Ben Chaney - Son of Sedonia

The Outer Ring passed underneath, wider than he’d ever thought it would be. Miles of short factory buildings, shipyards, and freighter ports stretched on for miles. He could make out tiny ground vehicles as they drove along the circuit-like access roads.

Past the dirty foothill apartments and offices of the Outer Ring edge, the Zeus flew deeper. Buildings took on the familiar angles and beautiful curves he’d studied on faded pages. They lived and breathed in front of him. He could see swarms of people gathering on skywalks, hanging plazas, and balcony tiers. Vehicles dropped from the queue and joined criss-crossing lanes of traffic through the structures. Matteo’s hungry eyes darted everywhere, filling his chest with what felt like white light.

“Arriving at: Kuwahara Commons.” The Zeus dipped down for one of the radial parking pads on the edge of the main plaza. Hovered to a gentle stop. Matteo engaged the landing gear, killed the engine, and tore at the harness buckles. As he popped the release, the canopy slid back. He climbed out on wobbling, half-asleep legs and stepped down the ladder onto the pavement.

Matteo took one last look at the Zeus. Sighed, then turned. He walked briskly toward the plaza steps at the end of the pad. Others around him, dressed in tight-fitting patterns of bizarre clothes, shot glances his way. The bright orange jumpsuit probably got their attention. He unzipped his collar and spread it out, covering the Themis insignia on his chest. Then he ripped at the shoulder seams, tearing off both long sleeves. Whether or not it worked, at least it was more comfortable. He shoved his hands in the pockets, tucked his chin, and walked into the Plaza.

“…for that, Governor Sato, we do hold you accountable!” a loud female voice barked through a megaphone on a raised platform. A crowd of people gathered around her, shouting and waving signs. Matteo squinted to read them. ‘21 EXOs Dead! For what?’ ‘No blood for Corporate Profits!’ ‘Governor Sato: Killer of Children’ This didn’t make any sense. People from the City didn’t get angry about things in the Slums. Do they? Why? He took five steps toward them, then heard heavy engines behind him.

The two Fury Class ships from the Themis hangar descended to the parking pad beside the Zeus. Landed in front of it with their wing guns spooled up. People on the pad scattered, then went about their business like nothing had happened. One of the Fury hatches opened. Kabbard stepped out. Matteo whirled away and pushed past a group of gawking onlookers and into the Plaza.

In the middle of another backward glance, Matteo almost bumped into someone. A skinny, shaggy haired guy had stepped in his path. Handed Matteo a piece of bright red paper.

“Join the Future. Empower yourself,” was all the young man said before turning with a flip of his shiny scarf. Matteo looked at the paper as he sped on through the Plaza. Big, bold letters at the top said: ‘Utopia is an Illusion . ’ Matteo swept a glance over the surrounding skyscrapers. Looks real enough to me. A commotion of angry shouts picked up behind him. The three black-suited forms of Kabbard and his men stormed into the crowd, sifting through the angry protestors. A thicket of screaming bodies and swinging signs blocked them.

Matteo ran, sprinting through ramps, stairwells, and clustered kiosks. He almost tripped through a mound of trash in the street. Leaped to one side. Two concrete tiers above, a massive block of escalators led up to a skywalk. He jumped, kicked off a wall, and lunged through the air. Grabbed curved railing at the top and pulled himself up. A homeless man, dressed in rags and lying on a cardboard sheet, lunged at him. Matteo rolled away and stood up, shocked at the face that could have been pulled straight out of a Falari Market gutter.

He ran to the base of an escalator, got on, and wove as far as he could through the crush of sweet-smelling citizens. All around him, people made strange hand and finger gestures in the air. Swiping, twisting, pinching, tapping. Most talked to themselves. Few to each other. Sure that he was being ignored, Matteo caught his breath and looked back down into the shrinking Plaza. Kabbard and his guys had stopped by a kiosk. One of them, Matteo couldn’t tell who, kicked the pile of trash.

Matteo hung his head and took a deep breath in the belly. Exhaled.

THROUGH HIS PORTHOLE window, Jogun watched the flashlights, torch-flames, and lanterns of Pit workers gather like a swarm of fireflies on the barren plain. Most had probably been on their way back home for the day when they saw the landing fleet of Themis ships and came running. Even exhausted from sixteen hours of work, a payday this big would be hard for any Cutter to pass up. More waste to be cut, carted away, and sold off to the City Seedmaster, maybe buying an extra day’s rice. Seeing them made his chest flutter.

Six years in lunar gravity meant one thing. Atrophy. His limbs were in agony, filling with acid moments after the fleet broke atmo. It was like being under twenty tons of water and on fire at the same time. And now he would be expected to be…what? A hero? A prophet? A savior? He did his best to lay still in the sticky, sweaty upholstery of his cabin seat, trying desperately to enjoy what might be the last peaceful moment left to him. ‘ All you ever tried to do was keep me in the fucking dark!’

He felt the titanic feet of the landing gear flex beneath him and the whole cabin sagged to a full stop. Cheering erupted in the compartments behind him. He and the other old-timers looked around at one another in their forward compartment. Most exchanged tearful nods or held hands with the interlacing of feeble fingers. But the weight. Jogun could feel it in the others as much as himself. Heavier than the gravity dragging down on their bodies, the weight of a long forgotten home suddenly there again… and feeling foreign. Totally alien. He wished he was happier.

Jogun flinched as the compartment door popped then hissed open. Cheering, singing T99s flowed in. Two by two, they lifted each of the old-timers and bore them to the exit ramp. Rusaam and Kolpa were the last two in. They approached with the care of Rasalla River priests, stopping beside Jogun in his private front seat.

“Hey y’all,” said Jogun, “How was your flight?” A brittle smile creased the lines of his sunken cheeks. The two of them exchanged confused looks, each of them searching for just the right thing to say to the almighty ‘Healer.’ Jogun sighed. Nodded. Russam unhooked him from his harness, like a parent does a child, then raised the arm rest. Jogun took a deep breath as the two of them scooped under his legs and supported his back. He winced.

“You okay, Brother? If we’re hurtin’ you, let us know,” said Rusaam.

“I’m fine, but… just call me Jo.”

Rusaam nodded, though Jogun noted the man’s wounded silence. Jogun took a deep breath into his heavy, aching chest.

“Slow and easy, y’all. Let’s go.”

The sounds of the celebration outside wafted up the exit ramp as they walked down. Laughing, crying, shouting, and singing filled the warm, dust-laden sweat of the sunset air. The long forgotten smells of Rasalla filled Jogun’s nostrils, squeezing his throat with the threat of tears.

Ten young T99s in Themis jumpsuits flanked the center path of the ramp, holding fluorescent lanterns to light the way. They had been waiting for the last passenger. As Jogun appeared in the arms of his attendants, the hush spread like a wave in front of him. He fought down the seizing panic, closed his eyes, and breathed deep. Astonished whispers surrounded him as he felt Rusaam and Kolpa step off the angled platform onto the flat desert ground. More voices than he could count. Against every urge to keep them shut, he opened his eyes.