Son of Sedonia

1

Brotherhood

Twelve years later

ON TOP OF a low island chain of concrete apartments, Matteo could almost see everything. Didn’t matter that he was short, sick, and weak. Countless hazy miles of the living, breathing Slums surrounded him. The cracked, sun-drenched streets. Tin roofs and awnings sticking out from cheap brick apartments. Gutted spacecraft and hull fragments turned into neighborhoods. And a dizzying network of scaffolding, catwalks, and plank bridges tying it all together. He grumbled at the mess. Squinted further east through the early afternoon heat.

Towering bright and proud above the Slums, Sedonia City glittered in silence. Matteo’s big brown eyes traced the ivory skyscrapers at the center and carved each of them into memory. Early rush-hour traffic flew high overhead, to and from the center. Where do they go? He saw one ship had a cluster of glowing, blue-green engines on its belly. He watched it shrink into the skyline until his eyes watered. But as his gaze drifted down, his nose crinkled. The Border. A half-mile high, concrete barrier that separated City from Slum. He raised his hand in front of his face, blocking everything under the Border from view. Smiled.

The sting of the soccer ball came without warning, slapping him in the face. It knocked him off his tiptoes, down into the dust of the rooftop. Against the pain, he pushed himself up on shaky, bony arms. Realized he couldn’t breathe. Panic flushed through him as he fumbled at the clear plastic tube under his nose and pressed the release. Cool mint air rushed in. The airway relaxed.

A group of kids laughed and pointed at him. Oki, the biggest one, was beside himself. The a*shole had hit his growth spurt much earlier than his gang but still swelled with baby fat. Yellow teeth glinted in his big mouth.

“H-HA! Hey Wheezy! Hey uh...you wanna pass that back over here? Gotta finish our game,” Oki sneered.

The patchwork, semi-flat ball rolled to Matteo’s feet. Head throbbing, he stared at it. Clenched his fists. He wanted to hurl it back at Oki’s head. Maybe bust out some of those crooked teeth. But the results of that choice played through his mind like a memory. Oki and the other thugs would chase him until he ran totally out of breath, then put another beating on him. He’d barely survived the last one.

Carefully, Matteo shifted to his skinned knees and pushed himself up.

“Pick it up,” Oki said. Matteo shot a glare at them. Softened when he noticed another familiar face in the entourage, peeking from behind Oki like an anxious mouse. Raia. The cute neighbor girl that lived a few family-boxes down in his home stack. She never looked at him...at least not for long. Her blue almond eyes always glanced away when he noticed her gawking. The airtank. The tube...me. People always looked.

But here on the roof, she didn’t look away. She stared hard along with the others, waiting for him to move. Matteo found himself shying away from her. Her eyes...so blue...

“PICK IT UP!” Oki shouted, making Matteo jump. They all laughed. All except her. Matteo swallowed bitter hate as he stooped and picked up the ball.

“Now lick it!” Oki said. Matteo stood perfectly still. Swallowed hard as he stared at the stained, worn out ball.

“Go on, bitch! Do it!” one of the others chimed in.

“Yeah! Come on, Wheezy!” said another.

“Oki...” Raia’s tiny voice broke through the laughing. Matteo looked up to see her place a gentle hand on Oki’s shoulder.

“Leave him alone, he’s—”

“Shut the f*ck up, bitch!” Oki jabbed an elbow into her boney chest, knocking her down.

“HEY!” Matteo shouted. The ball left his hand and sailed through the air before he knew what happened. It arced, then hit the ground. Rolled to a harmless stop at Oki’s feet. A prickling acid wave crept over Matteo’s skull as the situation came back into focus. The gang burst to life behind a still, scowling Oki. Raia sat up, dirt caked to streaks of tears. She wiped them away and continued her jeweled stare.

“Ohhh shit! Wheezy done f*cked up now!” one voice called.

