Truancy Origins (60 page)

Laughing now, Zen struck again and again, forcing Umasi to duck and weave but never allowing him to come too close. Sparks flew everywhere from the flurry of attacks, and Umasi, exhausted in both mind and body, couldn't imagine a way to defeat a weapon with such reach. Zen was saying something now, but Umasi couldn't hear the words. He was close, he knew, to the brink of death. A familiar place. Somehow, it made him calmer than ever, and for a moment he paused to listen.

Instead of Zen's words, he heard something strange filtering through the haze in his head and the noise of traffic and sirens. It was the distant tinkling of a chain.

“I can never tell what you're going to do until the last minute.”

“It's a difficult weapon to predict, but it's better for countering. You're just dodging right now; if you were attacking me it'd be harder.”

“So how am I supposed to beat it?”

“Look for an opening after a failed attack.”

Umasi slowly began to roll up his sleeves. Zen was still talking; he hadn't yet noticed that something had changed with Umasi. Suddenly Umasi rushed forwards, and the wire swished through the air. With speed that surprised even him, Umasi dodged the attack and kept going. Zen lashed out again, and this time Umasi neatly deflected the blow with the rolled-up portion of his sleeves. As Umasi drew closer with his sudden, impossible speed, Zen panicked and swung wildly. This time Umasi jumped over the wire and onto a table, and Zen, with no time to recover from his failed attack, was left wide open.

He could only stare in disbelief as Umasi leapt off the table and down at him. There was a tremendous impact, and the next thing Zen knew, he was gazing upwards, his vision swimming out of focus. He felt a pressure on his unresponsive body, especially around his neck. There was a hand there, he realized. Cold and unyielding.

Then Zen's vision slid back into focus, and he found himself staring up into a pair of dark, triumphant eyes. Umasi's sunglasses had fallen off from the impact, and for the first time that night, the two brothers looked each other in the eye.

Zen had lost.

Umasi had won.

At last, it was over.

L
ate at night, in a dark and empty office at City Hall, a man sat at his computer terminal, illuminated only by the glow of the screen as he typed out an urgent message.

Dear Sirs,

The situation here is far worse than I had ever suspected. I now have good reason to believe that this City is under siege by an unknown rebel organization, and that the Mayor has been deliberately concealing this fact. The District 1 School was allegedly demolished last month, but after having checked the records I found that no such demolition had ever been scheduled. What's more, dozens of Enforcer personnel have been unaccounted for since that incident. Rothenberg himself has been confined to a hospital ward with broken knees. Supposedly the Mayor has prevented him from receiving surgery that would allow him to walk again.

Perhaps most alarmingly, I have discovered that the Mayor's surrogate sons are nowhere to be found. I am not sure how or if these mysteries are connected, but I do know that the boys have not been attending school for months.

There is no time; I fear that my investigations may have already attracted the Mayor's attention. I request immediate Government intervention to secure this City, and recommend that the experiment be officially suspended. A separate investigation into th_

“What's all this, Jack?”

The man froze with his fingers still on the keys. Hastily switching the monitor off, he spun around in his chair and straightened his tie.

“Just writing a report, Mr. Mayor.”

“Oh I don't doubt that. It's a been a while since you last contacted our masters, hasn't it?”

Jack was careful not to let his sudden panic show on his face.

“What are you talking about, sir?”

“I know that you're a Government spy, Jack. Even if I hadn't known before, I would have after seeing the letter that you were writing.”

Jack sat up in his chair, abandoning all pretense of innocence.

“How long have you known?”

“I always suspected,” the Mayor replied. “But I was never able to prove it until recently. Your mistake was trying to use your position to conduct your investigation; while you were watching Rothenberg, I was watching you. You should have suspected that the appointment was a trap.”

“So I should have.” Jack nodded. “I guess that this letter won't be reaching the Government now.”

“You know I can't allow it to.”

“They'll find out anyway. If they haven't already.”

“Perhaps, but I used to have the same job as you, Jack. I know how these things work. I doubt that there's a spy left in the City that I'm not keeping tabs on. In my opinion, the only way the Government could find out that there's a problem is if it goes public.”

“Then since it no longer matters anymore,” Jack said, “why not tell me what exactly the problem is? Where
are
your sons?”

For a moment the Mayor was silent, his entire body a grim silhouette against the faint light of the hallway.

“One of them is dead,” the Mayor said at last. “I just found out yesterday.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be, Jack. If anyone that works for me is at fault, it's Rothenberg.” The Mayor's face contorted in anger. “The doctors say that they can fix him, but as far as I'm concerned the man will never walk again. Nor will he ever see anything but the sterile walls of his ward.”

Jack shifted uncomfortably.

“So what happens to me?”

“You know what Government thinks of spies that get caught.” The Mayor shrugged. “Procedure states that I'm supposed to fire you, and that you're supposed to sever contact with the outside.”

“How convenient for you.”

“I didn't make those rules, Jack, but I think that they work best for the both of us. I won't have to worry about you sending that report, and you won't have to worry about upsetting me.”

Jack nodded slowly. He knew that the Mayor never made idle threats, and he also knew a good deal when he saw one. Turning around, he flicked the monitor on and deleted his partially written message. The Mayor gave a nod of approval when he was done.

“I'll see to it that you get a generous severance package,” the Mayor said, turning to leave. “Go home to your family, Jack, and give young Tack my regards. I hope that your children lead happier lives than mine.”

With that, the Mayor strode out of the clerk's office and over to the elevator that would return him to his own. Once there he sat down at his desk with a heavy sigh, and after a moment's indecision opened a drawer where
a single sheet of paper was stowed. The letter had arrived in a plain envelope by normal post, and though he had already memorized every word, the Mayor unfolded it to read again.

