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Description
CHAPTER 1 : ALL THAT GLITTERS

The forest was a place of contradictions in the autumn, with colorful bursts of russet and gold speared by dull scrub pines. Beneath those trees, Mia Blancharde strolled towards a clearing, her hot pink leather jacket creating a contradiction all its own. Her knee-high boots left soft impressions in the dirt while she worked along her grid lines, running a metal detector side to side, hips swaying in time with the technopop that was pounding through her earbuds. Occasional gusts of icy wind tossed her inky curls, whipping them against pale cheeks and across plum colored lips. Mia had traced out miles of these woods, but she never expected to find anything. The only reason she ever came to the green zone was to get away from the city.

The sudden chirp of her scanner almost went undetected as loud as her music was playing. Surprised by the vibration, she jostled the equipment, sure it was a malfunction. Her fingers flitted over the controls, adjusting the sensitivity and threshold, but the detector continued to be insistent. Somewhere, below the surface, something metal was crying out. Wrapping her fingers around the spade she wore in a holster on her belt, she scraped away the dried pine needles scattered beneath her feet. Satisfied that it wasn't just a discarded coin, she dropped herself down to one padded knee and worked her spade into the earth. After displacing a foot of the sandy soil, she ran her detector over the hole again. Whatever she'd found, it was down there deep – usually a favorable sign.

Above her, wind raced through the trees, showering the forest with tumbling leaves. The first few drops of a fine October drizzle freckled the skin on her face. Rolling her gray eyes towards the gathering clouds, she cursed under her breath. Vinyl ponchos were normally a staple in her canvas backpack, but last month she'd used the last one and never bothered to replace it. She remembered that day because she'd run into a group of purists in the woods and they'd called her a string of names, demanding she stop ruining their earth. Her poncho was reusable but they didn't care. It was plastic. God help us. Whatever. After the rain had stopped, she'd removed the poncho and tossed it on their side of the line. She sincerely hoped one of them would find it and be horrified by the sight.

Mia stopped to brush the bangs from her eyes, leaving a muddy streak across her forehead. Piled beside her, the discarded dirt grew higher as the day grew longer, but she didn't allow herself to imagine what might be down there. Too many times she'd convinced herself she'd stumbled on ancient ruins only to be disappointed by chunks of deteriorated pipe.

Salvaging had always been a hit-or-miss vocation. Mia's father had scored it big just once when he uncovered a well-preserved basement filled with 21st century junk. Unfortunately, it wasn't worth much. Very few of the old things had value unless they weren't previously found. Once they had the technology in place to lift the original data, antique CDs and laser discs became the big money makers. Serious collectors loved them. Rare DVDs could garner up to a million dollars on the open market. To Mia Blancharde, finds like that were the stuff that dreams were made of.

Mia had only been seven years old when her father found that basement. A picture of it still hung on the walls of the local licensing office. Her father and his partners lined up with their shovels, standing in front of their find, and in front of them stood a dirty-faced little girl holding a bright yellow plastic pail. After that day, there wasn't a spot in their backyard where she hadn't started a hole at some point or another, convinced she could find treasure of her own.

Mia smiled at that memory. Fifteen years later and she was still digging.

The sound of her spade hitting metal drew Mia's attention back to the present. She tugged off one glove between her teeth and reached her fingers downward, dusting away the soil. Flecks of blue from the original paint were still visible on its surface. "Okay. Not a pipe," she said, arming her spade again. For a second, she felt like a child on Christmas, ready to slash away at the object with the frenzy one saved for gift wrapped boxes, but she couldn't afford to be careless. Any damage to the item could destroy its value, and the value was first in her mind. Instead, she slowly widened the area around it, searching for an edge, but after another ten minutes of digging, the metal continued in all directions.

