Son of Sedonia (18 page)

“Shit,” said the medic, “Designator missed this little guy too...a full blown RFID...must’ve tripped the fail-safe or something after he got dosed.” On the screen, Matteo saw through the flesh in his forearm. A tiny white object sat between two bones. A crosshair appeared on-screen over the object followed by an electronic beep. Text appeared on-screen.

Remote Frequency Identity activated...

Chip reboot confirmed...

Aden William Rindal

Male / DOB: 06-20-2062

8842 Mesa Ridge Block 2A

Sedonia City

Emergency Contacts:

Alan and Patricia Rindal

(8040)36.257.9816

Blood Type: AB Negative

Software Update 6.682 Available!

Querying remote servers. Please wait...

“Shut it down!” Shima yelled.

“That’s against protocol...I can’t just—”

“SHUT IT DOWN!” The medic fumbled with the buttons on the device. Matteo panicked. Glowing windows, buttons, and bits of text appeared all around him like a bad hallucination. The guards were surrounded by it too. A high-pitched squeal preceded a loud thump. Matteo felt his arm stiffen, then return to normal. Something that had brightened in his brain went suddenly dark again. The visions vanished.

“EMP?” Shima asked. The Doc nodded, “Good. Hopefully we caught it in time...” Shima said.

“Come again?”

“He’s an identity thief, numbnuts. That’s why they used to carry the bodies off when some poor Citizen crashed in their backyard. They call their techs ‘Lifters.’ These guys carve a chip out of a vic’s arm, bootstrap it to a homebrew console, and hack the bio-signatures to match whoever they want. DNA syncs up and everything. So then the bastards sneak into the Net and start cleaning out accounts, or worse, try to jump the Border. Heavy shit, but we’ve seen it before.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about, man?! I never went to no Lifter! I’ve never seen that thing before in my li—!” Matteo shouted, cut off as Shima backhanded him across the face. Matteo spat blood. Then started wheezing. He grasped inside for something to explain this. Anything.
I’m losin’ it! That stuff they shot me with...this is still a dream!

“Like I was sayin.’ You let that update go through, and some family in town gets a message saying that their long lost loved one’s not so dead after all. In fact, they’re alive and well in a lunar penal colony! Imagine their surprise when they find out a cop-killing Sway addict butchered their family for the copper, silicon, and plastic in their arms,” said Shima. The medic looked down at the scanner, then to Matteo.

“Maybe...but the neurotech...the RFID? Both hard as hell to get to work in tandem, and both functioning together in one guy from the Slums. What if he is this...Rindal? Like a kidnap vic or something?”

“No way. Look at him,” Shima grabbed Matteo’s head and jerked it to face the medic, “I’ve been fighting tooth and nail with these scumbags for the better part of a decade. I know how they move. I know how they think,” Shima sniffed, “How they smell.” He released Matteo’s head, stood, then wiped his hands on his flak vest.

“This piece of shit is 100% Grade F Rasalla, and some of my best friends are in the morgue or rotting in the street because of trash like him. Toss ‘em in with the others, and finish the rest without me. It’s been a hell of a day, and I wanna be back planet-side before last call.” Shima limped off past the silent doctor. A guard approached Matteo and stuck him with a stun baton. The familiar slackness spread through Matteo’s body, but he allowed himself to sink into it this time.
I’m dreaming. I gotta be. I’ll wake up soon, eat some shitty rice, and head for the Pits... Please wake up. Please...

“Uh, Shims?” said the medic.

“What.”

“Can’t put him in with gen pop...if the dose didn’t take, he’s a security risk. Gotta send him up to Decom,” said the Medic. Shima turned a grin directly at Matteo.

“Even better.”

They picked Matteo up and shackled him into a harness chair pod, separate from Suomo and a long queue of others in the hall. Two by two, they filed through a plate-steel hatch door at the end. A track in the floor under the chair pod told Matteo he was headed elsewhere. He felt the dull sensation of a pat on the shoulder. A sneering voice whispered in his ear.

“Welcome to the Moon.”

16

Party

THE LIMO HOVERED
to a graceful stop on the landing pad of the prestigious Plateau Ballroom, one of the crown jewels of the Mesa’s upper levels. Kabbard exited first into the full moonlight, wearing a jet black tux but none of the poise. He all but ripped the passenger door off its gull-wing hinges to allow Mr. and Mrs. Enota Sato to step out onto the pad. Sato touched the man on the shoulder and leaned in to an ear.

