by Isamu Fukui
“You’re no better than him!” Cross snarled. “You’re just like Edward!”
“Look who’s talking—the killer who enjoys it.” Umasi lunged at Cross with both swords. “It was I who put Edward down. Did you know that Cross?”
Cross parried one blade and twisted to avoid the other. Umasi followed up with more attacks, so fast and ferocious that Cross had no chance to strike back. The knowledge that he was facing down Edward’s killer conflicted him; he had no love for his old master, but anyone who could beat Edward was out of Cross’ league.
“Yes, it was me,” Umasi said. “I killed him in the belief that doing so would end the violence.”
Umasi surged forward, his blades nearly invisible as they cleaved the air. Before such an onslaught Cross had no choice but to turn and run.
“But now I see where I was mistaken!” Umasi continued as he gave chase. “It is impossible to kill once for peace and then wipe your hands clean—the struggle for peace is endless, it is a constant. There is always a new threat!”
Cross chanced a glance backwards. Umasi was still pursuing him, with Takan hurrying to catch up to them from behind.
“I destroyed Edward and you rose in his place, Cross,” Umasi called. “Now you too must be put down.”
Cross ignored him, looking determinedly forward. He spotted a simple metal carousel. Seized with inspiration, Cross leapt onto it, his momentum causing it to spin. Umasi did not follow suit, but stopped short of the spinning disc. That gave Takan enough time to catch up, and Umasi spun around to cross swords with his former pupil.
As Umasi and Takan exchanged sword strikes, the carousel made a full revolution and Cross came within striking distance. He lashed out with his knife, but without looking Umasi ducked the attack, then kicked backwards with his foot. The blow struck the carousel, causing it to spin even more rapidly, and Cross was thrown off balance.
Umasi thrust his broken sword, surprising Takan, who parried it. He then attacked with his longer blade, and Takan was just barely able to block it. This left him wide open, and Umasi kicked him in the chest, causing Takan to stagger back several paces. Seizing the opportunity, Umasi spun around and met Cross as he came swinging by again.
Umasi’s attack sliced Cross’ shirt, nearly cutting him open. Cross flinched and drew back, and Umasi jumped onto the carousel, moving to finish the job. Then Takan was there, grabbing a firm hold of the carousel. The sudden stop caused both Umasi and Cross to lurch forward—Umasi landing on his feet, Cross landing on the ground.
Cross scrambled to stand as he saw Umasi come straight for him, clearly considering him to be the weaker link. Cross turned and ran again, this time climbing up a nearby playground tower. The tower was connected to another by a shaky bridge, with a slide at the top. Umasi declined to give Cross the high ground, instead climbing up the connected tower and running across the bridge.
Cross was waiting for him. In a familiar routine he ducked the first sword, parried the second, then punched Umasi in the belly. Umasi staggered backwards into the center of the bridge, just as Takan came from behind. Takan’s two-handed swing was so powerful that it knocked Umasi’s long sword from his grip. For a moment Cross thought they had won. Then, with all three of them on the bridge, Umasi jumped.
The bridge began shaking as though it were made of jelly. Takan and Cross were caught by surprise, and Umasi was able to slash Takan across the collarbone with his short blade, missing his neck but drawing blood. Takan let out a yelp, and Umasi followed up by kicking him down.
By now Cross had regained his footing and lunged. Umasi greeted him with a punch to the face, knocking Cross back. He advanced on Cross, short blade raised. Glancing at the injured Takan, Cross backed up off the bridge and onto the small platform of the tower. As if he were waiting for this all along, Umasi promptly hurled his remaining sword at Cross.
Acting on instinct, Cross leaped backwards as the pointless sword bounced off his chest. His feet did not land on a flat surface. The next thing he knew he was falling backwards down the slide, headfirst, until he came to a disoriented rest at the bottom. Now unarmed, Umasi turned around to face a recovered Takan. His former pupil glared at him, shirt stained with blood.
“You once told me,” Takan said, “that violence would only lead to chaos and destruction. You told me you wouldn’t tip the scales!”
