Jesse’s curiosity got the better of him and he started to move in her direction. As luck would have it, no more than three steps in a shrill voice cut across his path as a shriveled man wrapped in dirty clothes struck him on the side. Both men were nearly knocked to the ground, Jesse more by the man’s body odor than the impact.
“I told ya to get away!” the owner of a food stall shouted.
About Jesse’s age, the vendor was already balding, a thin strip of greasy, hair combed over in a poor attempt to hide the fact. Rubbing his pimpled nose proudly, he settled back behind his stall after pushing the elderly man. Many people in the crowd had noticed the commotion and peered out from the corner of their eyes while speaking to each other in hushed tones. The illusion of normality was maintained as everyone pretended to carry on with what they were doing, secretly craving more.
“What’s all this fuss about?” Jesse asked with irritation, brushing himself off before helping the other man stand on his wobbling legs.
At first the vendor acted as if he didn’t hear, but Jesse knew by the size of his protruding ears he should have no trouble.
“I asked you a question, SIR,” Jesse said, slow and bold.
“I told the gaffer: mudsills or hard cases, especially ones ya can smell before ya see, ain’t welcome. Besides, he ain’t got no coin to fork out, which means no grub in my book.”
Jesse reached out to the old man beside him, pulled up one of his dirty sleeves, and grabbed his hand.
Instinctively, the nomad recoiled, but started to relax when he felt then heard several Cogs clinking into his palm.
“There we are,” Jesse said to both men. “It’s all been settled.” He directed his gaze at the vendor, adding, “Now, if you would please, let the man eat.”
“Ya might have fixed one problem but I’m not sufferin’ for the other,” the stall owner persisted, crossing his arms defiantly while flaring his piggish nostrils.
“Very well then, have it your way,” Jesse said hotly. Walking over to the next stall, he purchased two full loaves of bread from that merchant without a second thought before tipping him an entire Gear for it being the anniversary.
The original vendor’s arms stayed crossed but his mouth drooped slightly before snapping shut in a snarl.
Food in arms, Jesse returned to the old man, asking his name as he handed everything over. Leaning in, the man whispered Wallace into Jesse’s ear while trying to give the few Cogs back. Jesse politely refused, closing the man’s wizened hand over the money.
“No sir, Mr. Wallace,” Jesse refused warmly, “this is yours to do with as you please. Yes… yes… the food as well.”
Mr. Wallace’s eyes glimmered as though Jesse had given him some great fortune, and as soon as he smiled the tears spilled over, leaving clean streaks along his cheeks and chin.
Jesse couldn’t help but smile through his own shimmery eyes. Taking a deep bow before he started blubbering, Jesse took his leave promptly and carried on through the market for his meeting. As he weaved away, many were shaking their heads disapprovingly, but he couldn’t have cared less at that moment.
Jesse might have been interested, but remained unaware, that there was another amongst the sea of faces that also wore a smile. The woman he had spied earlier and wished to speak to, was now standing near the Junction saloon and had watched the entire thing transpire.
It was Jenny, stopped in her frantic search for work by the act of kindness she saw. Not expecting to see anything like it within the city walls, never mind so soon.
“Who was that man?” she asked ardently, the bartender joining her there on the porch to see what all the fuss was about.
“You don’t know?” asked Marcus with surprise as he leaned up on the rail, shooing away one of the toymaker’s little birds. “That, my lady, was Jesse Winthrope and despite what some might say – from the deadbeats who know no better all the way up the ladder to the elite – he’s a good man with a great heart. One of the best in this woeful place.”
Jenny could feel the incident, though small, burning away her dwindling hopes. Confidence boosted, she turned toward Marcus and asked him if he had any work available at the saloon.
* * *
1 Holotubes are like television sets, receiving monochrome still & moving images and sound over radio waves. Used primarily for communication by government officials, the units are also prevalent in large corporations and public spaces, where they are used for announcements and entertainment. They require huge, powerful antennas for transmissions.
