The dusk had finally utterly fallen upon the teeming streets of Trade World. Wezen, the alien boy, was on his way to a place he called his home. But this was far, far away from the concept of a snug nook where the child possibly could be tugged, in the middle of warm bedsheets with an exciting adventure book for reading before turning to lull on the soft clouds of slumber. Namely, the lowest scum of this felon Eden lived also in the deepest abysses of the planetary city. The skyscrapers were for jet sets, Al Capones, and other gangster bosses. Then again the middle levels were for middle class citizens, little wealthy smugglers, and hotel rooms. On the street level, where the sea of alien life forms swarmed along the lanes, were the most hucksters, stores, and dwellings for average jacks and scallywags. Also there jutted ghettos in every other block, but those were not yet the worst armpits.

 Wezen placed the baby he was protecting more under cover. The wee boy had begun to whimper again; maybe this was a sign of hunger or fear, who was then able to recognize it. The carrier's bare feet splashed in puddles, turning to walk along another dismal backstreet, quite similar to that one where he had been on his trashcan sightseeing. In the end of it, on the paved ground, was a metallic lid of a manhole. It was a bit heavy to heave up for a child like Wezen, but he had used to toil regardless his yet not so powerful biceps. This youngster was already tough-lived. Thus he took a good grip of the hand-holds of it, pulling hard. The iron creakingly rose up from its nest, giving space for a steaming, stinking gap. Nevertheless, for him this filth and stench was quite indifferent, the main thing was that there was a cranny for him, giving shelter against the wind and cold weather. Picking up a glowing torch stone from his knapsack, Wezen then began to climb down the rusty ladders that leaded into the chasm of the sewer. The flashlight-type rock he had between his teeth while he with his left arm attempted to keep a hold on the abandoned baby. But skillfully he still succeeded to descend along the steep stairs, since in his early years he had grown to be agile as a monkey in a tree.

 The sewer system indeed was the home of the lowest rags this planet carried on its surface. No one could estimate the amount of plebs who hid there from the sunlight, even if one had taken the largest abacus of the galaxy for his aid. At that time, it was narrated that Trade World gave habitat for 15 billion people, but that was far, far away from the figures of truth. The catacomb-like tunnels that trailed under the ground like some giant wormholes, were full of untold stories about shoddy lives and deaths. There were thousands of colonies down there, and in the midst of so-called normal mob also skulked aliens who evaded assassins and bounty hunters. Living there was below all standards and social security issues, but did these people have any choice? Most of them were doomed to die early to the scarcity of nutrition, or to the lack of medicines when being sick. Yet there were few who made their way to the upper levels and found some day a brighter life there. However, they were very few, and for a random creeper there could be expected merely dark days that would yet end soon.

Wezen Darkmatter was one of those millions, just a little weak bubble amongst the ocean. And so was the beginning of Warp Darkmatter too, as a dwarfish flame of life somewhere deep in the darkness.

As the green boy ultimately had achieved the bottom of the ladders, began another walk. Nonetheless it was not troublesome, since the gutter community he lived in was quite near. He knew relatively well the giant drainpipes and crypts down there, so he had chosen a quick entrance with his knowledge. Wezen took quick steps along a narrow slip for walking that went along the wall of the stone tunnel. Beside him streamed a river of disgusting mess, the waste that came from the luxurious buildings above there. His pace needed to be rapid, since there were hostile life forms swimming in that muck. And also in the various tapering side tunnels that leaded to this wider one, were hiding bogeys. Rats, oozefish, Orkmordorian sewerlizards and alike creatures were dangerous for those, who could not defend themselves. Those lizards were the most insidious and fatal ones; they lurked in their hideouts as packs, suddenly attacking a prey from the most unexpected direction. But one shield there was against those; they were deadly afraid of light. Thus they were not the worst menace for the colonies, who at least had some kind of illumination, and ion protectors against the subterranean fauna.

One more junction was there to turn, and then in front of the street kid was a door with iron bars. He crammed the glossy rock into his pocket, since there was faint light coming from that subway where the gateway leaded.

"Hey! Open up it's me Wezen 'ere!" the boy produced a sharp yell, and gave a forceful kick against one of the grates.

