Nyck Seekall, former Data Provider for the Hake Army, watched in satisfaction as his vehicraft fell crashing into the Sea of Mercury. There was a thunderous noise as it hit the silver waters, then it vanished into the churning deep.

  Daved (Dah-vedd) Breggs crossed his arms in satisfaction of a job well done. “Well, that's that. I hope you don't want it back, 'cause I'm not going to help fish it out.”

  “No, no, thanks so much. I could not have pushed it in myself. And it is such a pleasure to meet another Wanderer! Since my decision to take up a life of Wandering a day ago, you’re the first Wanderer I’ve met. May I buy you a drink?”

  Daved eyed Nyck suspiciously. The nut was dressed in straw and carrying farm tools. He'd just asked for assistance pushing a perfectly good vehic into the Sea of Mercury. Life must be rough being a Hake.

  “Actually, I think I will buy you a drink. As a Wanderer, I've met odd folk, but never anyone like you. I know it's hard times for Hakes these days, but I had no idea it was so bad. They say Hakes and Sheeks were once the same–that no distinction could be made. How far, and how terrible we have come since those former years. Yes, I will buy you a drink to remember!”

  Nyck scanned the rocky bluffs overlooking the sea. A fierce wind rushed past, forever stuck in a circular route between the Tablelands of Selfar and the Etani Cliffs. “Is there anywhere to get a drink around here?”

  “Here, no, but fortunately I haven't yet pushed my flyr into the sea.”

  “I thought Wanderers usually traveled on foot.”

  “True, and I've done my fair share. But I'm getting old and don't have the strength I once had. A few months ago I scraped together enough savings to buy a flyr secondhand. It's not much to look at, but it'll get us to the city. After a day like today, I'm ready for a drink at the Dazed and Crazed.”

  “I was born in the City of Selfar. Lived there my entire life, before I joined the Hake Army–yet I have never stepped foot in that place. I feel ashamed.”

  “Why be ashamed? There's a first time for everything.”

  “That's where all the Wanderers hang out. I think I… I think I thought myself superior. It's why I joined the Army… I thought I was important.” He looked down at the Sea of Mercury. The waves broke upon the rocky face with a steady, pounding rhythm. “I thought I could change the world. But now I have only questions. I do not deserve to be even a Wanderer.”

  “It's true that your past will offend some, and your garb will confuse the rest. But let's drink anyway, for I want to hear more about your life.”

  The two Sheeple climbed into Daved's flyr. The small craft rose into the air and sped east. It only took a few minutes to reach the city.

  The City of Selfar was the Las Vegas of Shamonj. Twisted buildings pierced the night sky in perplexing spirals, while lights and sounds filled the crowded streets below. The vibrant city was filled with diversity. There were wealthy districts consisting of gently curving roads lined with tall homes of Selfarian marble. There were poor sections where both Hakes and Sheeks lived their life moment by moment, ever trusting that food would be found and they would make it through another day without being kicked out of the city. A dense hedge of commercial skyscrapers lined the western edge of the city, their windows facing both west, looking over the city and out to the Sea of Mercury, and east, granting the workers a breathtaking view of miles of rolling prairie framed by the distant Tablelands. In the south, a thick bank of factories and warehouses produced the goods that would be sent along the River Swift to distant ports: Talmyn, Kroga, even Seoltin, capital of the Sheek Authority thousands of miles to the north.

  Yet, the section of the city every foreigner knew by name was Zalfor Boulevard.

  Zalfor ran east and west along the sea, a shining road composed of a million light bulbs. Multicolored neon signs hung above it, in all sizes and shapes. The hazy sky was lit with an orange glow, reminiscent of the orange fire of the sun. The muffled roar of vehics rumbled from a traffic tunnel running below the boulevard. Zalfor Boulevard itself was restricted to foot traffic, perpetually filled with a throng of Sheeple weaving between each other like thread on a loom. Some ducked in and out of shops and casinos in search of new thrills, others strolled casually, taking in the sights and admiring the silver waters of the sea, and even others simply lurked suspiciously; whether for a purpose or out of boredom, it was not clear.

