Tales SECUREMARKET Colin Sandel

Tales from the SECUREMARKET Colin Sandel Urbane Undead Small Press Rockville, MD This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations, is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2010 by Colin Sandel. All Rights Reserved. Published by Urbane Undead Small Press. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval sys- tem, or transmitted by any means withouthout the written permission of the author or publisher. Acknowledgements & Dedications This novel is for everyone who witnessed the creation and development of the Age of Corporations, particularly those who read Tales as it was being written, offering their invaluable encouragement, corrections and ideas. Special thanks go to Julia Suggs, Lauren Harrison, and Renee Griffin for going above and beyond to help refine my work. Thanks also to Robin Sevakis, without whom New Washington might not exist. Extra-special thanks go to Dani Church, who did at least as much work on the book as I did. Arc I Tales from the Securemarket™ Introduction Did you know: of the violent deaths that occur in the greater New Wash- ington area, over 30% occur to ordinary people running everyday er- rands? New Washington is the greatest city on Earth. Magic and Technology are at their peak, adventuring is a career choice, and Legends walk the streets. Sadly, it seems to be normal people who suffer the cost, oftentimes gunned down by mercenaries or blown apart by a powerful mage while trying to buy a cup of milk! No one wants to be eaten by monsters while trying to pick up produce, but few of us are given a choice in the matter. It doesn't have to be this way. Have you ever wondered why your office requires that its employees have Martial and Magic Certification, but your local supermarket doesn't? We seek to change this standard. The Securemarket™ is simply the safest and best shopping experience in New Washington, providing a wide selection of high-quality food and maintaining the best standards of protection in the service-provider industry. Our employees are all trained in the use of magics and weaponry and periodically participate in training retreats designed to hone their ability to protect and serve you. In the greatest city in the world, you shouldn't expect anything less. Welcome to the Securemarket™. We'll take care of you.® 5 1 It was an ordinary Wednesday in the greatest city in the world. The air was crisp but not cold, made warmer by the mid-day sun shining down upon acres of pavement and skyscraper. Hours ago the nine-to-five crowd had begun their takeover of the city, releasing it from the hands of the late-night workers and career partiers. The streets milled with thousands upon thousands of everyday people, dressed in suits and casual clothing alike, wearing guns and swords and wands. They poured into and out of the entrances to Rail stations, office buildings, restaurants. For many, it would be the first or last day of their lives; for others, it was merely an ordinary day. On the fourteenth floor of an apartment building on 15th Street in north New Washington, an employee of the mighty Securemarket™ woke at the crack of noon. He was wiry-thin and tall. Like most New Washingtonians, he had a deep tan skin tone and facial features indicating the melting-pot heritage of the city. His black hair was splayed in dreadlocks around his head which slowly drew together as he sat up. He blinked several times, then turned to his bedstand. On top of his alarm clock were a simple black handshell, a tube of chapstick, and a nametag reading ‘Matt’. He reached for the handshell and picked it up, knocking the tube of chapstick to the floor. He tapped the surface of the shell, watching its screen come to life. A few more taps from his thumb and he had opened a contact and set the shell to call it. He held the shell to his ear and cleared his throat several times. After five rings, someone picked up. “Steve, girl,” he said into the receiver of the phone. A female voice said something, sleep-thick, into his ear. “Yeah, you slept through your alarm.” The female voice sounded startled. “I know. But it's aight. The boss is going to be late too. There's a Rail delay. Chill.” The voice responded with relief, then, after a pause, sarcasm. “If I used my second sight for anything important,” the dreadlocked employee said, “You'd still be asleep when Alan got to the store. You're welcome.” The employee ended the call, set down his shell and once again cleared his throat loudly. “That reminds me,” he muttered, “I need to buy a camera.” 6 Tales from the Securemarket™ 7 “Hey Zap, catch!” The black-haired young man turned just in time to see a large package of toilet paper flying toward him. He jerked his arms upward, clipping his elbow against the sharp edge of the weapon at his hip. “Ow!” he yelped as he caught the toilet paper. “Pff. That hurt you? It's TP, not plasteel,” his coworker Steve said, her tone incredulous. Her auburn curls swayed as she carried another bundle of toilet paper toward the shelf and shoved several along the ground with one foot. Zap swiveled, trying to bring his aching elbow into view around the large package in his hands. “No, it's this damn Forcebolt,” he complained. “My elbow hit it. I'm not used to wearing a weapon.” “You'll get used to it,” Steve said. “If you don't look like you can defend the place, we'll get an audit.” She rose to her tiptoes and shoved the package into place on the high shelf. Her own weapon, an ominous- looking custom pistol, glinted in the store's sterile light as she turned. Zap glared at it for a moment, then laughed. “Hey Steve, got a joke,” he said, smirking as he stood on his own tiptoes to place his package on the shelf. “What’s the difference between a gun and a marital aid?” Steve turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “The average New Washingtonian can get it up without a marital aid.” His coworker's stare hardened, her eyebrows forming a flat, angry line. “What?” Zap said. “It’s just a joke.” Steve's glare bore into Zap's face. He averted his eyes. “Look, I wasn't trying to offend you.” He paused, then said, “I just sort of think the whole arms culture thing is—” “Whatever,” Steve snapped, turning back to stock the shelf. “I’m honestly not trying to say your apprenticeship is—” “Whatever! Zap!” Steve said, her whole body tensing. “I don't care. You want to do your job or what?” She snatched another package of toilet paper and jammed it into place. Zap gingerly slid his onto the shelf, then picked up the next. “Are you sure?” he probed. “I’m not an apprentice gunsmith because you think it's cool,” she said, shoving the package onto the shelf. She tossed a dismissive gesture at Zap and focused a look of uncharitable appraisal on him. Zap found himself suddenly self-conscious of his skinny frame and soft features. 8 Colin Sandel “You're not working on your degree because wizards make me moist. Because they don't.” Zap shifted uncomfortably and set the package back down where he'd picked it up. “Maybe I'd better go stock the sodas.” “Maybe you'd better,” she replied coldly. At the front of the store, a man in his fifties with a muscular, lean build pushed his shopping cart up to the checkout line, his bald pate gleam- ing in the CoolSun full-spectrum crystal lamps of the store. He began unloading his items, placing them in the scanning area one by one. This was not a noteworthy event until the scanner refused to recognize one of the items. The man looked puzzled and moved it out of the sensors, then placed it back in. The computer remained unresponsive. Seemingly from thin air, a young man appeared next to the customer. He was coffee-skinned, dreadlocked, and very handsome. He had a small set of shimmering holo-tats on his face, a common sign of a yuzie or street punk, but he was also wearing the simple red apron of a Securemarket™ employee and a nametag labeled ‘Matt’. He raised a hand and used it to tap a few points on the scanner's console. “Tamarind,” he murmured to the bald man, keeping his voice low. “The scanner doesn't like tamarind. Never recognizes it.” Then, raising his voice to more normal levels, he added, “Also, your wife's cheating on you. Check her pea-coat when you get home.” The scanner beeped as it decided to acknowledge the tamarind's pres- ence. The dreadlocked employee turned and sauntered away, leaving the bald man standing baffled in front of the scanner. Now alone, the bald man scoffed, smiled and shook his head. He then paused, furrowed his brow, took out his handshell, and stared at it. Ten minutes after Zap had begun restocking the sodas, he had a visi- tor. The shift manager Alan, a twentysomething with light brown hair, walked by the drinks aisle holding a tabletshell, absently tapping the screen with his finger as he took inventory around the store.

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