Truancy City

by Isamu Fukui

  “Teacher!”

  Noni turned her head and saw a red-haired boy running down the alley towards them. Reflexively she threw a knife at him, and was surprised to see him deflect it with his own. Then he lunged, and Noni was forced to leap to her feet and out of the way. From the corner of her eye, Noni could see the albino rising, and then the boy was upon her.

  Noni jumped backwards in time to avoid having her neck slit. She raised her own knife as the boy sized her up, his expression furious. The two of them began circling each other, each looking for an opening.

  “Cross, don’t interfere!” the albino was saying.

  The boy frowned. “Sorry, teacher, that’s an order I can’t obey.”

  Then Noni growled as she realized something.

  “Cross—leader of the Student Militia?” She turned to glare at the albino and her jacket. “So, you went over to their side.”

  But the albino did not reply. She looked distressed now, staring at Cross and Noni, her eyes flitting from one to the other. Then she spoke.

  “He’s Rothenberg’s son, Noni.”

  Noni froze, nearly dropping her knife.

  “What did you say?” she snarled, turning to look at Cross again.

  “He’s not like his father!” the albino said quickly. “He’s as much a victim as you were—more so, even. Just think! Imagine how it must have been to grow up under that man.”

  Noni and Cross looked at each other again as though seeing each other for the first time. She could see his green eyes tracing her scar.

  “Please, I can’t stand watching you two fight,” the albino pleaded. “That man tried to ruin both of your lives. Don’t let him succeed, not like this!”

  Noni hesitated. Then she lowered her knife, and Cross followed suit. She turned to face the albino.

  “That boy, Umasi. You know him,” Noni said. “Tell me where he is.”

  “I last saw him confronting the leader of the new Government in District 2,” the albino replied. “I know nothing else.”

  “If you’re lying—”

  “I am not.”

  “Well, if you are, then I’ll find you and kill you,” Noni said stubbornly, then turned away. “It seems that only the Government has the answers I need.”

  With that she tucked her knife into her clothing once more and ran deeper into the alleyways. Behind her she could hear the boy’s heavy breathing, and one word from the albino, softly spoken:

  “Farewell.”

  * * *

  Rothenberg took a step.

  It was amazing how easy it was to take such a thing for granted, he thought. For four years he had been trapped inside that damned hospital, his prison. Now, finally, he had taken his first step outside that building and on the sidewalk. Rothenberg inhaled deeply, enjoying the zest of fresh night air. With a grunt of satisfaction, he glanced down at his legs and took another step.

  With just one day of surgery, Iris’ doctors had repaired his knees and legs. He spent a day recovering, and then a couple more in therapy. Throughout the whole painful, humiliating ordeal, Rothenberg had kept going with only one thought on his mind—getting back out onto the streets.

  Now, though he was not yet able to run, and though his steps were slow and awkward, Rothenberg could finally walk again on his own feet. He insisted on being discharged as soon as possible, against the doctors’ wishes. Iris approved it, and so here he was. A free man.

  Rothenberg was pleased to find that a military car was already waiting for him in front of the hospital. A single soldier leaned against the hood.

  “Evening, Mr. Rothenberg,” the soldier said. “I’m Colonel Hines. General’s orders; we’ll be riding together during your search.”

  Rothenberg grinned. So, he had his own chauffeur—or was the man a spy, sent to keep tabs on him? It didn’t matter really; Rothenberg knew what he had to do, and it made little difference if Iris knew how he was doing it.

  “That’s generous of the General,” Rothenberg said. “Are there any limits to where you can go?”

  “Parts of the City are still off-limits for safety,” Hines replied. “Except for those, you name it and we’ll see it.”

  Rothenberg turned to gaze out at the ruined cityscape. Once-great skyscrapers now loomed dead and lightless, shadows against a black sky. The evidence of war was everywhere.

