From: wolf@cheshire.oxy.edu (Clinton Richard Wolf)
Subject: Freddie Phelps' Fatal Initiation
Organization: Occidental College, Los Angeles, CA 90041 USA.
Date: Mon, 28 Sep 1992 19:54:24 GMT

    In a ramshackle shack quite near the blasted reaches of the Shunned Cen-
ter, an important meeting was taking place. Gathered around the flickering
flames of a makeshift firepit, 20 or so youths sat on rotting chairs, benches,
or the dusty floor. These were the children of Generica's forgotten citizens,
the poorest of the poor, still hanging on to squalid lives on the edge of what
surely must be Hell come to the Known Lands, a place their fathers and the
fathers of their fathers had lived in since they first came to Generica; hoping
to start new lives, only to find themselves at Death's door...
    But even Death can sometimes yield up trinkets, and here in the Buff' those
who were quick enough and smart enough could sometimes outwit her. Sometimes
even coming back with something to sell to the unscrupulous merchants of the
Low City, who give them a few coins in exchange for sometimes priceless arti-
facts. The Buffers know this, but they don't care. They make do with the lot
Destiny deals them... the coins buy food for their family to eat, or medicine
for their sick and dying parents or siblings. There is no other way. They are
a desperate lot, and thus attempt desperate things...
    Those youths that dare this path have nothing to lose. They have banded to-
gether because they have no one else. They seldom live more than a year from
the time they join up. They accept this as a fact of life.
    They are the Shunrunners...

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
    Largo, the 'Liff, stood at attention in the doorway, peering out into the
night with a sputtering torch in one hand, and the shiny metal spear that was
his badge of office, and his pride and joy, held upright in the other. He
stood far taller, and wider, than most of the Runners, but you wouldn't call
him fat. No Buffer ever enjoyed the luxury of being fat. But Largo was in bet-
ter shape than most, and at the ripe age of 17 stood about 6'3", somewhat gaunt
but still strong at 173 lbs., and more than able to effect his job as enforcer.
He turned from the doorway to peer at the assembled Runners, who sat and chat-
ted amongst themselves, probably sharing survival strategies and such, or tales
of their encounters in the Center. Largo shuddered, thanking whatever powers
there might be that his job precluded Running... but Largo had heard the stor-
ies, and had seen the bodies of those Runners whose luck had run out. Leaning
his spear against the wall, Largo scanned the crowd for the reason for to-
night's meet... there he was... Freddie Phelps, old Mortimer Phelps' son. Fred
had just turned 14, and came to the Runners after ol' Mort broke his leg haul- 
ing boxes at the Docks. Largo sized him up, deciding that the lad had poten-
tial. He looked bright, and reasonably quick. But he had to test, all the same.
Largo silently wished him luck... he didn't want to have to fish another body
out of the Center, not so soon after the Smith fem... he shuddered again as he
pictured her body... every single bone in it had been powdered... not broken,
not fractured... actually flippin' ground into dust! The only reason they could
ID her was 'cause she was the night's scheduled Runner. 
     Largo shifted uncomfortably and took up his spear again, wishing Drew
would hurry up and get here so they could get the whole thing over with. But
Drew was the Elder, and he came in his own good time... He peered out into the
darkness beyond the doorway one more time. Nothing. Shaft! Come on Drew, you're
nervin' me out! He looked back again at the sea of rags and grimy faces, some
of whom looked at him questioningly. He shrugged in reply, indicating that he
hadn't seen any sign yet. He turned back to the door...
    "Boo."
    Largo jumped nearly out of his skin. It was all he could do to avoid 
screaming like a shivvy baby. "Shaft you, Drew! Do you have to kip up on me
like that?!?"
    Drew grined in reply, merriment dancing in his blue eyes beneath his dirty
blond hair. "Just keepin' fit, Lar. You nog I want all my members keepin' fit,
pos?" He poked Largo playfully, and Largo growled in reply. "C'mon, mate, pip
up and announce me. Let's get skippin'..."
    Largo harrumphed and turned around, rapping his spear on the floor to get
the group's attention. "All rise! Announcin' 'is Royal skipness, didjer of many
fine 'jecks, an' all around bignog kinda guy, Elder Drew!"
    The group broke out into raucous applause as Drew entered, waving and grin-
ning from ear to ear. The 'Elder' (all of 19 years old) quickly crossed the
room and took his seat of honor, an old cushioned chair draped with fading fin-
ery that some ambitious runner didjed from the Center about five years ago.
    "Right. I call this meet to order," said Drew, casually stretching out on
the chair... "First off, Blake, Lindy? You didj any prize 'jects on your run
last night?"
    Two runners stood up, eyeing each other and motioning for the other to
speak. Finally, the girl named Lindy spoke.
    "We didn't find anything, your nogginess, but we did see that robed guy
again, passing through with four others. Looked like one was capped..."
    "Capped?!?" Drew looked surprised. "You got any nog why?"
    "Neg, Elder. We tried to follow, but a slimer up and chased us back to the
Buff... later on, we viz Robes comin' back out, but neg on the other mascs with
him..."
    Drew considered this, a puzzled frown on his face. "We seem to have some
strange phenoms on our didjes, fems and mascs. Keep an ock out, and pip up any-
thing wierd you viz to me, pos?" 
    General nods and agreements from the crowd... 
    "Now then, onto the real reason for the big meet tonight...." So, saying,
Drew fixed his eyes on Freddie, who stared back, nervous, but ready...

TO BE CONINUED...

ADMIN: This tale takes place a day after the riots, long before the KQ'ers
       reach the Center. Info on the Buff' (short for 'Buffer Zone) and the
       Shunrunners, including a glossary of 'Buffspeak', will be in the con-
       cluding post... 
     
        
makin' me