Fiction Sample
He hated Vegas. Crowded, dusty, decrepit. He already missed the cool mist and pines of what had been his home for a dozen years. It beat the hell out of what he was dealing with now. He looked down at the salvage yard purveyor and cringed. Douglas had argued with the Dara for over an hour, the little creature squabbled over the price of everything from the salvaged grav engines he needed to the heaps of twisted metal cast aside by other buyers. To mask his purpose, Douglas had to continuously purchase more garbage hoping the raw materials were still nestled inside their housing. Sighing, he gave in and pulled a sack of clinking metal from the cart.
Pulling open the burlap, the salvage dealer fished out a bar of copper, sniffed it, then nodded. Douglas pointed to the pile of mustard pod roots in the trailer. The Dara nodded again with much more enthusiasm.
Physical currency was all anyone accepted here, of course. Dara were odd, they accepted useful things for trash, ore, seeds, food, water, and raw materials — whatever. It was like the concept of recycling was alien to them, maybe it was. Waving its assistants to motion, the clawed runts scurried to load up the cart with heaps of broken trash.
Douglas turned away, pulling back the hood of his jacket to mop the sweat from his brow. Seeing the dust grimed into the cloth brought up a bitter curse like bile. Gods, he hated Vegas. Everywhere the streets were choked with sand, what wasn’t sand was trash, and in the spaces in-between every kind of miscreant the known universe had to offer slouched. Too bad for New Byzantia, too good for prison – the comparison to purgatory fit like a glove. The Fintanin called it ‘the City of Lost Dreams’. He thought ‘epic shit hole’ was more accurate.
Most of the buildings were the originals from before the Orbs. Fallen to time, the ones occupied were propped up with repairs. Only the towers owned by the Metharom remained pristine. Sparkling fountains were a mark of power to remind all the vermin nestled at the roots of their place in the world. Even with terraforming it was still a desert, and water, while abundant, was still a commodity strictly controlled.
Once the cart was loaded, Douglas moved to the small buggy hauling the thing. Climbing into the seat, he revved the engines and pulled away without a second glance to the merchant. Douglas had shit to do. A whole crew of lackeys had come out here with him, most he sent on important errands, gathering supplies for the base. Knowing them though, more than one of his crew would have to be hauled out of a whore house or casino. Some things never changed and Vice City still lived up to its old moniker. Not abandoned during the Light Era, the city did not benefit from the trade and commerce from the stars. After all, who would want to tour casinos when the cosmos beckoned? The owners of the city tried to cater to the newcomers, but that might have been their undoing.
The Metharom were quick to move in and take over, showing the humans what vice really looked like. Prostitution, drugs, slavery, blood sports, illegal research, you name it. It wasn’t like humanity was innocent of these things, it was just the Metharom pursued it with the kind of detached perfection no human had ever mastered. UE never bothered to fix it. Why bother when they kept it to the city and anyone stupid enough to come here?
Anyone stupid like himself. He frowned, speeding up his buggy and spraying dust over a clustered group of people in red robes, bowing and praying to the sky. They didn’t notice, continuing to chant. Douglas tried to not think about their desperation lest it remind him of his own.