  Opposite the waterfront was a line of buildings, which appeared either atrocious or amazing, depending on the viewer's sanity. Each was designed with the apparent goal of being more unique and original than its neighbor. Spires and porches pointed in all directions. A giant spinning rabadon made of iron whirled above a huge black building with a red sign identifying it as the “Extinct House of Gambling”. Nearby, the Selfar Hotel seemed to be composed entirely of doors, except on the first floor. A line of Sheeple had formed, awaiting a lift by flyr to one of the doors on the upper levels where they would spend the night. Perhaps the strangest building, though, was the Dazed and Crazed Restaurant, at the end of the boulevard near the poor side of town. It might have looked normal. It was a simple rectangular shape, with only a few neon lights. A bright white string of giant letters read: “The Da ed and razed Re taura t.” Several of them were out. What made the building stand out, however, was that it was perched high atop a huge candy cane striped pole, upon which it was precariously perched at an awkward slant and rotating. It looked like it was going to come crashing to the ground, smashing Al’s Big Eggs far below. It was said if that ever happened, Al’s would turn into “Al’s Big Omelets.”

  Nyck and Daved, having emerged onto the boulevard from an underground parking lot, stepped into the elevator at the base of the pole. A bell rang an instant later as the doors flung wide, and they stepped out of the elevator into a filthy, dimly lit bar.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The odd thing about the Dazed and Crazed was that although various lunch and dinner specials were listed on the menu, no one ever ordered them. The food was purported to be the worst stuff below the fourth parallel. It was rumored that every once in a while the cook would shuffle past the guests carrying cases of unsold food which smelled so bad, they were finally being kicked out of the kitchen. Others contested that there wasn’t actually a cook, but large rodents who prepared the food in the back room. In any case, the rotating building was certain to cause any meal, no matter its origin, to refuse to stay down, so no one seemed to mind its absence.

  Despite occasional bouts of motion sickness and a lack of sustenance, the Dazed and Crazed was the preferred meeting place for all sorts of lowly characters. It was one of the first restaurants built on Zalfor Boulevard centuries ago, before it became famous. Now the oldest and least modern, it was something of a Mecca, especially to the Wanderers.

  The Wanderers were low-class Sheeple who, although they were primarily Sheeks, were homeless. Not all of them were poor–some were in fact quite wealthy, yet had sold their homes in order to wander the planet in search of adventure. Others had long criminal records and simply had nowhere else to go (when they weren’t in jail). Others simply preferred a life of Wandering to whatever background they had come out of. They were Sheeple who viewed Wandering as an occupation, or a destiny. Leaving surprised parents, they entered a life of freedom and travel, living off the land or from strangers’ handouts. Most traveled on foot, though some used a vehicraft or flyr. All were constantly on the move, whether for fun or necessity; this was the common thread that bound all Shamonjian Wanderers.

  Daved, with a husky build, scuffed arm plates, and stubble-covered chin fit right in with them. Most were dressed in grubby gear that made them look like they'd circumnavigated the small planet on foot (and some had). Nyck's outfit of bright yellow rope and straw was completely out of place, but the Wanderers didn't seem to notice. Daved and Nyck found a seat near the back of the restaurant by the kitchen. The floor of their booth had been cut at an angle so that it was level, offsetting the building's tilt. A thin, sick looking waiter brought them some swampdrinks and disappeared. Daved took a sip of his and took a long look at Nyck.

  “Now that you're here, it's definitely official. Yes, you sold your home and ditched your vehicraft. But now, having drunk a swampdrink in the world's worst restaurant… you are a true Wanderer. But tell me more about this theory of yours. Do you really believe it?”

  “With all my heart,” answered Nyck. “Every day I become more convinced there must be a… well… Reason for it All.”

  This was the kind of talk that made Daved nervous for Nyck’s well being. “Now look. I mean no offense, but you should watch what you say, or you'll have Sheeple asking if that straw you're wearing doesn't go the entire way to your brain.”

  Nyck frowned.

  “Wait, hear me out. I'm no bright Sheek, I'll admit that, but I think I have a little bit of common sense. And a lot of experience. I’ve been all over this entire planet–I’ve seen it all–and trust me: There’s no logic in any of the unexplainable. There is absolutely no way that those things we don’t understand could be explained by logic. You just gotta take them as they are.”