Light rain began falling in earnest. Tapping her sleeve, a holographic screen for her MPX player appeared before her eyes. She poked her finger at a virtual button, turning the music off. Mia rolled on her back and forced herself to take a minute's break. Her arms and neck ached from having to dig with just a spade. A shovel was what she needed but she hadn't bothered to bring it. Even though her motorcycle was of a decent size, carrying oddly shaped tools could be cumbersome on it. Tucking her left arm behind her head, she attempted to keep that sleeve covered, since raindrops had a way of playing havoc with her keyboard sensors. The thin trunks of the pines rose to dizzying heights all around her, the forest perfectly silent save for the delicate sounds of nature. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the isolation and sweet scent of loam.

In moments like this, she could almost understand the purists and their undying devotion to the planet. They were strange people to her, though, refusing to revert back to old technology after the turning occurred. Her father likened them to the country's original settlers. Mia knew everything there was to know about those early pioneers. Plenty of libraries had been recovered over the last two hundred years. She knew a lot about the purists too. Enough to know she didn't like them.

"Sorry, but are you okay?"

Startled by a man's voice, Mia's eyes flashed open. She fumbled to her feet, quickly attempting to assess the stranger's affiliation. Clearly, he was one of them. Clad in a tan suede vest and white cotton shirt, it wasn't hard to guess. At least he had the fashion sense to wear matching leather boots over his worn denim pants.

"I'm fine," she responded curtly. "I was just resting."

Glancing at her metal detector, and then down at the hole, the man's eyebrows rose and disappeared under strands of dark blond hair. Mia smiled feebly, knowing he stared at her in judgment because she'd disturbed some tiny shred of nature in some god-forsaken spot. The deep frown on his lips helped confirmed her thoughts. His eyes narrowed on the glittering belts that wrapped around her boots, then ran along her bright pink jeans to linger on her dirt smudged nose. His lips quirked slightly upwards as she quickly brushed at it with her fingers.

"All right. I saw you lying there. I thought you might be hurt or something."

"Mmm hmm." She dismissed him, her teeth clenched together, her head giving two fast nods towards the tree line. The man backed away slowly before retreating into the forest. From a distance, he glanced over his shoulder at her. "Yeah, yeah. Just keep walking," Mia growled at him under her breath. Anytime she had run into the purists it had been an unpleasant experience. Although, compared to what she was used to, this man had actually been kind of nice. Not many pures would have stopped to check on her, as loaded with gadgets as she was.

Reaching over to pull her pack closer, she rummaged through it for her dash. She doubted she would get decent reception out here since they kept destroying the outer towers. Some of the purists had become real extremists lately, attacking Freedale facilities that sat outside the city's borders, like poking a stick at the creeping giant could somehow hold back its expansion. Hearing no tone, Mia huffed in annoyance. She knew she didn't have much time left.

Body braced against her forearm, she thrust her arm back into the hole, clearing more of the surface of the object with forceful, determined strokes. Fifteen minutes later her pale eyes peered inquisitively over the side. The flat stretch of metal seemed to go on forever. She'd exposed nearly a foot of it now. Curiosity mingled with her excitement.

A warning buzzer from the distant city reverberated through the woods, giving her fair notice the gates would be closing in an hour. Mia bit down on her lower lip, trying to decide what to do, but it wasn't like she had much choice. Reluctantly gathering her things together, she packed them back on her bike. Kicking some dirt into the hole, she covered the rest of the space with leaves. Whatever it was, it would have to wait, because she hated getting locked out of the city.

---

Scaffolding covered the towering stone wall that surrounded the city of Freedale. They'd been repairing, resurfacing, and adding layers to that thing as long as Mia had been alive. Spanning a distance of twenty-five square miles, the city was enormous. From the edge of the forest, she could see every magnificent high-rise in its skyline. Tossing out dust behind its rear tire, her motorcycle roared into the city. Behind her, the steel gates slammed into place. She'd made it just in time.

Several guards manned Freedale's southern gate. Daniel Flynn was one of them. He watched as she skidded to a stop, gracing them with a curtain of burned rubber. Mia half-expected him to hand her a citation, as he brushed away the acrid smoke that lingered in front of his face.

