Wanted: Intact or Vapourised

Chapter 1

The sky was the colour it ought to be and did not warrant description.

In this case, a perfectly conventional green mucky sky full of plumes of mould.

Ishtar's charming sky of poison was hardly seen or touched beneath layers of smog, precarious wires and tarps; the clutters of tight life.

There was only one city, itself like a great colony of culture, a wart upon the brown surface of the moon that shined like an eye. Culture in more than one sense.

It was a disastrous city. A mess.

A city with too much culture has no culture whatsoever, and Easter Market had most cultures. It was called Easter Market because that was the only thing the city was good for. I was a mess of species and each one brought with them their own nonsense. It smelled like stinking nothing, the music was a cacophonous competition of blaring noise, unable to be enjoyed by any one taste without displeasing a million others.

One did not call Easter Market 'packed'.

There was no such thing as a day when it wasn't.

But Joon Gregor found comfort in it all the same. On Ishtar, where no-one really belonged except the mould, he felt he had something in common with everyone else. Humans had founded it (foolishly) a long time ago. So humans ought to have belonged a little more than anyone else. But they didn't, though this was through no fault of the city. Humans were a people who's name was almost a shorthand for 'unwanted' so anything resembling 'human-pride' was misplaced. Well, the fact that he knew it was misplaced didn't make him any less proud! Where else was he supposed to find pride?

Not many humans remained here.

So, not very many people who looked like him. Probably five Humans lived on Ishtar at any one time.

Like most humans Joon had two arms and two legs, a torso and a head. He happened to be shorter than most, and very slightly built from malnutrition. He had maroon-red hair that fell unkempt around his head in feather-like spikes, with large angular brown eyes, epicanthic folds, a flat nose and full lips. He was so isolated from others of his species that he had no way of judging how attractive he was.

He was not normally aware of his appearance, but he was forced to confront it occasionally. This was one of those times.

The Bulletin Boy. That's what they called him.

Well, that's what he imagined they called him, and he didn't like it.

Joon Gregor's big stupid face found it's place on every bulletin within light-century in any direction. A nine-year old photo of a nineteen-year-old boy. He had never managed to get caught up for an official update, for obvious reasons. It frustrated him more than it should have. His chin had come in since then!

The bulletin flashed, the screen fuzzy and complaining from the grime and carved graffiti at it's corners.

"Joon Shozo Gregor, Wanted Intact. Incentive level 1.9. Last seen on/in/at: Dalakadakamaravi Station 2."

Wanted Intact. Nice way of saying 'Dead or alive'. Presumably there weren't many ways to bring back someone alive and yet not intact.

That young Joon on the poster looked blissfully unaware of everything ahead of him, and if Joon squinted, he might see his reflection like a messenger waiting to tap the boy on the shoulder to give him the bad news.

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Ptolemy Pharaoh thought he and his sister were the only humans for several light-years. That was hardly a surprise. Maybe Joon Gregor would be happy to see them.