“Easy, Kabby, I don’t like this any more than you do,” Sato said. Kabbard seethed as he avoided eye-contact, turned, and gently shut the limo door. The craft lifted and then dipped away as the three of them walked toward the red carpeted bridge to the main entrance.
“So concerned for him? What about me? I’m the one who has to squeeze myself into this...lovely frock you say you love so much,” Jada fussed with the creases over her plump hips and belly. The dress was the color of ripe plums with tiny pearls inset around the collar. Its velvet folds soft to the touch. Sato wrapped an arm around her as they walked, hiding his signature caress of her curves. It calmed him.

“You look wonderful,” he told her, smiling to the security guards that stood beside each of the tall, flowing lamp posts along the path. She wrapped her gloved hand around his, tugging it to her stomach. Sato felt a pang, remembering the miscarriage. It was his public reason for the nervous breakdown six years ago, but a contributing factor all the same. Jada had kept her head held high throughout the ordeal.
The strength of this woman.

“You sweet, sweet man...I do hope this evening won’t be too painful for you,” she said.

“The press and half of Congress breathing down my neck about this Rasalla business, and Finley throws a damn party. I can’t wait to see the headlines...”

“You knew this was coming,” Jada turned his wedding band between her thumb and forefinger, “People only like violence when the good guys don’t get hurt. But the effect will be the same, and
you
need to keep Elias happy so they didn’t die for nothing.”

“Right...” said Sato. His eyes drifted up beyond the lamp posts to the Moon. Its historical ‘face’ gone, replaced by geometric patterns...like aerial photos of dead, gray farmland. He sighed. The broad, arched doorway to the ballroom loomed ahead. Above it, a one-hundred-fifty foot tall glass dome bulged up into the night sky. Its hexagonal ribs were nearly invisible due to the golden glow coming from inside.

The door guards in their foppish red tunics stepped forward to open the door. Kabbard waived them off, and took the door himself, double-checking both inside and back down the bridge as he did so. His manner refused to let Sato relax.
Maybe I shouldn’t.

The host at the podium looked like he was dressed for the Nutcracker Suite. Appropriate, considering the classical chamber music lilting in the background. He peered at the trio through stiff features.

“Ah. Governor Sato. Mrs. Sato. Welcome to the Plateau Ballroom. Stephen here will escort you to your table,” he said.

“Thank you,” Sato said, nodding. They walked down the central aisle toward the band.

“
Ah
,” Jada mocked. She turned to her husband, squinted, and sucked in her lower lip. A perfect impersonation. Sato elbowed her as they wove their way through the crowd to their table. Going was slow. The ‘smilers’ all wanted to shake hands or complement Jada or ask about some long forgotten invitation. Thankfully, Kabbard filtered them somewhat...it was both comforting and unsettling how the man checked everyone’s hands.

Arriving at their table was a formality. They wouldn’t be spending much time there, except for Jada to drop off her purse.
Oh, to sit down,
Sato thought.
His patent leather shoes already chafed his feet. One deep breath later, he put on his best ‘Governor’ face and turned to the crowd. Met Finley instead.

“My friend, Enota! So good of you to come on such short notice! And Jada, such a peach...” Finley bowed. Jada curtsied.

“Plum, actually,” she smiled.

“Wouldn’t miss one of your shindigs, now would we, Elias? And an open bar at the Plateau? You’ve outdone yourself,” Sato said. Finley, mid-sip in a glass of cognac, pointed at him.

“I’ve not yet begun to celebrate, sir,” gurgled Finley, “Now. Jada, would you mind terribly if I had a word with your Statesman here?”

Sato smiled through his teeth, and started to shake his head. Jada elbowed him.

“Not at all, Elias! I have hors d’oeuvres to investigate,” said Jada.

“Try the serrano ham slivers and potato purée. Out of this world. Enota? Shall we?”

Sato nodded. Followed the waddling tycoon. Kabbard kept behind at a respectable distance, scanning the room. Sato did some scanning of his own then pitched his voice for only Finley to hear.

“Is all this really wise, Elias?”

“All what?”

“Throwing a party in the most exclusive venue in town after—” Guests walked by and greeted Finley. Sato smiled and nodded to them. Finley laughed.