I’M SO SORRY, but I don’t have anything that I can offer right now… Marcus’ words repeated over and over in Jenny’s mind, lining up perfectly with everything she’d been told since she arrived and attempted to find work.
With every rejection came more misery and a feeling of immense worthlessness. Staring at a large building in the distance (Frost Enterprises), dread crept into her gut as she realized she was just a tiny part in a very big machine. An unemployed woman in a sprawling city that only saw women in limited roles was a daunting prospect, one that made her crave the feel of a shovel or working the unforgiving soil with her bare hands. At least there was some independence.
The barkeep had been much kinder than the others though, forgoing any added insults or outbursts, unlike the man Jenny had asked at the fraternal building a few doors down from the saloon. He just screamed, so loudly that his face became puce, and he used a stiff broom to jab at her like some rodent.
Honestly how did you expect things to be, Jenny? her inner voice gnawed. Different from the Gulch? Where everyone would suddenly be lining up and begging for you to work for them?
Moping through the marketplace, dispirited by her own roaming thoughts, Jenny spotted another structure peeking over the rooftops toward the southwest. Enrobed in a shroud of steam, it was tall and made of latticed metal. She thought it might be the city’s broadcast tower, since it resembled a much smaller version back home, but she didn’t get much time to think on it before a wave of shoulders jostled her. One deliberately hard shove managed to snap her out of the slump and evoke the words of her grandfather, Mr. Johnston, and even Aftershock all at the same time.
They told her simply not to give up and that the current situation was a test of her resolve. Taking the timely arrival of those words to heart, she lifted her head with a modicum of pride. She watched and listened to those around her, hearing dark murmurs about the raiders attacking the Gulch and a lot of choice words about how stupid and deserving the settlers were to live out there in the first place.
Jenny became heated, wanting to tell those women how ignorant they were, but then a cascade of thoughts refocused her and she realized she was at a disadvantage; every opportunity for work and lodging in the borough was exhausted.
Thankfully, she had picked up some leads by overhearing conversations during her search. Unfortunately, they were mostly disreputable and located deeper within the city, leaving her with little choice but to try, no matter how much she wanted to avoid it. Imagining Diablo like some great tree, the outer, inner, and center areas were like concentric rings in its trunk. The outermost edge regions, like Comprass and its sister boroughs, were akin to bark, most rugged and varied, whereas the inner portion was far more uniform and regimented. Much of the support that bore the brunt of society’s weight was there, while the very center, most insulated and hardest to reach, was where the most money and elites dwelled.
Most the work Jenny got wind of were for show and slop shops, producing cheap, bespoke and ready-made articles of clothing craved by the masses to satiate their thirst for outrageous fashion. Uniforms for the clergy, Rangers, and prisons were also coveted, and all detested by legitimate tailors that catered in fine-crafted attire for the wealthy. Not that the idea wasn’t loathed by Jenny as well, with little desire to sweat and sew her fingers to the bone by hand in modest light. However, it was money no matter how pitiable the pay, anything greater than zero being a blessing.
&n
bsp; From Comprass she reluctantly headed to the northwest and was soon entering a neighboring borough, passing beneath a large stone arch with a placard attached to it. It said Ganado, or at least did at one time; the letter N was worn away and the O was caked with a layer of grime so thick it was illegible. The sight didn’t do a thing to prevent Jenny having second thoughts about proceeding. Nevertheless, she continued down thin paths no wider than alleyways and with each step the light seemed to drain away while the walls closed in. The color of the masonry also faded as the very warmth was stripped out of the air.
Somewhere, unseen in the distance, livestock brayed between the sounds of jeering men and cracking whips, the noise echoing off the unsympathetic walls before getting lost in the noise of the busy market. Catching a whiff of dung and the blood, its metallic taste hanging in the back of her throat, Jenny shuddered, visualizing a scene of carnage on a scale that was difficult to purge, even though she was used to slaughtering animals from life on the farm.
