A Rusty Crutch

Rain pouring down on a city which contains both a heaven and a hell.

“A Systems Union representative has today for the first time in twenty years, officially acknowledged the murders of Bahkarr during the colonization war. The representative has given token credits to the families of the deceased.”

“Can someone turn of that damn crap!?” A lizard like creature growled. It had turned its moray like head from a dirty bowl of smoking soup to the bartender in the equally dirty bar. The bartender, a bald dark skinned human, was currently sweeping a bar table with his rusty metal prosthesis which gave off quirky and scraping sounds as he tried to clean of the table.

With a silent mutter did he turn to the old radio and turned it off. The silence lowered itself over the bar.

“Why did you do that for?” Another lizard said to its friend which now drank its soup greedily. As his friend he wore a poncho in an olive green fabric which almost melted in with the lizard’s brown-green thick skin.

“Because it was crap.” The first lizard like alien growled back. It took a large gulp of the soup before continuing.

“20 years is a short time. And when did the Systems Union start to feel guilty about the war?”

 

A human male listened to the conversation with a piqued interest. He was in his late 40’s with his dark hair having sprinkles of grey. His eyes were as colorless as his hair had started to become.

He wore a black trench coat and had an umbrella hanging from his chair. Before him a luxury breathed out fume.

He looked down at the black liquid in his cup.

That such a modest thing in the human colonies was a luxury outside the Systems Union. That a simple cup of coffee, and not even a very good coffee, was considered a privilege.

The grizzled man woke up from his dreaming by the sound of a message from his pocket. He reached into the depths of the coats pocket and took out a thin flat piece of plastic. It lit up as its transparent circuits started up. A message floated up to the surface.

We have a problem, met me outside the SU HQ.

The man finished his coffee and went out of the bar. The rain spewed down from the grey sky, like if a million angels had blackened the sky and cried on the city.

The man looked towards the heart of the city. Large skyscrapers rose up and continued behind the cloud layer.

The man himself stood in a shanty town made out of concrete, steel and glass. These buildings continued down from the crater walls to the tall spires. The spires themselves were built upon the old concrete buildings.

The man steadied himself on his umbrella not caring about the rain, while walking along a river of black water. Several other canals like the one he walked along ran from the hydropower plants that were built around the crater’s sides. The canals of black water were covered with tall and long bridges which support large trains which rushed from and to the city and the power plants.

These trains transported goods, which came from the outer colonies on the planet, which eventually ended up on the power plants which also served as a port. This had given this shanty suburb its name; The Portland.

The man halted onwards, ducking and squeezing through crowds of poncho covered humans and lizards alike. A wagon dragged by a large bipedal toad-like animal moved past the man, while he walked on a bridge over one of the canals.

Once he had reached his destination, a broad boulevard filled with wagons and the toad-like creatures, he breathed out loudly while supporting himself on his umbrella. The umbrella was an old thing, with a black wooden grip and with rusting metal parts. While standing at boulevard with the rain pissing down at him, the man rubbed his bearded cheek and looked around. Most of the wagons were empty, with their owners taking a break.

We have the technology to travel from star to star, yet I have to wait for some creature driven wagon? The man thought for himself. He had rather stayed in the dirty bar’s cozy warmth and listened at the alien’s discussion.

Now he had to wait for someone to offer him a ride.

The man looked up as loud music started to stream out from loudspeakers from a distance safe from the thrown rocks. It originated from a swollen zeppelin, which had several metal bars sprouting out from it, being covered in various lights and a large screen was set on its side, delivering propaganda from the paid government.

From here it looked like a bizarre bumblebee.

The thought made shivers crawl down the man’s spine. The city wasn’t called the anthill for nothing.

A driver walked out of their cozy office and got whistled at by the man, whose shivers had almost stopped but reinforced themselves as the driver’s appearance was revealed.

From the distant the driver had looked like an ordinary human. Thin, but human, now the driver’s antlike head was shown in full closer to the man than the man would have wanted. Its powerful pincers moved constantly, giving of some weird slime, which the creature wiped off with a hideous claw.

It stared at the man impatiently and finally gave of an irritated sound.

“Do you want me to drive the wagon for you or not?” The insect said spitting out the oozing slime on the dirt covered cobbled street.

This snapped the man out of his frozen state. He was lucky that the rain masked how he sweated, the man though for himself.

