by C A Gleason
Ito was a good and fair man, but he never agreed to pay multiple deputies multiple payments and he was already getting tired of their harassment.
Yohiro sensed his father’s frustration. Although Yohiro didn’t show it, he was boiling inside.
“Because we all provide the protection, old man, we all get paid.”
“I thought you weren’t here for payment.”
“We’re not. You paid already. We’re here for the tax increase. Price for our protection just went up.”
“A tax increase is more payment. Something I never agreed to. I told you. I already paid.”
“Agreeing got nothing to do with it.”
Ito exhaled. “You have to understand––”
“No, we don’t have to understand nothing.”
“Currency is the only thing we understand,” another said.
The heavyset one with the black beard shot him a look like a shot from his pistol he was ready to fire, and he cowered. It was clear he was in charge.
The one in charge was particularly ugly. Because of what kind of man he was. People couldn’t hide who they really were during a confrontation.
Ito’s jaw clenched. “If I give more, soon this store won’t be profitable.”
The deputy pretended like he was listening, relaxing his grip on his pistol. It was momentary. He leaned forward.
“Now is now. Whatever happened this morning isn’t our concern. I’m sure you haven’t noticed but there’s more of us, which means more currency is necessary to get paid out.”
“I’ll talk to the overseer.”
“No. You deal with us, we talk to him. You know how this works.”
“What’s to prevent other deputies from demanding such payments? Soon all of you will walk in with a hand out all day long. If I don’t keep what I earn, soon I won’t have a business at all. It’s simple math.”
They’re liars. And fools if they think they can trick his father.
“If you earned your way through life, you’d understand where I was coming from. And also why I refuse your unreasonable demands. Go back to Bloomfeld and explain it to him or send him here, so I can explain it myself. Run along, boy.”
The deputy didn’t like that. But he’d already insulted his father by calling him old man. He smirked anyway, a fake one as if he couldn’t believe what he heard. The pistol was now firm at his side. He definitely was considering whether to holster it. Or raise it up and shoot.
Instead, with his empty hand, he slapped Ito hard across the face. Then he grabbed Ito’s shirt before he could get out of reach and yanked him down to the counter top, pushing the pistol firmly against his head.
The slap clearly wasn’t planned based on the alarm on the faces of the other deputies. They expected Ito to pay. They were already moving toward the door.
Yohiro said nothing. Did nothing. He continued to sweep the floor. But his mind and arms were on fire. He wanted to act, but he couldn’t without endangering his father.
Yohiro hoped his father knew how to handle this. And also, what he was witnessing was an empty threat by a coward.
“What are you going to do?” Ito breathed heavily. “Murder one of the most reliable tax payers in Easto? Does the overseer even know you’re here?”
The deputy leaned in close to Ito’s ear and spoke through grimy teeth. “Who do you think sent us?”
“You’re lying! You’re trying to steal currency without his knowledge! Let go of me!”
The deputy pushed the barrel, hard, making his father grimace even more, and then took it away.
Ito rose up. He was red-faced. He glanced in Yohiro’s direction and adjusted his shirt, smoothing it downward. The embarrassment of what happened impossible to hide. He didn’t want Yohiro to see.
Ito reached under the counter and tossed over twenty currency. It flitted across the counter top and nearly fell off before the deputy caught it.
“Take it. But only this time. Now get out.”
The deputy raised the pistol slightly, nearly aiming it at Ito’s midsection. “I know you got more.”
He was going to kill him. Yohiro would jump on his back, knock the pistol out of his hand, beat him to death.
But would he get there in time? How would the other deputies react? If he attacked any of them, an overreaction with guns they surely carried was inevitable, and could be argued as warranted.
Although it burned him up inside, Yohiro knew he could do nothing except rely on his father’s wits to get the outliers out of the store.
19. Yohiro
“I won’t inform the overseer of what you’ve done, but return and try the same corrupt activity again, and I will. Deputies demanding payment more than once a day is illegal. I’ll inform the overseer and none of you will receive any more currency from me. In fact, maybe you bunch won’t be the only ones with guns.”
“That’s illegal!”
“Everything you’re doing right now is illegal! Once those in charge start breaking the law, the result is chaos. Chaotic towns need protection. If the deputies can’t protect the town, then the citizens will have no choice but to assume the responsibility...or they will turn to someone else. How would you like to be the one who dissolved everything your boss built?”
The ugly black bearded deputy stared at Ito, gun twirling with a mind of its own at his side, the other men looking to him to see what he was going to do next.
“Let’s go.”
They left as if they couldn’t leave fast enough, the friendly bell chiming in contrast to what transpired.
The broom bristles never left the floor or stopped moving. Yohiro’s sweeping gave no hint that he was fused to what happened. He didn’t want to embarrass his father further by reacting. Ito was a proud man, but Yohiro could see him looking in his direction.
“Yohiro, come here.”