Similarly, Jenny thought she knew what it was to be destitute, until Diablo challenged her on that front, too, like some sick talent. Gloomy people with obscured faces were crouched and laid in front of similar properties, all alive with insects. The sight made her skin scrawl as she passed by many poor souls lining both sides of the street.
The classes weren’t neatly demarcated in Diablo, or elsewhere in the world for that matter. Workhands, craftsmen, artisans, and even educated working folk were all cowering against the despair of the world, having no hope of earning an assured wage due to illness, disability, or other maladies. One thing was certain among the uncertainty: there wasn’t a single trace of anyone elite gracing those dark roads1.
Jenny scurried through the area as fast as she could, feeling as though wandering eyes were on her even though they were all either dipped or hooded. She passed from the frying pan into the fire, entering subsequently seedier areas of town.
The next one was rife with organized fighting; dark-skinned wanderers being pitted against a few raider hostages that day. Emotions and bets were high, as were raised boos, cheers, and fists. Jenny could tell two of the bandits were from the Devil’s Shadow, being familiar with their style of outfits, but the others must have been from different clans.
She moved on and into another commercial zone where clunky, angular robots were being used for manual labor. Having heard stories of marvelous machines that looked, walked, and even talked like people, she was disappointed by what she saw. Those tales were obviously exaggerated, since these things were just glorified tools, beeping and whirring instead of conversing with anyone around.
Reaching a crossroads, two longstanding timber signs indicated she was, ironically, on Opportunity Walk; the other road was called Fisher Lane. She had no idea where these places were, nor where to go for that matter. Looking up and down the intersection trying not to worry, she saw a few recessed alcoves and tight backstreets that were shaded from the bright sun.
Seeing nothing of concern, she chose to go right, gasping when a couple of oily men unexpectedly emerged at the end of the closest alleyway. They loitered in high leather boots and tight trousers, staring at her with eyes full of wicked intent.
“Hey lady!” said a husky man on the left in a pleasant, but obviously rehearsed, tone.
The man beside him was taller and less appealing; that is if the first could even be considered such.
“Are you lost?” he probed. “If so, we’ll be glad to help get you where you need to be…”
“I’m fine,” Jenny cut sternly, starting to walk past them.
No way am I going anywhere with you two, she continued in thought, instantly reminded of Jebidiah. There’s always someone like this in every settlement and in this city, there’s probably so many that it rivals the population of small town.
“Aw, come on,” the tall one persisted, shifting agitatedly on his feet. “I know that you want to.”
“We have a lot of things to offer,” said the husky one, advancing. “You traveling all by yourself? This place can be a maze if you aren’t sure where you’re going.”
He reached down and grazed the front of his trousers before extending his arm.
“Get off!” Jenny demanded, recoiling as he tried to latch onto her.
She flicked her arm hard and it struck his. He stumbled backward into the lanky man.
“Wow! Did you just say no? To me?”
“Pretty bitch did more than that, Garrett,” the lanky one answered, sliding one of his busted-up hands into a pocket. He pulled out a knife, which caught a beam of sunlight and shined. “I think she needs to be taught a lesson.”
“I think that I’ve learned plenty about this place for today,” Jenny told them, “and recommend that you not even try what you’re thinking.”
Both men hooted, Garrett producing a similar blade which he tossed skillfully in the air.
“You hear that Tony?” he said, snatching the embellished handle as it spun. “She thinks she can tell me what to do.”
“Maybe she’s confused by her place,” Tony replied, “thinking she’s got something dangling between those legs? Come here sweet thing, you don’t look like a man to me. I’ve got the proper tools so let me check things out. I’ll promise to be gentle, at first.”
“You heard me,” she warned. “Don’t even try it.”
Tony grunted, moving toward her anyway, a swell now straining against his front. Garrett followed, both so close that their foul breath caught in her nostrils and moved her hair. Tony smiled, flecks of meat crammed in the spaces between his teeth.
