Son of Sedonia (6 page)

“M-matteo,” his mouth sputtered blood, “Y-you got this...” Something like a smile creased his broken mouth as the EXOs threw him inside. They found an empty seat, hefted Jogun’s limp body, and dropped him in. A bulky metal harness locked down on him. Kabbard and the officers stepped inside.

“We’re good here, button it up,” Kabbard said. The hatch door clamped shut, swallowing all of them. As the thrum of the engines picked up, the drop-ship listed heavily to the right, pulled up, then blasted off into the night sky.

Matteo whimpered. Though unhurt, he struggled to open his eyes. The rooftop was dark and quiet again, and wet black stains glistened on the metal. The magazine sprawled open near Matteo’s feet. Its pages flapped in the breeze.

5

Greater Good

SERGEANT KABBARD FELT
the landing gear of the IG-6 touch down at last, though tonight he couldn’t let the relief of the dying engines fully take him. The worst part of the job waited outside the passenger hatch. He, Mason, and Shima unhooked their harnesses and stood up. Checked each prisoner’s restraints. Kathy Roland’s killer looked up as Kabbard tugged on the shackles. The swollen eye-pits stared, weeping bloody tears.

“Show time,” Kabbard said as he stepped to the door. Keyed his throat mic. “Rear compartment secure, open her up,” he said. The hatch hissed open, revealing a legion of reporters, camera men, and bright stinging lights. Their questions overlapped one another in a squabbling din that echoed through the main hangar of EXO Headquarters. Shima, the new kid, grinned and waved. Kabbard slapped the hand down. He felt bile rise in his throat as he prepped the broken, bloody scumbags for transfer. Cuffed at the wrists and ankles, each limp body was un-hooked and placed on a procession of hover gurneys. Kabbard sure as hell didn’t feel like a movie star. Covered in dried blood and Rasalla dirt, he stepped out.

“Sergeant! Sergeant!” one of the voices called out from the paparazzi, “Which one killed the District Attorney?”

Kabbard looked at the bodies. Pointed to the boy who had shown up in the last mem-data entry on Mrs. Roland’s RFID chip. A skinny, malnourished kid of eighteen covered in bruises, blood, and clear bone breaks. Kabbard knew what was coming next. The GloboMetro press corps wanted a monster. A raging, evil face to justify the fear of the people beyond the Border. This little shit-bird didn’t qualify.

“Sergeant, how do you account for the prisoner’s condition?”

“Resisting arrest,” Kabbard said as he tried to push past the throng. The voices shouted more questions until one cut above the rest.

“Sir, Kathy Roland was a staunch defender of due process and fair treatment of the Dwellers! What do you think she would say about this?”

Kabbard stopped in his tracks. Turned to face the reporter. A jumped up twenty-something metroboy with short, carefully shaped hair and a pound of makeup. An Inner Ring yuppie who’d never known real horror.

“She can’t say anything now. This
Dweller
shot her in the face for the contents of her vehicle. Happened plain as day in the mem-feed, so we were able to get the conviction on the way here, now if you’ll excuse us...” Kabbard, Shima, and Mason towed the line of prisoners to the acquisitions team while the other officers corralled the press.

“Fuckin’ vultures,” Mason muttered.

“Just another part of the machine,” Kabbard said. He was tired in his bones. The fighting would never stop, outlasting his last breath by centuries. And the City would always demand more. The procession stopped at the acquisitions team and the transfer shuttle. As the bodies started tracking into the cargo hold, most of their eyes were wide open. Scanning the high ceilings of the EXO HQ bay in animal terror. Tears streamed through the dried blood on the murderer’s cheeks.

“I could use a drink or twelve,” said Mason, “Dive Bar? Kid, you in?”

“Hell yeah!” Shima said, pushing the gurneys along.

“Sergeant!” an unfamiliar voice spoke up, stopping Kabbard before he could decline Mason’s invitation. A blonde haired, bug eyed man in his late twenties stood behind the officers. His suit was clean, pressed, and perfect...the kind that screamed ‘Government.’