A lanky man trotted visible in the other side of the entrance, unlocked the heavy latch by typing a recognition code into it. The unknown one, who worked as the janitor of this sewer-digs segment, opened the ponderous door a bit, and let the boy slink in.

"Did the fish catch today?" the man asked half-grinning while doing the closing labor.

"Nah not much I guess. But dunno wuz I'm gonna do with this. It wuz in a trash can an' it wuz cryin'." The child looked up to the guard and elevated the corner of his jacket. The addressed startled a bit, as he saw the toddler wrapped up in canvas. The tiny one had been quiet for a few minutes; hence the custodian had not spotted him immediately.

"A baby? Ya brought a baby here?" the adult sighed and came closer to Wezen. "Haven't ya poor boy heard that this village is already too full? We got no common food to feed more mouths no more. Ya gotta bring it back."

But as bullheaded as the green kid was, he took an angry pose and pressed the little whimpering packet against him. "But this wuz all alone! Ya hear me he wuz cryin' an' his mommy wuzn't dere! I ain't gonna take 'im back, he ain't got no mommy!"

"Now let's be serious, Wez. You can't keep that brat, or bring him here just like that. Who do ya think will take care of it?" the guardian rolled his eyes frustrated, "If ya think ya can take care of it, that's impossible. How do ya know how to handle a baby when you're just a bit more grown-up than a baby yourself?"

Wezen clenched his other hand to a fist, gnashing to the bigger male like some irritated poodle. For his age, he could reflect very mature thoughts about life and its value. "I ain't takin' this back! He'll die! DIE! I know wuz dat means, to die." Hot tears came to the corners of his eyes, next falling down and leaving messy stripes on his bony cheeks. "I've seen som'one die. I've really really seen dat and it wuz horrible! I really know this baby ain't got no mommy and he'll really die if I take 'im back! I can be his big brotha, I can keep 'im if I wonna!"

"Wez…" a sigh filled the corridor, "I dunno who's more stubborn you or a coin glued onto the street. But let's face it, kid. It's impossible to…" But the janitor left his sentence unfinished when he saw the child's frown. Darkmatter had a cutthroat gleam in his eyes, and would be expected that if the elder would speak one opposing syllable more, the green creature would sink his teeth into his leg. Wezen had a bad reputation because of that; he namely had the habit to bite the arguing counterpart if he did not get his wishes fulfilled.

"Drat you're a stiff-necked li'l flea. Hmph. But it's not in my hands, though, what to do with this case." Actually, the man felt a bit muddled in front of the grave questions of dignity.

"I go to tha chief. I'll ask 'im if I can keep me new li'l brotha. He'll know, he's a really really big boss an' he'll kick ya outta here if ya won't lemme in and he'll be really really mad to ya an'…" more defenses were heard coming with a high-pitched tone.

"Umh…"

"Yeah! I'll go an' say to tha chief dat ya didn't lemme in! An' then he'll be really mad and…"

"Alright, alright, ya can go. But go to the chief right now. It's up to him after all what to do with the kid ya brought and not me. And hey Wez, don't tell him I was a bit… nasty to ya." The guardian muttered uneasily the last syllables and finally let the messy boy go. Now the young Darkmatter could enter the place he called home.

The village where Wezen lived with several hundred other wretches was not quite an ordinary house to lodge. As said, the place resembled catacombs, excluding the skeletons and mummies lying around. Here the waste mess did not stream in its grooves, but it was dry and warm. There were large halls made with brick or just cut into the solid stone, forming craggy, odd-shaped rooms. Some were like ovals, some almost octagonal, some like pyramids. The floor was not even in every place, but there were fossas, and opposite to that, medium-sized stones jutting out of the flat surface. Those were nevertheless shaped so much that they could serve as tables. However, in a way extraordinary the life was here. In these big caves that were connected with short tunnels, people lived like in some big camp. Some had tattered shacks or tents put up from cardboard or thicker fabric. Some just stayed in the 'open air', meaning they had their whole fortune with them, a couple of blankets serving as a bed. So they slept all in the same space, which meant that the privacy was a completely unknown thing. In the nighttime, when most of the scum gathered to have a calmer moment here, the halls became cramped and often boisterous, too. Food was cooked here and there, with the aid of heating stones someone occasionally was able to find or pilfer. Fire could not be done, since it would have caused a catastrophe in the high-methane atmosphere. And basically fire was not needed at all, since the illumination could be done either with crystal torches or glowing stones. Very colorful the environment was, despite the fact that the poorness was reflected from everything. Aliens sat under the tent canvasses, some of them discussing with each other, some eating, some gathered to a group to do something they called community singing (although it mainly sounded like a flock of crows and frogs would have been put together in the same choir). This night seemed to be oddly calm, as Wezen walked through the camp hall to a second one. No fights were going on in the corners, no one was heard to moan about his or her miserable existence.

