lying alone in the dusty gutter, with bits of garbage and food wrappers blowing over him.
Wheezing, he managed to sit up, and moaned from the effort. His chest felt caved in, although when he gingerly rubbed his ribs nothing seemed broken. The pockets of his coat were ripped out. His meat globes and the comb with fake jewels were gone. His belt had also been taken, leaving him minus his payment card and its one credit.
Elrabin rubbed his narrow muzzle, so angry he wanted to tip back his head and howl. But that wouldn’t bring back his stolen property. He bared his teeth and muttered to himself. He’d taken those things because he needed them—well, the credit and the meat globes anyway. But the Toths were despicable thieves. They robbed for the pleasure of it. They had no morals at all.
“Loitering is not permitted. Keep moving. Loitering is not permitted. Keep moving.”
The message blared overhead, making Elrabin jump at the arrival of another sniffer.
Gaining his feet, he trotted away and blended in with other pedestrians. Without scanning him, the new sniffer let him go, and by the time he’d dodged down several alleys and ducked in and out of a few businesses, his heart had stopped pounding and he was able to breathe normally again.
But his thoughts still raced around and around in his head, until he felt almost dizzy. This morning he had begun his new life in good shape. He had food and he had credit. Now, with late afternoon sunlight slanting across the city buildings, he had nothing to his name but his wits.
He sighed and rubbed his muzzle, telling himself not to worry, not to be scared. He was smart enough to take care of himself. He could figure something out.
But already his stomach was growling with hunger. He had nothing to eat. Nothing in mind to steal. Nowhere to go. Right now, freedom looked a lot bigger than it had before, and a lot less fun.
In the distance he could hear the throaty horns of barge traffic on the river. Most of the vehicles flying past on the streets in this section were industry transports. Warehouses shielded by security fields either buzzed with activity or stood abandoned. When the wind shifted fractionally, Elrabin caught a whiff of a stench that made his ears prick forward and the hair around his neck stand on end.
It was the smell of death, the stench of the meat houses, where condemned slaves were taken to be slaughtered.
He growled low in his throat and veered in the opposite direction. Picking up his pace, he hurried out of the district, knowing he had to look purposeful to avoid being picked up for vagrancy. He couldn’t approach any public vid screens, because they would blare an alarm based on his registration code. If he went to one of the public food dispensaries and begged for charity, an alarm would sound.
One day on his own, and already he was wanted.
His ears drooped, and discouragement settled heavily on his young shoulders. Maybe he wasn’t quite as streetwise as he thought.
Go home , ran a thought through his mind. Go home .
He thought of supper made from tasteless Quixlix, the cramped quarters, his quarreling lits, no privacy, no hope. A fresh sense of rebellion stiffened his shoulders.
No. He wasn’t going home. He had no home. He was on his own, and he could make it. He would go to his old friend Berv, who would give him work and somehow get around the labor laws.
By the time he crossed the ghetto and reached the cramped streets and half-demolished buildings fringing the dock area for Vir Station Four, Elrabin’s legs ached with weariness and he was famished. He dragged himself down a street lined with tenement buildings that made him think of home, ignored a handful of dirty Kelth lits and Aaroun cubs playing gollooball with chunks of decaying pavement gleaned from the unmended street, and cut across a vacant lot that had once been a city park with a statue of some dead Viis kaa surrounded by a grove of trees. Vines now grew over the statue,
Wheezing, he managed to sit up, and moaned from the effort. His chest felt caved in, although when he gingerly rubbed his ribs nothing seemed broken. The pockets of his coat were ripped out. His meat globes and the comb with fake jewels were gone. His belt had also been taken, leaving him minus his payment card and its one credit.
Elrabin rubbed his narrow muzzle, so angry he wanted to tip back his head and howl. But that wouldn’t bring back his stolen property. He bared his teeth and muttered to himself. He’d taken those things because he needed them—well, the credit and the meat globes anyway. But the Toths were despicable thieves. They robbed for the pleasure of it. They had no morals at all.
“Loitering is not permitted. Keep moving. Loitering is not permitted. Keep moving.”
The message blared overhead, making Elrabin jump at the arrival of another sniffer.
Gaining his feet, he trotted away and blended in with other pedestrians. Without scanning him, the new sniffer let him go, and by the time he’d dodged down several alleys and ducked in and out of a few businesses, his heart had stopped pounding and he was able to breathe normally again.
But his thoughts still raced around and around in his head, until he felt almost dizzy. This morning he had begun his new life in good shape. He had food and he had credit. Now, with late afternoon sunlight slanting across the city buildings, he had nothing to his name but his wits.
He sighed and rubbed his muzzle, telling himself not to worry, not to be scared. He was smart enough to take care of himself. He could figure something out.
But already his stomach was growling with hunger. He had nothing to eat. Nothing in mind to steal. Nowhere to go. Right now, freedom looked a lot bigger than it had before, and a lot less fun.
In the distance he could hear the throaty horns of barge traffic on the river. Most of the vehicles flying past on the streets in this section were industry transports. Warehouses shielded by security fields either buzzed with activity or stood abandoned. When the wind shifted fractionally, Elrabin caught a whiff of a stench that made his ears prick forward and the hair around his neck stand on end.
It was the smell of death, the stench of the meat houses, where condemned slaves were taken to be slaughtered.
He growled low in his throat and veered in the opposite direction. Picking up his pace, he hurried out of the district, knowing he had to look purposeful to avoid being picked up for vagrancy. He couldn’t approach any public vid screens, because they would blare an alarm based on his registration code. If he went to one of the public food dispensaries and begged for charity, an alarm would sound.
One day on his own, and already he was wanted.
His ears drooped, and discouragement settled heavily on his young shoulders. Maybe he wasn’t quite as streetwise as he thought.
Go home , ran a thought through his mind. Go home .
He thought of supper made from tasteless Quixlix, the cramped quarters, his quarreling lits, no privacy, no hope. A fresh sense of rebellion stiffened his shoulders.
No. He wasn’t going home. He had no home. He was on his own, and he could make it. He would go to his old friend Berv, who would give him work and somehow get around the labor laws.
By the time he crossed the ghetto and reached the cramped streets and half-demolished buildings fringing the dock area for Vir Station Four, Elrabin’s legs ached with weariness and he was famished. He dragged himself down a street lined with tenement buildings that made him think of home, ignored a handful of dirty Kelth lits and Aaroun cubs playing gollooball with chunks of decaying pavement gleaned from the unmended street, and cut across a vacant lot that had once been a city park with a statue of some dead Viis kaa surrounded by a grove of trees. Vines now grew over the statue,
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