  “The City has changed a lot since I last saw it,” Rothenberg said. “I think I’ll begin my search somewhere familiar.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Rothenberg smiled. “Get me a map and I’ll show you.”

  Colonel Hines reached into a compartment and produced a detailed map of the City. Rothenberg slammed a pudgy finger down onto a section of District 2.

  “This is where your General said that she lost sight of my boy,” Rothenberg said. “As you can see, there’s an old train station right nearby.”

  Hines shook his head. “Even if he took that tunnel he could be anywhere in the City by now.”

  “Let me finish!” Rothenberg moved his finger. “That particular train line runs straight under here, District 18. That’s where we used to live. If my son passed through that area I’ll bet anything he stopped by. It’s the first place I’d look to find his trail.”

  While all of that was true, Rothenberg had other reasons to want to return to his apartment. He had never particularly liked staying there before his imprisonment, but years on a stiff hospital cot made him miss his old bed.

  Colonel Hines nodded and folded the map before sliding behind the wheel of the car. “Makes sense to me,” he said. “There’s a ton of debris and checkpoints blocking the road, so don’t be surprised if we’re not there by dawn.”

  With only a little discomfort in his legs, Rothenberg managed to climb into the passenger’s seat. “I’ve been away for four years now,” he muttered. “A day is nothing.”

  “We can layover in District 12,” the Colonel said. “We’ll be passing right through and they’re building a big camp there, so it should be comfortable enough.”

  “Just get moving.”

  Colonel Hines shrugged and started the engine.

  * * *

  “So, who was that girl, exactly?” Cross asked as he pulled the boy they’d rescued to his feet.

  The albino paused in the middle of dusting her jacket off.

  “An old acquaintance,” she said. “She was a deeply troubled child when I met her four years ago. I pitied her.”

  The other boy spoke.

  “That was Noni. She used to be one of our heroes—before she went crazy,” he said, coughing. “I take it that you guys aren’t Truants.”

  Now that the boy mentioned it, Cross did remember that Floe had told his team about Noni. Realizing that the boy must be a Truant, Cross felt both wary and excited. Even with the war over he wasn’t sure if the Truancy considered him an enemy, but here was a chance for them to make contact.

  “I’m Aaron, by the way. Thanks for the help.” The Truant peered at the albino and her chain. “Hey, am I crazy, or are you the vagrant ghost?”

  The albino smiled. “I haven’t heard that term in a long time.”

  “So it was you,” Aaron breathed. “I always thought that there must be a rational explanation—albinism, I take it?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, that just goes to show that stupidity and superstition go hand in hand,” Aaron said. “Man, we owe Max an apology.”

  Cross was beginning to feel left out when Aaron finally turned to him.

  “So, you’re the leader of the Student Militia, eh?” he said, sounding amused. “I heard you guys went Truant on us. What happened?”

  “The Government told us about the camps and we had a change of heart,” Cross said. “Listen, we need to find Takan. We want to form an alliance. We want to take back our City.”

  “An alliance?” Aaron blinked. “With us? Are you for real?”

  “Yes.”

  Aaron considered that, evaluating Cross.
Then he shrugged.

  “Well, you did just save my life. And I don’t think you’re lying—no offense, but we never pegged you as the cunning type.” He grinned. “Noni is going after Takan too, for who knows what reason. All things considered, I’d rather you two find him first.”

  “So you do know where he is?”

  Aaron shook his head.

  “Sorry, I don’t have any specifics. All I know is that he said he was going home.”

  Cross’ jaw nearly dropped at that—he knew where Takan’s home was. Takan had mentioned it in their duel.

  “… when I was still a student in District 20.”

  District 20! Cross turned to see the albino giving him a meaningful look, and he could tell that she remembered as well. Cross decided to keep his mouth shut about this revelation.

  “Listen, I appreciate what you guys did for me and I’d love to stay and talk,” Aaron said, “but I’ve been out here too long already. My parents are going to come looking, and that’s going to mean awkward questions.”

