The huge plaza around the docking yards was somehow both a relief, and uncomfortable. The crowds could finally thin out, but at least the confinement of the ship had meant a certain amount of predictability and order. Now he was, once again, out in the universe.

There were other ships docking, and some leaving, though not nearly to the huge capacity that had made the yards so important for the war. The crowds were being greeted by church groups, social workers, and a noticeable absence of the protesters that had been the dark mirror to the other two. The arrivals were simply being given care packages, directions, quick medical exams in portable shelters, and the like.

Kio ambled on, drawn into wider and wider empty spaces until finally, finally, he was somewhat alone.

The city was all around him; not towering, like some metropolises he knew from images and VR displays, but vast all the same. A sea of people and concrete.

He had hoped his heart would calm down a bit, once it became clear that he was not going to be confronted by the law in the scanner area, but the damn thing was still beating away, making him queasy and vibrating his limbs.

What now?

His eyes drifted to the departing ships. He had, before the mentor, fantasised about simply leaving; going out into the wider galaxy, in search of something better. But he had no money whatsoever. And how far did one have to go to really escape everything that was going on?

He hugged his elbows and started walking again, now along the sidewalks. It was late afternoon, the start of darkness, and the colourful city lights were making their mark.

Physically, the city had of course not changed in mere weeks. The pedestrian streets were just as dominant as the vehicle ones, and little trees had been planted just about everywhere space allowed: In rows between lanes, on rooftops, in small gardens between row houses, and on ledges jutting out from walls.

The people, though…

The ongoing flow of refugees, and the strain they put on the overall system, was clearly having an effect. He caught little mentions that confirmed as much, along with the lingering aftereffects of the city-wide chaos he’d mostly missed out on.

But the Purists were nowhere in sight. They’d grown bolder over a period of months, as the Authority’s ideology seeped into Yvenna, and gotten ever louder. And the brawls had gotten bigger, with counter-protestors, humanitarian groups, Tanga warriors, minority groups… even the police on occasion.

The crescendo, it seemed, had been reached in his absence, and the wave had rolled back.

Screens he glimpsed through windows or on the side of official buildings gave him small snippets of the overall story, mentioning trials, new laws, efforts at community healing, and the like.

Kio stopped at a circular intersection, right by the circle of trees that made up the centre. He’d drifted into a commercial district, designed purely for pedestrian traffic. Native Yvennan’s were out in force, doing their post-work shopping and entertainment-seeking.

Old people, children, and everything in between. Just like on that transport, and the messy shelter he’d stayed in before that, but dressed in familiar styles and speaking his native language. All so very familiar. And so very strange.

A feeling of unreality hung over him like a plastic sheet. All that time spent in the temple out in the countryside, the rest of it spent skulking in the night, in the city’s darker corridors. All that deliberate separation from… everything.

How was he back here? How were things just continuing?

A boy bounced past him, eating a red candy stick Kio remembered from his own childhood. The kid caught up with a grown man who’d been waiting for him, and Kio watched the pair vanish into the flow of people.

“Mm.”

He didn’t know what the little noise meant. It had come out entirely on its own. He shook his head, hoping in vain for clarity, and then started walking again.

It wasn’t long before he reached one of the hanhas; the big, square-shaped garden areas that intercut city sections. This one had been set aside for the refugees, and the banner of the Blessed Heart hung at each entry area, lit by a light at the top of each pole. The whole place had essentially been turned into a mini-neighbourhood of large tents and larger cabins made up of quickly-assembled sections.

Holographic words hung in the air, in large, bold letters, and his eyes fastened on “FOOD”.

He actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He’d been passed a basic protein bar on the ship, and it had only been during the final approach that he’d kept any track of time at all.

However dulled his spirit was, his body cried out for nourishment. The hunger he’d been ignoring saw its chance and now hit his gut like a knife. The pain of it got him moving again, and he entered the hanha.

The feeling of strangeness refused to leave him. It was like he was some ghost, wandering a world he no longer belonged in. The sight of two Tanga warriors patrolling put a pit in his stomach and an invisible hand around his throat. Evidently, a deal had been reached with the local Tanga to provide security.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

But the two men overlooked him entirely, and simply kept on going.

He passed by a series of sleeping tents, then a medical cabin, and finally reached a dining area, beneath the largest of the tents. He’d missed the dinner rush, it seemed, and most were already seated and stooped over bowls.

There were several cooking desks, and the nearest one had three people behind it, wearing the Blessed Heart tunics. One of them, a woman in her thirties, spotted him, made eye contact, then looked to her left.

After a moment of confusion, Kio looked that way himself and saw the queue.

Right.