Yohiro stopped sweeping the same pile of dust he’d finished since the deputies entered the store and set the broom against the wall. Then he walked over to the counter. His father’s cheek was still red where it was struck.
He waved. “Back here.”
Yohiro could have gone around, but he put two hands on the counter and gracefully vaulted over to join him. When his feet hit the ground, there was hardly a sound.
He doubted his father noticed. Yohiro practiced stealth whenever possible, so it was nothing new for him while moving around the store. They went behind the wall to the back room.
On a chair were many blankets. Ito took the blankets off and then moved the chair. It skidded loudly across the wooden floor. Ito shot a look past Yohiro as if he were afraid the deputies were going to show up again and see, or patrons might enter.
After dropping to a knee, Ito slid his fingers around the floor and pulled up one of the floor boards. Yohiro knew under the floorboard was used to store secrets, but it was his father’s secrets and none of his business.
Ito reached down and hefted up a small metal box. It was a relic, something left over from long ago. It looked valuable. A combination lock was embedded on the front. He twisted left, right, then left again.
Ito glanced at his son and smiled. “It’s fireproof.” Then he raised the top.
Yohiro peered inside. And he had thought the box itself was valuable. Inside was filled with currency.
The currency was not all loose as it was normally found, but stacked tightly and bound together in packs. Currency worth a lot more than the twenty Ito used to bribe the deputies to leave the store.
Yohiro always did his best to remain calm, emotionless so others didn’t know what he was thinking. Then they wouldn’t know how much of a threat he was, when he decided to act.
Like how he was unnoticed by the deputies who recently left the store. They didn’t utter a word to him.
But Yohiro was in the presence of his father, who he trusted more than anyone on Home and felt his eyes grow big in his head. He couldn’t help it. He’d never seen so much currency in all his life.
Ito
opened a hand and held it over the bills. “This belongs to you. Not anyone else. Especially not criminal outliers who claim to be deputies.”
Yohiro was unable to hide his amazement. “I’ve never seen one with a hundred on it.”
“I want you to find a safer place than here. Hide it. Do you have a place in mind?”
In fact he did. “I’ve been there before. It’s—”
Ito held up his hand, silencing him. “I don’t want to know. I don’t need to. And it’s better that I don’t.”
His father’s reluctance disturbed him. It meant he thought he might be tortured for information, something done to people sometimes.
“But what if something happens to me?”
“I know how capable you are, my son. All of it is far too much for me to spend during my life. I don’t need it and I never want it to fill their pockets. I’d rather it be lost. If it stays here, they will eventually get it. And if they knew about it, which they don’t, they would kill us both. The overseer would allow it and cover it up. Currency is all he cares about no matter what, he, or anyone else says.”
His father’s confiding in him made Yohiro feel ten feet tall, when in fact he was slightly over half that height. “I know.”
“Good. Use this fortune however you wish and whenever you need it. Do you understand?”
Yohiro nodded.
“Say yes, Son.”
“Yes, Father.”
Ito stood stiffly and looked at him, who was a few inches taller than him. He squeezed his shoulder. All embarrassment from earlier gone, and pride of a father who was proud of his son shone in his eyes.
Then he bent down and lifted the box and held it there.
Yohiro got the hint and raised his arms.
Ito carefully placed the box within his grip. “Wait until early morning and then go.”
20. Onnin
When he was younger, and to his confusion, even though he always did his best to keep to himself, he was often recognized by those who crossed his path. He learned they knew him as the tallest man on the planet. It didn’t surprise him anymore.
Fully grown and filled out, he was over eight feet tall, so he understood others’ curiosity. But because of his size, he was gossiped about, and referred to in many ways. Some moving and inspiring, others explicit and based on fear.
Some even believed him to be a cannibal. And he even ate children.
It was because of his size that he kept to himself. Reactions were typically the same; eyes widening followed by fright. He always felt like an outsider anyway, and as he got older, he was treated like one because his physicality halted people.
His height alone made it impossible to blend into a crowd, and deep down that was what he always wanted to do. Impossibly.
Homes or stores or any other buildings weren’t made for a person his size. Whenever he ducked under a doorway, heads inevitably turned. He understood. If someone two or three feet taller than him approached, he would take notice too.
As far as he knew, he truly was the tallest man on Home. Except for the Alien of course, but the Alien wasn’t human.
Onnin was bigger than anyone he ever came across. But he was as quick as any of them too. His size didn’t affect his coordination or how fast he could run. Sometimes he chased people down, to their surprise.
Onnin went to see the Alien once, to find out why everyone was talking about it over the net. Emergers liked to talk. Another reason to go see it was, he was curious about rumors nothing to do with him. Its distraction was pleasant in an unforeseen way.
From a distance, the Alien was a mountain in the shape of a man. It was the same color as the mountains too, except for all the protein plants sprouting all over it. It was clearly alive but didn’t really move. Not exactly. It just adjusted in miniature ways.
Though a breathtaking and impressive spectacle and how it meant there was life in the universe other than humans, after a while he lost interest.
