Ben Chaney - Son of Sedonia

He traced a clockwise circle on the armrest touchpad. The tinted windows turned clear, brightening the limo cabin with the emerald skyscrapers of the City’s Center Ring. He squinted through the migraine as he peered outside. Almost home. He reached into his coat pocket, produced a small green capsule, and tossed it into his mouth. Spearmint erased his bourbon breath as he watched the two-hundred story high-rises pass by. The calm flow of traffic drifted in perfect choreography. It soothed him…until the thought of a crash intruded. Jesus, Kathy…why couldn’t you just take the money and keep quiet?

The limo merged with a climbing slope of traffic and exited into a neighborhood of luxury penthouses. Open-air swimming pools, roof deck patios, and lyrical floor-plans passed underneath. The limo dipped and touched down on the corner pad of a crescent shaped complex. Part of him relaxed, but luxury in this part of town brought with it the sensation of being utterly trapped. It took a moment to stir himself from the leather upholstery when his driver opened the hatch.

“We’ve arrived, sir,” the driver gently reminded him. Sato’s posture straightened. Chin raised, he lifted himself out of the hatch, triggering a head-rush. He winced as the ice-pick sharp pain bored into his temples. The driver moved to help. Sato waved him off, then descended the remaining limo steps, put his feet on solid ground, and adjusted his suit.

Walking was harder than he’d guessed. He reigned in his staggering as best he could along the paver-stone walkway. His rooftop villa didn’t appear to get any closer. The low arcades of curved window-walls swayed ahead of him, fuzzy against the shining backdrop of the City. The driver trotted ahead and waved a bare forearm over the security plate, triggering a beep. Sato caught up slowly. Nodded a terse ‘thank you’ and stepped inside the foyer.

His villa was dark and still inside. The main hall windows had all been set to maximum tint and no interior lights were on. Sato paused and swayed.

“Jada?” he called out, straining to hear against the ringing in his ears. Nothing. He cleared his throat.

“Windows thirty percent.” he said. The black glass panes cleared, spilling golden light into the main hall. Lacquered Spanish tables, art deco bronzes, and marble tile shone in the glare. Sato squinted.

“Make that sixty-five percent.” The hall softened to a rich, honeyed orange and he rubbed his eyes. Crossed the entry hall and turned into the kitchen. Black marble counter-space lined the walls, inset everywhere with stainless steel appliances. The place was spotless. Scrubbed in a way that told Sato she’d been stress-cleaning again. He poured himself a tall glass of water, drank it down, then turned to the right. Stumbled through the dining room. High arched ceilings of glass and ribbed rosewood craned above a long black table.

“Jada?” He listened. A muffled voice carried down the hall from an adjacent room. Sato followed the sound until he made out the words.

“On-scene investigators have said that with so much of the craft having been stripped, the exact cause of the crash could not be determined. However, many owners of the ‘72 model have issued complaints in past months referring to errors in the navigation system and aerial attitude control. The FAA has issued a statement that formal inquiries will also be made into the impact foam delivery system of the Pulsar HVX…”

A ninety inch screen reflected its grim images off the vaulted glass ceiling. Sato’s stomach turned. A GloboMetro Special Report showed HD video of Kathy Roland’s family transport, gutted and stripped on a rooftop in the Slums. A series of sharp sniffles and sobs came from the leather sectional couch. He swallowed.

“Jada? What’s going on? What happened?” Sato said. Jada pushed upright from her nest of blankets on the couch. The folds of her satin bathrobe wrapped her round, protruding belly. She wiped tears and bleeding mascara from her cheeks.

“Enota! You scared m—it’s Kathy… Kathy Roland, her car crashed in the Slums. She’s missing…they,” Jada’s throat tightened, “they say that she and her family have been taken…probably killed . She was coming to the shower next week, I…” Her soft features twisted in anguish as she cradled her round belly. Trembled with each heavy sob.

Sato sat next to her, pulled her close, and placed a hand on her stomach. She cried hard into his chest. His mouth opened to say something but the words evaporated when he felt a tiny kick against his hand. Jada’s sobbing died down, and she sniffed hard.

“H-have you been drinking?”

“One in the car on the way here, that’s all. Rough day.”

DUSK CREPT ACROSS the overcast sky toward the horizon. Miles of evening lights flickered on, feeding the dull orange glow of the clouds and the ruddy twilight of the Slums beneath. But the south-western Rasalla district waited quietly in the dark. With the EXOs on the war path and the risk of stray bullets, the locals shut off their lamps and locked themselves indoors.

Jogun felt exposed no matter which corner he ducked into. Word was the EXOs could see in the dark… maybe even through walls. He crouched at the edge of an alley underneath a fire escape. Pouring sweat and out of breath, he struggled to hold still and listen. No engines. No thump-whine-thump-whine of Augmentor boots… at least none that he could tell. He eased a hand into his satchel and searched through the contents. Touched the cool sweat of his water bottle. A few things shifted and clinked in the pack. He winced.

Jogun gulped a mouthful of cloudy water, replaced the cap, and swallowed the urge to clear his throat. He put the bottle back in his pack then pulled the draw-string shut. Settled a moment. His exhausted muscles throbbed in the stillness. I made it quick for her… it was mercy. Mercy. He shook his head, cleared the woman’s bloody face from his mind, and leaned out of the alley’s edge. Scanned the red gloom of the street. Beyond a few meters of open ground, a narrow stairway carved a path upward through a multi-tiered neighborhood of scrap metal shacks and lean-tos. They’d run him all the way to the Northwest edge of Rasalla, almost to South Bogi. Jogun stayed still for a few more heartbeats. All quiet …

He sucked a breath, ducked low, and sprinted toward the stairs. No more than four strides passed when he heard it over his own footfalls. The rhythmic, violent thumping of an approaching EXO. Panic begged his body to push harder. Shit! He leaped for the stairwell and crashed hard against the mud-brick steps. Pain shot up his right side but fear kept it dull. He pressed his back against a shack wall.

Thump-whine-thump-whine-THUMP. The EXO crouched on the rooftop two buildings down from where Jogun had hidden in the alley. A black silhouette against the dim copper sky. The EXO touched something on his hip then the whine of Augmentor servos died to silence. The ambient roar of the City filled the neighborhood.

Jogun paralyzed himself against the wall. He was out of the cop’s line of sight, but that didn’t mean much. No way of knowing if they could hear the faintest sound, trace the smallest sign… or even smell fear. Jogun slid a hand behind his back and wrapped his fingers around the pistol grip. He eased the weapon out from his waistband.

Two electronic beeps from the rooftop shattered the moment. Jogun froze.

“No sir, it’s all lights-out over here. Sector 7’s on lock down—.” The EXO’s voice, though hushed, echoed against the thin metal walls of the block, bouncing down to Jogun.

“Yes sir, on my way.” The EXO’s Augmentor gear whirred to life. He straightened, stretched, then loped off East. Jogun slackened. Hearing the thumping foot-falls fade away, he holstered the pistol. Pain flushed through the shoulder that had broken his fall on the steps. He threw the satchel over the less-sore shoulder and limped toward home.