He felt awkward and out of place, but did step behind the last person, a chubby man in early middle age. He felt like he was doing something wrong, partaking in a game whose rules he only half-remembered. But the queue did move, step by step, and soon enough he was once again face-to-face with another human being.

The man gave him a quick, polite nod.

“Welcome. Any allergies? Any health problems?”

“I… n… no.”

“Well, let’s fill you up.”

A set of printers was steadily supplying several containers, and out of these the man poured cooked meat, a yellow carb-stew, and added a small bread bun on top. The woman, meanwhile, filled a large mug and hooked it to the plastic tray everything else had gone into.

Kio was handed the whole set, and after a moment’s hesitation he took it.

“Please find a seat,” the man said, and Kio realised the queue had grown behind him. He shuffled in place, before drifting into a random direction. He found a length of five empty chairs, and sat in the one in the middle. He took a bite out of the bread bun, then shovelled several handfuls of the meat and stew into his mouth before he even bothered with the spork that was attached to the tray.

His gut absorbed the food, like dry sand absorbing drops of water, and the pain of hunger mixed with pleasure. He ate and ate, went for seconds, and for a few minutes his mind knew relative peace.

It lasted until about halfway through the second serving. With the hunger largely sated, and his eating slowing down, the thoughts started creeping back in, like a growing leak in a ceiling.

What are you going to do?

“Oh, look at this.”

The voice was close, and there was an edge to the tone that cut through the general din. Kio turned his head, and found that the speaker was indeed looking at him.

“Look. At. This,” he said again, with showy emphasis.

He was maybe a couple of years older than Kio, with a buzzed head and weirdly baggy eyes for his age. With him was another youth, with a shifting, faintly glowing tattoo on his big, ugly face. A quick, reflexive check showed folded fighting sticks in each of their belts.

“It’s the spot himself, without the spot,” Boma went on, and spread his arms out. “Did you finally get rid of it?”

Kio spent a moment looking for a response.

“Go away.”

“Oh, didn’t you hear? Everyone’s welcome, by the grace of the Heart.”

He thumped his own chest theatrically, and got a snort out of his companion.

“Every poor, desperate soul, in need of mercy and a helping hand. Me and Two Times…”

He pointed at the other one.

“We’re working. Looking for people. Looking for opportunities. For the… outfit, you know.”

“I don’t care what you’re doing, Boma,” Kio told him, hunched over his meal like a predator defending a catch.

“Well, I care what you’re doing.”

Boma plopped himself down on the other side of the long, narrow table. Two Times moved a bit closer, to stand at Kio’s flank.

“I mean the rumours have been running wild,” he said with more gesticulating. “The spot, running with a weird new outfit, with weird new connections-”

“Shut up and go away,” Kio said through his teeth. His moment of peace was well and truly gone.

”And where are you going to go, spot? The chief wants to know. Things are changing, and we need to know the players.”

Kio stared angrily down into his tray, and stuffed a sporkful of meat into his mouth.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, prick!” Boma said as he yanked the tray away.

Kio punched him in the mouth, bounced to his feet and grabbed his hair before Boma could recover, and applied all of his weight and strength into smashing the bastard’s head into the table.

Two Times pounced on Kio, going for a grapple instead of his fighting stick. The chair got in the way of Kio’s feet, and gave Two Times an advantage for a couple of seconds. He tried to force Kio to the ground, with himself on top, but Kio fought back. After a fraught moment of adjusting his balance he was able to step away from the chair, and with that Two Times’s window was gone.

Superior strength won out. Kio broke the grip, drove his knee into the guy’s nethers, then headbutted him square in the face. Two Times fell back, and head impacted with the edge of the table.

Kio did a quick scan, checking for buddies of theirs, then turned back to the two of them. Boma had slid back into seat like a sack, while Two Times was groaning and moving a bit.

“Two times…” Kio mumbled to himself, and then smashed his head into the edge a second time.

Another, slower, scan reminded him that he had an audience. People were looking, some were talking among themselves, and he didn’t like the tone. He remembered the security measures this place had. He remembered his fear of being discovered. AND that these two probably wouldn’t have risked starting a fight this deep in a sea of witnesses.

He snatched up his half-finished second bun, and hurried off. He got out of the dining tent, cut away from concentrations of people, and then found a bit of an alley between rows of smaller tents. He dove into the cover they provided, and ran.

He ran, thinking of police on his heels. He thought of dead bodies, blood, and retaliation. He thought of being called on to explain why it had all happened, and not having an answer. He ran, and ran, and only got more frantic as he made more distance, like his body was taking over, reducing him to a frightened beast.

On the other side he reached a row of decorative bushes, and used them as his new cover. They led him to the edge of the hanha, and back to the city streets. And he continued running.