Eseere: The Language of Wind

The Gribben

Bijaz Complex, The United Republic of Provinces,

Nasai, White Moon 3303 - December

"Five shekels, not three!" the fish monger shouted at Tajji Alam from behind the makeshift counter of his pushcart. "This is fine fish! Fresh from the sea!"

Tajji dismissed the greasy man with a forceful wave of his hand and stalked away as he shouted back.

"Fresh my foot!" Tajji called out from over his shoulder. What did this man take him for? He knew the smell of fresh fish from the stink of four day old fish!

He stomped away down the road. It was nearly sundown and he still had not been able to find a decent meal for his family. Things were getting worse within the compounds when it came to finding food that wasn't contaminated by whatever the aliens were putting into the water supply. Tajji looked up at the sky and saw that the sun had moved further west; he could only see the very top of its crest upon the horizon and would have to hurry if he wanted to make it to the off-settler village and back before nightfall. He reached into the pocket of his worn trousers and fingered the coins there to count them once more with removing them. Crossing the border would require two shekels coming and going which would leave him with only five shekels to buy food with.

He didn't want to buy from the Republican market but although the food from the settler village would be bitter and dry, it would at least be fresh and would not give his children the runs. Hopefully he could continue to keep the mind illness away from his family with the stash of Sufa nuts he kept in the attic storehouse. Picking up his pace and darting between immobile food carts and street peddlers, he carefully avoided the day patrollers as he strode down the busy street.

Many of the laborers he passed looked exhausted and were on their way home to their families after spending the entire day on the assembly line in the factories. Tajji did not miss the work but couldn't help wishing that he had the stability of a weekly paycheck. Working for men like Mr. Hijaz provided him with large sums of money but the payouts were sometimes few and far between and dependent upon the value of the information that he was able to gather so the payments were hardly reliable. If only he could have bought back his taxi, but there just had not been enough money from Meera's paycheck and the clerks had sold it to someone else last week.

The streets became cleaner and more deserted as he reached the limits of Bijaz Complex and crossed over into settler territory. The settlers were not that much better off than the laborers in terms of how the clerks and council members thought of them, but they were aliens or at least mixed breeds and had the luxury of steady work, comfortable homes and safe, clean streets in addition to full citizenship within the URP.

Tajji arrived at the Sunshine Village checkpoint and paid the coins to cross in. None of the alien markets remained open overnight anymore since the murders in the area and he just made it to the doors before it was due to close. The ceiling lamps were bright as he entered the squat concrete building through the security shield on either side of the doorway. Five shekels would be able to buy him three large portions of genetically harvested chicken, a large bag of brown rice, a bushel of wild greens and a small bag of dried fruit to sweeten their well-water. Tajji rushed through the aisles to grab what he needed as the loudspeaker announced that the store would be closing in five minutes. He carried his items to the checkout line where the alien girl behind the register, a half-breed by the look of the light brown freckles upon her face, wore gloves covering her hands and was careful not to touch him when accepting his coins. He ignored her and chose to instead watch the diminishing sunlight beyond the cloudy plastic windows and snatched his bags from the rotating belt angrily as soon as they had been processed.