“Fuck off. All of you,” said an older voice. On the next rooftop stood a fit, broad-faced boy of eighteen with a black nine millimeter pistol in hand. He turned his sleeveless shoulder to them, showing the characters “T99” tattooed in a triangle. Oki and the other kids scattered like roaches. Raia got up, hesitated, then scampered off to follow.
Matteo crumpled into a tight ball. Looked up through throbbing vision to watch where Oki went. Across those two wood bridges...then through Mr. Ramesh’s garden. He winced as he turned toward the sound of the shot. Scowled when he saw his older brother.
Jogun jumped across the gap in the rooftops and sprinted toward Matteo, holstering the gun in his waistband.
“Can you breathe? Are you okay?” Jogun wasted no time. He refastened the tube under Matteo’s nose, sat him up, and felt his rib cage. Matteo coughed hard. Glared at Jo.
“Come on, bro, talk to me!” said Jogun.
“I’m—I’m fine. You just—” Matteo tried to swallow in a dry throat. Pushed against Jogun’s grasp.
“I’m fine!” said Matteo, staring hard into his brother’s eyes. Jogun hesitated. Released his hands. Matteo rolled and pushed up, head swimming with a sudden rush.
“Nah, you ain’t fine, kid! I told you to stay away from them! But here you are, sight-seein’ on their turf again...”
Matteo’s eyes fell on the gun in Jogun’s waistband. Fingernails dug into his sweating palms. Across those two wood bridges and through Mr. Ramesh’s garden... Tensing his arm in an instant, Matteo reached out. He snatched the pistol and lunged away toward the first bridge. As Jogun reached after him, a noise broke above the midday Slums. Both brothers stopped dead in their tracks.
It rose to a roar, echoing over the rooftops. It got sharper. Louder. They looked up in time to see a white, wedge-shaped object streak overhead. Its blade wings jutted through thrashing engine flames. A Pulsar HVX! Luxury class! Matteo’s pulse raced. Whoops and cheers sounded throughout the neighborhood. Jogun, without looking, held out his open hand. Matteo placed the gun in it. Jogun got to his feet, then turned.
“Stay. Here.” Jogun glared at Matteo, waited for a nod, then took off after the bulging smoke trail. He ran across a narrow catwalk, vaulted over a guard rail, and disappeared behind hanging laundry in an alleyway.
Matteo fidgeted in the excitement. It was luxury class! I saw it! His feet begged him to follow. Oki’s gang reappeared and ran past. Turned to wave ‘goodbye’ on their way after the ship. Oki back-pedaled to face Matteo and clutched his chest in a mock coughing fit. That was it. Matteo took three deep breaths from the tube and trotted off after them.
Jogun bounded from rooftop to rooftop, glancing up to keep the smoke trail in sight. Ahead, two young T99s in tank-tops, shorts, and running shoes darted up a fire escape and matched pace with him. Together they scrambled over walls, up ladders, and through the apartments of cowering dwellers. The locals cleared a path without complaint. Everything else in the Slums stopped when the Nines moved in force.
As the smoke thickened, they were joined by one, and then two more guys, all with ‘T99’ on their left shoulders. The wreck was close. Sour smells of charred carbon fiber and burning coolant confirmed it.
“The H3!” one of them shouted, “gotta make this quick, or it’s gonna go off!”
Running up one final stairwell, the group emerged onto a flat, concrete rooftop. The Pulsar HVX sat wrecked at the end of a savage gouge in the concrete. Jogun sprinted up to it, meeting the several other gang members who were already tearing it apart. At the rear of the hull, Jogun recognized the radioactive symbol. He cringed as the Cutters yanked out the canisters of Helium-3 and tossed them to the waiting Runners. Nothing happened. He sighed. No meltdown today...
Jogun got to work. He and two others forced open the trunk with a hydraulic hiss. Revealed pay-dirt. Groceries. Laughing and whooping, they rifled through the treasure and filled their satchels. Jogun caught glimpses of detergent, potato chips, soap, shampoo, ground beef, and...fresh produce! He took care not to open that bag too wide while he took his cut from it. The others didn’t seem to notice. Boomer was too busy stuffing his face with tortilla chips, and Porki chewed on a frowning mouthful of toothpaste. Spat it out in a soggy lump.
The Cutters torched panels from the hull while three senior T99s drew pistols and