| abstract | - “Watch me carefully. Just do what I do, and you’ll be fine.” Simon Onegin hugged himself, shivering at the cold wind blowing through the holes in his oversized clothes. He looked up at his brother, who pressed up against the side of the concrete wall and peered out at the street beyond. “You sure about this?” Arthur glanced down and flashed him a smile. That was all it took—all it ever took—to make Simon feel better. “You bet. Remember, we’re doing this for Mom.” “Yeah.” Simon nodded in agreement, crouching down behind Arthur’s legs. “For Mom.” Arthur pressed a finger to his lips and indicated one of the passersby: a well-dressed young man of about his own age leaning against a bench and chatting with a girl. “That one,” he murmured. “The boyfriends are always the best ones.” Without warning, he pushed off from the wall and stepped out into the street. Pressing one hand against his side, he affected a limp, hobbling at an angle towards the bench. His free hand dropped to his side; the fingers twitched, beckoning Simon to follow. They cut a strange pair, ambling out into the quiet city streets. Arthur was tall and lanky, with thick dark hair, patched-up clothes, and keen eyes that peered out from underneath the layer of dust and grime that coated his skin and clothes, searching for the next opportunity to score a little money or food. Simon, many years younger, barely came up to Arthur’s waist. He shared his brother’s unruly black hair, but aside from that he didn’t think he bore much of a resemblance to his brother at all. He wished he did; a short life spent tailing after his brother had convinced him that everything would be better if he were more like Arthur. The boy and girl looked up as they approached. Even from afar, Simon saw their eyes widen. They exchanged looks with each other, then looked hurriedly from side to side in the hopes that these two urchins were coming for someone else. When Arthur was close enough that they couldn’t ignore him any longer, the boy stepped forward, as if trying to shield his companion. The girl got off the bench and eyed the brothers warily. “You want something?” the boy demanded. Arthur raised his hands placatingly. “Sorry, sorry, don’t mean to bother you. Look, I know we’re being trouble here, but could you spare a few credits? Not for me, see, it’s my brother…” That was the cue. Simon turned his head and let out a quick, hacking cough. It wasn’t a hard one to pull off; he was sick so often that half the time his coughs were real. The girl made a sympathetic noise. Her companion glanced back at her. His eyes widened again, but when he looked back he gave Arthur and Simon an appraising look. From where Simon crouched beside Arthur, he could see the boy look back to his friend again. After another moment’s pause, he let out a sigh and withdrew two items from his pocket: a chatter mobile device and an adjustable credit chit. He slotted the chit into the chatter and began inputting a code on the screen. “I guess a few credits can’t hurt,” he said, more to the girl than Arthur. “How much do you need? Ten? Fifteen?” Arthur tilted his head to the side, eyes fixed on the device. His legs tensed and then, just as the boy raised a finger from the device, he sprang. In an instant he had forced the boy to the ground with a kick to the back of his leg. He plucked the chatter out of its startled owner’s hands, knocking the yelping boy’s hand away when he tried to snatch it back. “Sorry,” he said, dancing out of reach. “Don’t worry, it’s for a good cause.” The girl yelled something in another language and leaped forward, grabbing for Arthur. Simon scuttled forward on all fours, entangling himself in her legs. She struggled to keep her balance, then tripped over him and fell back against the bench. Simon leapt up, but hesitated as he watched the girl curl into a ball, grabbing her arm. A pang of guilt flashed through his gut, paralyzing him. