weren’t, the firmware probably couldn’t even log into CentNet. But it might
survive a cursory examination. I put on the dirtiest, dingiest
clothes—moth-eaten and stale—that I could find.
I had never been in LowSec before,
but I knew the stories: rape, murder, and even cannibalism. It was all Epsilons
and NullCons. The police couldn’t make any real money cleaning up crime, so
stations were few and far between. Only a few broken-down fences and barbed
wire, between LowSec and NullSec, kept out the barbarians in the wild.
I took a cab to Capital City’s
western gate. I hadn’t traveled that way in years. You could actually see the
gradient, watch the city dissolve. Houses became duplexes, condos became
apartments, lawns became patches of dirt, and windows became smashed shards
with bars over them. By the time I reached the fourteen-foot wall encircling
the city, homes were missing entire walls, rooms and roofs—all held together by
rope, plastic bags, and rotting wooden beams.
The city wall looked like hell. The
beige paint had chipped off and there were scorch marks from detonated mines
all along its length. Still the razor wire was mostly intact, and the wall did
its job. Sniper towers, spider mines and Bouncing Betties were ready to cut
down anybody stupid enough to try to go over the thing.
“So many people,” said the driver,
“trying to get in here. They want our jobs, our money. Forget earning a living,
they want to break in and steal one.”
The rate was a flat thirty caps to
get into Capital City—enough to keep out the riff-raff. You could get out for
free—they didn’t even check your credentials. Still I saw a line in both
directions.
“Who the hell is trying to get
out?” I said, as we slowed and pulled in behind the car in front of us.
“Day-workers, mostly. Low and
NullCons. They don’t have a contract, so they’re slave labor. Karitzu
protections don’t apply. Some of them get—what, maybe thirty-five caps a day.”
“But it costs thirty just to get in
here.”
“Yep. They get five—take home.”
It’s
their own fault? They just need to work harder?
“Slaves?”
“Sex trade, mostly. You want to
have sex with a twelve-year-old boy, it’s hard to do if he’s got a contract.
Well, it’ll cost you a lot anyway. But null contracts, they’re starving to death
out here. Fifty caps will buy you the right to do anything you want to
anybody.”
“How many people are out here?”
“Eh…” he said, waving his hand.
As we approached the gate, I saw a
small car coming the other way. The guards stopped it, and the driver began
arguing with the officers. One of them came around to the back, pulled out a
revolver, and shot the trunk open. A man burst out and made a dash for the city
line. The agent calmly raised his pistol and took aim. A shot rang out, then
another and another. The man fell to the ground. Meanwhile three other agents
had pulled the motorist out of the car and begun beating him.
The driver looked at me through the
rearview. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This happens all the time. At least a few
times a week. It’s not dangerous, they’re careful not to hit anyone of value.”
“Are they going to kill him?”
“Nahh… They’ll come close, and then
send him back as a warning. Won’t do any good.”
We crossed through the checkpoint
and into LowSec.
The place looked a lot like I had
imagined, like the pictures I had seen on television: decrepit stone, brick,
and wooden buildings; dirt, filth and debris strewn everywhere. Nothing I had
seen, though, did justice to the smell: mildew, rotting cabbage, fetid milk and
raw sewage. Broken windows were covered with garbage bags, and water trickled
from all sorts of places—broken downspouts, clogged gutters, and hydrants.
There probably wasn’t a fire company within fifty miles; the buildings weren’t
even worth a day’s pay.
“Let me out a few blocks from the
address.”
“Sure… Don’t want the
survive a cursory examination. I put on the dirtiest, dingiest
clothes—moth-eaten and stale—that I could find.
I had never been in LowSec before,
but I knew the stories: rape, murder, and even cannibalism. It was all Epsilons
and NullCons. The police couldn’t make any real money cleaning up crime, so
stations were few and far between. Only a few broken-down fences and barbed
wire, between LowSec and NullSec, kept out the barbarians in the wild.
I took a cab to Capital City’s
western gate. I hadn’t traveled that way in years. You could actually see the
gradient, watch the city dissolve. Houses became duplexes, condos became
apartments, lawns became patches of dirt, and windows became smashed shards
with bars over them. By the time I reached the fourteen-foot wall encircling
the city, homes were missing entire walls, rooms and roofs—all held together by
rope, plastic bags, and rotting wooden beams.
The city wall looked like hell. The
beige paint had chipped off and there were scorch marks from detonated mines
all along its length. Still the razor wire was mostly intact, and the wall did
its job. Sniper towers, spider mines and Bouncing Betties were ready to cut
down anybody stupid enough to try to go over the thing.
“So many people,” said the driver,
“trying to get in here. They want our jobs, our money. Forget earning a living,
they want to break in and steal one.”
The rate was a flat thirty caps to
get into Capital City—enough to keep out the riff-raff. You could get out for
free—they didn’t even check your credentials. Still I saw a line in both
directions.
“Who the hell is trying to get
out?” I said, as we slowed and pulled in behind the car in front of us.
“Day-workers, mostly. Low and
NullCons. They don’t have a contract, so they’re slave labor. Karitzu
protections don’t apply. Some of them get—what, maybe thirty-five caps a day.”
“But it costs thirty just to get in
here.”
“Yep. They get five—take home.”
It’s
their own fault? They just need to work harder?
“Slaves?”
“Sex trade, mostly. You want to
have sex with a twelve-year-old boy, it’s hard to do if he’s got a contract.
Well, it’ll cost you a lot anyway. But null contracts, they’re starving to death
out here. Fifty caps will buy you the right to do anything you want to
anybody.”
“How many people are out here?”
“Eh…” he said, waving his hand.
As we approached the gate, I saw a
small car coming the other way. The guards stopped it, and the driver began
arguing with the officers. One of them came around to the back, pulled out a
revolver, and shot the trunk open. A man burst out and made a dash for the city
line. The agent calmly raised his pistol and took aim. A shot rang out, then
another and another. The man fell to the ground. Meanwhile three other agents
had pulled the motorist out of the car and begun beating him.
The driver looked at me through the
rearview. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This happens all the time. At least a few
times a week. It’s not dangerous, they’re careful not to hit anyone of value.”
“Are they going to kill him?”
“Nahh… They’ll come close, and then
send him back as a warning. Won’t do any good.”
We crossed through the checkpoint
and into LowSec.
The place looked a lot like I had
imagined, like the pictures I had seen on television: decrepit stone, brick,
and wooden buildings; dirt, filth and debris strewn everywhere. Nothing I had
seen, though, did justice to the smell: mildew, rotting cabbage, fetid milk and
raw sewage. Broken windows were covered with garbage bags, and water trickled
from all sorts of places—broken downspouts, clogged gutters, and hydrants.
There probably wasn’t a fire company within fifty miles; the buildings weren’t
even worth a day’s pay.
“Let me out a few blocks from the
address.”
“Sure… Don’t want the
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