  “You admit the world is filled with illogic; yet you will not even consider that there is an explanation for it?”

  “I have considered, do consider. That is what we Wanderers do. Why do you think we chose this lifestyle–to be laughed at by city folk? No! We do it because we long to find the real reason that life is like it is, to explore the mysteries of this vast planet. It is the same drive that led you to our occupation; the same questions come to us as to you. But I have Wandered as long as any here, and I can speak for us all when I tell you what we have discovered: There is no reason! Anyone in this room will tell you that. Life is without logic, without rule. There is no purpose to life but to wander. This you will soon discover. I have seen the winding swamps of Kudskar and the steaming pools of Ranj. I have seen the brown hills of Champazia and the scorching deserts of Farwest. I have been to Kroga, to Kaspari, to Wekiz and Eelvym. Everywhere there are the same mysteries and the same truths. Everywhere there are the same problems and the same solutions. We grow in science, yes, but only to find as many questions as answers. There is no more meaning to life than life itself.”

  Nyck sighed. “You do not see the possibility that behind every random act, there is a rule? That a common force governs Hake and Sheek, pebble and star? That all things we write off as unexplained are connected in one grand formula of logic? I hear what you are saying, but I am still compelled to seek this.”

  “Well,” said Daved cautiously, “I guess I do know of three points of logic on this beautiful but confusing planet. Not sure it's what you're looking for, though.”

  Nyck’s face brightened. Perhaps he could find some useful information here. “What?”

  “A chopper, tallgrass twine, and Alltarp.”

  “You are mocking me again. I am wearing straw to illustrate my quest, not because I am crazy.”

  The Wanderer shook his head and flashed a toothy grin. “No, I am serious. These three things are the foundation of my life, the only sure things I have ever trusted. With a chopper, you can chop, mold, shape, cut, destroy. The perfect tool: a hammer; a chisel; a sword. Useful for cutting trees to create beams and posts. It will never let you down.”

  Daved leaned forward as his voice intensified. “Next, tallgrass twine. You can connect; tie; string; hold. To create and secure… I am never caught without it. He pulled a rope out of his pocket and tucked it back in just as quickly.

  His eyes widened in excitement as he continued. “With Alltarp, you have a surface. A roof; a sail; a shirt. With these three tools, you can survive anywhere–make anything. They are the best three items a Sheepel can have. I can think of nothing more important than this trinity.”

  Nyck seized the opportunity. “So wouldn’t it make sense if, somewhere, there was a logical reason as to why it is that these three items are so perfect? Why are they the foundation, and not say, earth, wind, and fire? Or rock, paper, and scissors? Surely there is a reason!”

  Breggs pulled out a nickel-plated chopper and held it up in the dim light. “Listen, Nyck. If there was a reason… the reason would be more powerful than the tool.” The chopper glistened as Daved tilted it. “And I don’t buy that, not one bit. Search the world if you must, but in the end I think you will agree with me. This planet is without logic, this life without purpose. All one needs to survive are these three tools. We are gluttons, for all else we own is of little consequence, adding no value to the days of our life. Have you not heard the saying: 'Chaos is the only rule, and the galaxy its offspring'?”

  “That's just ancient philosophy. Wyvere, wasn't it?”

  “It's as true today as it was then.”

  “Sure didn't help him much. He's dead.”

  Daved sighed. “I can see you will be not dissuaded.”

  “Perhaps you are right, but I hope not. To learn the truth, that is my quest.”

  “Good luck with that. In any case, you will enjoy life as a Wanderer. This planet is beautiful and there is much to see.”

  Nyck could see that Daved was growing bored of his company. “I’m sure it’ll beat life in the army. And hey, thanks again for helping me with my vehic.”

  “Anytime. Maybe I'll see you around.”

  Nyck rose and left, disappearing into the slanted elevator. Daved took a gulp of his swampdrink and set the empty glass on the dirty table. “Hakes,” he muttered. “Think they know everything.” He stared at his glass, deep in thought.