to take advantage of the momentary vulnerability, but Iris did not hesitate. Wielding her staff with her injured arm, Iris slammed it down on Umasi’s shoulder, pressing a button as she did so.

  Umasi let out a shout of pain, falling to the ground. Before he could react, Iris slammed her foot down on his shorter blade, trapping it beneath her heel. She brought her staff down, and he moved his long sword to block it.

  Iris had been expecting that, and before the weapons made contact she pressed the button on her staff to shrink it. Umasi’s blade passed through thin air, and he was left completely exposed. Iris extended her staff again, then pressed the other button. Umasi seemed to writhe for a moment from the shock, releasing his broken sword.

  Iris stepped back. Umasi seemed to shrug off the pain, managing to pull himself to his feet. Iris was impressed. One zap was usually enough to keep someone down. There was cold, flat determination as he reached into his pocket—a hidden gun? No, a knife this time. He threw it at her in one smooth motion. Iris almost casually knocked the projectile aside, even as Umasi lunged forward.

  Iris decked him with her staff before he could get within range. She followed up with two quick blows to his elbow and his knee. With the last blow, she released another jolt. Umasi’s sword flew from his hand as he fell onto his uninjured knee. His sunglasses fell from his face, and he stared up at Iris with dark, unyielding eyes. He’d been beaten, but did not give in to hys
terics or useless acts of desperation. Iris admired that.

  Umasi, for his part, was calm. He had always known his odds would be poor in this fight. He had never underestimated Iris—she had simply been too powerful. Zyid was gone, the Mayor was gone, and now he was ready to join them. Having lived life by his own rules, with his death he would buy time for others to escape. And so Umasi was calm, free of regret, facing the woman who’d been his oldest enemy. She moved, an unreadable expression on her face, and Umasi waited for death.

  Then Iris did something Umasi would never have imagined.

  She dropped to her knees, and pulled him into a warm embrace.

  “You’ve grown up strong,” she whispered. “I’m so glad.”

  PART III

  FUGITIVE

  17

  THE TIES OF BLOOD

  “It was the greatest regret of my life.”

  Umasi did not look at Iris as she spoke, but he could discern no deception in her voice. Umasi had just finished explaining what had happened to Zyid. As he described his brother’s fall, a momentary look of agony had passed across Iris’ face, too fleeting and too raw to be rehearsed. If she was faking, Umasi thought it was the best act he’d seen since Edward—no, better than that.

  They were in the Mayoral Mansion now, inside the bedroom Umasi had once shared with his brother. It was not a place he had ever thought he’d return to, and certainly not a place he ever imagined holding a conversation with his estranged sister. She had suggested they might find privacy here, and so Umasi had come, listening to Iris explain herself as he examined the objects left in his old room.

  “You have to believe me, Umasi,” Iris continued. “I didn’t know what would happen. I thought you and your brother would be safe here.”

  Umasi shook his head as he picked up one of his old test papers. Despite her earnestness, he still found Iris’ claims difficult to reconcile with what he knew of her. His anger over the Mayor’s death had yet to fade completely.

  “Why did you do it in the first place?” Umasi demanded, turning around to face Iris. “What kind of threat did you think that Zen and I posed?”

  “Threat?” Iris looked genuinely surprised. “Umasi, what exactly did the Mayor tell you about me?”

  “He said that you were trying to get rid of us,” Umasi replied. “That you thought we were in your way. That you tried and failed to have us killed.”

  Iris’ gray eyes widened, then narrowed to slits.

  “That man!” she said coldly. “I should never have trusted the dimwitted fool.”

  Umasi waited for her to explain herself.

  “Umasi, the Mayor was wrong.” Iris rubbed her knuckles against her forehead. “He might have believed what he told you, but he had it the other way around.”

  Umasi frowned, suddenly feeling uneasy. “What do you mean?”

  Iris looked him in the eyes. “It wasn’t me who wanted you out of the way; it was my—our father. I fought to have you placed with the leader of a City, where I thought you could be safe and happy.”

  As the words registered, Umasi felt his heart nearly freeze from the shock. His test paper crumpled in his hands. A wave of nausea washed over him as the full magnitude of the implications dawned upon him.

  “Why?” he whispered.

  “Politics. Your presence would have complicated my father’s situation. Furthermore, he does not fully trust his own children and had no desire for more,” Iris explained. “He thought it would be most expedient to have you separated and raised in anonymous poverty so that you would never rise to prominence.” Iris sighed. “Since he was set on disposing of you, I wanted him to do it properly. After many angry arguments, I was able to have you sent into a more comfortable exile. It was the solution your mother would have fought for, had she not died in childbirth.”

  “You did it for my mother?”

  “Partly. She was a good woman. But I did it more for you. I saw you two as my siblings. I still do,” Iris said. “My father, clearly, did not, and I never forgave him for it. I think he blamed you for her death. In her place, I decided to keep an eye on you. All these years, it’s been me watching from afar.”

  Umasi swallowed, still trying to take everything in. “What do you mean by ‘watching?’”

