Clara sat alone in her cell: an old shipping container with a mattress on the floor and a bucket by the door, which after holding it in for hours, she had begrudgingly used. She ran through the events of the past few weeks in her head over and over, trying to make sense of her situation. Clearly, the New Patricians wanted her and Andy alive, but why? She remembered her conversation with Alister a few days ago and his invitation to join their nation. Had he taken her refusal personally? Was he seeking revenge, or else to subjugate her? What power did he hold within their faction? Was he their leader?

  She had seen two groups of Patricians stationed in Milltown recently, two separate battlewagons; presumably that meant two Augmented individuals, each leading their own gang. Was Alister acting on his own, or on someone else’s orders? The Patricians must have been tracking them while they travelled to the vault to set up such a timely and effective ambush. Right now, they might be trying to open the vault doors to scavenge inside. Doing so would release the shadow demon and kill anyone excavating the vault, but that wasn’t her problem anymore. If they ignored the message she had sprayed on the doors, then good luck to them.

  Clara took a deep, shaky breath. Her wrist ached where she had rubbed her small silver watch too hard. She focussed on the pain, and the cold metal band, trying to ground herself, trying not to panic. But in the dark, her mind inevitably wandered. Perhaps the New Patricians had followed Gabriel when he came to rescue them? Maybe they were working with Gabriel. Clara shook her head. It was good to consider every possibility at least once, but she had to trust her gut on some things, or else she’d be completely lost, and her gut told her that Gabriel was just as much caught up in this as she was. Besides, as far as she knew, he and the vault dwellers were left behind when Alister kidnapped them.

  The fight had been brief. Clara had found Andy unconscious, Alister looming above him with an ominous aura. She had blasted him out the air with a Teslatic Burst, and meant to do more, when his subordinates fired a warning shot and held her at gunpoint. Alister had risen to his feet angry, shocked, perhaps a little afraid of her. He had not stepped to meet her challenge, nor had his subordinates rushed her. However, held at gunpoint, her advantage quickly ebbed. She had surrendered quickly in order to save face. Accepting their handcuffs, Clara had kept her eyes on Alister, who remained at a distance, then retired to the front of the battlewagon. Clara and Andy had been hauled in the back. Could she have done more? She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had let Andy down.

  Waiting on the cold, uneven floor, Clara’s consciousness drifted as the hours blurred. Her train of thought tangled and tied knots on itself driving inexorably towards some mirage of clarity. Her mind absently tugged at the tracks, testing the knots for weakness, probing in odd places… They had travelled for hours in the back of the battlewagon, maybe eight to ten in total. Where could that place them on a map, what was the radius? What did she know about the apocalypse zones within that circle? She tried recalling them all, but much about the local territory which was still unknown to her records.

  A memory of violence flashed in her mind. Dark blades, cold and murderous. Clara shivered and cast a faint yellow light in her fist to ward off the dark. She wasn’t there anymore. It was over, though her wounds were still fresh. They’d escaped, only to have fallen into another trap. What had happened to the vault dwellers on the surface? What of the two kids she had left hiding in the jeep? And Gabriel? She hoped he was safe; being captured by the New Patricians would be a sorry reward for having come to their aid in the vault. A paranoid thought occurred to her. Perhaps Gabriel was working for them? Perhaps he had been in contact–perhaps he was a Patrician himself. Had there been signs in his vault? Clara replayed their conversations in her mind, but couldn’t validate her suspicions. Yet a sense of uneasiness remained.

  There had to be an explanation for things. How had it gotten so bad so quickly? Did all of this have anything to do with James, the cartographer in Milltown? He hated the New Patricians, and had said as much outright. Could she be in Milltown now? It was just outside the radius she’d imagined they had travelled, but it wasn’t an impossibility.

  Did this have something to do with Old Blue Eyes? Could there have been a bounty on their heads, which Alister was collecting on? No, that didn’t make sense. Snippets of her conversation with Alister in Miltown repeated in her mind, pressing through the milieu. His philosophy followed that Augmented people were superior–he wouldn’t hand her and Andy over to a sapien for reward.