“My name is Andreas,” said the young man, “Sedonia Chief of Security. Mister Sato would like to speak with you.”

“Look, son, it’s been a day and I really don’t feel like a long ride up to the Tower, so—”

“Follow me, please,” said Andreas.

Kabbard recognized an order when he heard one. He looked at Mason. The old vet snorted a laugh, and nodded toward the Suit.

“Go ahead, we’ll finish up,” said Mason.

Andreas led the way down the platform and across a skywalk to the main complex. The massive structure of equipment bays, barracks, and office space rose from the sixtieth floor to the hundred-and-twentieth. The angled prow of the building stood sentry over the Outer Ring, the Border, and the twinkling Slums beyond.

From the main lobby, they took the elevator up to the executive level. Commander Gorman’s office.
Sato’s here? In person?
Kabbard thought to ask, but knew Andreas wouldn’t answer. Suits were like that...solid gold rods shoved so far up their ass that they’d never bend over for the ‘lower folk.’ Andreas swiped his chip arm over a security plate and the elevator doors opened onto a long windowed hall. They turned right through the double doors to the main conference room. Voices inside.

“—for us, we’ll of course be in your debt,” Governor Enota Sato turned in his chair, “Sergeant Kabbard! Thank you for coming and apologies for the interruption...I’m sure you’re ready to clock out for the night. Please, have a seat...care for a drink? This eighteen-year-old Choril Scotch isn’t going to drink itself.” Sato pulled a fluted crystal bottle from the center of the table and started to pour into a short glass. Commander Gorman sat opposite to Sato with a glass of his own.

“No thank you, sir, I’m still on duty. Water would be fine,” said Kabbard. Though polite as he could manage, it still sounded like a rebuke. Not giving much of a damn, he walked to one of the high-backed chairs and took a seat. The bouncy cushions felt strange against his bulky Augmentors.

“Good man. The Commander and I were just discussing what a good job you did this evening. You handled yourself
very
well with the press...not an easy task, I know,” Sato said, smiling.

Kabbard frowned. Darkened.

“I told the truth. Katheryn Roland deserved justice,” said Kabbard.

“Yes...yes, of course,” Sato said, “Which leads me straight to the point. The Commander and I agree that your service to this City has been more than exemplary, but your abilities
far
outstrip your station. John Kabbard, I would be honored to have you for my new Chief of Security.” The words seemed to take the wind out of the room. Kabbard instinctively glanced at Andreas. The young Suit seethed in the corner, holding an eerie silence. Kabbard tensed, sensing the kind of rage that could slip so easily to violence.
This kid is a killer...

“Andreas here has done a great job for us, but it’s time for some new blood in this administration,” said Sato, “He will assist you in the transition.”

Andreas excused himself from the room with a rapid click-click-click of his patent leather shoes. In the silence that followed, Kabbard realized that the Commander and the Governor were waiting.

“I appreciate the offer, sir, but...my place is here with the EXOs,” Kabbard said. An assistant entered the room, quietly placed a tall glass of clear water on the table in front of him, and left.

“What, do you think, is the purpose of the EXOs?” Sato asked. The question was almost insulting until Kabbard started thinking of an answer.

“To secure the Border...to protect law, order, and democracy for those on the other side...” Kabbard stopped, interrupted by Sato shaking his head.

“I asked what
you
think,” said Sato, “Men like you aren’t impressed by the official version, and I know it.”

That knocked Kabbard back a step. There might be more to this Suit than the squeaky-clean public persona. Kabbard’s true opinion stuck in the back of his throat. He knocked back the glass of water, swallowed, then took a breath. Forced the words out.

“Public opinion and control. Government uses the idea of an Enemy to keep civilians afraid. Scared people are easier to unify. Easier to distract. It’s our job to keep the fear fresh and the wheels turning,” Kabbard said. Twenty years of accumulated cynicism in a handful of words. Commander Gorman shifted his stocky frame uncomfortably in his seat, and looked at Sato. The Governor blinked. Shook his head as though suddenly disoriented.

