by Isamu Fukui
Tack wasn’t alone; the street was filled with Truants. Some, like Tack, could only gaze in horror, transfixed by the growing flames. Some were bloody and charred to various degrees, struggling to run or crawl away as best they could. Some had remained healthy and were frantically trying to help those that were less fortunate, crouching over any Truants that still stirred as they lay on the ground. And others, too many others, were lying on the sidewalk, and Tack knew just by looking at them that they would never stir again.
“Takan!”
Tack tore his gaze from the flaming building and turned to the two figures running up to him. Tack quickly recognized the first as Gabriel; the second was a pale dark-haired boy that Tack had seen before but didn’t know by name.
“Wha-what happened here?” Tack asked, still not quite able to believe what he was seeing.
“We were attacked,” Gabriel said gravely.
“Attacked?” Tack said faintly. “Someone … did this on purpose?”
“Yes.” The pale boy nodded grimly. “A kid, no less.”
“A kid…” Tack felt overwhelmed.
“This is a bad time for introductions, but Takan, this is Alex. Alex, this is Takan,” Gabriel said, hastily indicating Tack and the pale boy in turn. “Alex and I used to work personally with Zyid.”
“I know Takan by reputation.” Alex nodded; it was a comment that would’ve bothered Tack under normal circumstances, but at the moment barely registered.
“How did this … who?” Tack asked distractedly.
“We don’t know.” Alex shook his head. “Some of the survivors said they saw a blond kid with sunglasses walk in with a camera around his neck. From what we can gather, the guy had a drink, walked out, and dropped a brown paper bag on the way. Then there was an explosion, and then…” Alex waved his arm to indicate the fiery mess behind him.
“None of the survivors ever saw the boy before,” Gabriel said grimly. “Not that there were many survivors.”
“Was he … one of ours?” Tack sputtered.
“We don’t know.” Alex frowned. “Personally though, I don’t see how it could be anyone else.”
“Wait to see what Zyid thinks before we start blaming each other,” Gabriel cautioned, looking at Alex. “You’re sure you called Zyid, right?”
“Yeah.” Alex nodded.
Tack did not participate in their conversation. All he could concentrate on was the dancing flames licking at the blackened skeleton of The Bar. Tack watched helplessly as Truants suffered and died when they least expected to. He suddenly realized that this was what the Educators must feel like. Tack looked down at his hand still clenching the rose, and grimaced at the blood now dripping through his fingers and onto the ground.
Tack made no move to release the rose, even with its thorns; all he could do was wonder who had so rudely opened his eyes to the horrors of his own work.
* * *
“First day on the job, and already dramatic results?” The Mayor clicked his lighter open and shut excitedly.
“That’s right.” Edward nodded, leaning back comfortably in the padded armchair that he’d claimed as his own, clothed in a blue uniform not unlike a suit, though with two parallel sets of buttons running down alongside a prominent gold badge. “The first thing I did as Chief Enforcer was review all the juvenile robbery cases. What you must realize is that to support bigger crimes, the Truancy must surely commit minor ones.”
The Mayor nodded; the idea made sense to him.
“What I found was that one liquor store bordering on an abandoned district had complained several times that kids were making off with unguarded crates,” Edward continued. “I personally went down to the store in more casual clothing—this uniform is excellent, by the way—and arranged for some goods to be left lying around. When the kids showed up to take them, I followed them, and found that they were operating their own little bar, of sorts.”
The Mayor raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t call for backup?”
“Nah,” Edward said dismissively. “I wanted to be seen. It’ll confuse them, make them suspect each other. And in any case, what I did made more of an impact than anything a full Enforcer team could have done.”
“Oh?” the Mayor asked, leaning back in his chair as if enjoying a bedtime story. “And what did you do?”
“I had a drink,” Edward said, grinning. “And I tipped them a few explosives as thanks.”
The Mayor flipped his lighter open. “You gave them a bit of what they’ve been giving to us,” he observed delightedly.