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, just keep her from hitting his brother… Something hard latched onto his arm. The boy whose chatter Arthur had just grabbed was clinging to his arm, trying to wrestle him to the ground. Simon yelped and tried to tug away, but the boy’s grip was too firm. He wasn’t strong enough to break away. Arthur came down on the boy in a flash. A swift kick in the gut broke his grip and left him sprawled beside his companion, gasping for air. Arthur grabbed Simon’s hand and hauled him away, back toward the alley. "Come on,” he urged. “Before someone thinks to call that in.” Simon hurried on after his brother without sparing the couple another glance. They darted through the alleys, weaving around walls and trash bins as they returned to the safety of the shadows. Arthur was tapping into the chatter as he ran, dodging the obstacles without even looking up. He kept up a fearful pace and it was only when Simon had begun to lag several paces behind that he turned and stopped in a small service alcove to let his younger brother catch up. “Nice job,” he said as Simon knelt down beside him, panting. “Now, gotta start the transfer, before he gets his girlfriend to kill the account.” Simon looked back up at him. “They’ll be okay, right?” he asked, still feeling a bit guilty about the girl. Arthur snorted. “Rich kids like that? Please, he probably has three more of these back home.” The older boy chuckled as he worked the chatter. “Dumbasses. Always want to impress the girls when I ask for handouts.” Simon laughed in reply, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Off to the side, someone else laughed as well. “Got him as your backup now, huh, Arty?” The brothers spun to see a man wearing a faded overcoat watching them from the corner of the alcove. The man thrust his hands into his pockets, a smile playing over his weathered features. Simon shrank back, but Arthur just let out a derisive snort. “Don’t worry. It’s just Toby.” The man laughed again. “’Just Toby’?” he repeated drily. “Is that any way to talk to your elders? What would your mother say?” Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You saw.” “You get up to the most interesting things when I follow you around,” Toby said in answer. “How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t just transfer the creds from the account on the chatter. It has to get approved by the sender after you make the transfer.” Arthur glowered but said nothing. He seemed to deflate a little, looking less like a triumphant thief and more like a scolded boy. Simon didn’t like seeing his brother like this. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t quite figure out what to say. “Oh, don’t be like that,” Toby chastised him. “You had a good hit there. Picked a guy you knew you could beat, got him in a spot with no surveillance cameras… I have to admit, you’re getting better at this.” He held out his hand, palm up. “Come on, let me see.” Still glaring, Arthur handed the device over. Toby took it and immediately began plugging away at the screen with practiced ease. He furrowed his brow, appraising the chatter. “Hm. You screwed up on the credit transfer, but this piece is in pretty good shape. One of the newer models, too.” Toby tapped the screen one last time and reached into his pocket. “I know a few people who’ll pay some nice credits for one of these. In the meantime…” He dug out his own chatter and slotted in the stolen credit chit. Arthur made a grab for the chatter. “We don’t need you to sell it for us. Give it back!” Toby shrugged. “You think you can wipe the memory data, cancel out the ownership safeties, and reboot the whole system so that this thing will actually work? Come on, Arty, I know you’re smarter than this.” Simon sat down and hugged his knees to his chest. Above him, Arthur let out a low growl but took a step back. “Fine. Keep it.” “Ah, don’t be so sore about it.” Toby tapped his chatter screen. “I think two hundred will go off well for this. Help your mother keep things running back home.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to sell that thing. And you could still give us more money. You could actually help her, if you wanted to.” “But what sort of man would I be if I just did all the work for you and let all your little outings go to waste?” Toby offered Arthur the credit chit. The older boy considered it darkly for a moment before snatching it and turning on his heel. He started to walk away, then hesitated. “Are you… are you going to tell her?” For the first time, he sounded more worried than angry. “I don’t know. Probably not.” Toby shrugged. “What were you planning on telling her?” “I… I got a job. Taking out trash in the old warehouse district. I’ve gotten work there before.” “Well, I don’t see any reason why I should ruin that pretty picture. Don’t worry, though, I think gigs like this are a much better use for your talents.” Toby waved the stolen chatter before slipping it into his pocket. “Make sure she doesn’t let that cash go to waste.” “Come on, Simon,” Arthur muttered. “Let’s go home.” “Yeah. Home.” Simon sprang up and followed after his brother. He spared one last glance over his shoulder at Toby. The scruffy man leaned against the wall, smiling as he waved good-bye.