  “Whenever I could, I tried to make sure you were all right. It was I who noticed the money your brother was spending four years ago.” Iris took a deep breath. “My father, fearing that the truth would be exposed, refused to allow an official investigation. I did the best I could, on my own.” Iris’ jaw clenched with anger. “But no matter how hard I tried, that wretched Mayor thwarted every attempt to gain proof.”

  Umasi shook his head. In spite of everything, he still felt some affection for his dead adoptive father. “The Mayor was a good man,” Umasi insisted. “He did his best as a father.”

  “He placed his position, his authority, above your safety,” Iris said coldly. “I was wrong to ever put faith in him.”

  “That’s not true. He was torn between us and the City.” Umasi blinked back tears, glad that they were hidden behind his sunglasses. “Trust me Iris, he cared.”

  Iris looked at him strangely, then shrugged. “Even if he meant well, he made things difficult for me,” she said. “When it became obvious that there was a problem in the City, I had to fight long and hard to have the military intervene. My father still feared his old indiscretions. By the time I got here…” Iris shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry that I could not save Zen.”

  She really meant it, Umasi thought in amazement. His own emotions were overridden by his surprise, and he felt a sudden urge to comfort her, let her know that Zen’s fate had not been her fault. Then he remembered the things that Iris was responsible for, and he forced himself to swallow his words.

  “If I accept what you say at face value,” Umasi said, “then where do we go from here? You’ve captured the City, won the war, yet thousands of your enemies have escaped you. What is your plan for them?”

  Iris blinked, apparently surprised by the change of subject.

  “When I gained approval for this intervention, I was given a deadline,” she explained. “Within three months I must demonstrate that I’m on my way towards eliminating all resistance in this City. I’ve already begun. Have you heard about the reeducation program?”

  Umasi didn’t like the sound of that. “No.”

  Iris explained her plans for the reeducation camps, and Umasi listened with growing distaste as she described the methods behind it. He understood now that she only meant well for the City, and, by the end of her explanation, even admitted to himself that it might work. But it was the very embodiment of everything that had driven Zyid to his fatal rebellion, and Umasi told Iris so in forceful terms.

  “Umasi, if you can think of another way to pacify a rebellious City within three months, I’m willing to listen,” Iris said. “As things stand, I believe that this is the only way to do it in time and do it right. I try to do things in the least wasteful, most humane way I can. But when it comes down to it, I have to do what needs to be done.”

  “I don’t understand that,” Umasi admitted, shaking his head. “There’s always a choice.”

  “Is there?” Iris said softly. “When your brother was on the verge of destroying himself and the City, you said you stood against him, didn’t you? If you had gone all the way, he would’ve been spared much grief, and the City would’ve been spared a war.”

  The words hurt, and Umasi resented Iris for saying them. And yet at the same time he knew they were true, for he had whispered them to himself. He understood the great burden that had been placed on Iris’ shoulders.

  But unlike him, she could handle that burden because she did what must be done, without hesitation or doubt.

  And it’s my mess she’s cleaning up, Umasi realized. Slowly but surely he was arriving now at what he knew would be a life-changing decision. He was drawn to Iris. In many ways she resembled both him and Zyid—and he wanted, so
desperately, to have a family again.

  “Promise that you won’t execute anyone,” Umasi said. “Promise that these will be reeducation camps, not death camps.”

  “I promise,” Iris replied. “I am neither wasteful nor sadistic. Every precaution will be taken so that the detainees remain physically healthy.”

  Umasi took a deep breath, his mind made up.

  “All right then, sister.” He tilted his sunglasses up to look at her. “The war is over, time to make the best of it. I’ll do my part. Let us bring a lasting peace to the City.”

  * * *

  Somehow, the dark and lonely subway tunnels seemed far more unsettling the second time around. Neither the albino nor her son had spoken during the journey, and while that was probably wise, it made Cross feel like he was traveling with phantoms. He was not yet crazy enough to speak aloud to himself, but his mind wandered—mostly to the other students and what might have become of them.

  By the time they emerged from a station deep within District 11 it was nearly dawn, and a faint glow bloomed on the horizon. Due to the curfew the street was blessedly free of civilians. After a quick glance around, the albino settled on an empty nursery across the street from the station.

  Entering the building did not prove to be a problem. The door was already ajar, sparing them the trouble of breaking in. As they entered the narrow foyer, the albino paused and shut her eyes, listening. Zen stopped and did the same, and Cross wondered if the three-year-old’s hearing really was sharp or if he was just mimicking his mother.

  Detecting no immediate dangers, the nameless girl opened her eyes and continued up the stairs, Zen and Cross trailing behind. They pushed a creaky door open, and emerged into a small gymnasium with a polished wooden floor and a wall of mirrors. Enormous windows overlooked the street, though they were too dirty to see in or out of.

  Zen quickly made himself at home, inspecting a hula hoop that had been left on the floor. Meanwhile, the albino checked the other rooms for any sign of other people. After a few minutes she seemed satisfied, and had even discovered a kitchen.