POP! Oki stomped the ball flat. Everyone jumped. Six lunging strides and the oversized boy was right on top of Matteo. Inches from his face. Sour breath flowed over Matteo as he looked down and away, staying silent. Oki turned his ear toward him.

“What was that? Speak up, Wheezy, I can’t hear you with this shit in your face!” Oki yanked out Matteo’s nose tube then shoved him in the chest. The gang behind chuckled nervously as Matteo sputtered and coughed. Oki threw his head back and laughed. They laughed louder.

Tears stinging his eyes, Matteo forced down the fit. The words came to him, crystallizing out of the fog.

“They don’t really like you,” Matteo said. It had come out in a whisper.

“The f*ck did you sa—?”

Matteo struggled to smooth his ragged gasps as he straightened. Looked dead square into Oki’s beady, close-set eyes.

“They’re scared of you. They pretend to be your friend so you won’t hurt ‘em. But you do anyway. If you don’t keep ‘em scared, you got nobody. And havin’ nobody scares you.”

Matteo braced himself in the trembling quiet. Watched the thick fist cock back, fly forward, and catch him in the gut. The world went white. He doubled over, distantly aware of the kick that was coming next.

BANG! A gunshot split the moment in two. The kick never came.

“F*ck off. All of you,” said an older voice. On the next rooftop stood a fit, broad-faced boy of eighteen with a black nine millimeter pistol in hand. He turned his sleeveless shoulder to them, showing the characters “T99” tattooed in a triangle. Oki and the other kids scattered like roaches. Raia got up, hesitated, then scampered off to follow.

Matteo crumpled into a tight ball. Looked up through throbbing vision to watch where Oki went. Across those two wood bridges...then through Mr. Ramesh’s garden. He winced as he turned toward the sound of the shot. Scowled when he saw his older brother.

Jogun jumped across the gap in the rooftops and sprinted toward Matteo, holstering the gun in his waistband.

“Can you breathe? Are you okay?” Jogun wasted no time. He refastened the tube under Matteo’s nose, sat him up, and felt his rib cage. Matteo coughed hard. Glared at Jo.

“Come on, bro, talk to me!” said Jogun.

“I’m—I’m fine. You just—” Matteo tried to swallow in a dry throat. Pushed against Jogun’s grasp.

“I’m fine!” said Matteo, staring hard into his brother’s eyes. Jogun hesitated. Released his hands. Matteo rolled and pushed up, head swimming with a sudden rush.

“Nah, you ain’t fine, kid! I told you to stay away from them! But here you are, sight-seein’ on their turf again...”

Matteo’s eyes fell on the gun in Jogun’s waistband. Fingernails dug into his sweating palms. Across those two wood bridges and through Mr. Ramesh’s garden... Tensing his arm in an instant, Matteo reached out. He snatched the pistol and lunged away toward the first bridge. As Jogun reached after him, a noise broke above the midday Slums. Both brothers stopped dead in their tracks.

It rose to a roar, echoing over the rooftops. It got sharper. Louder. They looked up in time to see a white, wedge-shaped object streak overhead. Its blade wings jutted through thrashing engine flames. A Pulsar HVX! Luxury class! Matteo’s pulse raced. Whoops and cheers sounded throughout the neighborhood. Jogun, without looking, held out his open hand. Matteo placed the gun in it. Jogun got to his feet, then turned.

“Stay. Here.” Jogun glared at Matteo, waited for a nod, then took off after the bulging smoke trail. He ran across a narrow catwalk, vaulted over a guard rail, and disappeared behind hanging laundry in an alleyway.

Matteo fidgeted in the excitement. It was luxury class! I saw it! His feet begged him to follow. Oki’s gang reappeared and ran past. Turned to wave ‘goodbye’ on their way after the ship. Oki back-pedaled to face Matteo and clutched his chest in a mock coughing fit. That was it. Matteo took three deep breaths from the tube and trotted off after them.

