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the factory noise. He came to a wall and turned toward the roadway. A tractor-trailer was pulling out of the building. He leapt across into the trailer, landing hard on his hands and knees.

CHAPTER 6
    TASSO STAYED hidden in the back of the trailer until the whole rig was well clear of the building. He climbed the rails and was about ready to jump to the ground when he realized the drop was about twenty feet. He was stuck in the back and would have to remain there until the driver got to where he was going.
    Tasso breathed a sigh of relief when the driver pulled into a side lot. The lot had a dozen tractor-trailers scattered among a wild assortment of wagons, pickups, shuttles and trailers. With a hiss, the tractor-trailer settled to the parking lot’s flat surface. He climbed out of the trailer and dropped to the ground. He hoped security was still looking for him inside and he stayed hidden among the vehicles in case someone was looking outside.
    He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. He was well within the painted lines on the floor. He didn’t touch anything. He didn’t throw anything. He hadn’t even farted, so why did they chase him? He was upset at being run off, but he wasn’t going back inside to find out what he was supposed to have done wrong. Still, if the city wasn’t going to be any more pleasant than this, he couldn’t get back to his canyon any too fast to suit him.
    He reached the edge of the side lot making the short walk to the parking lot where he’d left the flitter. Standing straight, he walked along a sidewalk as if he was where he belonged. He reached the flitter without incident. Tasso slammed the door behind him and let out a ragged sigh of frustration. He looked at the time hack on the GPS. Noon was rapidly approaching and he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday.
    “I’d better get a move on and get to Uncle Bruce’s place,” he told himself. “I don’t want to spend Grandpa’s hard earned money on food.” He looked around and knew he was too far into town to be able to hunt his own lunch. He didn’t know where or how to buy lunch. Did he stop, get raw food from someone’s house and cook it up by campfire? Were there stores where he could buy food? He didn’t even see any wooded areas to collect firewood, except a thin row of small trees surrounding the processing facility.
    His grandfather had always taken his own food when he hauled their chiamra into town. He said trying to buy a meal in the city was akin to robbery. Tasso decided he could always eat a couple of potatoes raw if he could figure out how to get a couple of potatoes without being robbed.
    He flicked the on switch, but the engine didn’t start. He tried again. Nothing happened. Climbing into the back, moving the cushions out of the way and crawling in next to the engine, he popped open the compartment. The repaired tie rod had fused against the engine block. He could see where the tie rod hadn’t been perfectly straight. A slight bend in the tie rod rubbed against the engine block causing friction heat. When he’d stopped, the heat welded the piece in place.
    Tasso closed the engine compartment. He’d have to walk from here. The walk would do him good. He was starting to build up a high rage level over the events of the last few days. When his grandfather got on his nerves, he’d go for long walks into the ravines and canyons around their place. That was if he could go for the walk before Grandpa realized he was angry about something. When Grandpa recognized the real cause of Tasso’s anger, the old man would give him the rock hammer and send him off to clear more rocks on the valley floor making room for more chiamra or another garden for Earth vegetables. Breaking rocks was back-aching work, but it helped him burn off more anger, resentment, and annoyance than climbing over, around, and through the endlessly twisting gullies on their property.
    Uncle Bruce could bring him back out to the processing facility