*
*
* It wasn’t long after that day in the alley that the men in blue came and took Arthur away for good. “You wait here,” his brother had said, one foot already through their apartment door. “Toby’s out there. I’ve got to go talk to him.” Simon hadn’t had anything to say to that. He didn’t know why Arthur had to talk to Toby and his brother left too quickly for him to ask. Arthur just flashed him a smile one last time and darted out, feet pounding against the grated stairs leading down to the street. Simon didn’t see what happened next. He heard voices, then yelling, and when he’d rushed to the door to try and see what was going on his mother came from her room to shoo him away. Climbing onto the kitchen counter, Simon had looked out the window in time to see men in blue put Arthur into a car and drive away. Toby was nowhere to be seen. His mother cried for hours that night. Arthur didn’t come back the next morning, or in the evening, or the morning after that. He’d simply vanished and Simon didn’t know where to look for him. His mother didn’t talk to him much after that. The scent of her grief filled the apartment. After that night, she never cried—Simon learned from his mother that tears made no difference one way or the other—but he could still see the pain that lined her face, the distant look in her eyes whenever he asked after Arthur, and the way she kept him close by her, as if he too might be snatched away at any moment. Arthur had often taken Simon out down to the city streets where they’d play in the dirt and garbage that lined the sidewalks, finding treasure in the things the people from the tall buildings threw away. After Arthur was taken away his mother did not let Simon outside, but he snuck out anyway, slipping off to the places he and Arthur had played. But without Arthur there was nothing to do; Simon just sat on the pavement, hoping that his brother might show up again. The other kids from their apartment complex came by, calling for him to join them, but he didn’t pay much attention to them and they soon decided he wasn’t worth the effort. A few dogs—thin, mangy strays who slept near the sewers—would come by to investigate him. Sometimes Simon slipped them food and they seemed to like it. Aside from the kids and the dogs, there was someone else who came by when Simon snuck out onto the streets. Toby came by sometimes to smile down at him and ask how he was doing. Whenever Simon tried to ask after Arthur, Toby would just laugh and change the subject. Simon wasn’t sure what was funny about Arthur; when he asked his mother about it she smacked him and kept him from going outside anymore. A few weeks later, Simon got sick; through his feverish haze he remembered seeing Toby again, arguing with his mother. Afterwards, his mother gave him some medicine that she hadn’t had before, and things got better. “What was he doing here?” he asked her. “Just don’t worry about it,” was the only thing she’d tell him, the same answer Arthur always gave after he took Simon out stealing. But there was an edge to her voice, one that was neither grief nor pain. It was fear, and that fear made Simon afraid for reasons he couldn’t understand. “Where’s Arthur?” He didn’t know where the question came from. By now he had learned not to ask after Arthur, but being sick had made him lonely for his brother. “He had to go somewhere else.” His mother’s face pinched and she looked away. “He has to work, work somewhere else.” “What kind of work? Who’s he with? When will he be done? When’s he coming back?” “I don’t think he’s ever coming back.” His mother got up and left the room quickly. “It’s better this way.” “Better? What’s better?” She stopped, halfway through the door. “I don’t know. That’s just what he told me.” It wasn’t long after he got sick that he was taken away. Men and women in suits came to the apartment and spoke to his mother. She yelled at them and told them to get out, but they wouldn’t leave. One of them took Simon by the arm and took him to the door. He struggled and tried to reach his mother, but they gave him one of his soft toys, a dog Arthur had given him, and he calmed down. His mother said something to him, but Simon couldn’t remember what it was. He was small and tired and confused; he couldn’t remember much of anything. They took him from the apartment he’d grown up in, down to the streets where he and Arthur used to play. He looked up just before they put him in the car and saw Toby one last time, talking to his mother. Her face was full of pain and grief, the same pain and grief she’d held when they took Arthur, only this time it was far worse. Toby said something to her and put an arm around her shoulder. It felt strange, seeing someone like that touch his mother, but there was nothing for Simon to do. The anguish in his mother’s face never went away, but she didn’t shake off the Toby’s arm. Then they shut the door to the car and he couldn’t see her anymore. He hugged the stuffed dog and wondered if they’d take him where they’d taken Arthur. For days Simon was taken from one place to another. He remembered little of what went on in any of the buildings where he was taken. They were all clean and sterile and smelled like soap, nothing like the apartment he had grown up in. Each was just another blur of waiting and sleeping and eating as adults talked to each other and filled out forms. His mother was not there. Arthur was not there. He kept the stuffed dog close and wished they would take him back to the apartment. But they never did. After what seemed like an eternity, they took him to a building filled with other children. They were just like the ones from the apartment street: noisy and rambunctious, always pestering him to come do things with them. He tried to ignore them, keeping his distance as much as he could and speaking to them as little as possible, but this center was crowded . More children were brought in every day and few ever left. There were a few amongst the other children who, like Simon, kept to themselves. These quiet ones looked out at the world with dull, mournful eyes. It was ones like these that Simon wouldn’t have minded talking to. They seemed to know things about the world outside the cramped center, things about other colonies and even the Covenant and the war the news feeds were always talking about. But they weren’t interested in talking. Simon didn’t know how long he spent in the center. One day blurred into the next and became a week, and then maybe a month. He wished and hoped and prayed that his mother or Arthur or even Toby might come to take him away. There were no familiar faces here; he barely knew any of the other children’s names. He wondered if he would spend the rest of his life shut away in here, forgotten by everyone. One day he woke up with a start and realized as he climbed out of bed that he could barely remember what his mother’s face looked like. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to bring the memory back, to will himself back to the apartment, back to Mom and Arthur. But when he opened them again, he was still at the center, surrounded by strangers. He could feel a tightness welling up inside him, filling him up so much that he thought he might explode. He wanted to cry out, to scream, to sob. What had he done wrong? What was he being punished for? Why was he here, in this place all by himself? But the tears wouldn’t come, and even as the scream welled up in his throat he felt it die away just as quickly. There was no point; no one would care. The adults would yell at him for being noisy and the other kids would laugh at him for being a baby. Crying wouldn’t help anything. He sat on his bed and buried his head in his hands. None of this made any sense. And then one of the other boys decided to take his stuffed dog. The fight was just another blur amidst the endless misery of the center. In the next moment Simon had thrown the boy down with a move Arthur had taught him. Then another boy jumped on him, and when he pushed that one off one of the girls kicked him to the ground. Everyone was yelling and laughing and cheering at the brawl. Someone punched Simon in the face; he spat at them and bit them on the arm. Even as someone else grabbed him from behind and hit him in the head, Simon felt something he hadn’t felt since Arthur had been taken away. I don’t feel so bad anymore, he realized. He lashed out and punched someone else. This feels good. A moment later someone pushed through the crowd of screaming children and hauled him to his feet.