Jogun bounded from rooftop to rooftop, glancing up to keep the smoke trail in sight. Ahead, two young T99s in tank-tops, shorts, and running shoes darted up a fire escape and matched pace with him. Together they scrambled over walls, up ladders, and through the apartments of cowering dwellers. The locals cleared a path without complaint. Everything else in the Slums stopped when the Nines moved in force.

As the smoke thickened, they were joined by one, and then two more guys, all with ‘T99’ on their left shoulders. The wreck was close. Sour smells of charred carbon fiber and burning coolant confirmed it.

“The H3!” one of them shouted, “gotta make this quick, or it’s gonna go off!”

Running up one final stairwell, the group emerged onto a flat, concrete rooftop. The Pulsar HVX sat wrecked at the end of a savage gouge in the concrete. Jogun sprinted up to it, meeting the several other gang members who were already tearing it apart. At the rear of the hull, Jogun recognized the radioactive symbol. He cringed as the Cutters yanked out the canisters of Helium-3 and tossed them to the waiting Runners. Nothing happened. He sighed. No meltdown today...

Jogun got to work. He and two others forced open the trunk with a hydraulic hiss. Revealed pay-dirt. Groceries. Laughing and whooping, they rifled through the treasure and filled their satchels. Jogun caught glimpses of detergent, potato chips, soap, shampoo, ground beef, and...fresh produce! He took care not to open that bag too wide while he took his cut from it. The others didn’t seem to notice. Boomer was too busy stuffing his face with tortilla chips, and Porki chewed on a frowning mouthful of toothpaste. Spat it out in a soggy lump.

The Cutters torched panels from the hull while three senior T99s drew pistols and surrounded the cockpit. Suomo, the ranking member, waved his long lean arm for a Cutter to pop the driver’s-side hatch. It swung open with a flick of the crowbar. A spongy, yellow-green material crumbled out the door. Suomo checked inside, then relaxed with a metallic smile.

“All clear!” Suomo called to the group. Jogun took out his crowbar, pulled his satchel drawstring shut, and trotted over. Met Suomo at the door.

“Cheap-ass foam,” Suomo said, holstering his pistol, “Did the job for us. Jo, go on and pop the other side.” Jo looked inside. Stalled. A family of three sat partially encased in their seats. Hollow stares from the husband and the eleven-year-old boy in the back seat told of instant death. The wife slumped over the dash, her face half-buried in foam.

“Well do it quick, fool! Better believe the Robos gonna be here any time!” Jogun ran around to the other side, pried the door open, and climbed up just in time to see Suomo reach into the foam on the driver’s side. The husband’s harness straps zipped back into the seat, Suomo grabbed the arm, and yanked the corpse out into a crumbling heap of dry foam. The senior Nine started rifling through compartments without a second thought. Jogun reached in. He grabbed the dead wife by the shoulder and eased her away from the dash.

She gasped and flashed her eyes wide open.

“SHIT!” Jogun stumbled out of the ship. The woman groaned, pulling a shaky hand from the foam to touch the gash on her forehead.

“A live one!” Suomo shouted, “Go ahead wit it, Jo.” Only one thing that could mean.

Jogun swallowed hard. His heart raced. All eyes watched him as he pulled out the nine millimeter and climbed back up into the ship. He found the woman struggling to keep her eyes open. Her light-brown hair was stained yellow-green, clinging to her scarred, middle-aged features. She looks like...like Her... Twelve years ago, and her face still haunted him clear as yesterday.

“Today, Jo!” Suomo said. Burying the memories, Jogun raised the pistol. Looked down the sight at the woman’s head. His breathing quickened. His arm trembled. Awareness gathered in the woman as her eyes rolled toward the sound of the clicking hammer. BANG! Red splashed against the sick-colored foam. Her head returned with a thump to the dash. I’m sorry... Jo pinched his eyes shut and pulled her out of the cockpit. Cheers and applause erupted outside.

