[b]Khurama Jila, Nai Kolkatta[/b]

The churning throng parted reluctantly around Sofija and Erko as the two companions set out into the morning surge of Khurama Jila. With her arm held up against her chest like a battering ram, she plowed a path through the bustling crowd allowing the meeker Erko to hobble along behind her; courtesy to strangers was a luxury that could not be afforded in the heart of a city of over 50 million inhabitants. Sofija was by no means the only one shoving her way through the crowd; it was to be expected with so many people moving in different directions all converging upon this dense, mazelike plaza. Standing a full head over the average commuter here, Sofija could see the fate that befell those who were not assertive. Out-of-towners, or those who insisted on being civil and 'excuse me'-ing through Khurama Jila were swept up helplessly in the current of moving people. Sofija and her companion had no time for any of that, for this was to be their first day at the new job.

Commuters like Sofija and Erko made up a large minority of the thousands and thousands of people in Khurama Jila this morning. The open cobblestone plaza was shaded by a number of gangly, planter-bound persimmon trees for which the neighborhood had been named in Hindi. Originally designed as an island of peaceful parkland in a sea of dense tenement buildings, the plaza had eventually evolved into a teeming open-air market not unlike those that had once existed in China, Southeastern Asia, or Africa. Vendors and shoppers seeking out wares and groceries created a formidable obstacle course for those simply seeking to pass through the plaza on their way from Point A to Point B. With buskers, street performers, drunks, panhandlers, bicycle carts, and a number of stubborn motorists all thrown into the chaotic mix, it was little wonder so many commuters insisted that Khurama Jila was Hindi for "clusterfuck".

The first and perhaps the most perilous obstacle that Sofija and her Tkrai companion faced was the ring of roadway that surrounded the vendor-overrun plaza. Indeed, the ground beneath the dense covering of people was composed of potholed asphalt, suggesting that the ground they stood on had at one point been designed to accommodate motor vehicles. The Khurama Jila market, however, had long since annexed the surrounding streets and alleyways. Even so, cars, trucks, and a swarm of rickshaw bicycles made a slow, intermittent procession around stalls that had opened onto the street. In between the bumpers, a steady stream of marketgoers and commuters filtered past the vehicles in spite of incessant honking and shouting on the part of the drivers.

As they crossed the street, Sofija looked back to her her companion as she did occasionally to ensure that they had not been separated. Even at a leisurely pace, it was often easy to outpace Batmen. Tkrai like Erko had evolved to climb up the sheer rock faces and trees of their jungle homes; but were ill suited to cross large distances on the level ground humans preferred. Erko had taken to a kind of knuckle-walking on all fours to keep up with Sofija, but in the crowd he had fallen behind just as a motorbike revved up to speed through an opening in the crowd. Sofija lurched back and seized Erko by the front limbs, pulling him out of harm's way as the motorbike braked to a thrumming halt.

"Watch where you're going!" Sofija hissed as an annoyed Pakistani man on the bike pointed accusatorily at Erko and shouted something angry and incomprehensible.

With the street behind them, Sofija led Erko on into the porous outskirts of the maze of stalls and shops of the marketplace. Underneath a ceiling of persimmon branches adorned with strings of Chinese paper lanterns was the most diverse array of stalls selling every conceivable product or service one could imagine. There were carts piled high with figs, oranges dates, and plantains; makeshift shacks in which mustachioed cooks scrambled eggs and bacon on greasy skillets; a peculiar mix of firecrackers, dietary supplements, and hand-me-down electronic gizmos were sold at a stall bearing signs in bold Thai lettering. A Honduran woman painted hibiscuses and beach sunsets on tiles next door to a small beer garden set up around a persimmon tree with bands of black, red, and yellow painted on the trunk. Across the way from a Polynesian man scooping out ice cream for a troop of Armenian boys was a dreadlock-maned African beating out a metallic tune from steel drums.

Many times, this place felt more like a carnival than any kind of market. At Khurama Jila every tribe and ethnicity of the human species had joined together to create something more than the myriad races that comprised it in a way that would have never been seen on Earth. After the destruction of the Earth, there could be no room for strife between humans. For in spite their differences and their histories, the human race had a common enemy in the wake of the Listeners' rampage.

But Sofija Sobral had little time to celebrate the survival of her species here. Elsewhere on this planet were great injustices being committed against the world that was humanity's last hope and the native life that called it home first. Even now, Entaria and Ephyra poisoned the planet's precious groundwater with their mining operations. Corporate entities such as Tri-Star and Timbeross crept farther out into the wilderness, raping the planet and inflicting great suffering upon Erko's fellow natives living beyond the Clear Districts. If Sofija and Erko's work with the Foundation did not bear fruit, she feared Brahma would be ravaged by humanity just as Earth and Orpheus had before.