“I told you that our best hope for change would be to become the Educators!” Umasi countered. “It’s no longer an idealistic hope, Tack! It’s happening now!”
“In the worst way!”
Takan lunged with a powerful downwards slash. Umasi simply sidestepped it, then seized Takan by the collar and waist. At the bottom, Cross was now on his feet again. Umasi hurled Takan down the slide just as Cross began to run up it. Takan and Cross collided, tumbling to the ground in a tangled heap.
Thoroughly battered and worn, Takan and Cross struggled to extricate themselves from each other and get to their feet. Meanwhile, Umasi quickly retrieved both of his blades, and then slid down after them. They were able to jump out of the way just in time. Side by side, breathing heavily, Takan and Cross faced their enemy.
“You can’t win, Mr. Mayor,” Cross spat. “We have allies on the way.”
“That’s fair,” Umasi said. “I do as well.”
Then they noticed it—black dots against the blue sky. More helicopters heading fast towards their position. Cross felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. There was no way they could possibly fight off the soldiers that were surely on their way. Sensing their defeat, Umasi turned to address Takan.
“Tack, you’re making a mistake. I’ve always looked out for you,” Umasi said earnestly. “I’ve even taken care of Noni for you.”
Takan looked uncertain. “What did you do?”
“I kept your secret. I protected you from her,” Umasi replied. “She’s now safely in our care, undergoing reeducation in one of our camps.”
Takan clenched his fists. “Damn you.”
“Wouldn’t you like to see her again?” Umasi said softly. “Explain to her what you did and why? Tell her about your dear sister? Rebuild your relationship?”
Takan went silent. Cross thought he could hear the helicopters now in the distance. He had no idea what relationship existed between Takan and the scarred girl he’d met in that alley, but whatever it was appeared to be enough to make the Truant pause. Then Takan leaned towards Cross.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Give me your knife.”
“What?”
“Just do it!”
Cross thought about it. Then he lightly tossed the knife to Takan. Takan caught it by the handle, then threw it. Umasi did not seem to expect this. The projectile struck the new Mayor in the leg, and he let out a cry of pain.
Takan and Cross ran for it, making for the playground exit. They opened the gate and dashed through it. Takan lit a firebomb from his pack, then set it down before running again. A few moments later, flames engulfed the gate.
Umasi limped after them, but then a gunshot rang out. Cross’ heart soared as he saw teenagers in street clothes with guns appear from the trees. Their escorts had arrived at last. For a moment Umasi seemed to stare at them all through the gate, the flames reflected in his black sunglasses. Then he turned and vanished behind the rising smoke.
As the drone of helicopters grew louder, Cross and Takan and the Truants all fled. All Cross could think about was the fact that it had been two against one, and they’d still barely escaped—Umasi was surely the most dangerous foe he’d ever encountered, worthy of his reputation. As he ran, Cross glanced at Takan. The Truant still seemed to be in shock.
“Are you all right?” Cross asked.
Takan shook his head.
“I can’t believe he’s our enemy,” he said. “I just can’t believe it.”
* * *
The albino lay down on the sofa and sighed, wrapping her coat snugly around her. Traveling under daylight hadn’t been easy. To avoid Government pa
trols, she and Zen had been forced to pass through neighborhoods still populated with civilians. Martial law kept most people indoors, and while she knew many eyes watched them from behind curtained windows, no one had been bold enough to say anything.
They were now safely resting in the lobby of an abandoned building in District 22. The albino guessed it had once been a residence, or perhaps a cheap hotel. Either way it was clear no one had used it for a while—the entire area had once been the scene of a battle between the Enforcers and the Truancy, and evidence of the conflict was everywhere.
Zen was happily playing with bricks from a wall that had a gaping hole blown through it. He banged them together, stacked them up, and then knocked them down, adding sound effects as his imagination reenacted a battle.
Suddenly Zen went quiet, his bricks forgotten on the floor. The albino sat up, knowing that meant he had a question on his mind.