“Yeah!”

“GOT that city-bitch!”

“That’s the shot, Jo-Gun!”

Jogun flicked the safety on his pistol, stuck it in his waistband, and climbed into the Pulsar’s backseat. Just get to business. Don’t let ‘em see you sweat. He scooped foam out by the arm-full, digging for the center console. Suomo climbed into the driver’s side, leaned over to Jogun, and slapped him on the back. Jogun managed a nod then continued working. He kept his attention fixed on the console and away from the boy’s body next to him. He looked away as that corpse was unhooked from its harness and dragged out.

They picked the wreck clean within a matter of minutes. First the factory stereo and speakers, GPS, head-rest monitors, yards of fiber optic cable, and anything with a circuit board. Then the heavy lifting. The seats, undamaged glass, polyurethane interior paneling, and the carbon fiber hull came out in crudely cut sections, tossed into piles on the roof to be carried off by the Runners.

Jogun, with full satchel in tow, stepped out of the skeletal remains in time to see the kids arrive. Despite their long pursuit, they had lost no energy. They pestered the Runners for closer looks at the loot. A few ran to the piles, picked up all they could carry, and followed behind their elders. A tiny kid arrived dead last. His tiny body heaved with each exhausted gasp. Matteo! Jogun sprinted to him, and crouched down.

“Dammit Matteo, when I say stay, you stay!” said Jogun. He glanced back, scanning behind him for traces of the bodies. Gone. They were carried off too. Jogun tried to block thoughts of what they’d be used for.

“I—I wa—” Matteo struggled.

“Slow down man, like we practiced,” Jogun pursed his lips, drew in a long, deep breath, and exhaled. Matteo nodded and obeyed. Jogun pressed a hand to Matteo’s stomach and pushed against the pressure of each breath. The boy’s breathing slowed, accompanied by shrill wheezing.

“You good?”

“Y—yeah. What’d you get?”

Jogun furrowed his brow.

“Never mind what I got, boy, you need to learn how to listen! This ain’t no place for you!”

Matteo frowned at the remark. He looked at the kids with armfuls of cable and hull fragments. He huffed through the wheezing.

“You ain’t like them,” said Jogun. Matteo shot him a dirty look.

“C’mon, I didn’t mean...I just—whatever. Sounds like you need to head down to the Doc for a refill.” Jogun tapped the inhaler tank in Matteo’s hood, stood up, and dug into his satchel. Pulled out a ripe clementine orange.

“This should be enough…‘specially with the seeds,” said Jogun. Matteo held the alien object close, studying the texture and shape, “Don’t even think about it. Not one bite, understand?”

Matteo rolled his eyes. Nodded. Jogun’s ears perked up at a rising sound in the distance. The other T99s did the same. The distant, familiar thrum of hover engines echoed across the slums. Getting louder every second.

“Five-O! Get the f*ck out!” shouted Suomo. The gang exploded into a frenzy, holstering cutting torches, bagging remaining scraps, and securing their satchels for escape. Jogun stooped to Matteo.

“Get to the Doc, and be home before dark!”

“Will you—”

“NOW!”

Matteo shuddered at the command, and hobbled to the fire escape. Jogun watched his little brother go as he tightened the satchel straps. Be safe, little man... With the gunship seconds away, Jogun broke into a dead sprint across the rooftops.

The IG-6 gunship, a repurposed military relic painted EXO blue, pulled its nose up as it reached the crash site, blasting the rooftop with a breaking thrust. Vet pilots called them FFT’s or ‘Flying Freight Trains.’ The force of the hover engines floored a few T99 stragglers as seven EXO-Cops dropped to the roof like lead weights. Sergeant Kabbard and his men stood tall in the urban camo Augmentor gear on their arms, legs, and partial torsos. Each EXO drew his weapon and formed the first-response perimeter. Through his visor, the Sergeant’s steel eyes took a quick survey of the scene.

