Son of Sedonia

36

Accomplice


LIANI HAD BEEN tossing and turning under her cotton sheets since dawn. She would burrow into one position, stay still with her eyes closed, and flip over ten minutes later. It had taken them until four in the morning to get settled, depositing the passed-out stranger on her floral print futon. Since then, her half-sleeping brain swam with paranoid dreams.

Rolling over again, she compulsively tapped her temple for the millionth time. ‘Net connection interrupted. Tower Signal lost.’ Her Neu Feed, news tickers, email, and UptOwn resource management game sat cached in the same state they had been for hours. Her pack of robo-dogs in her UptOwn villa were probably starving by now, tearing the penguin butlers apart. That actually upsets me. Serious ‘real-time withdrawal’ had officially set in.

“Unnngh! Hell with it,” Liani said. She swiped the Neural home screen closed and sat up. The heavy, black ring on her finger glinted through the slatted light of the blinds. She turned it on her finger. An RFID signal jammer. The reason she couldn’t connect, but also the only reason Kabbard wasn’t banging down her front door. It was one of three Corey had handed out in the van. Just whipped them out of his backpack like they wouldn’t get us all thrown in jail!

Although, it had been her idea to cross the line in the first place. For what, she still wasn’t sure. Her gut had said ‘sleep on it.’ But half-dreams of being paraded naked through Mesa Park en route to execution didn’t clarify much. Ass-naked except for my running shoes...screw you, subconsciousness. She swung her long, bare legs out of bed and began the hunt for a clean-ish pair of jeans.

Liani heard snoring as she peeked her head out into the tiny living room. Her special guest’s feet dangled motionless over the edge of the futon armrest and to the right, facing the front door, Corey sat slouched in the flimsy kitchen chair. His chin rested on his collar bone, and he held a curtain rod in his lap. Each time his chest rose it sounded like a motorcycle from one of those old action movies he’d insisted on lending to her.

“My hero,” she whispered with a grin. The fossil fuel engine in Corey’s sinuses stalled as his eyes flickered open.

“Huh? What? Everything okay?” he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes to scan the room.

“Down boy,” she teased, then yawned, “It’s been quiet all morning. Coffee?” Corey nodded and reflected the yawn as she turned into the kitchen. She picked up the coffee pot from the sink, sniffed it, and then shrugged. Stuck it in the maker.

“Uh oh,” Corey said from his chair. Liani tensed.

“What?!”

“Seems like your new friend left a chunky, blue puddle on your rug,” he said, snickering. Liani scurried out of the kitchen. The boy who’d called himself Aden had a thin line of drool running from his mouth to the sickly sweet mess on her microfiber carpet.

“Ahhhh, really? Really? So much for the members of the ruling elite,” said Liani, dipping back into the kitchen for a roll of paper towels.

“What do you mean, ‘ruling elite’?” Corey asked.

“Kid comes in last night and drops the better part of two G’s on drinks for the whole bar,” Liani said, “His chip came up Gold.”

“Could explain why Kabbard was after him...pissed off somebody up top. Probably a good thing I’m so ‘paranoid’ and had those rings handy.” Corey got up and squinted at Aden, “Dresses kinda weird for a Mesa Brat, doesn’t he?”

“I thought so, too,” Liani said, emerging with the paper towels and crossed to the futon, “No hex-mesh skinny pants or bad hair.” She knelt beside the puddle and dropped the whole wad on it. As it soaked, she studied her unconscious guest. This ‘Aden’ hardly had any body fat on him at all, drawing the lines of his tight, lanky muscles into sharp creases. His rough skin was slashed and pock-marked all over with dark, ashen scars. A big one on his shoulder. The ghostly forms of the Rasalla raid victims entered her mind. ‘Can you take me home,’ he’d said in the garage last night. Where’s home?

A twinkle of silver thread flickered under his jumpsuit’s lapel. Gently, she lifted the fabric.

“Themis,” she read aloud. Aden’s eyes snapped open.

“AHH!” both Aden and Liani screamed at the same time. He leapt back to climb over the futon and flipped it over, landing with a crashing thud on the faux hardwood.

“WHOA! Whoa, whoa, hey, buddy, you remember me,” said Liani, “Nice lady who fed you too many drinks last night?”

The terror on Aden’s face dimmed a little when he saw her, though he studied the room like some kind of feral child.

“Yeah,” Liani said, “Aden, right? Your name is Aden?”

“I—call me Matteo,” he said, wincing. “Where am I? And why’s my head hurt?” Liani laughed, making him smile shyly.

“You’re at my place,” she said, “My apartment. And your head hurts because you had more girly drinks than I’ve ever seen anyone order in a single evening.”

“Liani, stay back,” Corey said flatly, gripping the curtain rod like a club.

“What? Why?” she asked.

“He’s an escaped convict from the Themis Colony, that’s why, now stay back!” said Corey. Liani furrowed her manicured brows at him.