*
*
* The man in the uniform looked Simon up and down and made a face. “They really did a number on him.” Simon fought the urge to hold his throbbing head. He knew he was bleeding from more than a few places. His nose was dribbling all over his clothes and the surface of the table in front of him. Beside him, one of the caretakers made a disapproving noise. “You can rest assured that we don’t tolerate this kind of fighting here,” she told the uniformed man. “It’s against all of our policies.” She shot Simon a dirty look. “The children are usually more well behaved than this.” The uniformed man grunted and looked down over the datapad in front of him. “Yes, yes. I’m sure you’re all the model of structured youth development.” “If you want to inspect the other dormitories—“ “Won’t be necessary. Ma’am, I’m not here to do an inspection. Just let me speak to the boy here for a few minutes, would you?” “Feel free to ask him about—“ “Alone, ma’am.” The caretaker made another disapproving noise, but turned and left the room. Simon looked across the table at the man in uniform. His nameplate said “Santiago”; Arthur had taught him a bit of reading back at the apartment. “You feeling all right?” Santiago asked. “Looks like you took the worst of it.” Simon shrugged. “Does this sort of thing happen with you often?” Another shrug. Santiago rubbed his face wearily. “Can you talk?” “Yeah.” “And here I was thinking you’d bitten your tongue during the fight. Any of your friends come to help you out back there?” “No. Well…” Simon dropped his gaze. “I don’t really have any friends.” Santiago looked over his datapad again. “Not the worst thing in the world. No one here seems that personable.” “Being here is the worst thing in the world.” This was already more talking than Simon had done during his whole time at the center. He looked back over at Santiago hopefully. “Can I go back home? Can I see Mom?” He’d been gone for so long that it already seemed like a long shot. He didn’t even feel disappointed when Santiago shook his head. “I can’t take you back to your family,” Santiago told him. “If there were any chance of you going back home, I wouldn’t be talking with you now.” Simon nodded and dropped his gaze. He wondered how long he’d have to sit here, and if the caretakers were going to punish him for fighting. “I can’t give your family back,” Santiago continued. “What I can do is give you a new one.” Simon looked back up. A new family? What did he mean? “Right now, you’re a ward of this colony. You don’t have a home and until you come of age you’ll just be dead weight for the people here. Just one extra mouth to feed. But I don’t want that for you. The United Earth Government doesn’t want that for you. Humanity doesn’t want that for you. We want to help make you into someone better. Someone who protects people. Someone who kills monsters.” “Kills… monsters?” None of what Santiago was saying made any sense. Simon just wanted to know about this new family he was talking about. “You’ve been selected to be offered this opportunity. Not a whole lot of people like you get a chance like this.” Santiago slid his datapad over to Simon, who looked down and gasped. His own face peered back at him, surrounded by reams of data and words he didn’t understand. “The people who sent me had you in mind before I even came here to talk with you.” Someone had been watching him? Someone had selected him? “Are there others?” Simon asked quietly, still staring at his picture on the datapad screen. “People like me?” “Lots of others,” Santiago promised. “Hundreds. If you come with me, they’ll be your new family. You’ll all be part of something so much bigger than yourselves. You don’t understand now, but what I’m offering you is more than just a new life. It’s a new existence.” Simon, do you want to be a hero? Do you want to be a Spartan?”
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