The first thing to do before the youngster went to see the village chief, was that he checked out his own little post at one side wall. Everything was there just like he had left it to be in the morning. Amidst two tents was his berth. From a couple of big cardboard boxes that he had brought from the outer world, he had built himself a tiny private chamber. There were some blankets on the floor forming a bed (unfortunately not so comfortable one, though). Higgledy-piggledy along the cardboard walls was spread his whole fortune; a pan for making food, some heating stones, a bucket, some kind of electronic gadgets that barely worked, and other miscellaneous objects among them.

Wezen's 'second-door' neighbor was an elder man, about sixty years old. He had seen misery for tens of years. Somehow he had still managed to hold his spirits up. He was known as one of the kindest persons of this particular cave, although he was a thief and robber whereas the others. Indeed, it was strange that the rabble here did rarely steal from each other, although they were nearly all doing that for keeping their stomachs filled with at least some food. Maybe it was just this sole fact. A population of ragamuffins maybe had compassion towards each other, since no one of the beside-sleeping was a rich spoiled minx with private pool and limousine. And added to this, almost everyone knew each other's backgrounds and happenings, at least those living in the same encampment hall. But as it was said, there were not many possibilities for playing a hermit, as the snores of the beside-living echoed at the ear.

"Wez, what did you bring home, one of those robot dolls they sell for little girls? Or what on Mars is whining under your arm?" the gray-haired man sitting at his tent inquired Wezen, who was checking out his own burrow.

"Nah, if it wuz one of 'em I could sell it." The boy swept some dirty hair locks away from over his eyes, and took Warp again from under his jacket. "I dunno where his mommy is. So I like took an' brought him 'ere." Blabbering something more about trashcans and weeping with his childish speech style, the boy gave the baby for the male to hold.

With sad eyes the neighbor took a careful look at the wee one. "I had once a boy… or maybe he's still out there somewhere. Dunno. Those were the times I still had a house… a home, before it was all burnt down and robbed." The sitting man had begun to ramble in the dusty years of his past. "My son grew up and left me… but you know that story, I've told it to you so many times that you probably will fall asleep if I begin to repeat it again like some over-stubborn parrot."

"Yuh." Darkmatter nodded.

"This kid had some luck… or dunno… is it any better to be here." From the glazed gaze of him could be seen how he wistfully beheld the better years in front of his view, as a distant memory. Hazy it was, but there they still were, somewhere in the recesses of his heart.

"Guess wut Hadar, I'm gonna be his big brotha!" Wezen proudly presented, banging his chest with a fist.

"Ha! You?"  the called, casually known in the camp as Poppa Hadar or Heed Hadar, laughed a bit at first. But then a serious expression spread across his wrinkled face. "Wez, this is not a kid's play. You know nothing about taking care of a baby. How do you think you can feed him?" he came to check out the light clothing of Warp that seemed to be half-wet. "Or… hmm… do you know anything about changing diapers?"

Wezen shrugged a couple of times, rocking his body back and forth. "Umm… not yet but I can learn! But I'm gonna be his big brotha. That's sure. That's really really sure."

"And who do you think is going to teach you?" a sharp and severe regard was aimed at him.

"Umm… I know! Mebbe ya could, Poppa Hadar!" the boy merrily yelped.

The gray-haired man went thoroughly dozy. Stammering he pointed himself with a thumb, "Me? Me? But I…"