“Davis! Leitmeyer! Ruiz! Olin! Legs on! Pick up some trails and run ‘em down!” The four officers nodded in their tight-fitting helmets, and crouched. Each turned dials on their upper right hip, triggering the crescendo of a high-pitched, electronic whine. Four audible clicks snapped at full charge and each officer bolted in a different direction. Their bounding, inhuman strides cleared rooftops at a time.

“Shima and Mason, you’re with me. Switch to spurs.” Kabbard pulled the barbed stun pistol from his shoulder holster. Shima and Mason followed suit, converged on the recovering T99s, and fired stun spurs into their backs. Short convulsions followed by deathly stillness. The three fanned out to secure the wreck. Kabbard double-tapped a hotkey on his temple, dousing his vision in electric blue. No movement or body heat signatures appeared inside the wreck.

“Sound off!” Kabbard shouted.

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

Kabbard retracted his visor and glared at the stripped skeleton of the wreck. Ground his teeth. Another failure to add to the list.

“We were dispatched what, six minutes ago?” asked Shima, “How the hell could they have done this so fast?” The mouthy rookie lifted his visor. The sharp, bird-like features gave the kid a shifty look. Kabbard didn’t think much of him. Too much of a taste for violence and cool gadgets. Mason, the fatherly elder vet, was all too happy to offer a sagely answer.

“You saw the prelim scans coming in. There were kids up here. They do this kind of thing from the second they can hold a blowtorch,” Mason grumbled, squatting to inspect the torch-cuts on the mutilated rear-end. Ahead, Kabbard leaned into the cockpit. F*cking mess. He found it difficult to focus on any particular thing in all the twisted metal and shredded plastic. Only a wet, crimson smear on the passenger side caught his eye. His boot nudged a bullet casing on the ground by the frame..

“Sir!” Shima called from the opposite side of the ship, “I got three RFID chips here, minus three civvies! By the look of ‘em, they were carved outta the vics’ forearms right here...nasty shit! Sir.” The rookie pulled out a plastic bag, dropped the bloody, square-inch microchips inside, and handed it to Mason.

“Must be gettin’ wise...” said Mason, passing the bag to Kabbard.

“Won’t be trackin’ ‘em that way anymore,” said the Sergeant. He studied the chips. Bits of flesh clung to the tight circuits. Dark blood pooled in the bottom of the bag. All that was left of three more innocent lives. Twenty years on the force...five Governor commendations for valor...two holes in my shoulder, one in my hip, and one in each leg. None of it makes a damn bit of difference... Anger flickered inside of him, but had scarce little fuel to burn. Empty.

“Think they can pull the mem logs?” Shima asked.

Kabbard ignored the question. He pressed two fingers to his throat just beneath the jaw. Felt the familiar pop there.

“Pursuit Team, we’ve got civilian casualties,” he paused, hating the words, “Find me at least one of these shitheads, and put the blue octopus on ‘em. Can’t let this go without a message.” He released his fingers and turned from the wreck, walking straight toward one of the unconscious T99s.

“Blue octopus?” Shima raised a thin eyebrow.

“Yeah. Four cops. Eight arms...” Mason buried a fist into his meaty palm. A tight grin stretched over Shima’s face.

Kabbard pulled out a stun pistol and pressed a button on the side. A dual-pronged barb flicked out of the grip. He stooped, twisted the T99’s head to the right, plunged the barb into the base of the neck, and squeezed the trigger. The skinny gangster seized, shocked out of the stupor. Kabbard waited calmly as the thug shook his head and looked up at the three EXOs.

“The f*ck you want, robo?” asked the gangster.

“Oh yeah, we’re a hard ass, aren’t we?!” Kabbard stood with the buzz of servos. Planted the armored toe of his boot in the scumbag’s ribcage. Once the coughing died down, Kabbard knelt.

“Names and whereabouts,” Kabbard said, “The pain stops when you tell me.”