Shaky hands attempted to tighten the laces of a stolen pair of boots.  The young street-rat’s heart was pounding in his ears as he tried to put on the specialized boots, but the fear of getting caught ate away at him.  His heart also pounded after climbing all the ladders to this cave that served as a service shaft incase the train broke down.  Giving a final yank, he tied up the heavy footwear so it was just barely cutting off circulation.  They had to be tight or any number of mishaps could occur.  Taking a moment to admire the RailRider boots, he saw the three pale, blue bulbs all along the side.  One at the top of the boot, just below his knee, one at the ankle and the last at the heel.  Each bulb was about as big as a monocle lens, except the one on the heel, which was twice the size.  His friend once said that the bulbs on the boots glow once you’re fully attached to the train rails.  Trying to get up, he had to contend with a three inch heel, his walking was a little awkward. Corbin prayed the black market dealer he stole them from wouldn’t notice their absence until he reached his destination.  Suddenly the small cave starts to shake. The train is coming!  Corbin shakily walks over to the entrance and observes.  It was the perfect place to try these out, since if he started at a station he’d be arrested immediately for having RailRiders.  They were banned for ’people’s safety’ because they said people would get hit by the trains that shared their rails.  His friend, Scale, said it’s to keep money in the train owners pockets and so they could easily monitor people.  

        A roar from the train signaled its arrival and it would pass Corbin in a few minutes, giving him plenty of time until the next train would come this way.  Waiting for it to pass, Corbin looked down past the cave entrance.  About 200 feet straight down was the bottom of the gorge.  A thin stream weaved between all the houses with little to no space between them for miles and were so short on space that they piled on each other.  Some reached about five stories high but no more so the trains could come in without hindrance.  That’s why the train rails were so high; to make more space for all the square brick apartments that housed the poor.  Snorting and spitting out into the open space he watched it fall. His final goodbye to this place.  The train finally started to pass him, but it shook the small cave so much Corbin scrapped his fingertips grasping at the coarse stone to keep from falling out of the enterence.  Throwing himself back, he clutches the rock wall, fearful he’d end up like the spit he just sent off when he hit the ground.  The din of the train echoed in the cave and seemed to be amplified to Corbin’s dismay, afraid that removing his hands from the wall to cover his ears would send him plummeting home.  

        Silence.  The train had finally passed!  Sitting on the edge, all Corbin had to do was reach out about two feet from the mouth of the cave to reach the rails and he’d be on his way.  Carefully setting one foot on the rail, the concave bottom of the shoe perfectly fit the rail with an inch gripping around it for stability.  Metal poles connected the bulbs on the sides and also kept the legs from wobbling, but Corbin wasn’t wearing anything else to help.  Brown pants that were tattered at the knee, barely covering the top of the RailRiders, a once-white shirt he found and a thick wool jacket he stole from the market just for this occasion.  Scale told him it’d be windy but he didn’t know the half of it!  The magnets on the bottom of the boots were one of the only things keeping him from plunging back to the poor district.  Corbin tried to remember what Scale said about the boots.  ’The light strip at the bottom powers it - one foot has to stay down, the other controls the speed depending on how much of the foot is on the rail.’  Bending his knee slightly, he puts the tip of the other boot on the rail.  Feeling confident, he put his foot all the way down and zoomed forward.  Desperately trying to keep his front foot down while he sped on the rail, Corbin watched the rough stone wall of the canyon fly by.  The rail slowly ramped up, he was so close to the city, he could almost see the buildings hiding just behind the stone walls.  Of course when the rails finally reached solid ground, instead of along the walls of the gorge, he saw a small troop of guards and not just the run of the mill citymen.  It looked like some of the king’s knights!  They were all clad in metal shin guards, spaulders and chest plates, their helmets resembled what a jouster would wear but a larger opening between the brow and nose to allow goggles to fit.  These guards were usually only seen around the castle, there’s no way they’d be the first to respond to a Rail-jumper.  Although, Corbin certainly wasn’t thinking that, instead worrying about more pressing matters - like the knee-high, metal Railblock across the tracks.  Corbin jumped, a knight catching and wrestling him to the ground while another tore off his RailRider boots.  Kicking and thrashing did nothing against their armor and only made the guards hit him more.  With his feet now bare, another came and began to tie a rope around his ankles, looping around so many times, Corbin could no longer even wiggle his feet in defiance.  Pressing a heavy metal boot on Corbin’s back to keep him from squirming, the guard stared down at the urchin, the black lenses of the goggles gave no emotion.  