  Alister had other plans for them. For her. A look in his lingering topaz eyes stuck in her mind, the forwardness of his stare, and the menace behind it. Desire.

  As Clara drifted into half-consciousness, she forgot that she was Augmented at all, thinking of herself only as a woman, one who might be forced to bear a child.

  Clara had developed a thick skin to unwanted admiration. Some couldn't help but stare, others indulged and vocalised their fantasies, while a few used their sexual desire like a dagger of intimidation. She had received it all, spoken to like unconquered meat, or a diminutive fae. People rarely expected a young woman like her to fight back, but Clara didn’t hesitate towards aggression. Her temper was a weapon which she liked to keep concealed until it was absolutely necessary, more the surprise and advantage.

  But she never displayed weakness. Never gave an inch. Never let the wrongness of it settle in, until she was safe in the company of Andy, and she could vent her fear and frustration without endangering their lives or affecting their careers. There was an animal law to all of this: You don’t turn your back on a snarling dog, and you don’t shrink and submit before a man’s carnal appetite, not unless you want to get hurt.

  Yet, alone in her cell, there was no affront to maintain, no mask to wear, no Andy to protect her, and no hope that she could protect herself. Clara was cold, and tired, and defenceless, and the memory of Alister’s desire beheld her from the corners of her vision, goading her to return the attention, to yield to him. Her mind recoiled. Her breathing quickened, a sharp rush of blood stabbed her heart.

  Clara spasmed awake, kicking out and jumping to her feet. Energy swelled in her fists as she searched for an attacker. She panted, vision swimming as a rush of blood settled in her head, and her heartbeat steadied. She was not defenceless, even while alone, not anymore. But old trauma died hard.

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  The shipping container was empty. Pale sunlight sifted through breathing holes, drilled into one wall. Clara pushed her face to the holes and peered out. Golden light dazzled her, reflecting the morning sun's rays, making it difficult to identify shapes or depth to her surroundings. She sat back down, hugging her knees to her chest, replaying events in her mind, running calculations. The New Patricians had taken her weapons and wrist terminal, but she could still talk to her AI implant, for what good it did. For over an hour, she asked it questions, changing how she worded things in the hopes it could give her a useful response.

  “How could the Patricians have followed us to the vault?”

  Possible surveillance devices might include aerial observation or tracking devices.

  “Do you analyse any data regarding their facial expressions? Tone of voice? I need to figure out their intentions before they come back. I need to stay one step ahead. On the truck. Were you watching? You can see what I can see, right?”

  I am able to access your visual cortex, as well as other sensory data that aids in the development of your Augmentation’s abilities.

  “Okay, but, anything else? Can you work out a puzzle? Can you figure out a way to escape?”

  Please clarify.

  “Can you suggest how to open these container doors?”

  Your Current Control ability under the Teslatic delineation may be used to operate electrical equipment, such as the control panel of a door.

  “Right, but this door isn’t electronic.”

  There was no response, afterall, it wasn’t a question. The quietness returned, disturbed by the rev of a motorbike engine. Clara wrestled with her thoughts, but the more she struggled, the more her worries surmounted. Where was Andy? Why had the Patricians separated them? Was Andy safe? Was he being amenable? She hoped that he wouldn’t give them an excuse to hurt him.

  The sound of footsteps approached her cell doors. Clara leapt upright, the metallic tang of her Augmentation’s combat hormones on her tongue. She took comfort in the electrical energy vibrating through her body. If that was Alister, come to claim her, she’d kill him, or die trying. Andy would understand. He’d forgive her.

  The doors slid open smoothly. In the light of day stood a boy, his eye bruised and swollen. He appraised her silently, emotionlessly. Like an ember pressed by the cold wind, she straightened her spine, the yellow glow of her body growing with defiance.