“Yes. Can you take to Kamprad Boulevard?” The man said with his slightly hoarse and gritty voice.

“Yeah, I can do that. That’ll be 14 Zel.” The driver responded while scratching the back of its head.

“That expensive?” The man asked while handing over two small plastic rectangles with badly hidden disgust.

The insect, not noticing the human’s disgust checked the money before putting it in its pocket.

“The closer to the Systems Union headquarters, the more expensive it gets. We cabbies need to get some compensation for the danger we go through. I’ll also need your name, for the record.”

“Dangerous times we live in.” The man said dreamingly before getting the last sentence that was dully spoken by the insect.

“My name’s Ian Renfield.”

“Thank you.” The driver said before writing down his name on a pad. Something that was harder said than done, as the insect fumbled with the pencil in its claw grip. The man had to take the pen from the driver and write his own name below many unknown names of previous passengers.

He walked into the wagon, while the insect got on the driver seat. With a few clicking noises from the insect driver the wagon started to move, being dragged by the large toad-like creature.

The crunching sound of dirt and small rocks was heard through the wagon’s cabin as its wheels moved surprisingly quickly as the creature pulling it moved quickly through the environment.

Ian looked out the window with tired eyes and soon enough, the shanty town was replaced by skyscrapers covered in dirt and graffiti. They had yet to reach the heart of the city where the Systems Union headquarters lay.  The heart of the city was the nest of the wealthy and rich. Or it was. Now it is reserved for the high officials and those that can bribe enough of their salary.

The smell of garbage and burnt meat filled the air which was painted in the colors of a rainbow by the numerous neon signs. Ian could see two thin men kick a lying lizard, screaming insults at it.

Guess everyone needs a scapegoat, Ian thought.

The closer they got to the heart of the city, the more the buildings seemed to press down on them. Like hives, the buildings swarmed with office drones and guards. Each one of the massive skyscrapers was owned by a corporation. The higher up, the wealthier and cleaner it got. But down here, the criminals ruled the, literally, underworld. Down here in the scraps of the richer men, in the mold, night time was eternal with neon signs and broken street lights the only thing illuminating the boulevards.

In the distance the faint sound of police sirens was stretched thin under the rain. Not that they could do anything. Down here, someone else ruled.

The wagon stopped at a dirty sign and the insect like alien went down from the driver’s seat and opened the door to the passenger seat.

“Thanks.” Ian muttered to the driver before opening up his umbrella. You couldn’t take any chances with all that water dripping down from the higher levels. There was a reason people here missed or had some extra toes.

While the wagon drove around to the throbbing of webbed feet against packed soil, Ian looked at the sign which told him that Kamprad Boulevard was three minutes walk to the left.

God dam cheater, he cursed for himself and started to halt between the shady buildings towards what seemed to be a blue shifting light.

He was however stopped by a man lying in a pool of dirty water. The man was crippled and had a rusty crutch lying beside him.

“You got anything to spare for an old man?” The thin, pale being asked Ian in neo-mandarin. Ian responded by throwing a couple of coins in a cup in front of the man.

“Here you go wise man.” Ian said while doing so. This caused the man to show a row of broken teeth in a grin.

“So you speak neo-mandarin. A few people these days that does.”

“I know. Too many of us are forgetting our heritage. Youths rather want to learn that alien language.” Ian responded to the beggar which was rolling a wet cigarette between yellowish fingers.

“Well, we are from an old generation. Care to give me some fire?”

Ian reached into his coat’s pockets and held up a lighter near the beggar’s cigarette and lit it up. The flame hissed against the water that poured down on it.

“Thanks. It’s hard to find nice people these days, especially after the war.”

“I wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Colony kid?” The old man raised an eyebrow to Ian’s answer.

“Yes.”

“This system just gets more fucked up all the time.” The old man said while gesturing with his soaked and useless cigarette. “But you wouldn’t know about it.” He continued while discarding his cigarette.

“I would surprise you.” Ian answered coldly, but the old man had already hidden himself under a muddy blanket muttering about how the world had changed.

Ian turned around with a snarl and halted towards the blue shifting light at the end of the boulevard. His black silhouette being the last thing the old man saw.

The clink of coins in his cup made him smile with his burnt face.

The pathologist would later find the same smile under a much cleaner blanket.

Author's Note

This is open a first outcast and haven't been "cut in the corners" yet.