Choices excerpt

Crowds of people pushed around Ereven Samuelson as he left the Callisto Prime docking port.  He looked at as many of them as he could, without actually looking any of them in the eye.  He noticed several suspicious stares.  He was, after all, leaving a low rate shuttle, even though he was wearing the long blonde ponytail of the Ganymedian aristocracy.  Nor did it help that he wore the brightly colored, billowy blouse and pants worn by members of the Outerworld governments.

Two men began to walk towards him as soon as he cleared the passport check.  Ereven looked for a place to go, but the crowds were oppressively stifling, and he had to follow the mob wherever it led him.  The two men in plain grey tight jumpsuits aggressively pushed their way through the crowds towards him, stopping right in front of him.

Ereven stopped, while the crowd parted around the massive men, with a number of grumbles and inappropriate comments about Ereven’s and the men’s lineage being made by the angry mob.

“Excuse me, sir, might we have a word with you?” one of the gray suited men asked.

Ereven glanced at him, again trying not to meet his eyes.  He was a burly man, just the type Ereven knew would be looking for him.  The other man was even larger.

“I don’t think so,” Ereven mumbled.

The two men looked at each other in obvious surprise.  “It will only take a minute,” the smaller of the two behemoths said.

Just then a space opened in the surging current of the crowd, and Ereven darted into it, glancing back to make sure the others weren’t following.  They weren’t.  They were just standing there with dumb expressions on their faces.  Ereven had no idea who they might have been, but he knew it was best to not take any chances.  The governor’s men could be anywhere.

He glanced down at his clothes and realized how much he stood out.  If he didn’t want them finding him, he’d have to change, and soon. 

He stopped into the first clothing store he saw and picked out a dull gray suit, the type that was typical of the working class on the satellites.

The clerk eyed him suspiciously as Ereven set the clothes on the counter.  “In some kind of trouble?”

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