“Yes, I doubt they’ll enjoy being on the receiving end of their own tactics,” Edward said. “They’ll also spend a lot of time wondering who did it and why. An unknown adversary is more intimidating than any familiar one, or so your son used to say.”
“Why didn’t you follow the Truants leaving the bar?” the Mayor asked. “You might’ve found their main hideout that way.”
“Their main hideout will come in time,” Edward said patiently. “We have to take this in steps. Trying to assault the hornet’s nest straight up will only get us stung badly.”
“Well, one attack on a Truancy installation is more than any of your predecessors managed to do in a month,” the Mayor conceded. “Do you think you can keep up the good work?”
“Naturally.” Edward flashed him a venomous grin.
“Do you know how many you killed?”
“I’m afraid not, though I did snap some pictures, before and after,” Edward said. He tossed a few photographs onto the Mayor’s desk.
The Mayor looked down at the pictures. There were three of an old, run-down bar with a door hanging on one hinge and of its interior, which housed happily chatting children. The fourth looked hastily taken and was of the outside of the bar, with flames and smoke pouring from the shattered windows and bloody bodies lying on the street. The Mayor was disappointed with the quality of the picture; it was blurred, as if the cameraman had been running when the shot was taken. Still, he could hardly complain under the circumstances.
“Excellent,” the Mayor said, clicking his lighter shut.
The Mayor looked up at a gloating Edward. As the boy’s green eyes glinted in the office’s dim lighting, the Mayor suddenly remembered something.
“By the way, what happened to your sunglasses?” the Mayor asked.
* * *
Tack turned the pair of sunglasses over in his hand. They were very familiar, even to Tack’s dazed eyes. He was sure that they were Umasi’s—or at least the same as the ones Umasi always wore. Wondering if this were all a bad dream, Tack looked back up at the smoking building, saw Truants grimly piling their dead fellows into a pile, and realized that it was too terrible to be a nightmare even after the fires had been silenced—a pickup truck filled with fire extinguishers had been parked beside the ruins of The Bar, and several Truants were now walking through the remains, dousing any last remnants of fire.
Zyid had arrived on the scene with the truck, but hadn’t had any time to talk with Tack yet. The Truancy leader was now busying himself by interviewing all of the survivors. He’d shown no surprise about The Bar, which indicated to Tack that Zyid had indeed known about The Bar all the time, though he had certainly kept that knowledge well hidden. Tack reflected uselessly on the fact that the whole thing wouldn’t have happened if the Truancy had just given up on alcohol like Zyid had suggested.
Tack looked over at the growing pile of bodies. Even before Zyid had arrived, Tack had personally examined each of those corpses. Some of them were burned beyond clear recognition; others were only horribly maimed. For a few panicked moments, Tack’s mind had entertained the fear that Noni might have been among the dead, despite the fact that he’d never seen her at The Bar. After examining all the bodies, Tack was able to assure himself that none of them was Noni.
Tack looked up to see Alex and Gabriel, who were now picking through the burned remains of The Bar, looking around for anything that might be helpful, and as Tack watc
hed them, he gripped the pair of sunglasses, hard. He’d found the sunglasses on the sidewalk, where they had apparently fallen from their owner’s face. The sunglasses were made of plastic, and so far from breaking, they were actually in good condition. Remembering that the survivors had blamed a blond boy with glasses, Tack wondered why he didn’t rush to Zyid immediately with the evidence.
As he thought about facing Zyid, however, Tack frowned, remembering something that he’d decided about Zyid earlier in the day, before he had come to The Bar, before the rose’s thorns had pierced him. His day had been very busy, and Tack reflected that it was lucky that it was. Looking up at Alex and Gabriel, now lifting another hopelessly charred body from the remains, Tack realized that he’d had a close call. If he hadn’t taken as long as he did doing the things he had, he too might’ve been nothing but ashes by now.
Tack’s hands clenched tightly as he remembered what he had spent his day doing, and a few more drops of blood fell to the ground.
