by Isamu Fukui
“Like I said.” Zyid glanced at Tack. “She’s had a hard life. I think that only she knows just how bad it was.”
Tack couldn’t find anything to say to that, and so when the train pulled into the station with loud screeching and shuddering, he silently followed Zyid through the nearest automatic sliding doors. As they moved to occupy a pair of empty plastic seats, the doors slid together behind them, and Zyid made no effort to continue the conversation, crossing his arms and legs and shutting his eyes, as if in meditation. This left Tack to ponder what Zyid had told him in silence.
Umasi had once asked him if he loved Noni. Tack didn’t have an answer back then, but were the question to be posed to him again, he wouldn’t hesitate to answer with a resounding “yes.” They understood each other so well, and yet knew so little about each other. And though Tack was loathe to admit it, even to himself, Zyid did seem to know a lot about Noni, and Tack didn’t like the sound of what Zyid had said.
Tack shook his head violently like a dog shaking off water. He wouldn’t, couldn’t believe Zyid. Zyid was probably just trying to make his life seem more valuable, make himself seem more important. Besides, Umasi had also asked Tack if he had loved Suzie. Tack had been able to say yes back then, and nothing had changed since. Still feeling discomfited, Tack nonetheless managed to steel his resolve with that thought.
The rest of the ride passed without incident, though several passengers who came and went cast interested looks at the pair of uniformed boys with guns and swords. None of them, however, questioned their boys’ right to have such weapons, merely showing mild interest. The Student Militia had served one good purpose after all, Tack reflected grimly.
When the train shuddered to a screeching halt for what seemed like the tenth time, Zyid rose to his feet without warning and walked swiftly out of the car and onto the platform. Tack hastened to follow him, and moments later they were again aboveground, feeling the cool night air. Zyid led Tack around a street corner and down several blocks until they stood at the base of a monstrous skyscraper with a front wrought entirely of stainless steel and glass—Penance Tower. Standing outside the doors was a veritable platoon of guards.
“We’ve been ordered to patrol the interior of this building,” Zyid said crisply, snapping a salute to the guards.
“Why’s that?” one of the guards asked curiously.
“Edward believes it to be of strategic importance, and we’re here to review its security on his behalf,” Zyid explained smoothly. “We were told that you should contact the Mayor himself if there was any question about Edward’s authority.”
The guards exchanged glances, then looked back down at Zyid.
“That won’t be necessary,” one of them said accommodatingly, opening the doors wide. “Go right on in.”
Zyid thanked the guard and strode confidently into the building, Tack following in his wake, almost unable to believe that the guards were so easily fooled. Clearly Edward had built up a far more formidable reputation than Tack had known.
“The Mayor has not properly grasped the importance of this building,” Zyid told Tack quietly as they headed for an elevator. “Otherwise it’d have occurred to him to protect it with an army of Enforcers rather than just a herd of regular guards.”
“Would it have occurred to Edward?” Tack asked pointedly.
“It would likely have crossed the mind of our late adversary, yes.” Zyid nodded as the elevator doors opened to admit them.
“So how exactly are we going to get this message out?” Tack asked as Zyid pressed a button; he certainly seemed like he knew where he was going.
“I have it recorded already,” Zyid explained, patting a lumpy spot on his uniform. “I will hijack control of the City-wide speaker system. Every loudspeaker in every school and Educator building will hear the message. It’s only a matter of dealing with anyone in the appropriate room and then setting the tape to loop constantly.”
“Won’t someone just come along and take the tape out?” Tack asked.
“Before we leave, we will barricade the door,” Zyid explained. “By the time they get in, the message will have repeated itself several times, and I think it likely that word of mouth will handle the rest.”
The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Tack followed Zyid out into a nondescript white hallway with a lot of doors. Zyid seemed to be right at home, marching over to a door that was slightly ajar. Tack could hear voices coming from within, and Zyid hesitated for a moment.
“Takan, you stay out here. If you see anyone, kill them,” Zyid said curtly.
