To the right of us live a popular holo-vid star and his gorgeous wife and children. The estates of Sector 1 is the section of the capital city where the richest and most powerful merchants, celebrities, and bankers live with their families and servants.
It’s a world away from the squalor and poverty of Sector 4 and Sector 3, the poorest parts of this city – almost literally. Most of those who live near us take shuttles to their offices and places of work, instead of using the walking paths through the houses and neighborhoods. This enables them to avoid seeing the people who make their opulent lives so effortless and full of easy pleasure.
We prefer to walk, though – taking the same paths the rich folk spurn. Here, the only people we encounter are the maids, janitors, and gardeners – who can’t afford transportation of their own. They scurry from one place of work to the next – too shy to make eye contact with us, ducking their heads as they scuttle past.
We ignore them, and they’re grateful for it.
Besides, there are better things to look at. It’s a beautiful evening. The red sun bathes us with warm light as we stride through the pathways. This burning orb is why most of the humans of Deemak have brown, tanned skin. In fact, lightness of skin is considered a symbol of affluence here – yet even the richest humans can’t match the marble white of our skin, immune to the rays which toast their skin brown.
Woken by the bright sun and heat, we set a good pace – striding quickly out of the affluence of the estates and towards the marketplace of Sector 1.
It’s a long walk – two hours at least – but it does the body good. Even though we live as wealthy businessmen now, our species was born for blood and battle and it’s good to keep ourselves active even if we don’t need to be. It was not so long ago we earned our keep in blood.
The sounds of the marketplace reach us as we enter the center of the capital city. Even as the sun slowly sets overhead, the marketplace remains bustling and busy – and will stay that way until late into the night. The cultural rejection of automation – along with the frequency of powerful sandstorms that ruin machinery with rough, clogging sand – have made for a robust working class in the city; and lowered the pollution that poisons many other independent human worlds.
It’s one of the reasons we live here, even though Deemak is beyond the boundaries of the Aurelian Empire. In addition to the culture and cleaner air, Deemak also has no slave market and little human trafficking, unlike many of the other dystopian, human-run worlds: Two more repugnant facets familiar among the planets that have rejected oversight by the Aurelian Empire.
For us – refined in taste and appreciative of art and wine - the culture of Deemak is well-suited; traditional and ancient in nature, and withstanding change even in the interconnected universe of today.
Varian, Cyrus and I have been in the city for decades now, yet we still get regarded as novelties by the natives. Everywhere we go, eyes watch us – especially as we enter the busy marketplace. As the crowd parts for us, I watch an aspiring young street urchin take advantage of the spectacle we cause – pocketing a handful of figs from a market stall as the farmer who runs it stares at us as we walk past.
People look at us as though we haven’t been through this marketplace before – when, in fact, we visit several times each month. I find it amusing that they act so surprised to see us; even though we’ve lived here longer than many of the short-lived humans have even been alive. I have watched vendors have children who grew up to run the same stalls, as if the market is frozen in time.
In fact, I find so much more of this experience amusing. It’s a simple and rewarding pleasure to enjoy the marketplace. I breath in deeply, ignoring the gritty sand. The smell of meat cooking and the scent of ripe, succulent fruit fills my nostrils, making my mouth water.
This is a place to live, and to be alive – even on a distant, desert world that would otherwise be inhospitable to human or Aurelian life.
Deemak is so unlike our home world of Colossus – which spurns this world’s vibrant atmosphere for a culture of cold authority. Where we come from, pride rules everything. Growing to adulthood there, we were indoctrinated by the strict teachings of ancient tutors; from texts that have remained unchanged and unyielding for millennia. On Colossus, we learned to fight, we learned the value of honor, and we learned to protect every human within our Empire’s control.
That’s why, even though the people of Deemak are no longer under the auspices or protection of the Aurelian Empire, I still feel a great sense of responsibility to them. Humans are like children to our kind. They live only seventy or eighty years – and, in many ways, I feel like a father to them; even though I appear in my early thirties to their child-like eyes.
In truth, I have lived for hundreds of years, as have Cyrus and Varian. Our kind live for hundreds of centuries in all; assuming deadly Scorp, treacherous humans, or loathsome Toads don’t end our lives earlier.
“Gallus! Gallus! I have something for you!” A voice rings across the marketplace. I turn and hear the words: “Very rare! Very, very rare!”
The voice comes from Terrence – a local rug seller. Every time I walk by, he has something “very, very rare” to offer me; eager for us to share some of our notorious wealth with him.
I indulge him today, though – nodding politely to see what he