* * *
“Hey!”
The dark-haired girl spun around to see who was calling out to her from the crowd of students leaving the District 20 summer school program. Tack could tell at once that she didn’t recognize him, which was for the best.
“You’re Melissa?” Tack asked, slightly out of breath.
“Yes,” Melissa answered, her wide eyes searching Tack.
“I’m Suzie’s … cousin,” Tack said, swiftly picking an appropriate lie—something he was growing increasingly good at. “I heard that you were her best friend.”
There was a suspended moment of silence while the sounds of the chattering students around them seemed to recede. Then Melissa burst into tears.
“I k-killed her,” Melissa sobbed.
“Huh?” Tack frowned confusedly.
“If s-she hadn’t gone and t-taken the blame f-for me she’d still b-be alive,” Melissa wailed, doubling over with grief.
It took Tack a moment to understand, but as soon as he realized that Melissa was blaming herself for Suzie’s death, he almost felt like laughing bitterly. Melissa hadn’t seen Zyid or heard his remorseless words. But Tack’s dark urge was quickly stifled by Melissa’s increasingly pronounced sobs. Tack vaguely noticed that students were turned to stare or even point, but this did not bother him as he knew it would have, back before he’d become a Truant. Tack attempted to calm Melissa down.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Tack said soothingly. “You weren’t the one who blew up the car.”
“She was in the c-car because of m-me,” Melissa said through her sobs.
“No.” Tack shook his head and patted Melissa on the back. “She made her own decisions. She was in the car by her choice, not yours.”
“If I’d s-stopped her—,” Melissa began.
“Anyone might’ve stopped her,” Tack said patiently. “None of them did. She made her own choice.” And I made mine, Tack added silently.
“You really think so?” Melissa asked, looking up at Tack through red eyes.
“Yes,” Tack said firmly. “Let’s talk about something else. How’s summer school been for you?”
“It’s been okay, I guess,” Melissa said, drying her eyes.
Meaning it’s just as bad as normal school, Tack translated silently.
“Suzie and her brother Tack used to tell me about this teacher, Mr. Niel, all the time,” Tack said casually. “Have you seen much of him lately?”
“All I know is he was being as nasty as usual,” Melissa sniffed. “Except to his favorites.”
“Sounds like him.” Tack nodded sagely. “By the way, did they ever get the bathrooms fixed?”
“No, the third floor one is still closed. They say they might not have it open in time for the new school year.”
“About that Zero Tolerance Policy…”
For the next fifteen minutes, Tack and Melissa walked slowly to the subway, chatting about school. Tack had thought that it would be painful to delve into his past, but all he found was comforting familiarity. He had spent the better part of the morning watching his old school from afar, looking in through the windows with binoculars, watching the students sitting grimly at their desks, obeying their teachers like slaves would a master. Seeing the life that he’d left behind, and speaking with those that still lived it, Tack was reminded of what he was now fighting to change. He and Melissa parted ways at the subway station, and Tack was left to ponder where he would go next.
Tack made a decision and headed for the first flower shop that he saw. This flower shop was not abandoned, dim, or moldy like the one he had spent so much time lurking in. It was lively, with a veritable forest of color blooming throughout the shop, all of it brightly lit. A wonderfully fresh, perfumed scent permeated the air, and Tack found himself smiling back at the cashier as he paid for a bundle of fresh-cut, thorny red roses.
Tack next entered the subway, which he found to be something of a novelty now that he hadn’t traveled out in public for so long. There was something reassuring about losing oneself among an endless crowd of commuters in a giant network of rattling trains that stretched from underground to far above the City. Tack sat in his rattling seat aboard the subway, taking care to read all of the advertisement posters in the train car with interest as the world sped by. Eventually, the train reached the stop Tack desired, and as the doors slid open, Tack followed the steady flow of people out of the train.