        "Why don’t you stop some real crimes, scum-sucker!?" Corbin belted out as he watched a guard snap the thin, metal poles of the Railriders in half over his knee.  They didn’t seem to care about his pauper insults.  

        "Alright, send him home," one said, the others moving quickly to carry it out.  Two grabbed each of Corbin’s arms, one grabbed his legs and they walked to the edge.  Corbin thrashed as they got closer to the rim, he could just start to see the piled houses that climbed up the canyon walls.  With a mighty heft, the guards tossed the street rat back to the crevice he came from.  

Venstine

Tying back her strawberry blonde hair, buttoning her overalls on over the dark blue work shirt, with a large square patch on the sleeve that read ’Branzinie Foundry’ with the Foundry logo - a pair of goggles over a wrench.  Angela ran down the streets that seemed more crowded than usual.  Some pointed to the upper cliffs where four people in the distance were carrying something.  They toss the thing - a person!  He dives head first until the rope attached to his feet stretches to its limit so the man hanged upside down fifty feet from the cliffs.  

        "Poor bloke must be a Railjumper" a man said, a woman clucked her tongue disapprovingly, "Serves him right. Pay for a ticket like everyone else.”  Angela didn’t have time for this.  It was evaluation day! A day of hope where if the foundry was prosperous, they could afford to pay workers more at the end of the year.  Of course, with the war going on, everyone had to put in extra days of work, even Angela who already worked almost every day.  She thought it was impossible for them to not get a little bonus with all the work they were doing.  Running along the gravel road, dodging the passerby’s as they left their apartments that seemed to form from the rock walls.  The same walls that kept them all in shadows even though it was ten in the morning.  

        Angela finally reached the welcome sight of the foundry.  One of the only buildings, besides the train station, that had space between it and other buildings.  It looked like a huge grey brick with three giant smoke stacks pumping the air full of grey smoke, along with all the other building’s chimneys.  Speeding through the front doors she passed by all the furnaces super heating the different metals into bright liquid.  The workers kept busy casting metals, keeping the furnace’s temperature, and pounding metal.  With so many people in a small area, it reminded her of a beehive - all the soot covered, overall clad workers buzzing around tirelessly to work the raw material.  Pulling down her goggles to keep her eyes safe from the white hot, liquid metal, she went to her station.  Hanging from the ceiling was a giant, metal crucible, at least ten feet tall and five in diameter.  Two giant bolts on either side of it allowed the container to be poured when you pulled at the bottom, which was Angela’s job.  Two chains hung down from the bottom of the crucible so one person can pull from either side of the conveyor belt that ran below container.  Grabbing the soot covered chain, Angela and her partner Johnny get the hulking crucible to pivot at the bolts to pour in the castings on the conveyor belt.  Near the castings, wearing a welding mask, an overseer watched to make sure the pulleys poured the right amount.  Throwing a gloved hand in the air, the overseer signaled them to stop.  Releasing tension on the chains, the crucible was up right again until the conveyor belt moved the next piece that needed to be casted.  All this took place within a minute, maybe a minute and a half but it was what Angela did for ten hours.  Sometimes she got to work different parts of the factory but Crucible worker was her default.  Hours past when Angela was finally called into the foundry office for her evaluation,  she was the last one of the day, so once she was done she could go home!

        The wooded door to the office had a window, but you couldn’t see inside with the blinds drawn, and big block letters that spelled ’Chief Branzinie.’  Angela walked in seeing metal walls taken over by plans and filing cabinets.  In the middle of the rooms was a tan colored wooden desk that, like the walls, was completely covered in papers.  Walking in and taking the only other chair in the room besides the chief’s chair, Angela waited expectantly.  Mrs. Branzinie wasn’t used to the desk job that her husband usually occupied, but since he was called to war, it was up to her to get out of the foundry and into the office.  The transition wasn’t too smooth for Mrs.B, being a more hands on working type.  Laying down the folder with all the information on Angela that year, Mrs.B folded her thick fingers resting her chin on them and looked at Angela.  Wrinkle lines crisscrossed the face of the forty-six year old, her short, black hair barely reached her shoulders but it was so thick it curled everywhere.  She wore the same work shirt, filling it out quite a bit more, though having seven kids will do that, with slacks instead of overalls.  