"Fridays and Saturdays are 7:30 now, Mia," he called out.

"I know, I know. Why do they have to keep changing it?"

He walked towards her with a purposeful stride and wrapped a black gloved hand firmly around her handlebars. "It's only temporary."

"That's what they said the last time," she moaned.

Pulling out his scanner, his eyes sparked with mischief. He didn't need to scan her. Daniel was the kind of guy who did it just to feel important, and considering he sat near the bottom rung of the military's considerable hierarchy, his rigid enforcement of the city's laws made no sense to her.

"Your registration is up in two days."

"Thanks for the information." Mia glared, wishing she had anywhere near the $220 she'd need for that.

"What are you doing later on tonight?" He slid up the cobalt visor on his burnished metal helmet, the dimples on his cheeks now showing. "Lot of ragers going on. The bars should be pretty crazy. If you wanted to…"

"I'm working," she interrupted, glad she had an excuse. She had no desire to go out with a guard, and if she did, it wouldn't be him. Every girl in the city had been out with that guy, and she was no one-night engagement. Revving her engine, she glanced down at his hand. He grinned, removing it slowly.

Cruising east down the freeway, headed for home, the glare off the windows was blinding. While squinting behind her photochrome visor, Mia scaled up the volume on her headphones, trying to drown out the wail of the sirens. Hundreds of overhead wires cast blinking shadows as she passed underneath them. They were trying to give her a migraine and they were doing a really good job. Hitting traffic, she abruptly cut north, barreling down an alley. Swaying around garbage bins and steam from the grates, she popped out on Hudson Avenue. It was usually smooth sailing from there.

The east-side housing district where Mia lived was fast becoming a slum. Decades of graffiti caked the lower walls of the seven-story tenement she called home. Pulling into the small two-car garage behind their building, she laser-locked her bike. She couldn't think of too many people who'd want that piece of junk, but there was always somebody, somewhere. Head bent forward, she pulled off her helmet and walked to the back door. The sign above it, Blancharde Antiquity Traders, was probably older than half the stuff in there. She slipped her glove off under her armpit and pressed a thumb to the epad. Voice, it requested. Damned electronic garbage. "Mia," she answered impatiently.

The sound of a chain link fence being scaled brought a wry smile to her face.

"Sophie, why don't you ever use the gate?" she questioned over her shoulder, viewing her friend in the dim murky twilight that cloaked the concrete yard.

"Because I like to keep in practice," the girl responded, jumping off on Mia's side, bobbling a moment on the heel of one pump before regaining her balance. She dusted off her hands and gave a fast toss of her head, sweeping a cascade of caramel locks over a gold satin jacket. "Did you think on it anymore?"

"Yeah, but I'm still not sure."

"Mia, come on, you're twenty-two. You can't live at home forever. Think of all the wild parties we could throw. We'd have so much fun together," Sophie insisted, her eyes growing wide with excitement. "We're never gonna find another deal like this so close to the center of the city."

Mia stared at her feet and sucked in her cheeks, her lips puckered in frustration. It sounded like fun to share an apartment, but she hated to think of her father alone. "Sorry," she said weakly.

Sophie’s shoulders wilted in disappointment, but she didn't press the subject. Instead, she smoothed her palms down her skirt and wiggled the hem a bit lower, trying to contain her ample curves in clothes two sizes too small. "You gonna stop by the club later?"

"I can't." Mia opened her back door, stepping halfway inside. "I'm really low on funds."

Her friend gave a blithe wave of her hand and started down the alley, the sound of her heels echoing between its walls. "Have fun being a wet blanket," she said, glancing over her shoulder.

"Have fun being a tramp." Mia laughed.

Sophie turned and walked backwards a second to give her friend the finger.

Mia smiled, then sighed and closed the door. She made her way through a dimly lit room stacked with unopened boxes and trotted up the narrow staircase. Living right above their store had been a major convenience. The five stories above them were occupied by renters, but her father held the first two floors, which included their apartment, the storefront and warehouse, as well as the rear garage.

