The Awakening of James Island

Chapter One: The Awakening of James Island - Part One

The desert sun shone fiercely in the midday sky as James Island made his way through the bustling crowds. The market heaved with the calls of merchants vying for the attention of passing people. With shouts of bargains, arguments and laughter, the languages and tonal range of the Sab Sina Market's patrons roared as one glorious mess.

Hot, spicy aromas bombarded James as he passed a stall with hanging meats. The short, unkempt woman behind the counter called out to anyone who neared, spouting offers in several dialects. James tried to mentally name all the animals he could see hanging, knowing all but two of them. He had gotten better.

A soft breeze thankfully cooled the light sweat on his face. It had taken him a while to adjust to the persistent heat that smothered the city of Tyken Town, and he often wondered if his discomfort was his body's way of telling him it wasn't accustomed to such heat. But by the time he figured that out it would be snowing.

James wondered why Tam, his foreman, had asked him to collect supplies on such a chaotic day. But if there was one thing James had learned in his time working for Tam the Man, it was how to follow orders, however insignificant they seemed. This was the least James could do for the man, after Tam had taken him in, given him a job and a place to live, when James had nowhere else to go.

A group of men standing by an apothecary stall caught his eye. Dressed in light weather-worn armours and loose fitting clothes held tight with thick straps, their large non-sheathed swords hung low from their belts. Possibly on their way to an exciting, dangerous and important mission. It troubled James to see people with weapons so casually worn. What kind of people would need their swords in a marketplace? Hunters, soldiers, mercenaries, he guessed, as they didn't look like any lawmen he'd ever seen, especially as they weren't carrying rifles.

Pushing his way to the edge of the crowd on one side of the market, James gave himself more room to move. He ran a hand through the sweaty underside of one of his toughlets, the metal bands of compartments that stored various tools and equipment along his forearms, letting the air cool his hot arms.

He could now see the dull orange sign of his destination. The words Erry's Electrics flickered in the distance.

Wading through the rowdy crowd outside, James entered the small confines of the store.

Roughly square shaped with a domed ceiling, the dim store had a dusty smell that reminded him of rusting electronics. While they were mostly for display, one of the defunct mechs—a blocky humanoid shape with large shoulders and thin arms and legs—lay in the corner, hollow eyes watching the customers in its inactive bliss. James had often wondered if there were security cameras within the eye sockets.

The owner of the store was a wiry gangly man with strong veiny forearms and long dirty hair, named Erry Boscida, whose dark-red skin gave away his Canarrian heritage.

James browsed the shelves while Erry finished with a customer. The cool air in the store felt refreshing on his face and armpits, making him realise just how hot he had been. He picked up a handful of power screws—the ones he kept running low on—from a shelf container and continued to peruse.

A low roar came from a monitor in the corner. James guessed it was showing a sport of some kind, though its volume, the only sound in the store besides the air unit and Erry and his departing customer, was too low to determine which.

"What'll it be?" Erry's gravelly voice croaked as he approached.

"Hi, Erry. I'm here for Tam's order. Tam Borral?"

The store owner's eyes narrowed. "That's right. You're one of Tam's. 'Sai, how goes it?"

Been coming here for over a year now, and he still doesn't recognise me. "Going fine, Erry," James nodded, smiling. "How's business?"