  The albino nodded. “It’s about time that we got going too,” she said, then glanced at Cross. “Did you leave Zen behind?”

  Cross nodded. “I thought it might be more dangerous to bring him along.”

  “You were probably right.” She turned back to Aaron. “Thank you for your help.”

  “Hey, no problem,” Aaron said. “Good luck, you two!”

  Cross and his teacher watched as he left.

  “Takan was going home. When you were running from him—”

  “Yeah, he said that was in District 20.”

  “But where in District 20?”

  “That’s the problem; it’s not exactly a small area.”

  “It’s still easier to search a district than a whole city.”

  “Back to the subway, then?”

  “Agreed.”

  20

  OLD WOUNDS

  “This is it, Mr. Rothenberg—the District 12 Reeducation Camp. Get some rest now if you want it, won’t be another chance until our destination.”

  Rothenberg let out an exaggerated yawn as he stepped out of the car and stretched. It felt good to be able to flex his legs again, even if they weren’t strong enough to sprint anymore.

  “This is it?” Rothenberg snorted as he stared out at the camp. “I think I might be better off napping on the sidewalk like a vagrant.”

  “You can do that too if you like.”

  Rothenberg did not bother to conceal his disappointment. The camp was clearly a work in progress. It was little more than a large parking lot surrounded by war-torn buildings, many of which had been demolished by the engineers at the site. The place was bristling with construction equipment, and there wasn’t a student in sight.

  “Why is it not done yet?” Rothenberg demanded. “Where am I supposed to get a proper meal and bed in this place? And where are all the prisoners?”

  Colonel Hines leaned against the hood of the car.

  “I didn’t promise a luxury hotel, Rothenberg. This is gonna be one of our main camps, a regional headquarters,” he said. “We’re expanding it from one of the City’s old prisons. The students are being kept there until we’re done.”

  Rothenberg glared. “I hope you don’t expect me to sleep in a jail cell after just getting released from that miserable hospital.”

  Hines grinned. “There are temporary facilities in the surrounding buildings. If those don’t suit you, the sidewalk is right under your feet.”

  Tired and irritated, Rothenberg growled in frustration. The colonel seemed utterly unconcerned, and Rothenberg felt a sudden urge to be free of the man and his maddeningly indifferent attitude.

  “Fine then,” Rothenberg snapped. “Go make sure that bed and food is ready—I’m going to take a look around this place. Alone.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Hines said. “But if you’re going to be by yourself you’re going to have to wear some body armor.”

  Hines gestured at a spare set inside the Jeep.

  “I’m not going to wear that ridiculous thing,” Rothenberg said. “I thought you people had this whole district locked down.”

  Hines folded his arms. “I don’t make the rules.”

  Seeing that the soldier wasn’t going to budge, Rothenberg grudgingly allowed the armor to be strapped onto him. Feeling stuffy and absurd, he turned to the colonel.

  “It’s all safe now, I suppose?” he asked, voice laden with sarcasm.

  The soldier replied with a thumbs-up.

  Scowling, Rothenberg turned and limped through the half-finished gates, trying to adjust to his awkward gait. Even now, despite his improved fortunes, the world seemed determined to deny him the fair treatment he had earned. All his life he had worked hard and suffered to do things right, so why was no one ever grateful for it? It wasn’t right, he told himself. He deserved better.

  Rothenberg spotted the main prison building. It seemed to have taken some damage during the conflict, and parts of it were still cracked. The Government had mounted a large crane on one of the upper levels to bring up materials for repairs, though no one was manning it at the moment.

  Rothenberg found himself wondering what had become of the Truants now in captivity. Would they still be so unreasonable and disrespectful when locked behind bars? Curious, Rothenberg entered the prison, where he was waved in by soldiers who had apparently been told to expect him. Stumbling into a cell block, he found that it was constructed with three stories of cells with various levels of security.

