wife to know
you’re coming down here, eh?”
“Something like that.”
I got out of the cab, and the
driver sped off. Not until then, unshielded by the four corners of the car, did
I really understand that I was in LowSec.
I looked both ways down the street,
but I didn’t see anybody. LowSec was supposed to have a huge population, but it
was empty. Maybe, I thought, the place was so huge that some areas were
deserted while others were social and economic hubs. Maybe the driver just
dropped me off at an inauspicious spot.
I hadn’t gone more than a few steps
before I stepped in excrement, my first conclusive proof of life. I walked over
to a rusted lamppost, leaned against it, and tried futily to wipe it off.
Two blocks down I heard panting. Down a small
alleyway was what looked like a wire fox terrier standing beside a dumpster.
The dog’s coat had once been pretty, fluffy and white. But now it was muddied
and patchy with mange. He was missing most of his teeth, and one infected eye
was swollen shut. Despite all of this, he tilted his head and wagged his tail
when he saw me.
Then I noticed the boy hiding
behind the dumpster. He was ratty and skinny, his clothes an earthen brown and
his face muddy. The dog returned his attention to the lad, who was smiling and
holding out a piece of flesh. He licked the child’s hand, and the boy knelt
beside him. His tail started flying around, and he licked the boy’s face wildly
as he nuzzled the creature close.
Suddenly he slipped a noose over
the dog’s head. As it struggled, a band of children came out from an open
doorway and grabbed the animal. It was emaciated, but had enough meat on it to
feed them for a night. The boy slung the mostly dead dog over his shoulder, and
they darted into an abandoned building.
I looked back down the long street.
The sun would be setting soon. I wondered if I was close enough to a radio
tower for my ledger to work, maybe call a cab. The agency was supposed to be
only a few more blocks down, but I couldn’t see any offices or businesses
around.
I continued down the street, and
noticed more children following me. They were hard to see—never really coming
out from behind buildings and stoops, creeping back into the shadows whenever I
turned to look. But they were there. Despite all my efforts to blend in, they
had known from the moment I arrived that I didn’t belong. Maybe it was the cab,
a LowCon company, but still from inside the City. Or maybe it was my shoe—why
would anybody out there even bother wiping it? I worried that they were
considering how plump I was, and how long I could feed them for.
I’d been hearing noises for some
time, but it wasn’t till then that I began paying attention to them. They had
started with what sounded like whispering, or the rustling of trash in the
wind. But these kids had, no doubt, told their friends, brothers, sisters and
parents about the spoiled brat MidCon bumbling his way through their
neighborhood. I noticed tapping too—banging coming from pipes and lampposts—a
coded signal echoing for blocks. Without electricity or phones, still everyone
within two miles knew I was there. As I approached each new block I could see
the odd person or two glaring out at me.
Where they had earlier taken some
pains to hide themselves, now they didn’t seem as discreet. It worried me. I
picked up the pace, but still couldn’t find the agency. It hadn’t even crossed
my mind till then that the address could easily have been fake.
I was about to dart into the
nearest building when I caught a glimpse of the agency’s black and yellow
rental sign under a crust of grime and benzene-soot.
It was a converted Laundromat.
Inside, baked into the walls, were the silhouettes of nearly two dozen washers
and dryers. An emphysemic old man sat far in the back, playing solitaire,
drinking a urine-colored liquid from an old olive oil bottle, and coughing up
phlegm. The fan nailed to the ceiling had no
you’re coming down here, eh?”
“Something like that.”
I got out of the cab, and the
driver sped off. Not until then, unshielded by the four corners of the car, did
I really understand that I was in LowSec.
I looked both ways down the street,
but I didn’t see anybody. LowSec was supposed to have a huge population, but it
was empty. Maybe, I thought, the place was so huge that some areas were
deserted while others were social and economic hubs. Maybe the driver just
dropped me off at an inauspicious spot.
I hadn’t gone more than a few steps
before I stepped in excrement, my first conclusive proof of life. I walked over
to a rusted lamppost, leaned against it, and tried futily to wipe it off.
Two blocks down I heard panting. Down a small
alleyway was what looked like a wire fox terrier standing beside a dumpster.
The dog’s coat had once been pretty, fluffy and white. But now it was muddied
and patchy with mange. He was missing most of his teeth, and one infected eye
was swollen shut. Despite all of this, he tilted his head and wagged his tail
when he saw me.
Then I noticed the boy hiding
behind the dumpster. He was ratty and skinny, his clothes an earthen brown and
his face muddy. The dog returned his attention to the lad, who was smiling and
holding out a piece of flesh. He licked the child’s hand, and the boy knelt
beside him. His tail started flying around, and he licked the boy’s face wildly
as he nuzzled the creature close.
Suddenly he slipped a noose over
the dog’s head. As it struggled, a band of children came out from an open
doorway and grabbed the animal. It was emaciated, but had enough meat on it to
feed them for a night. The boy slung the mostly dead dog over his shoulder, and
they darted into an abandoned building.
I looked back down the long street.
The sun would be setting soon. I wondered if I was close enough to a radio
tower for my ledger to work, maybe call a cab. The agency was supposed to be
only a few more blocks down, but I couldn’t see any offices or businesses
around.
I continued down the street, and
noticed more children following me. They were hard to see—never really coming
out from behind buildings and stoops, creeping back into the shadows whenever I
turned to look. But they were there. Despite all my efforts to blend in, they
had known from the moment I arrived that I didn’t belong. Maybe it was the cab,
a LowCon company, but still from inside the City. Or maybe it was my shoe—why
would anybody out there even bother wiping it? I worried that they were
considering how plump I was, and how long I could feed them for.
I’d been hearing noises for some
time, but it wasn’t till then that I began paying attention to them. They had
started with what sounded like whispering, or the rustling of trash in the
wind. But these kids had, no doubt, told their friends, brothers, sisters and
parents about the spoiled brat MidCon bumbling his way through their
neighborhood. I noticed tapping too—banging coming from pipes and lampposts—a
coded signal echoing for blocks. Without electricity or phones, still everyone
within two miles knew I was there. As I approached each new block I could see
the odd person or two glaring out at me.
Where they had earlier taken some
pains to hide themselves, now they didn’t seem as discreet. It worried me. I
picked up the pace, but still couldn’t find the agency. It hadn’t even crossed
my mind till then that the address could easily have been fake.
I was about to dart into the
nearest building when I caught a glimpse of the agency’s black and yellow
rental sign under a crust of grime and benzene-soot.
It was a converted Laundromat.
Inside, baked into the walls, were the silhouettes of nearly two dozen washers
and dryers. An emphysemic old man sat far in the back, playing solitaire,
drinking a urine-colored liquid from an old olive oil bottle, and coughing up
phlegm. The fan nailed to the ceiling had no
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