Her family's apartment was nearly archaic compared to ones uptown. Bare white walls surrounded the well-worn furnishings of their cramped three-bedroom home. Her father's room was largest, with a musty old bed and dresser. Her brother's room sat across from hers, unchanged from when he'd moved a decade earlier. Mia liked going in his room. She'd curl up on his bed when she missed him. Her own room was small but it sat on a corner so she could see the street from two sides.

Their kitchen was about the only place in their home where you could find anything modern. Her father was there, removing his breaded pork chops from the oven. She observed him from a distance as he limped around the counter; a little stiff but seemingly in good health. Mia pursed her lips and entered, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"Any luck today?" he questioned.

"Actually, I picked up a blip." She helped herself to a plate of food and sat down at the table. "Something metal. Didn't really get too far down. I'm gonna go back tomorrow with a shovel and get a better look."

"Oh, where at?" He started on his dinner, not bothering to look up.

"Over in the green zone," she answered, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

He put down his fork, turning his face fully towards her. "What did I tell you about digging out there, Mia?"

"Lots of people walk through the woods all the time, Dah. Nothing ever happens."

He shook his head in disagreement. "You're getting way too close to the line."

"I'm nowhere near it," she argued, her voice rising in irritation.

"Anywhere out there is too near it, Mia. You know I don't like it."

"That's not gonna stop me." She stuck a piece of meat in her mouth and smirked at him, letting the fork scrape out between her teeth.

Her father shook his head and sighed. He only had himself to blame. Dragging her all over the upper territories with him to seek out undiscovered ruins, following every old map, book, picture or rumor that happened to cross his path. They'd dug in some of the strangest places, and not all of them were legal. They'd been hassled, threatened, assaulted and arrested, although the arrested part was thankfully brief. The folks in the outskirts didn't take too well to salvagers, especially on private land, but he never cared. If there was something to be found, anywhere, he kept coming back till he found it.

"By the way, your brother was on the news." He leaned back, stretching his hands behind his head. "They had a fight with some of those purists. Looks like he beat 'em good, though." He couldn't hide the pride that sparkled in his eyes whenever he spoke of his son.

Eager to see the report, Mia touched the controls embedded in their kitchen table, bringing up a video screen across its flat surface. Tapping through a media menu, she launched the evening news. With a routine flick of her hand, she brought the screen closer and made it smaller. Doodling dozens of stars around her plate with the paint program, she waited for the commercials to end. Along the bottom of the screen, a red bar started flashing: Balance due…$187.95.

"I thought we paid that." Mia pouted at her father.

"We did. The system's lagging, as usual."

Studio news teams were computer-generated images. No one noticed anymore. Back in the old days there were still tell-tale differences. Their hands would clip through their desks on occasion and there was an unnatural cadence in their motion. Now it was perfected to an art. Their faces, through research, were specially crafted to look like people you could trust. Mia used to be more aware of that, but it was easy to forget.

"Renegade purists breached the two-hundred-year-long trust for the second time this month, firing on miners near the borderlands," the Walter Cronkite clone reported.

Video rolled, showing Freedale's soldiers engaged in a shootout with the purists. Colonel Zavier Blancharde, Mia's brother, led the battalion that was fighting. Ten years her senior, his life always seemed a world apart from her own. Mia watched it a minute, before narrowing her eyes. Tapping the arrow at the bottom of the screen, she restarted it from the beginning.

"Since when do the pures have guns?"

"Those renegades have them," her father insisted.

She guessed it was possible, but she knew the purists were funny about weapons. Outside of a handful of law enforcement officials, their citizens never used guns. Freedale could have overrun them any time, if they wanted, but the family that hung onto the dictatorship in the city would never have allowed it to happen. They believed in peaceful coexistence, as did most of Freedale’s occupants. The purists stayed on their side of the line, the techies stayed on theirs, and everyone was happy. Then, just about three months ago, these rebels started appearing.

