Son of Sedonia Read Online Free
Author: Ben Chaney
barb flicked out of the grip. He stooped, twisted the T99’s head to the right, plunged the barb into the base of the neck, and squeezed the trigger. The skinny gangster seized, shocked out of the stupor. Kabbard waited calmly as the thug shook his head and looked up at the three EXOs.
“The fuck you want, robo?” asked the gangster.
“Oh yeah, we’re a hard ass , aren’t we?!” Kabbard stood with the buzz of servos. Planted the armored toe of his boot in the scumbag’s ribcage. Once the coughing died down, Kabbard knelt.
“Names and whereabouts,” Kabbard said, “The pain stops when you tell me.”
2
Prayers
MATTEO CRADLED THE orange in the belly pocket of his hoodie. The faded-yellow pullover was so baggy on him, no one would see anything bulging from the pocket. Not that anyone would think to find food on a scrawny kid like him anyway. All the same, he kept his head down through this part of Rasalla. So near the Falari Market, the streets swelled with the poor and starving. One whiff of his precious cargo, and they’d swarm him.
Dusk had settled over the Slums, casting scary shadows into the alleys flanking the street. Matteo’s heart pounded against his ribcage. Detailed scenarios of desperate, violent thieves came to mind without permission. He shook his head and tried to focus on his route. Right at the Alati Shuttle House, walk two blocks, and left into the Temple of the Wheel . The wheezing was getting worse. He freed a hand from the orange and pinched the release on the tube. The medicine trickled in. Starving noses nearby caught something strange as he passed them. Matteo slipped his hand back into the belly pocket and sped up. Hung a tight right around the Alati House, a salvaged medical shuttle turned hospital that signaled the start of the Healer’s Quarter.
“Healing” came in many forms. If you had the cash to spend or the goods to trade, you could buy anything here from antibiotics for an infection to the best highs in the Slums. Witch doctors and surgeons worked as neighbors. Lines between pusher and pharmacist blurred. They ignored Matteo, barking over his head to the shuffling crowd. He squeezed unnoticed through the queues of sick and wounded and came out at a T-junction. Took a left. Then the second right.
A twenty foot tall, circular metal gate spanned the path. Strings of lights wrapped around the red painted frame, making it glow like a warm hover coil. Matteo smiled. The Temple’s smells of honeyed melon incense and fresh-grown herbs always felt like a greeting. Breathing was easier for a moment. Past the gate, high rafters loomed above him with multicolored prayer flags hung in long, drooping lines. He wondered what each of them said...and if God really listened.
Matteo wove through the silent evening patients to Doctor Utu’s clinic. It sat at the bottom of a stack of cinder block apartments. The gray concrete peeked through the ceremonial mural and hand-woven draperies decorating the walls. The evening torches were lit, filling the air with their cinnamon-spiced kerosene. The Doc could afford it. If a T99 or his family needed care, any self-respecting member sent them to Utu.
Matteo approached the front door and brushed a hand over the hanging beads. He loved the sound. Parting them slightly, he peered inside.
“Be with right with you, Mister Matteo!” said the Doctor in his rich, laughing tone. How can someone sound like they’re smiling? Copper candle-light flickered all throughout the room, interrupted by the cool glow of the exam lamp. Painted prayers in English, Arabic, and Chinese snaked around the entire space, playfully overlapping the shelves. ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven . ’ Matteo furrowed his brow, thinking. Filing the phrase away for later, he hopped onto a painted stool by the door and turned attention to the Doc.
“Almost...” Utu said, crouched beside the prosthetic leg of a reclining patient. The Doc
“The fuck you want, robo?” asked the gangster.
“Oh yeah, we’re a hard ass , aren’t we?!” Kabbard stood with the buzz of servos. Planted the armored toe of his boot in the scumbag’s ribcage. Once the coughing died down, Kabbard knelt.
“Names and whereabouts,” Kabbard said, “The pain stops when you tell me.”
2
Prayers
MATTEO CRADLED THE orange in the belly pocket of his hoodie. The faded-yellow pullover was so baggy on him, no one would see anything bulging from the pocket. Not that anyone would think to find food on a scrawny kid like him anyway. All the same, he kept his head down through this part of Rasalla. So near the Falari Market, the streets swelled with the poor and starving. One whiff of his precious cargo, and they’d swarm him.
Dusk had settled over the Slums, casting scary shadows into the alleys flanking the street. Matteo’s heart pounded against his ribcage. Detailed scenarios of desperate, violent thieves came to mind without permission. He shook his head and tried to focus on his route. Right at the Alati Shuttle House, walk two blocks, and left into the Temple of the Wheel . The wheezing was getting worse. He freed a hand from the orange and pinched the release on the tube. The medicine trickled in. Starving noses nearby caught something strange as he passed them. Matteo slipped his hand back into the belly pocket and sped up. Hung a tight right around the Alati House, a salvaged medical shuttle turned hospital that signaled the start of the Healer’s Quarter.
“Healing” came in many forms. If you had the cash to spend or the goods to trade, you could buy anything here from antibiotics for an infection to the best highs in the Slums. Witch doctors and surgeons worked as neighbors. Lines between pusher and pharmacist blurred. They ignored Matteo, barking over his head to the shuffling crowd. He squeezed unnoticed through the queues of sick and wounded and came out at a T-junction. Took a left. Then the second right.
A twenty foot tall, circular metal gate spanned the path. Strings of lights wrapped around the red painted frame, making it glow like a warm hover coil. Matteo smiled. The Temple’s smells of honeyed melon incense and fresh-grown herbs always felt like a greeting. Breathing was easier for a moment. Past the gate, high rafters loomed above him with multicolored prayer flags hung in long, drooping lines. He wondered what each of them said...and if God really listened.
Matteo wove through the silent evening patients to Doctor Utu’s clinic. It sat at the bottom of a stack of cinder block apartments. The gray concrete peeked through the ceremonial mural and hand-woven draperies decorating the walls. The evening torches were lit, filling the air with their cinnamon-spiced kerosene. The Doc could afford it. If a T99 or his family needed care, any self-respecting member sent them to Utu.
Matteo approached the front door and brushed a hand over the hanging beads. He loved the sound. Parting them slightly, he peered inside.
“Be with right with you, Mister Matteo!” said the Doctor in his rich, laughing tone. How can someone sound like they’re smiling? Copper candle-light flickered all throughout the room, interrupted by the cool glow of the exam lamp. Painted prayers in English, Arabic, and Chinese snaked around the entire space, playfully overlapping the shelves. ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven . ’ Matteo furrowed his brow, thinking. Filing the phrase away for later, he hopped onto a painted stool by the door and turned attention to the Doc.
“Almost...” Utu said, crouched beside the prosthetic leg of a reclining patient. The Doc
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