Jal had seen the little girl before. She was one of the rich kids, the ones with a really big home and the nice clothes and the little toys. For some reason, though, she seemed to like being out on the streets. Today, she was wandering around the open bazaar, where merchants and craftsmen who didn't have permanent lots in the station would display their wares. It was one of those places Jal tried to frequent, because security was much more lax, people were more relaxed, and sometimes the sellers even gave him things if he managed to look pitiful enough.

But the girl. She was starting to make him angry. She walked like she owned everything, like it was all her personal playground. She was a snotty rich kid with her money and her home and her family, and Jal didn't like her.

So, he followed her. Jal was really very good at following, he did it a lot, mostly out of boredom. He paused when she did, only as stall behind, playing with his dreadlocks and faintly glowing lumi-wires, pretending to be interested in something there. It didn't work as well as he liked, because most of the sellers could he didn't have any way of buying what he was looking at, but the little girl didn't seem to notice.

There. She'd pulled out her little money-bag and was jingling it thoughtfully. Jal grinned, white teeth flashing against nut-brown skin, and darted forward so suddenly that the seller who'd been scolding him was left with her mouth open and no one left to scold. He ducked around a person, slipped under the little girl's hands, and snatched the purse deftly before making a break for it towards the nearest side-street.

A shriek resounded behind him, and Jal laughed. Perfect! He'd teach that little rich brat not to be so smug, and he'd get himself some coin and maybe even some credit out of the experience. Maybe he could afford a few dinners for his mother with it. He rounded the corner, darting past a few surprised shoppers, and pelted down the station's equivalent of an alley, leaping refuse piles, darting and ducking bits of piping and machinery as easily as breathing, all the while congratulating himself on his cleverness.

That was, until he realized the rich girl was following him, struggling through the obstacle course of the backstreet. "Aaaaaw, shit," he complained to himself, under his breath. Following meant trouble, for him and, more likely, for her. He didn't like her, but he didn't want some thug finding her and beating her up. That'd bring the Suits down into the alleys on yet another "clean up", and nobody wanted that.

So, when he was certain he wasn't visible, he skidded to a stop and ducked under the shadow of some piping. The ground there was relatively clear, so she would certainly be running all out-- girls did that, he'd observed, not even thinking about what might appear that they hadn't expected. When she reached him, he was ready, stretching out a foot to trip her. She went sprawling, hitting the metal floor hard, and Jal peered out of the shadows at her, hoping she didn't break anything. It would be such a pain to get her back through the alley if she'd broken something.

"Yuh dead?" he asked suspiciously, poking at her with the foot that tripped her. "Yuh bedder noh'be dead. I dun wanna carry yuh back out there...."

There were a few breaths of silence, as the rich girl gathered herself and regained some of her wind. Then, glaring up at him with hateful eyes. Jal looked back impassively, his own black eyes unreadable and expression still half-hidden by pipe-shadows. Then, instead of answering his question, she squealed, "You took my purse! That's stealing!"

"Yuh, so?" he countered. "Yuh gots money, I don', an yuhr jus a dumb rich kid who kin allus ge'more."

"But it's my money!" she exclaimed stubbornly, climbing to her feet and glaring further. "An' I want it back. I don't get allowance again fer a week, and I was going to have pie! So be good and give it back." With all the hauteur of the rich, she stuck out her hand. Jal stared at it, scowling. He should have known no stupid little rich girl would listen to him. Most girls didn't, anyway, much less rich ones.

"I don't wanna," he stated. "I need it more'n you do. B'si's, finder's keepers." Law of the streets, that was. If you could get it, you could keep it.

"But you took it, you didn't find it!" she squealed furiously.

"Same diff'rince," Jal muttered.

"An I'll take it back if you don't give it back!"

Jal snorted with obvious disbelief. "Yuh cudn'," he said flatly. "Yuhr a rich kid. A rich girl," he emphasized tauntingly. "Yuh dunno nuthin 'bout nuthin, 'speshly not 'bout fightin." Just try it, he tried to dare with his white-teethed grin. He knew he could take her, and that would take her down a peg or two.

"I could!" the girl squealed-- she seemed to do that a lot: squeal-- and stomped her foot in a ridiculous fit of temper. Then, without any more warning then that, she let out anther squeal, this time wordless, and leapt for him. Jal ducked her wind-milling arms, blocked her weak attempt at biting him, and grabbed one and using her own momentum to send her crashing to the floor. She was surprisingly heavy, so she fell a lot harder than he meant her to-- other street rats he'd brawled with were as skinny as he was, though usually bigger. He scuttled back, afraid he'd really hurt her and certain the Suits would come swarming to cuff him up and take him away.

"Ow," she wheezed, and Jal sighed. She wasn't dead. "You're mean," she accused. Nope, definitely not dead.

"Didn' mean to be," he said with a noncommittal shrug. "Yuh heav'yer'n I 'spected. 'Si's," he added logically, "you 'ttacked me. Thas more mean'n d'fendin mehself."

"I wouldn't'a had to if you hadn't taken my purse," she whined, sliding up into a sitting position. Jal sighed again, more in frustration than relief this time. She was being impossible.

"'Kay, 'kay," he grumbled. "Take yuh stupid purse." He tossed it into her lap with a glower. "I'll jes go back ta diggin in thuh trash fuh dinner." Guilt worked with grown-ups. Maybe it would work with the rich kid, and he'd get something out of all this....

The little girl made a face. "Ew,trash?" she said, and Jal scowled more. She was one of those rich kids. The ones who didn't know everybody wasn't all happy and rich like them. He gladly answered her next question, "Why?"

"Cuz I dun got nuthin else," he spat at her. "Why dyuh think I wann'd yuh purse-thing? Huh?"

Completely prissy still, the girl stood up and sniffed at him. "Well! You should tell people that!" she said bossily. "Grown-ups're s'posed to help people like you, and you're not s'posed to steal, either," she added preachily, "That'll get you in trouble, don't you know?"

"Grown-ups dunno nothin," Jal grumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets and glaring down the alleyway, not at her. "They'll jus take Momma 'way." That's what they tried to do last time, anyway. Tried to take her and lock her away somewhere, and tried to put Jal with someone else. They both ran away, and found each other.

"Grown-ups dun like street rats," he said. "They dun help 'people like me'." The repetition of her words was heavily drawled, even rude, but he didn't care. He didn't like her, and she couldn't take him, so he'd just be as rude as he wanted to. "Why dunchuh go home? Huh? Yuh goss yuhr purse now."

There was a pause and, ignoring his blatant suggestion that she leave him alone, she said with narrowed eyes, "If I buy you a pie, will you promise not to steal from anyone else?"

For a moment he blinked at her. She was going to buy him something? A pie? Ooooh, one of those wonderful smelling, hot and juicy pastry things-- the ones he'd had maybe one or two of in his whole life. He'd do a lot for one of those, why would she buy him one? But wait, there was a trap-- if he didn't steal anymore. Well, he couldn't agree to that, he'd never stay fed....

.... But she didn't have to know that. She would probably never see him again, and if he got a whole pie out of it, he'd lie about just about anything, without a second thought. He nodded immediately. "One'uh thuh-- thuh-- purple-berry ones? I dunno wha'they're called."

The little girl squinted at him a moment, and he contrived to look as innocent and hopeful as possible. He wanted one of those pies. His expression seemed to be good enough, though, for she flounced around and started for the street again, tossing over her shoulder, "Good, let's go, then." Hungrily, he followed.

Chapter Two

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