Without waiting for a response, Zyid took a deep breath and plunged into the room. Tack briefly wondered why he had been asked to come along if it was going to be this easy, but those thoughts were quickly interrupted by confused inquiries, then panicked shouts, the sound of a scuffle, a scream, and then sudden, heavy silence. Several moments dragged on as Tack stood helplessly outside the door, and then there was the sound of something heavy being dragged across a floor. A second later, Zyid emerged from the room holding a string in one hand, his blue uniform partly stained dark red. Zyid tugged hard on the string, and something crashed into the door from the other side, slamming it tightly shut.
“I upturned one of their desks,” Zyid explained.
Tack nodded, finding that the murders of whoever had been inside that room didn’t bother him at all. Perhaps it was because the end was in sight, because Tack knew that Zyid would very soon be made to pay dearly for all of his crimes. Or maybe Tack had simply become accustomed to death; he really couldn’t tell. All he could think about as they entered the elevator again was how he would kill Zyid as soon as they left the building.
Now that the moment was so close, Tack felt excitement and apprehension build up in his gut at the same time. If he botched it, he would be in for the fight of his life, which could easily turn into the last fight of his life. And yet there was an undeniable pleasure of knowing that this promise that he’d been dreaming of fulfilling for so long would at last come to a conclusion, one way or another.
As Zyid and Tack stepped out into the lobby of the building, they saw that the guards hadn’t moved from their posts, their backs facing the Truants through the glass. Zyid nodded at Tack, and moved behind them. Tack followed suit, and a second later both of them opened fire at once, shattering the glass and swiftly sending the hapless and confused guards dropping to the ground like leaves from a tree. The boys heard screams from behind them, but paid them no attention, instead stepping through the gaps they’d broken in the glass and out into the night.
Tack could barely contain his righteous enthusiasm, and had half a mind to shoot Zyid down where he stood, but hearing the persistent screams behind him, he decided to wait until they were away from the building, where there would be no witnesses. Before Zyid set out, however, he looked for a moment at his wristwatch and then turned to look solemnly at Tack.
“It’s started, Takan,” Zyid said quietly. “The City will finally learn what Truancy really means.”
* * *
In the nightmares of children and adults, in the darkest imaginations of Truants and Educators alike, there had existed no images as horrible as those that eyes of both young and old now witnessed throughout the City. The once brilliant, lively lights of the City had been extinguished in many Districts, surrendering to the darkness of the starless night, a darkness disrupted only by the fires that now blazed unchecked throughout the City. The sounds of gunshots, of screams, of sirens and explosions mingled to create a hellish rancor. The whole City had been plunged into madness, and in the space of a few hours, anarchy had replaced any semblance of order, wreaking damage of an unimaginable scale all throughout the urban landscape.
In the streets, it was now not only Enforcers and Truants engaged in combat but every man, woman, and child of the City tearing and ripping at each other with whatever they could lay their hands on. Looters fearlessly pillaged stores and houses, while delighted arsonists set fires for no purpos
e other than the joy they derived from destruction. The innocent cowered inside their homes, praying that the chaos that had interrupted their lives would pass them by, while the guilty celebrated the fall of law. And everywhere, in the street, on the sidewalk, sprawled over cars and hidden behind trash cans, lay the dead, with more and more of the living dropping to join them.
Occasionally a Truant or an Enforcer would look around and see what they, together, had wrought. Often they would not be able to tear their eyes away from the horrors, and they would stand and forget the war, only to fall dead at the hands of a more apathetic foe. Neither side was willing to yield, not even if it meant the destruction of themselves and all around them. What had once been a struggle founded on the noblest intentions had spiraled out of control into an unending conflict of hatred.
Zyid’s gamble had succeeded. He had finally incited the uprising that he had always dreamed of. But Zyid had never believed that in doing so, he would blindly sacrifice everything decent that the City had to give …
And if Tack got his way, Zyid would never find out either.