Mr. Mayor,

Zen is dead. I killed him. The Truancy he created lives on, but I will not fight it, or you, any longer. My part in this has already been played, and I intend to retire in peace to District 19. I do not want to see you, but you have nothing to fear from me so long as you refrain from invading my new home. Don't think too badly of me—I did what had to be done, so that you would not have to.

Sincerely,
Umasi  

As the Mayor slid the note back into the drawer, he reflected on how strange he felt. He had spent months in slow agony, waiting for bad news, but now that it had come it hurt less than he'd expected. The Mayor thought that he should be wallowing in grief and despair, but instead the emptiness within him had very quickly been filled with rage.

Zen had died because of the Truancy. The Mayor let that thought float at the front of his mind like a buoy, keeping him from sinking into despair. Had his heart not been broken, it would have told him that the thought was a lie, but for now he relished having a scapegoat. Rather than grieve, the Mayor needed to blame someone for his loss. He needed a focus for his anger.

And in the City, it was so much easier to blame children than to blame yourself.

“I will wipe them out,” the Mayor swore, “even if I have to kill every last student in this City!”

The Mayor laughed as he flicked his lighter open. Things had become very simple now. There was no need for restraint or mercy anymore. A problem had arisen in his City, and he would solve it, any way he had to.

 

Z
yid shut his eyes, gripped the solid piece of wood, and yelled as he lunged. The fake sword struck the mannequin, but he heard neither the crack of the impact nor the crash after the mannequin's head flew across the room and against a wall. All he felt was the recoil in his hands, the jolt that traveled up his arm and shook him to his very core.

Damn.

Zyid knew that he was still fast and that his blows were still powerful. He could muster up what looked like, to all others, genuine ferocity. Only
he knew that it wasn't. His fire had burnt out. His defeat had been more than frustrating—it was devastating. Every time Zyid tried to summon up his will to fight, all he saw were Umasi's cold eyes staring into his, in that moment when he had felt true fear, that moment when he had faced death.

You're
killing,
and if you don't love your work, how can you ever succeed at your job?

That was it, he realized. The joy had gone out of battle. Never again would Zyid be able to fight like he once had. He felt diminished, weakened, a shadow of his former self. Umasi had not killed him, but Zyid knew he had been crippled for life. Would anyone notice? Perhaps not. Zyid was still so far ahead of most of them that they might not be able to tell the difference. But all it would take, Zyid knew, was one extraordinary person determined to kill him, and he would fall.

Ever since his defeat, Zyid had become acutely aware that someone would eventually finish what his brother would not. Umasi, Zyid realized, had not done him a favor by sparing his life. It wasn't just his fighting spirit that had been affected; he had begun doubting his actions, his motives, even himself and the Truancy he had started.

Lately, this doubt had begun to turn into regret, and regret into guilt, which he already had plenty of. After going for so long without it, Zyid was finally learning that no emotion was more self-destructive than remorse.

Zyid balefully picked up the mannequin's head and placed it back onto its body. It was far too late to go back, but he now knew that he couldn't continue all the way forward. His conviction had been shattered. He was no longer even sure that what he was doing was right . . . and how could he see it through when he was no longer certain?

Zyid looked out the window of the flower shop. Gabriel and Alex were having a mock fight in the street as other Truants gathered around as spectators. They laughed and cheered, oblivious of their leader's inner conflict.
They
were certain of their cause. They placed absolute faith in the Truancy, and in him.

Zyid's eyes locked on to a dark figure leaning against a wall in the shadows. Noni was there, watching the fight like the rest of them, probably sizing up the combatants. Zyid had noticed that she had changed, subtly, since the destruction of the District 1 School. She wore her ponytail in a braid now, and no longer questioned him about anything, nor did she try to protect him. Zyid wasn't sure what had brought about the change, but he wasn't fooled; he could tell that beneath the scarf and the icy barrier, Noni depended on him more than any of the others.

Zyid turned away from the window with a sigh. He knew that he could
never abandon them, and so with a heavy heart he stood up to join them, resolved to play his part.

At least until one of them could take his place.

 

C
ross stood and stared blankly around him, dazed. Just hours ago he had been at home cleaning the bathroom, alone as usual. Then came the knock on the door, and the next thing he knew he was standing in the entrance hall of the local orphanage with nothing but a small suitcase of his belongings. His father, he'd been told on the way, had been permanently crippled in the line of duty and wouldn't be able to take care of him anymore.

Cross had almost smiled at that last part.

At any rate, after a couple months, someone at Enforcer Headquarters had apparently remembered that Cross existed. They were nice enough to send an Enforcer to bring him to the orphanage, but not quite nice enough to warn him that they were coming. It was a lot to take in all at once, and Cross didn't yet know quite what to think or how to feel about any of it. The woman in charge of the orphanage had been nice enough when he arrived, though she seemed flustered at the prospect of finding somewhere to put him.

“We're completely full in all the other dorms, Mary,” a janitor informed her. “Barely enough room to bring the vacuum cleaner through as it is.”

Mary sighed theatrically.

“Thank you, Maxwell,” she said, and then turned to Cross. “Well, nothing else we can do then, dear. We'll just have to put you in Edward's room.”

Before Cross could ask who or what Edward was, Mary had seized his hand and began to lead him down a dimly lit side hallway. He was half-expecting to be put into a kennel with a dog, but when they came to a stop and opened a door he was instead greeted with a nearly empty dormitory that could have accommodated six. The lights were off, but the figure sitting alone on one of the bunks was clearly not a dog, but a perfectly normal-looking boy.

“Usually we let him have the whole space to himself,” Mary whispered in Cross' ear. “I daresay after all he's been through the poor boy deserves some privacy. But you seem nice enough, I do hope that you two get along.”