At least he’d gone to see it once. Maybe now he could have a conversation about it with someone nice. Someday. He would blend in and they would accept him for who he was. And be interested in what he had to say about the Alien.
Another impulse toward normal. Even though he wasn’t. And it wasn’t impossible for him to be accepted, but it would be rare. Him and the Alien were similar and called many names, like monster.
Onnin was called many other names too. Either in person by someone brave enough, or behind his back, which was usually how it went. Especially over the net. Somehow, there were people who knew about what he endured as a young man.
When he was young in mind in a grown man’s body. Or some deviation of someone’s made up story loosely based on the truth. He didn’t know how they knew. And what he heard wasn’t anywhere close to the truth. Who could possibly know the truth except a survivor?
He was alone making it out of there as far as he knew. It was possible there were some of them still down there, but he doubted it. They would have starved long ago. He wasn’t about to go find out. There was no reason. He’d escaped.
The way he figured others escaped—or left—was people who knew about the place were still alive and told a story or two.
They all suspected he was as big as he was because he’d eaten thousands of people. The truth was he’d killed his way to freedom. He didn’t conform the entire time he was down there. Didn’t devolve.
He was forced to drink, but that didn’t make him one of them as far as he was concerned.
When Onnin finally emerged, he was much thinner than when he’d gone in having lost so much weight. He’d never been so starving in his life, but sickened at the same time, so he had lost his appetite.
It was even a challenge to eat protein plants for a while, because all he’d smelled was rotting flesh for so long. And dealt with the evil devouring it.
When he did finally eat, thankfully he was able to keep food down and over the course of those days, he practically ate his weight in plants. Even though they were disgusting to some, he always liked the survival food.
He wondered what the girl baby would eat. Glancing down into his arms, and as he considered what to do with her, she continued to wail.
Who would bring a baby out here?
The infant’s eyes were shut, she was red-faced, and she seemed to cry up, past him, at an emotionless sky taking no pity on her. As he struggled to—carefully—hold her, her arms and legs kicked and fussed and tremored.
She was so small. She looked brand new. It wasn’t so long ago when she was in a womb. Now she was forced into the merciless world of Home.
Like the rest of us.
The corpse was likely her father, and Onnin had killed him. His regret had been immediate, no matter what the man did. The little one in Onnin’s arms would never know her father.
Onnin knew how it felt, the loss, and he had been separated from his parents when he was a lot older than her.
Though dangerous, every moment of his life was so expected. But no longer. He’d never been in a position to be parental. He’d never even been with a woman. Everyone on Home seemed to be afraid of him.
Onnin never needed to look out for anyone but himself, so he was confused about what to do next. When he was growing up, he was hardly ever around babies.
In the town of Orthal, babies weren’t paraded around as normal folks would do in other safer towns. They were hidden away so they could grow up. There were rumors that babies were stolen right out of their mothers’ arms in the middle of the street if they weren’t paying attention.
Even grown children were taken. If they survived, it was rumored they often grew up to commit the same abductions.
He definitely wasn’t ready for whatever was required of him. Not at all. He was sweating. On his forehead and the hands holding the baby were slick. More feelings rose up inside and felt like panic and nervousness and fear all at once.
What was he supposed to do now?
What could he do?
He certainly couldn’t raise a child. He didn’t know how. And a baby needed a woman to take care of it.
Right?
It was peculiar there were no women in the group though. There were at some point. Maybe they were on their way to the baby’s mother. But then, why wasn’t she with her mother?
He wasn’t sure what to feed her. He was pretty sure she couldn’t be forced to eat protein plants, no matter how hungry, because she didn’t have teeth yet. Plants were soft but he knew enough about babies to know they drank their food when so young.
And he definitely had no way to keep her fed long enough to reach a nearby town in time. He was too far away from one as he always was. The closest town was Westo, but he passed it by days ago.
He concentrated, trying to think of something, anything of help, knowing as each second passed, the baby suffered from neglect, exhaustion, or being hungry.
If a scoutbike was available, he could drive her to Westo but he didn’t have access to one. He rode them before but he preferred to be on foot. Less attention.
If there was someone on a scoutbike nearby, he could shoot them off it. Maybe without killing them. Just wound them. And steal theirs. Take her to a nearby town.
But he didn’t see—or hear—any scoutbikes.
After thinking about it more, he realized even if he did reach a town it didn’t mean that someone would take her in and take care of her the way she required.
Onnin didn’t know a woman he could rely on with such a responsibility because he didn’t know any women. The baby would likely die before he got even close to getting the necessary measures in order.
He grumbled loudly and the baby froze, before crying more.
What am I supposed to do?!
The outliers he killed didn’t even have scoutbikes. What were they thinking?
This is awful.
21. Onnin
They obviously hadn’t cared about the repercussions of their actions. Maybe she didn’t even belong to the dead man. Maybe they were like the outliers he heard about, the ones who stole babies and children.