        "Good to see you, Angela. I must say, I’ve been reviewing your file and you’re making it hard for me to find any complaints.  On time, barely takes a break, shows up for work when no one else would." Angela smiled "Thanks boss!" Mrs. Branzinie looked down at the file, almost forlornly.  

        "I’m sorry to say, but I can’t give anything this year." Angela stared at her a little confused. In her six years working here, they always gave something at years end.  "I’ll be honest with you, just about everything we’re making is getting shipped to the war zone for use and they ain’t got the funds to pay us back till after the fightin’s done."  Angela looked down at the concrete floor for a few seconds to take in what she just heard.  "I understand Mrs. Branzinie."  

        "I’m sorry, but I want to make it up to you. I arranged for you to have whole Lote Festival off. I’ve seen your requests for having all four days off has never been cleared, but I’ll make an acceptation this time." Slightly aghast, Angela smiles, wondering why Mrs.B would care about making amends to Angela.  They got up simultaneously to shake hands before they parted ways.  Right once their hands connected, Mrs.B squeezed Angela’s hand comfortingly, and the other patted the back of her hand.

        "I know the wars been tough on us all. Try to keep your chin up."  Nodding then, turning on her heel Angela left.  ’Oh,’ she thought, ’that’s why she felt she owed me something.’  With Mrs. B’s parting words, Angela found it almost impossible to keep her chin up.  

        Picking up the metal lunch box by the leather handle on top, Angela left work.  What little sun light there was cast a long shadow she followed it back to her apartment.  Short and squat, her apartment was only two stories with a general goods store and a five story apartment on either side of her home.  The other two buildings leaned in slightly since the top building was literally built into the stone wall.  Pushing open the heavy, wooden front door, Angela went straight to her room.  At the far end of the hall on the left, her tan colored door with a brass mail slot, and at the top of the door it simply said ’Mars.’  Jameson, the landlord, named the rooms instead of numbering them, so the eight rooms on the first floor were the planet names. Pluto was the one room upstairs.  Scowling, Angela hoped he’d just stay upstairs today and not bother her like he’s prone to do.  

        Flopping on her day bed, too tired to make it a normal bed, Angela laid there covering her face with her arm and just took in the day.  The Railjumper, the Foundry and Mrs.B.  Angela turned her head, moving her arm to her side to look at the wall across from her.  In the right corner was her radio, the first thing she got with her paycheck, so she could finally listen to her favorite show ’Brass Brigade’ and between that and the door leading out of her apartment was a large shelf with little knick-knacks and pictures.  A large swirling sea-shell, brass candle holders with pale yellow candle sticks, and a brooch with a peacock feather in the middle.  Between the scattered items were three framed photos.  In between the candle sticks was a picture of their mother, in her pilot uniform.  Veronique, her mother, had wild brown hair and a kind loving smile but you couldn’t tell that from the photo; this black and white slide showed only a strict looking woman, hair pulled back and looking off in the distance.  By the sea shell and brooch was a picture of her whole family in their Sunday best; her mother, father, brother and herself.  It was quite old since Angela was only 10 in the photo and her father still had a full head of hair.  The last was the newest addition to the shelf, a picture of her brother in his uniform. He’d gotten it before he was shipped out, so Angela and his father could have a copy.  The grey tones masked all the colors from her brother’s photo, his hazel eyes that were just like his mom’s and strawberry blonde hair like Angela’s.  Her eyes drifted down to the overstuffed, faded scarlet chair.  It was the first thing her brother got for the apartment and his favorite place to sit.  ’The cushions are so soft you feel like you’re dozing off on a cloud,’ she remembers him saying.  Flipping over so her face was buried in the back of the couch, Angela didn’t want to think about all that right now.  One of the things she liked about this apartment complex it that it was mostly empty besides someone across in Neptune and the man in Pluto.  Most of the people were taken off to war, so Angela didn’t have to worry about noisy neighbors.

        "Oh, Angela! You’re home!" A cheerful voice called behind her.  Cringing, it could only be one person.

        "Burton! What are you doing here?" Angela turned around and sat up to look at her neighbor.  Burton’s light brown hair was pushed back behind his ears, hanging halfway to his shoulders that were currently covered by his white lab coat.  Smiling from ear to ear, his green eyes glowed in excitement - he must have made something.

        "And how did you get in my apartment?!"  Trying to contain himself, Burton sped over to Angela, hiding something behind his back.  "That’s actually what I came to show you," he smiled and Angela saw soot covered half his face, with a perfect outline of where he wore his goggles.  Sighing, Angela prepared for Burton to show off his new invention.