“Well...there it is. A surprising view for a civil servant to say the least. Thank you, Sergeant...though the next question is obvious. If that’s the case, why stay?” asked Sato.

“Ours is not to reason why,” Kabbard said.

“...but to do or die. Tragic and beautiful,” Sato said, “But I wonder. Would you be willing to hear a
better
reason?”

Kabbard furrowed his brow, skeptical but suddenly alert.

“The EXOs remind our neighbors beyond the Border of our power and authority, so that they don’t even
think
of crossing the wall. You and your men, in effect, keep the desolation of the Slums from infecting the best of Humanity, but that by itself is unsustainable. So what’s the solution?” Sato waited for an answer. Kabbard had none to offer. The governor continued.

“We protect our Border so that we can preserve our strength. If we preserve our strength, we can not only grow, but
flourish
again and hasten the day when City and Slum are one and the same. When the Border is dismantled and prosperity returns to all.”

Kabbard looked down, staring at his glass of water.
A solution? Peace? Repatriation?
His mind rejected it instantly. A liberal pipe dream, and possibly a dangerous one. Yet his palms slicked with sweat on the cool glass. Sato leaned forward. Continued.

“John, this is impossible without a man like you. I need someone who understands the Slums. Someone who’s walked in the rows of Falari Market. Someone who knows the people and someone who the people know...on both sides,” Sato leaned back, “It’s a lot to take in, I know...especially after the day you’ve had. Go home and think it over.” Sato stood up and extended his open hand. Kabbard did the same and accepted the handshake. He nodded to Gorman, turned, and left the conference room on the way to the lockers.The commute back to his Inner Ring apartment went by in a flash. A blurry, distracted Superway train ride through the dingy high-rises of the lower middle class.
Peace is impossible. The Slums might as well be a separate country. A separate hostile country. They’d never trust us again.

“Watch your step. Watch your step,” said the artificial woman’s voice through the Superway speaker. Kabbard looked up, disoriented. Stood and shuffled out with the other red-eye commuters into Seraphim Station. The cavernous commercial hub throbbed with neon advertisements that clawed at his attention. All around, people were absorbed in their Neurals, browsing restaurant menus, ordering clothes, and podcommenting on aggregator blogs. Apps as extensions of their minds and bodies. A few played aug-games, dodging simulated green fireballs they threw at one another. Kabbard’s law enforcement Neural allowed him to see through all the privacy-mode blocks. He ground his teeth as he disabled it. No one was watching the news. Or giving a damn about the third world country a shuttle-ride away. They flooded in and out of the segmented Superway cars like blood cells flowing through a vein, gathering at the Commons’ hundreds of shops and kiosks.
Consume, rinse, repeat. If they only knew.

IAfter a half-hour trip over skywalks, up commuter lifts, and into the Alessi Building, Sergeant Kabbard arrived at his single studio box in the wall. Neighbors passed without a glance as he buzzed himself in, shut the door, and plopped down in his beat-up recliner.

He looked around. Cardboard moving boxes stacked in each corner. How long had they been there? Seemed like only last week when he found Shannon’s note saying that she couldn’t ‘take anymore’ and was leaving with the kids. Their family pictures sat off in the corner, still encased in thick, green bubble wrap. He’d moved out of their dream apartment in Whitlatch and into this squat.
Must have been, what, four years ago? five?

The long nights. The endless browsing through her Neu feed, waiting for a message, or worse, a news update. The painful, silent dinners and days off. The nightmares. The outbursts. She’d had enough. He both hated her and understood.

Kabbard got up and stepped outside to the shallow balcony. The City wound down to its midnight humming glow. The soft roar of civilization filled him as his civilian-clothed body tingled and twitched from Augmentor withdrawal.
My City...
he thought. All the sacrifices he’d made for it. Had he really helped at all? No clear answer came.

He looked up. High above the scraper-tops, the hazy spire of Sedonia Tower stabbed into the sky. The red light at its peak blinked silently like a watchful eye. He chuckled to himself.

“Well...it’d be one hell of a paygrade bump.”