Perhaps, Sofija so often thought, humans and Listeners weren't so different from one another.

Here in the heart of Nai Kolkatta, immersed within the familiar cultures, sounds, and smells of home, it was easy to forget that this was not Earth. Nai Kolkatta, with it's transplanted Earth flora and unique South-Asian architecture, could pass for an Indian city at a cursory glance. Despite the numerous similarities, there were occasional reminders throughout that humanity was far from home. The most obvious of all dominated the sky: Brahmaputra. The swirling ball of gas around which Brahma orbited shone with the reflected light of the system's star and stood as an otherworldly backdrop behind the skyline of Nai Kolkatta.

A more ominous reminder took the form giant gun emplacement at the north side of the plaza. Even though it had been decorated with Mardi Gras lights and bright murals painted on the concrete embankments around the turret, it was still sufficiently out of place in this park-turned-bazaar. Sofija recognized it as a Antifaunal Point Defense Emplacement, or more colloquially a Mayura Gun. At least 50 years old, the turret was a relic of the early years of humanity's settlement on Brahma, when Nai Kolkatta was menaced by the colossal flying carnivores. An eyelike sensor at the top of the turret scanned the sky for motion, seeking out motion profiles that would match that of a Mayura. Upon being triggered, the gun would target itself at the beast and fire a salvo of exploding rounds until the Mayura had withdrawn or was shot out of the sky, all while sounding sirens to warn citizens to seek shelter. Though Mayura had not appeared above the confines of Nai Kolkatta in decades, the guns had been active until only a few years ago when a Pratchapadrian aircraft had been shot at. No one had been hurt in the incident, but the city's government decided that the guns had served their use and shut them down indefinitely. Though they no longer served a purpose, the guns continued to remind citizens Nai Kolkatta was only a bastion of civility on an otherwise untamed world.

Sofija looked behind her once again and found that she had been separated from Erko. Immediately, she turned back into the coursing flow of shop browsers to find her companion. Half a block back, she found Erko standing before a open stall. Hanging limply from racks behind the booth were half a dozen flayed and gutted alien corpses of various species and sizes. Underneath these racks, a heavy-set African busied himself by hacking the limbs off of an alien akin to a three-legged reptilian antelope. When his eyes met with Erko's, he set the butchered animal down upon a plastic picnic table stained with various shades of alien blood and approached the Tkrai.

"Ah, my bruddah!" The butcher greeted with a brilliant white smile. "I know de Batmen know good meat when dey see it." He gestured with the bloodied machete to a gutted salamander-like creature with four pairs of finlike legs.

"Watah lizahd! [i]Tasty[/i]!" The butcher rubbed his belly with a chuckle, wiping alien blood onto a dirtied apron.

Erko said nothing, staring into the back of the butcher's shack. In the back was a pair of Tkrai peeling the skin off of other 'water lizards'. The two Batmen stopped when their eyes met Erko's. The butcher followed Erko's eyes to the back of the shop and glanced to the Batmen behind him. At once, the Batmen set to work again as the butcher turned back to Erko with another glowing grin.

"Dey your friends, bruddah?"

"No." Erko confessed raspily. "I have never met them."

"Don't mattah. I will let you have dem... for a good price."

It was then that Sofija that arrived, seizing Ekro by the arm. "Disgusting!" She snarled, looking upon the flayed alien corpses, but failing to notice the Batmen cowering in the back of the shop. "Do you realize, sir, that it is very illegal to distribute indigenous organisms or products made from indigenous organisms?"

"Are you with de authorities?" The butcher smiled. "Are you gonna take me away?"

"I will see that this shop is shut down! I promise you that this place will be reported to the authorities, do you understand me?"

The butcher only chuckled and resumed chopping the carcass he had left unattended. "Dey got more important tings to worry about. Nobody give a damn about your silly rules, lady."

"Come on, Erko!" A flustered Sofija growled, pulling on Erko's away from the shop. "Enough of this."

"Remember, bruddah, dey yours for a good price!" The butcher called behind them, pointing his bloodied machete to Erko.

Erko looked back to the butcher, but a deft yank on his arm directed his attention back to Sofija.

"Don't listen to him." Sofija commanded sternly. "What was he trying to get you to do?"

"Nothing." Erko lied. "He said nothing to me."