“Mom,” Zen said, looking at her. “Will Cross be okay?”
The albino smiled. “I’m sure he will. He’s strong.”
“Mmm.” Zen picked up a brick with both hands and let it drop. “Cross was interesting.”
He certainly was. The albino had never met someone so tortured, yet with so much potential. Their time spent with Cross made her confident that his wounds were starting to heal, that he would eventually be able to become his own person. She had no doubt that he would go on to be a great force for good in the City.
The albino was snapped from her thoughts by the hum of a vehicle outside. She glanced at Zen, and noted with pride that he had already sought cover under a table. Curious, she went to a window and peered out. It was a lone Government Humvee, rolling down the road towards them. That wasn’t overly surprising; she’d spotted other vehicles heading in that direction earlier and assumed that there must be a camp there.
Then the albino glanced at the road the Humvee was traveling down, and that’s where she saw it—an innocuous-looking two-liter bottle, clearly distinguishable even with her poor eyesight. A leftover from the old battles. In an instant the albino guessed what was about to happen, but could do nothing to stop it.
The albino ducked her head, lying flat on the ground. Zen clapped his hands over his ears and shut his eyes. A moment later there came an explosion that shook the building, dust and bits of rubble coming loose.
The albino stood up and stared out the window. The Humvee had been knocked onto its side, smoke rising from the wreckage. With a glance at Zen that told him he should remain where he was, she rushed out of the building. The blast had created a small crater in the road, and she could already see one soldier’s body lying on the ground. Running to it, she checked the pulse—nothing.
The albino found another body with a beating heart and dragged it safely away from the wreckage. She turned and nearly gasped.
A third figure had stumbled from the wreckage, this one too young to be a soldier. His clothes were charred and he was covered in soot and ash. As he toppled to the ground, the albino noticed that his hands were bound behind him. A prisoner, then. She approached him cautiously. Aside from some scrapes and bruises the boy seemed to be fine, though his eyes were wide and bulging as he stared up at the albino.
“You.” He gasped, struggling to his knees. “You!”
“Calm down, you’re all right,” she said, crouching down. “What’s your name?”
“I know you!” he insisted. “You’re the—you were with Cross!”
The albino blinked in confusion. She studied the boy’s dirtied features more carefully. Then it hit her.
“You’re that boy Sepp, from the Student Militia!”
But Sepp didn’t seem to be listening to her. He let out a cry of pain, his face contorted in exertion. His plastic handcuffs, damaged by the fire, snapped free. There was madness in his eyes, and the albino nearly released her chain on instinct.
“Cross!” Sepp repeated, grabbing the hem of her jacket.
“What about him?” the albino asked.
“I need to talk to Cross!” Sepp bowed his head, and the albino was astonished to hear him sob. “You have to take me to Cross!”
PART IV
CITIZEN
25
TWO WEEKS LATER
Obeita’s first thought upon entering the room was that it looked not unlike some twisted principle’s office. The shelves were filled with a variety of pills, syringes, and bottles of medication. The chairs had straps to keep their occupants in place. Armed soldiers stood guard at the door. This was the psychiatric ward that serviced the high-security wing of the camp.
Obeita was approached by a man who wore a doctor’s white coat. His name was Ferraro, she remembered. Some hotshot pharmacist or something who used to work for the old Mayor.
“Ms. Obeita, I was hoping you would drop in.” Ferraro bowed clumsily.
“Dr. Ferraro.” Obeita nodded. “It’s been two weeks, so I’ve come to check on the student I gave you. I want to know what progress you’ve made, if any.”
“Of course.” Ferraro sounded delighted. “Right over here, please. I must say, she’s made for a really excellent challenge.”
Obeita followed Ferraro over to an occupied chair. Obeita looked down at it with interest. Noni had been strapped down to it, blindfolded and gagged, and was now twitching slightly as an assistant administered some kind of injection.