        "I call it -" he whipped the object from behind his back and proudly held it out, "The Unlocking Gun!"  It looked like a small pistol but all brass and a tiny light bulb at the end.  Looking at her expectantly, Angela had an immediate question.

        "Why did you make this exactly?"  It’s as if he had been waiting for that question since he made it.  "Let’s say, you’re locked out of your apartment, or you’re old in age and forget a specific combination. You don’t have the money to pay for a locksmith and you don’t have a spare key," he twirled the gun around his finger, "This solves all your problems!  You just point it at any lock and pull the trigger! ZapTing! It’s unlocked. What do you think, Angela? Pretty neat?"

        "People are going to use this to steal things. Or break into apartments," she stared at him angrily.  He must not have noticed or his happiness is just impossible to break with this new invention.  

        "There’s nothing to worry about, Angela. It’s not like I’d just give this to anyone." Sighing, Angela gave up on discussing this with Burton.  "Oh, do you have any bread? I got some cheese and I’m willing to share."  Burton walked past the hallway that lead to her bedroom and the wash closet, to the kitchen doorway.  It had a cast iron stove, a water pitcher and basin, a counter with lots of space for dishes and an ice box.  Taking off his black gloves, he pocketed them and opened the bread box on her counter top.  He found a third of a loaf left.  

        "If you’re going to fiddle with my food, wash up first! I don’t want soot all over!" Angela called over, running to the kitchen.

        "Okay, I’ll wash up in my room, bring the cheese down and we’ll dine together!"  Burton practically ran to the door but Angela stopped him.  "Burton, we can’t dine together.  What will people think if I just allow some man to waltz into my home and casually dine with me? They’ll think me a lady of the night," Angela crossed her arms, trying to convey to Burton that this was serious.  It didn’t seem to work.  

        "Don’t be silly, Angela. Those ladies would certainly not dress in such unflattering clothes.  Besides, it’s a different time now! Why must people associate with each other when etiquette dictates? Why can’t a person just pop by for a visit then have supper with said person?"

        "I’d be more inclined to enjoy your company if you were invited."  Burton mulled this over.  "Alright, I’ll wait until I’m actually invited to enjoy a meal with you."  Angela picked up her mail opening the door for Burton to unsubtly suggest he leave.  Flipping through the five envelopes she finds an odd one.  

        "Burton, why do I have a piece of your mail?"  The address was hers but the name didn’t belong.

        "Oh yes, sometimes I leave for work related trips and instead of picking them up from the post house I send them here so I know they’re safe.  James would usually pick them up and drop them at my house for me."  Angela frowned and threw the mail to Burton.  ’My stupid brother would agree to something like that without telling me’ she thought.

        “I can’t believe I haven’t noticed ‘til now. My brother’s been gone more than two years,” she questioned, eyeing her neighbor.

        “I haven’t had too many trips recently, so I’ve just been grabbing them before you get home.”  Having reached her limit of time she could stand her eccentric neighbor, Angela walked Burton to the threshold.  Before she closed the door, he turned on his heel to face Angela and give a final goodbye but it seemed she was more impatient this day.

        "Well, this has been...interesting.  Until next time, Burton." Angela reached for the doorknob but Burton seemed to have an idea and blurted out,

        "Actually! I was gonna ask you a question. Angela-" he reached a hand out, "Would you care to join me tomorrow on a trip up to Nimeston? If you are free, of course." She usually only went up to the upper cities once a month to shop. They always had good products that were reasonably priced instead of the dirt cheap stuff that would break easily or was stolen goods.

        "It is my day off, I see no reason to I can’t go with you,” she answered, making Burton grin.

        "Well, until tomorrow then!" With that he went upstairs, back to his apartment, leaving Angela smiling as she watched him leave.  Though she didn’t like him constantly badgering her about his inventions or just coming over unannounced she usually couldn’t get mad; his cheerfulness must rub off on her.  Putting the mail on the table against the wall, she walked over to the couch, in a better mood then when she first came in.  Turning on the radio, she waited for the Brass Brigade program to start.  Relaxing, she listened to the commercial about ’RoseSmith soap: makes you smell like roses with just one wash!’ and her mind wandered.  Directly to her left, between the opening to the kitchen and the table with the mail was a ’laundry chute.’  At least Angela thought it was a laundry shoot the first day they moved in to this complex.