  Prior to the Truancy rebellion, the City hadn’t had much need for prisons. This one, Rothenberg saw, hadn’t changed much since he was with the Enforcers. What were new were the sounds, the young cries and wails of despair. The cells with bars instead of doors allowed the unfiltered noise to wash over Rothenberg, and he stood there for a moment, finding that it delighted him.

  The imprisoned children would now have as hard and miserable a life as Rothenberg had endured in the hospital, day after day of monotony and humiliation, the boredom more crippling than any injuries. This struck Rothenberg as a small measure of justice, of balance. Finally, the Truancy would have a taste of what they had put him through.

  Nearby prisoners shouted pleas or insults at Rothenberg. Rothenberg was tempted to torment them in return, but stopped. He spotted something odd through a door window on one of the higher floors. It was a dark shape, fleeting and hard to make out from a distance, but Rothenberg could tell immediately that it was the wrong size and dress for a soldier.

  Intrigued, Rothenberg looked around for anything that could be used as a weapon. Spotting a two-handed construction hammer, he picked it up and began to hobble towards the door as fast as he could.

  * * *

  “Teacher, I was wondering something.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why do you refuse to kill?”

  The albino smiled faintly. “So, you noticed.”

  Though Cross knew it was morning outside, it was eerily dark down here in the subway, the only light coming from a few flickering campfires. Cross, Zen, and the albino had reentered the underground as had been their habit—except now that they had a clear destination they could also use the tunnels to get closer to District 20.

  They hadn’t gotten far before they found an abandoned station that had long ago been sealed off from the surface. Other kids, other fugitives, had sought shelter here. They too had stopped to rest.

  “I thought it was a coincidence until yesterday,” Cross said, heating up a can of beans over their fire. “Noni was fighting to kill, but you weren’t. That’s why you lost, right?”

  The albino merely nodded.

  “Teacher, that’s—”

  “My choice,” she interrupted gently. “It wasn’t just a difference in intentions, actually. My chain is poorly suited for countering knives in a tight space.”

  Cross didn’t let her change the subject. “You’re really willing to be killed in a random fight?”

  Her e
xpression turned serious as she gazed into the fire.

  “I think that if it ever came to the point where I had to murder, I would prefer to die myself,” she said. “There’s enough death in this City without me contributing to it.”

  Cross had no reply for that. It struck him in that moment how incredibly different the girl was from Edward, who had taught him to kill without question. He helped finish preparing their meal in silence. Soon they were wolfing down beans, beef jerky, and crackers. To Cross it felt like a feast after the stress and exertion of the previous night.

  “Three crackers!” Zen said happily, stacking three of the crusty wafers together.

  “Very good.” The albino smiled, giving him one of hers. “Now how many do you have?”

  “Four!”

  Cross gave Zen three of his own. “And now?”

  Zen looked at Cross slyly. “Seven.”

  “Smart kid.”

  Cross smiled in spite of himself as Zen abruptly munched down the crackers all at once. The boy had a purity, an innocence, a freedom that Cross had never enjoyed as a child. The effect was almost therapeutic.

  But as Cross looked around, he was brought back to grim reality. The other fugitives on the platform were huddled around their own fires, ragged, desperate. From the conversations Cross could overhear, the prevailing opinion seemed to be that the Government’s camps were actually execution grounds. Some spoke of terrifying nighttime raids on homes suspected of hiding students. A few even claimed that dissatisfaction was beginning to build among the adults of the City who resented the radical changes the new Government was proposing.

  Most, however, just cried or stared listlessly off into space.

  Cross felt an intense bitterness as he averted his gaze. It was as if the platform encapsulated the spirit of the entire City—broken. He scraped the bottom of his can.

  “It’s ironic,” the albino said, “how things have come full circle for children in this City.”

  “What do you mean?” Cross asked.

  “I’ve seen faces like these before.” She gestured at the other fugitives. “Back when vagrants were common in the City. They were also hunted and shunned. They had the same look.”