“After...our little arrangement? Why not? We’re celebrating the crushing defeat of dangerous terrorists and exulting the prosperity to come. I should have thought even you would be happy with such a victory.”

“Overjoyed,” Sato said flatly, “But with twenty-one dead EXOs and their bereaved all over the news, I need to be grieving and venerating, not celebrating.”

“Hmm,” Finley stroked his jowels, “Quite right. One moment.” He toddled to the stage and whispered to the conductor. The music faded as Finley stepped to the mic. Adjusted its height.

“Your attention everyone! I have an announcement to make!” Finley waited a few moments after the crowd settled to continue, “On behalf of Virton Energy, thank you all for coming. Tonight, the esteemed Governor Enota Sato has reminded me that we celebrate not only the safety of our Border, but the deeds of heroes. That is why I officially declare that all proceeds from tonight’s event shall be donated to the EXO division of the Sedonia City Police Department, and the families of our fallen officers. Ladies and gentlemen, to the Governor— and our Heroes.” Finley raised his glass.

“Heroes,” echoed the crowd.

“Thank you for your attention, and please, enjoy the remainder of your evening.”

Applause followed, and the music resumed with a flick of Finley’s wrist. He returned to Sato’s side.

“And between you and I...
to
the
Moon
,” Finley clinked his glass to Sato’s and took a sip. Sato looked down.
When did I order a drink?
It was already half empty. He shook his head and drank anyway.

“...which brings me to the point,” Finley looked around and led Sato out onto the veranda. The Mesa Park fountain shone silvery blue in the center of the gardens. The City hummed softly in the distance with early evening activity. Millions of lights in millions of windows.

“We’re going to need another raid,” Finley said. Sato gagged on a mouthful of scotch and clapped his hand over his mouth. Swallowed hard. Kabbard’s ears had perked up too...he started pacing like a caged tiger.

“Oh come off it, Enota, why else would I pour perfectly good booze money into civil service? Beyond publicly advertising your conscience of course,” said Finley with a grin. Sato leaned on the veranda railing and stared at the park fountain. Finley waddled over and leaned beside him.

“Your boys busted some heads alright, but they made a real mess of it. Out of the twenty-five hundred ‘eliminated terrorists,’ I got only two thousand viable workers. Don’t get me wrong, now, that’s a decent enough start, but we’re having to push further and deeper than we ever have up there. It’s dangerous work...hell, I was losing twenty units a month to radiation, solar winds, cave-ins, and all sorts of other extra-terrestrial pit-falls when we were just staying put on our
current
holdings! Now there have got to be more bad, bad men for your guys to grab in the nearly
twenty
million
lurking beyond the Border.”

“More bodies...” Sato shook his head, “Jesus. The public’s already reeling from combat deaths on our doorstep, and you want me to send them in again? With all the coverage about ‘decapitating the enemy leadership’ the counter-terror angle can only be pushed so far...and if you think I’m tossing more EXOs into that—”

“You’re right! You’re right. The leadership
is
decapitated. Meaning there’s no way they’ll get any kind of a real fight the second go ‘round! It’ll go like the first one should have. Quick, clean, and easy.”

“Easy because they’ll be grabbing street vendors and Pit workers on live TV? Sedonia fears the Slums, Elias, but they’ll see that for what it is.”

“And what is it?” Elias asked. Sato couldn’t reply. He knew what it would mean...what it had already meant. Reports coming in had said not all the prisoners had gang affiliation tattoos. Not all the dead either. Entire neighborhoods were still smoking over the horizon.

“Listen, you think it over,” Finley said as he turned to leave, “But remember the clock’s ticking. I’ll leave you to your ‘grief.’ There’s plenty of your favorite coping mechanism at the bar.” Finley nodded toward Sato’s empty glass, smirked, then walked back inside.

The one quiet moment Sato had had in recent memory was spent rolling the implications in his head.
Another raid
.
More blood
. And the next time, people would be watching closer. What would they see? Augmentor-bound super soldiers kicking down doors and dragging worker families into the street? Regardless of being absolute evil, the Sedonia public might just resent such a spectacle.
The jack-boot of military tyranny stomping firmly on the neck of the lowly working man
. That’s how his critics would spin it anyway. He felt Kabbard approaching.
“I know! I know. I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet, okay?” Sato said.