  “An odd power, that,” the boy said, nodding at her hands.

  Clara looked past him, through the crack in the door to the outside world. The sun shone brightly, and the sound of gulls swept over the wind.

  Stepping away from the container’s doorway, the boy stretched his hand out, palm up. He moved stiffly, as if each minute action was considered purposefully. His nose was black and swollen–seemingly recently broken–and blood splattered his collar, yet he did not seem in pain. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m your guide and company for this morning.”

  Clara stepped slowly towards the container’s exit, ready for an ambush. Why had they sent a child? Was this a mistake? Was she being set free by a good samaritan? The stranger waited for her, unflinching like a mannequin. Outside, fresh air swept through her lungs, carrying with it a wet metallic tang. Despite the overcast sky, the world around her shone. Clara squinted as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. She suddenly felt vulnerable, caught off guard; if she were attacked now… But no, if they wanted her dead, they could have shot her inside the cargo container. Taking a deep, cooling breath, Clara turned on her captor. “Where’s my brother?”

  “Your brother,” he said, setting off at a leisurely pace down a rubble strewn path towards a lake. “We’ll get to that. First of all, you must be thirsty.”

  There were no adults nearby. Clara could make a run for it, but she’d have to locate Andy first. The boy handed her a bottle of water, and she felt the stiffness of his fingers through his leather gloves. She gulped half of the bottle down, then pocketed the rest–better to save some, just in case. The path he led her down was flanked by gleaming piles of golden rocks. The ground itself was a layer of golden slabs, cemented together by fuzzy streams of moss, reds, greens and purples, which formed a network through the cracks, cutting the path to pieces like shattered ice.

  Ahead, the lake’s surface shimmered and sparkled brighter than seemed natural. Clara squinted, perhaps her eyes were still adjusting to the light of day after being locked inside the container. Rubbing them, she searched beyond the river. A golden hue danced upon a city’s ruin. Behind the buildings, forests rose atop large hills like a dark shadow by contrast to the city’s gleam. To her right, the lake ran into a vast, hilly plane, and beyond the river, triumphed snow-capped mountains. Clara filled her lungs with the refreshing air, and felt connected to those snowy peaks, as though a residual part of them had travelled the distance to connect with her and fuel her.

  “Where am I?” she asked.

  “The Golden City. Our southernmost headquarters.”

  “Why have you brought me here?”

  “I didn’t bring you,” the boy said, pointing towards two chairs, a small fold-out table and a parasol placed before a short wall against the river. “Please, take a seat. There’s food at the table. I will answer your questions.”

  Clara hesitated. Kindness always came at a cost. She scanned her surroundings. Down the lake’s bank about fifty metres, a golden dock harboured more than a dozen boats. She could see people working there, obscured by the shimmering light. A single small ship floated away from the bunch, it sails lowered to catch the wind. She heard the lake’s soft waves wash against the bankside’s golden walls. A tiny bird chirped as it scribbled through the sky, catching flies.

  “Where’s Alister?” she asked.

  “By the dock house, probably. Why?”

  Clara didn’t answer. She followed her captor’s gaze towards a large metal building with a semi-domed roof. It was the only structure around that wasn’t in a heap, although its walls were cracked and concave, held together by tarnished metal scaffolding.

  “And where is my brother?”

  “He decided not to join us.” The boy took a seat, motioning for Clara to sit beside him. “My name is Vincent. I understand yours is Clara. Do you have a second name?”

  Clara bit her lip. She hadn’t spoken it since the cataclysm. “No. Where is Andy?”

  “In a cell. He is a rather unruly sort.”

  “He do that?” Clara nodded at the boy’s broken nose.

  “Indeed.”

  Clara paused–Andy didn’t normally hurt children–but she didn’t let her confusion show.

  “I am sorry for the rough nature of your escort,” VIncent went on. “Alister tells me that things got a little out of hand.”

  “What do you want?” Clara said bluntly.

  “Just to talk, and get some answers.”