26
A GUILTY CONSCIENCE
Tack could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he followed Zyid into a secluded alleyway. The time had come at last. Everything Tack had waited, worked, and hoped for would culminate in this moment. As Tack brushed past some garbage cans, he reflected that the setting seemed so normal, their actions so routine, that for the briefest of seconds he wondered if this could really be the defining moment of his life. Then Zyid stopped in his tracks, and instead of wondering why, Tack decided that this must be the moment he was meant to do it. In a most surreal fashion, Tack silently raised his pistol and pointed it at Zyid’s motionless back.
“It won’t bring her back, Tack.”
The shock of hearing those words stunned Tack senseless, and all he could do was stare openmouthed at Zyid. The Truancy leader didn’t even turn around to face him, but rather crossed his arms and waited.
“Wha-what?” Tack stammered.
“Killing me won’t get you your sister back,” Zyid said calmly. “But if it’ll put your mind at ease, then please proceed.”
Tack made no motion to pull the trigger, and so Zyid slowly turned around to look at him.
“I know that it won’t take you long to make up your mind,” he said. “But if I may make a suggestion, you shouldn’t do it that way.” Zyid gestured at the gun in Tack’s shaky hands.
“Why not?” Tack demanded.
“Because you’ll feel guilty,” Zyid said. “You’ll feel guilty that you never gave me a chance to fight back, guilty knowing that you stooped to my level to gain your revenge.”
“You don’t deserve any better.”
“No, Tack, I don’t,” Zyid admitted. “But you have a conscience, Tack, and it would bother you.”
“How do you know?” Tack snapped.
“Because”—Zyid smiled solemnly—“even I have one. And it bothers me more every day.” His expression grew sad. “I regret what happened to your sister, Tack, and I’m sorry for what I said that day. If it’s any consolation, her death at my hands likely haunts me more than it does you.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Tack snarled. “It can’t. And you’re a heartless bastard; you said it yourself.”
“Yes, but I do have a conscience,” Zyid said quietly. “I once thought that my emotions had deserted me completely—but they haven’t. Do you think that I sleep easily nowadays, knowing that I’ve left hundreds of children dead, and even more without parents?”
Zyid’s voice grew simultaneously harsh and somber. “I must lead by example, so I always keep my emotions masked. But let me tell you, Tack, over the last two months I’ve often cried myself to sleep.”
Tack looked disbelievingly at Zyid, whose expression was one of unmistakable pain and remorse. It seemed as though during all the time that Tack had known him, Zyid had been wearing an emotionless mask, which he had suddenly allowed to slip from his face. Suddenly remembering all the times Tack had thought he’d seen pain, regret, and sadness on the Truancy leader’s face, Tack found that he believed Zyid, though he sure as hell wasn’t going to let that change anything. Gripping his gun steadily, Tack decided to voice another question that he had to have answered.
“Did you always recognize me?” Tack asked.
“No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t.” Zyid shook his head. “You were vaguely familiar, but I never recognized you.”
“Then how—”
“Umasi.”
Tack shut his mouth and clenched his jaw, feeling an entirely new and highly unpleasant sensation stab at him. It didn’t take him long to identify the emotion as betrayal.
“Before you judge him too harshly, Tack, you should know that he made me promise not to act on what he told me,” Zyid said wearily.
“And he trusted you?” Tack hissed disbelievingly.
“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Zyid pointed out. “In fact, did you know that I brought you along just to give you this chance? I could’ve handled the mission myself. But I wouldn’t break a promise to Umasi, Tack. After all, we are … or at least were … brothers.”
Tack spent several seconds trying to wrap his mind around this revelation. It did make sense, and the more he thought about it, the more Tack wondered why he hadn’t figured it out himself before. Zyid and Umasi did share a resemblance, and they did know each other from way back. But their philosophies were firmly planted at either end of the spectrum, and their dress had made them look so different that it had never crossed Tack’s mind that they might be related.
“What exactly is the history between you two?” Tack demanded. “Umasi mentioned something about two years ago. That’s when you started the Truancy, isn’t it? What happened back then?”