"Can I borrow your ground pulse radar tomorrow?" she asked. A sudden question to her father, but not to Mia, in her train of thought. If things went bad between the cities, the green zone could be closed off, and she wanted to know what that blue metal was before that could possibly happen.

---

Description
CHAPTER 1 : ALL THAT GLITTERS

The forest was a place of contradictions in the autumn, with colorful bursts of russet and gold speared by dull scrub pines. Beneath those trees, Mia Blancharde strolled towards a clearing, her hot pink leather jacket creating a contradiction all its own. Her knee-high boots left soft impressions in the dirt while she worked along her grid lines, running a metal detector side to side, hips swaying in time with the technopop that was pounding through her earbuds. Occasional gusts of icy wind tossed her inky curls, whipping them against pale cheeks and across plum colored lips. Mia had traced out miles of these woods, but she never expected to find anything. The only reason she ever came to the green zone was to get away from the city.

The sudden chirp of her scanner almost went undetected as loud as her music was playing. Surprised by the vibration, she jostled the equipment, sure it was a malfunction. Her fingers flitted over the controls, adjusting the sensitivity and threshold, but the detector continued to be insistent. Somewhere, below the surface, something metal was crying out. Wrapping her fingers around the spade she wore in a holster on her belt, she scraped away the dried pine needles scattered beneath her feet. Satisfied that it wasn't just a discarded coin, she dropped herself down to one padded knee and worked her spade into the earth. After displacing a foot of the sandy soil, she ran her detector over the hole again. Whatever she'd found, it was down there deep – usually a favorable sign.

Above her, wind raced through the trees, showering the forest with tumbling leaves. The first few drops of a fine October drizzle freckled the skin on her face. Rolling her gray eyes towards the gathering clouds, she cursed under her breath. Vinyl ponchos were normally a staple in her canvas backpack, but last month she'd used the last one and never bothered to replace it. She remembered that day because she'd run into a group of purists in the woods and they'd called her a string of names, demanding she stop ruining their earth. Her poncho was reusable but they didn't care. It was plastic. God help us. Whatever. After the rain had stopped, she'd removed the poncho and tossed it on their side of the line. She sincerely hoped one of them would find it and be horrified by the sight.

Mia stopped to brush the bangs from her eyes, leaving a muddy streak across her forehead. Piled beside her, the discarded dirt grew higher as the day grew longer, but she didn't allow herself to imagine what might be down there. Too many times she'd convinced herself she'd stumbled on ancient ruins only to be disappointed by chunks of deteriorated pipe.

Salvaging had always been a hit-or-miss vocation. Mia's father had scored it big just once when he uncovered a well-preserved basement filled with 21st century junk. Unfortunately, it wasn't worth much. Very few of the old things had value unless they weren't previously found. Once they had the technology in place to lift the original data, antique CDs and laser discs became the big money makers. Serious collectors loved them. Rare DVDs could garner up to a million dollars on the open market. To Mia Blancharde, finds like that were the stuff that dreams were made of.

Mia had only been seven years old when her father found that basement. A picture of it still hung on the walls of the local licensing office. Her father and his partners lined up with their shovels, standing in front of their find, and in front of them stood a dirty-faced little girl holding a bright yellow plastic pail. After that day, there wasn't a spot in their backyard where she hadn't started a hole at some point or another, convinced she could find treasure of her own.

Mia smiled at that memory. Fifteen years later and she was still digging.

The sound of her spade hitting metal drew Mia's attention back to the present. She tugged off one glove between her teeth and reached her fingers downward, dusting away the soil. Flecks of blue from the original paint were still visible on its surface. "Okay. Not a pipe," she said, arming her spade again. For a second, she felt like a child on Christmas, ready to slash away at the object with the frenzy one saved for gift wrapped boxes, but she couldn't afford to be careless. Any damage to the item could destroy its value, and the value was first in her mind. Instead, she slowly widened the area around it, searching for an edge, but after another ten minutes of digging, the metal continued in all directions.