Once on the station platform, Tack scaled the stairs and made for the surface, passing through the turnstiles as if they didn’t exist. Pleased to be up in the fresh air again, Tack found that he was looking out upon his old acquaintance, the West River.
“How’ve you been?” Tack called out to the river, which flowed contentedly in response.
It didn’t take Tack long to reach the Riverside Cemetery, where he knew that his parents had always talked about being buried. It was a dismal place, despite the blue sky and bright sun above. It was deserted by the living, and only the occasional photograph or bouquet showed any sign that anyone had been there to visit the dead. Tack only assumed that Suzie would be buried here, and after he’d climbed the fence and searched through the sea of plaques and tombstones, he wasn’t disappointed. What took Tack completely by surprise, however, was finding a second tombstone next to Suzie’s with his name on it.
As he stood there, looking at those two solid, inanimate tombstones, Tack found that they somehow forcefully drove home the fact that his old life really had died away with Suzie. Tack laid the bouquet of roses down onto Suzie’s grave and, after only a moment’s consideration, withdrew a single rose from it and held it loosely in his right hand.
“This one’s for someone who’s still alive,” Tack explained to the river, which was gurgling at him questioningly.
Tack regarded the graves carefully, and before he noticed it, a single tear had dripped down his cheek and fallen upon the hard ground. And with that, he felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and he cried no more. Tack stood up tall, enjoying for a second the cool breeze sent his way by the river, and then he knelt down before the tombstones. He no longer felt anger, or grief, nor was he plagued by painful memories, but as he stood atop those graves, he did feel the empty sensation that he recognized to be an unfulfilled promise. Tack brushed his hand over Suzie’s grave, and imagined that he was touching her face as he remembered why he’d joined the Truancy in the first place.
“I will kill him,” Tack said softly, addressing Suzie now while the river gushed in the background. “I promised you I would, so I will.”
Tack stood up now, and looked out at the river, as if it were to be his witness.
“You hear that?” Tack yelled at the river. “I’m gonna kill him! Remember that!”
And with that, Tack had turned his back on the graves and on the river, which seemed to splash loudly in approval.
* * *
“What’s that in your hand, Takan?”
Tack snapped out of his rememb
rance and looked up to find himself face-to-face with Zyid. Tack immediately resisted his first urge, which was to jerk backwards, and quickly suppressed his second urge, which was to draw his sword and cut Zyid down where he stood. Tack reminded himself that he had to be practical; he had resolved to wait until he and Zyid were alone, somewhere when Zyid’s death could be explained away. Despite the fact that he’d finally determined to kill Zyid, Tack still found himself unwilling to part with the Truancy that he had truly become a part of.
“A rose,” Tack said quietly.
“Yes, and a bloody one too, but I meant your other hand,” Zyid said sardonically.
Tack said nothing, and Zyid reached down and removed the sunglasses from his clenched hand. As Zyid examined the glasses, Tack was certain that he could see a flash of recognition flit across the Truancy leader’s face. So, he hadn’t been imagining the resemblance to Umasi’s sunglasses. As Zyid’s gaze shifted from the sunglasses over to Tack, he remembered that he had an act to keep up. Tack searched around wildly for something to say.
“How many dead?” Tack seized on the first question that came to mind.
“Thirteen at the last count,” Zyid said impassively, still studying the sunglasses. “The attacker happened to hit at the busiest time of day.”
“Do you think it was a Truant that did it?” Tack gestured towards the remains of The Bar.
“No, Takan.” Zyid turned the sunglasses over in his hand. “I think it was someone far more dangerous.”
Tack briefly wondered if Zyid was talking about Umasi, but he instantly dismissed the thought as he remembered that the attacker had been blond—Umasi’s hair was black. In addition, knowing that Umasi always preached peace and patience, Tack found it impossible to believe that his old mentor could be responsible. But on the other hand, Umasi’s plain, simple sunglasses weren’t popular in the City, especially not at dusk. To find a pair just like them here seemed to be too much of a coincidence. As he contemplated this, Tack remembered something.