“Chipped with a gold RFID? They don’t exactly hand those out in the Rasalla District from Red Cross food trucks, Corey, now put the battle axe down.”

Corey hesitated, then obeyed. Matteo looked down at his hand. The ring Corey had fastened there flashed in the kitchen light.

“That’s so they can’t track you,” Liani said, holding up her hand to show hers, “Blocks your signal. Corey, where did you get these anyway?”

“Friends,” he said. Liani rolled her eyes. Matteo scratched around the device and straightened.

“Why am I here? What happened?” He dug his palm into his forehead, wobbled, then sat on the toppled futon. Liani and Corey exchanged glances. They walked slowly around the upturned wooden frame, and peered down at him.

“Corey, get him some water,” she said. Corey frowned and started to say something. Liani shot him the obligatory death stare, sending him pouting on his way to the kitchen. Matteo slouched and stared at the floor through his knees.

“Ade—mm—Matteo. Hi. Ummm, you were really, really drunk, got kicked out, climbed back in, then John Kabbard showed up,” Liani remarked, noting Matteo’s face when she mentioned the name. “And then you freaked out and tried to run. I kind of accidentally knocked you out with the door, so we got you outta there. Brought you...here!” Liani presented her apartment with an awkward flourish. Matteo gave it another cursory look, then tried to stand, stumbling a little on the crooked futon pad. Corey met him at the top with the water.

Matteo looked, nodded, and hesitated, staring at the glass.

“Here, take it,” Corey insisted. Matteo carefully accepted the water, then knocked it back, drinking deeply. Done, he licked his lips, savoring the taste of it. Liani furrowed her brow. Jeez kid, never seen a glass of water before?

“Thanks,” Matteo said, wiping his mouth.

“You’re welcome,” said Corey.

“No...for everything,” Matteo stepped off of the futon, then stooped. He picked up the wood frame and turned it right-side-up.

“Our pleasure. So...what did he want with you? Kabbard,” Liani asked, feeling brave. Matteo froze and seemed to go away in his head. The journalist inside Liani stirred. Ooooh, that is a sensitive subject.

“That man hates us. Always has. My brother used to tell m—” Matteo’s breath sputtered out, choking. He tried to hide it.

“What did your brother say,” Liani asked. Corey put his hand on her shoulder.

“Li...”

“Shh!” She pushed his hand away.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Matteo answered, “Everything’s different.” He noticed the light from the window, then turned. Step by step, he inched toward it as though it might hurt him, then parted a crack in the blinds. She couldn’t see what he was looking at, but whatever it was captivated him.

“You...really are from Rasalla, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I grew up there,” Matteo said without turning from the glass, “Lived there my whole life. But my brothe—I was told I was born here.” The words hung in the room. From the silence, Corey gasped.

“Li, what did you call him before?!”

“At the bar he said it was Aden. His credit account came up under that name too: Aden Rin...Aden Rin-something.”

“Aden Rindal?” The color drained out of Corey’s face. Matteo whirled.

“Jesus, yeah...good guess,” Liani said, cocking an eyebrow at Corey.

“Around eighteen years ago, a well-liked district attorney and his family crashed their transport in the heart of the Slums, killing all three of them. It was chalked up to mechanical failure, but never confirmed since all possible evidence was cut up, carried away, and scattered immediately by the locals. That far out, the first responders barely had time to dispatch, let alone find anything once they got there.”

“Oh my god, are you talking about Alan Rindal?! The freakin’ conspiracy theory? Tell me you’re joking,” Liani said, hoping he was. But out the corner of her eye, she noticed Matteo facing them. Quiet, focused, and still as ice. Her comforting doubt slipped through her fingers.

“Keep going,” Matteo said, staring a hole through Corey.

“Right...um...Rindal was saying some pretty radical things to the press in the days leading up to the crash. Basically went from hard-line party man to whistleblower overnight, going after corruption in every tier of the state. Company man gets a conscience.” Corey shook his head. “It wasn’t a secret he’d made some damn powerful enemies in the process: the Prescott Group, Virton, shit, even the World Bank wanted to shut him up. Most of us, to this day, think someone did. Murdered him, his wife, and newborn son. Alan, Patricia, and...Aden,” Corey finished, looking squarely at Matteo. Shaking now, Matteo lowered himself to the floor. The poor kid looked like he was about to short circuit. Though, something Corey had said itched in Liani’s ears.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘us?’ These shadowy ‘friends’ of yours?” Liani asked.

“It’s a movement, Li, and it’s been building for years. Doesn’t exactly pay the bills so I never got in too deep...but I know a guy. He’s connected. Kind of a weird cat, but he used to feed me leads all the time when I was still just an indy blogger. I think he can help us out.” Corey stepped around the coffee table and reached for his backpack.

“How?” blurted Matteo. Corey stopped and grinned at him.

“You want answers, buddy? They’re all in your head. You’ve been set to record since the day you got that chip.”