He was first to put a hand on her shoulder…
… and Jenny whipped around fast. There was a soft thud followed by a pained groan, her boot having met him right between the legs. He hit the ground seemingly in slow motion, wincing and clutching at his crotch.
Garrett launched himself at Jenny, wasting no time swiping at her.
Jenny spun out of the way of each pass before making contact, smacking his knife arm. The blade few off, clanking down the alley and before Garrett even realized, her fist smashed into the side of his ratty face.
“You stupid whore!” he roared, using a thumb to wipe away the stream of blood that started pouring from his lower lip.
He didn’t remove much, smearing it more than anything. Glancing down, he grabbed hold of a revolver mounted to his belt.
“Now you’re going to get…”
Click.
The all-too-familiar sound of a hammer cocking reached his ears. Lifting his eyes slowly, they met the end of a junk pistol’s barrel.
“I happen to have the proper tools, too,” Jenny said confidently. “So how do you want this to end? By letting me go about my business, or your brains adding a bit of color to this dingy place?”
Tony was still groaning on the ground, his excitement gone, replaced with rage.
“What are you waiting for you idiot! Shoot her!”
Garrett used a forearm to wipe his deepened brow, slinking over to Tony. Hovering over him for a second, he leaned over and eased the man onto his knees, then his feet.
Jenny’s heart was beating fast though you wouldn’t know by her expression, forged well by her encounters with Jebidiah. She traced their path the entire time with her gun, patiently waiting for an answer.
“Garrett, you lose your manhood somewhere?” Tony muttered, turning attention to Jenny as his deep breaths filled the alley. “That piece of shit you’re holding probably doesn’t even work.”
He snatched Garrett’s gun and pointed it right at her.
“This one, on the other hand, just killed a loser far worse than you this morning.”
“Mine works just fine,” she replied calmly, the back of her neck sweating. “I would show you, but that’d just be a waste of a bullet on my part.”
“Better a wasted bullet than you drawing anymore wasted air! I’m done talking!”
Before Tony could act, another voice spoke from behind.
&nb
sp; “Are you sure about that?” it asked smoothly. “You shoot and I’m positive you’ll be doing far more talking, but to the authorities. I am sure such fine gentlemen like yourselves wouldn’t want to deal with Frost sentries now, would you?”
Garrett and Tony didn’t turn but Jenny leaned to her left, trying to get a view of who was there. Down in the shadows stood another woman, wearing a lacy black dress and matching corset. Her collared top was tan with short sleeves and its plunging neckline was crisscrossed with thin black straps. She had a rather ornate pistol drawn herself, pointed right at the thugs.
“Evelyn,” Tony sneered. “Don’t you have anything better to do than pester us?”
“Well, that all depends on the answer you have for this lady; she’s waiting.”
Garrett stayed quiet while Tony was visibly annoyed. His teeth were grinding against each other as an eyebrow twitched.
“I really don’t think this should be that hard of a choice,” Evelyn said, smirking. “Or maybe it is, since she addled your lower brain with that kick.”
“Fine!” Tony yelled. “Have it your way Evelyn, just know we’re not going to let this little incursion go unpaid.”
“You keep my tab open, precious. Now, be on your way.”
Evelyn watched keenly as the two men crept by Jenny and raced down Fisher Street. Tony, despite his best efforts, seemed to struggle doing something akin to a gallop.
“Thank you,” Jenny said, sighing with relief. She holstered her pistol.
“You’re most welcome,” Evelyn replied, doing the same. “Sad thing about deadbeats like that is they’ll be back, like some persistent sickness you can’t get rid of. But we’ve wasted enough time talking about them, let’s talk about you for a second. It’s not often I come across someone that skilled in handling the trash, especially one wearing a dress.”
Jenny blushed, finding a little comfort in the complement.
“Not from around here, are you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Yes, it is and to be honest I couldn’t be happier,” Evelyn said, looking thrilled. “As you’ve probably seen, it’s terribly regimented around the city as far as what roles people play; what they can and cannot do.”
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