Ben Chaney - Son of Sedonia

“Nerd,” Liani snickered under her breath. A booming laugh from the worker startled all three of them. The spectators all around seemed to relax.

“Shit yeah! I used to check out EoV all the time! So… you must be TruthHammer! You’re a real wise-ass, bro,” the man chuckled as if remembering an example. Liani laughed out loud.

“TruthHammer?!”

“Told you, I’m a badass,” Corey said sheepishly. Matteo heard the click, saw the handgun.

“Whoa—” Corey started.

“Sorry, T.H., just a precaution. EoV went dead five years ago, and that’s plenty of time to turn Fed. Give me the rings and show me the arms.” Corey frowned, then took his off. Nodded to Matteo and Liani who both followed suit. Matteo watched as his two new friends held out their left forearms. The worker took out a local profile scanner and touched it over their chips, triggering a quick beep.

“Hm,” the man said, reading as he stepped to Matteo. Matteo turned his arm over and hesitated, looking at the skin. He remembered Themis. Being pinned to the ground and forced to submit to a similar device. He looked at Liani.

“It’s okay,” she said, “It doesn’t hurt.”

Matteo nodded. Stretched the arm out for the worker. Reading the profile, the worker’s eyes went wide.

“Yeah. He’s what’s worth your while,” Corey said, “calls himself Matteo, but, as you can see, the chip’s got a different name.”

“He follows me. You two stay here,” he said, turning away.

“Wait, what?! No, man, we’re—”

“You’re Media, or at least you were. We can’t risk you leaking anything that we’d rather keep tight,” the worker tapped a finger on the side of the gun, “No arguments.”

Matteo stole himself, putting on the toughest scowl he could. But truth was, every inch further into the complex they went, his nerves screamed. He buried the thousands of questions for the moment and refocused his mind on their route. A long forgotten lesson from Jogun surfaced right on cue. ‘When in doubt, know the way out.’ The voice was so vivid in his head. Heard through the new knowledge of his hidden talents, it dropped a lead weight on his shoulders. Still, he did his best to take the advice.

He found the pattern in their path. Thick black cables hung bracketed to the metal frame walls. Some kind of hard line setup for both power and networking, not all that different from some of the rigs used around Rasalla. The EXOs could tap into Wi-Fi signals too easily. The cops had to find a local hard line before they could hack in. Why would anybody on this side of the Border need to hide like this? The people of the City were all supposed to be rich, fat, and comfortable, living in beautiful apartments that look down on the rest of the world. Do the EXOs raid here too? In their own City?

Another turn and the two of them arrived at a small clearing in the structure. In the center of the cylindrical chamber squatted an older model IG-6 military transport. Matteo flinched as years of programming begged his legs to run. But this one was rusted. Sleeping under a camouflage net to hide it from open sky. A ring of dried mold surrounded its base and crept up the hull, showing him it hadn’t moved in a long time. The black cables wormed their way up to modified ports all over and around the ship, spread over the platform like thick noodles. The worker stepped over the cables toward the ship. Matteo hesitated. Heard the familiar click.

“No turning back now, I’m afraid,” said the worker, holding the gun for Matteo to see, “C’mon.” With every step, the decaying ship grew. It loomed over the two of them as they approached the hatch door under the nose. A surveillance camera next to the hatch buzzed as it focused on the two of them.The worker grinned up at it, showing his crooked stained teeth.

“It’s Simon, open up,” he called up to the camera, “Got a special guest who’d like to… uh… reminisce.” The hatch bolts popped and the door squealed open on rusty hinges.

It took a moment for Matteo’s eyes to adjust in the dim blue glow of the inside. Flickering monitors lined the stripped bulkheads, outlining seated figures. They swiveled in their chairs to look at him, then turned back to their work. Whatever that might be. A thin figure descended from a ladder in the ceiling and jumped down, landing with a thud on the metal floor. The hot cherry of a lit cigarette swayed from side to side in the twilight as the figure walked over to greet them. A monitor brightened, lighting the mystery man’s face. Just a kid?

He had to be between Matteo and Jogun’s age. Sunken eyes studied Matteo in the dark, set in a gaunt, scruffy face. He was thin except for a slight gut and dressed in a filthy undershirt and baggy sweatpants. They watched each other in silence for a moment.

“Well?” asked the raspy, young voice, “What’s up Inner Ring? How can I be of service?”

“You’re Illyk?” Matteo asked. The strange kid spread his arms and bowed.

“A votre plaisir,” Illyk intoned, “Now, I’m busy so get to your fucking point.” Matteo had just about enough.

“I’m not ‘Inner Ring.’ I’m not any ‘Ring.’ My name’s Matteo and I grew up in Rasalla. Scrap, ashes, and dirt, but this ,” Matteo held up his left arm, “This says my name is Aden Rindal.” Illyk sucked on the filter of the cigarette, staring. The others in the room stopped typing and turned in their seats. Matteo felt hard, expectant eyes on him. The air hung dead as Illyk exhaled a curling plume of smoke.

“That’s… a heavy story… ‘Aden,’” Illyk said, “‘Long lost son of the fallen hero.’ Not sure I believe it, although trust me… I’d like to. That’d get some serious cloudtime, and way beyond just the forums. Dad, prep the Chair for our guest here.” Simon crossed the room, opened an inner hatch door, and dipped out of sight. Illyk stepped closer to Matteo, his sour breath seeping out as he spoke.

“To reiterate, I’d like to believe you. But I don’t. My time and services are not only valuable, they are very, very risky and, as I’m sure you know, very, very illegal. We’ll take a look for you, but it comes with a price. Whatever I find, I copy and keep, got it?”

Matteo didn’t. He squinted at Illyk.

“TM Data, bro. Your worst, most traumatic memories. Don’t ask me why, but people pay max credits to live through someone else’s pain and anguish. Not exactly pretty, but it’s how we keep the lights on and fight the good fight, so I’ll repeat: Whatever I find, I copy and keep. Got it?”

Matteo clinched his fists. Looking around the room, the others were still seated in front of their screens. Illyk looked pale. Underfed. He could take him. A quick punch to the jaw or throat, then he’d flip around to deal with…

Matteo felt the gun barrel dig into the small of his back. Simon. Father to the grinning rat boy in front of him.

“Sorry, kid, it’s for the cause,” said Simon, “Think of it as your contribution. Now let’s go have a seat.”

It was a reclining chair bolted into a platform in a small separate chamber. A headdress of electrodes and wires sprouted from the headrest like some kind of techno jellyfish. Open shackles waited for his limbs on the arm and leg rests, each blinking inside with strange technology. Where the main cabin had been for prisoner transport, this room was for something else. Interrogation . Matteo had heard rumors around the market about it. The EXOs would strap you down in this chair, hook you up to machines, and put the screws on you. A few T99s would try to brag that they got put in the chair and never gave up a thing. But the ones that really went through it… they never came back the same. Most spent the rest of their lives as permanent patients in the Temple. Matteo prayed a silent prayer that the hardware in his head made him different. Corey said I was recording… maybe they’ll just hit ‘Play’?