“As you can see, we’ve been trying on her a combination of chemical treatments,” Ferraro said. “I’ve always been a strong believer that there is a pharmaceutical solution to every behavioral problem. You know, I was working with the old Mayor to make methylphenidate mandatory for all students who—”
“And the results?” Obeita asked impatiently. “What are the results?”
“She’s responding well to the treatments.” Ferraro said, rubbing his hands together. “Like I said, she was a challenge at first, but soon I think she can become my Exhibit A of how the right treatments can turn anyone into a model student.”
Obeita let out a bark of laughter. “I’d love to believe that,” she said. “You’ve read about her background, of course?”
“Yes, our new Mayor sent me a copy.” Ferraro nodded. “Her history as a high-ranking Truant will only make my success more prestigious.”
“If you succeed,” Obeita said skeptically. “You know, this little tart bit me the last time I passed by her desk. The electric shocks only seemed to encourage her.”
“Yes, classical conditioning techniques seem quite ineffective on her,” Ferraro said. “But she’s come a long way.”
“I’d like to see a demonstration.”
Ferraro blinked at Obeita. Then he shrugged. “Certainly.”
He approached Noni and removed both the white cloth gag and the blindfold.
“Noni,” he said. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” Noni replied in a tiny voice.
Ferraro smiled. “Are you ready to be a good girl, Noni?”
Tears appeared in her eyes. “Yes.”
“You won’t ever disobey a teacher again, right?”
Noni nodded, and a tear ran down her cheek.
“Why don’t you smile, Noni?”
Noni complied, smiling up at him, though more tears began to stream down her face. Ferraro smiled back, then replaced the gag and blindfold. Noni did not resist.
“I’m impressed,” Obeita said. “But what was all that crying?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Ferraro said dismissively. “Her mind is still trying to resist the treatment, but she’ll accept it eventually. You can take her back to class now if you want—as long as you bring her back for daily checkups!”
Obeita looked down at the girl, rubbing her forearm, which still bore bite marks.
“I’ll do that,” she decided. “I have a few new students transferring in tonight, and I want little Noni here to be present as an example of what happens to those who disobey.”
* * *
“Hey, old man! Wake up! I got a question!”
“Rothenberg! I thought the Mayor got rid of you a long time ago—so why are you here now, eh? Did you blow a second chance? Ha!”
Rothenberg seethed as he sat up on his cot. Two sets of bars separated him and the boy in the cell across from him, preventing Rothenberg from wrapping his hands around the kid’s neck. For the past two weeks he’d been longing to do just that. When Rothenberg had first arrived the boy, the only other prisoner in this wing, had delightedly recognized his new captive audience as the former Chief Enforcer.
Since then, as the days dragged on and Rothenberg’s patience withered to nothing, the kid only seemed to get more obnoxious.
“Shut up, you brat!” Rothenberg shouted.
“Oh, scary,” the boy mocked. “I told you the name is Max; you should try using it once in a while. We’re gonna be enjoying each other’s company for a long time if you ask me.”
The boy let out a bark of laughter at the look on Rothenberg’s face. Rothenberg slammed his fist against the wall and then dropped back down on his cot, pressing his pillow over his ear while the boy made loud yodeling noises.
After the confrontation in District 20, Rothenberg had awoken to find himself in this miserable place. He had recognized it immediately—the District 1 prison, the main penitentiary of the City in peacetime. During his career as an Enforcer, Rothenberg had sometimes brought criminals to this prison. Now he was the prisoner.
“Rothenberg! Rothenberg, pay attention!”
Along with that insufferable kid.
“Dammit! Shut up you miserable vermin!” Rothenberg shouted, not removing the pillow from his ear. “Shouldn’t you be in a camp?”
“Government forgot about me in here, Rothenberg!” Max called. “Just like they’ll forget about you too!”
Rothenberg gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the noise. No crime was worth this punishment. For what seemed to be the millionth time, Rothenberg cursed Iris under his breath. The woman had lied to him, used him. She had let him loose just long enough to find Cross and then discarded him like garbage, leaving him to rot. It seemed that everyone was eager to have his help—but no one wanted to reward him for it.