“Some stories we take to our graves, Tack,” Zyid said solemnly. “That, I’m afraid, is one of them.”
“Then at least answer this,” Tack said fiercely. “Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?”
“Like I said, I owe Umasi that much,” Zyid repeated. “And I owe you more than that.”
“You’d let me shoot you down in cold blood?” Tack asked skeptically.
“Oh, I doubt that you’ll shoot me down in cold blood,” Zyid said quietly.
“Oh yeah?” Tack challenged. “Why’s that?”
“Because you know that what I said earlier is true, little though you’d like to admit it, even to yourself,” Zyid said. “You have a conscience. But you can also have revenge without the guilt.”
“How?” Tack demanded.
Zyid suddenly grinned and spread his arms, letting his own gun drop to the dirty ground of the alley.
“A duel to the death. You and me. Fair and square,” Zyid said. “No guns. Just our wits, and our swords.”
Without hesitation, Tack turned his gun horizontally and released his grip on it. The pistol clattered on the ground, and Tack drew his sword, glaring at Zyid, waiting for him to make the first move. Zyid casually removed his Student Militia uniform to reveal his usual outfit underneath, complete with the black windbreaker buttoned at his neck like a cape. Shoving the uniform aside with his foot, Zyid then drew his sword and turned to look majestically at Tak.
“Are you ready?” Zyid asked.
“Oh, yes.” Tack bared his teeth.
“Since I know who I’m really fighting,” Zyid said formally, “it’s only fair that you know the same, Tack. My true name is Zen, the brother of Umasi … and adoptive son of the Mayor of this City.”
Before Tack could fully register what he had just heard, the Truancy leader lunged forward, moving faster than Tack had believed possible. Tack’s mind barely had time to register a sword swinging horizontally towards his chest when instinct took over, and his own blade darted up to parry the blow. Undiscouraged, and moving with the same calm, inhuman speed he had already displayed, Zyid seemed to almost glide around to face Tack’s flank, his windbreaker billowing behind him a
s he swiftly lashed out with his sword. Tack spun to face the oncoming blow, blocking it as it came within millimeters of his neck.
“So, you’re the Mayor’s son, huh?” Tack grunted as they leaped apart.
“Of course!” Zyid said, bowing low to sweep his sword at Tack’s legs, an attack that Tack tactfully jumped over. “How do you think we found out what the Educators were doing?”
“Your father told you?” Tack guessed as he aimed a diagonal slash at Zyid.
“Hardly.” Zyid snorted, leaping aside to avoid Tack’s attack. “We pieced together things we overheard during his little cabinet meetings.”
“And Umasi didn’t help you?” Tack asked, slashing more forcefully at Zyid’s head.
“No, in fact he did his best to thwart me,” Zyid confessed as he parried the blow and snapped a kick to Tack’s shin. “He didn’t even willingly surrender any of his … allowance.”
“Allowance?” Tack asked uncomprehendingly, rubbing his shin with one hand while swinging his sword at Zyid with the other.
“How do you think Umasi and I got our money?” Zyid asked, leaping backward calmly as Tack’s sword clipped the front of his shirt.
“What?” Tack asked carefully, suddenly remembering Umasi’s seemingly inexhaustible funds.
“Our dear father provided each of us with money that he believed to be enough to last our entire lives,” Zyid explained as he suddenly lunged forward to stab at Tack.
“And the Mayor lets you spend it fighting against him?” Tack asked skeptically as he knocked Zyid’s sword aside with his own.
“Of course not.” Zyid recovered quickly, launching another vicious assault. “He believes me to be dead.”
Tack would have said that the Mayor’s belief would soon be true, but at the moment Zyid’s actions, not words, commanded his undivided attention as their swords locked together. Tack and Zyid stared each other down, teeth gritted and muscles strained as each attempted to break the deadlock in his own favor. It very quickly became apparent to Tack that Zyid outmatched him in brute strength, and so in an effort to cut his losses he suddenly sprang backwards. Zyid seemed surprised for one fleeting instant, then decisively charged forward.