Light rain began falling in earnest. Tapping her sleeve, a holographic screen for her MPX player appeared before her eyes. She poked her finger at a virtual button, turning the music off. Mia rolled on her back and forced herself to take a minute's break. Her arms and neck ached from having to dig with just a spade. A shovel was what she needed but she hadn't bothered to bring it. Even though her motorcycle was of a decent size, carrying oddly shaped tools could be cumbersome on it. Tucking her left arm behind her head, she attempted to keep that sleeve covered, since raindrops had a way of playing havoc with her keyboard sensors. The thin trunks of the pines rose to dizzying heights all around her, the forest perfectly silent save for the delicate sounds of nature. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the isolation and sweet scent of loam.

In moments like this, she could almost understand the purists and their undying devotion to the planet. They were strange people to her, though, refusing to revert back to old technology after the turning occurred. Her father likened them to the country's original settlers. Mia knew everything there was to know about those early pioneers. Plenty of libraries had been recovered over the last two hundred years. She knew a lot about the purists too. Enough to know she didn't like them.

"Sorry, but are you okay?"

Startled by a man's voice, Mia's eyes flashed open. She fumbled to her feet, quickly attempting to assess the stranger's affiliation. Clearly, he was one of them. Clad in a tan suede vest and white cotton shirt, it wasn't hard to guess. At least he had the fashion sense to wear matching leather boots over his worn denim pants.

"I'm fine," she responded curtly. "I was just resting."

Glancing at her metal detector, and then down at the hole, the man's eyebrows rose and disappeared under strands of dark blond hair. Mia smiled feebly, knowing he stared at her in judgment because she'd disturbed some tiny shred of nature in some god-forsaken spot. The deep frown on his lips helped confirmed her thoughts. His eyes narrowed on the glittering belts that wrapped around her boots, then ran along her bright pink jeans to linger on her dirt smudged nose. His lips quirked slightly upwards as she quickly brushed at it with her fingers.

"All right. I saw you lying there. I thought you might be hurt or something."

"Mmm hmm." She dismissed him, her teeth clenched together, her head giving two fast nods towards the tree line. The man backed away slowly before retreating into the forest. From a distance, he glanced over his shoulder at her. "Yeah, yeah. Just keep walking," Mia growled at him under her breath. Anytime she had run into the purists it had been an unpleasant experience. Although, compared to what she was used to, this man had actually been kind of nice. Not many pures would have stopped to check on her, as loaded with gadgets as she was.

Reaching over to pull her pack closer, she rummaged through it for her dash. She doubted she would get decent reception out here since they kept destroying the outer towers. Some of the purists had become real extremists lately, attacking Freedale facilities that sat outside the city's borders, like poking a stick at the creeping giant could somehow hold back its expansion. Hearing no tone, Mia huffed in annoyance. She knew she didn't have much time left.

Body braced against her forearm, she thrust her arm back into the hole, clearing more of the surface of the object with forceful, determined strokes. Fifteen minutes later her pale eyes peered inquisitively over the side. The flat stretch of metal seemed to go on forever. She'd exposed nearly a foot of it now. Curiosity mingled with her excitement.

A warning buzzer from the distant city reverberated through the woods, giving her fair notice the gates would be closing in an hour. Mia bit down on her lower lip, trying to decide what to do, but it wasn't like she had much choice. Reluctantly gathering her things together, she packed them back on her bike. Kicking some dirt into the hole, she covered the rest of the space with leaves. Whatever it was, it would have to wait, because she hated getting locked out of the city.

---

Scaffolding covered the towering stone wall that surrounded the city of Freedale. They'd been repairing, resurfacing, and adding layers to that thing as long as Mia had been alive. Spanning a distance of twenty-five square miles, the city was enormous. From the edge of the forest, she could see every magnificent high-rise in its skyline. Tossing out dust behind its rear tire, her motorcycle roared into the city. Behind her, the steel gates slammed into place. She'd made it just in time.

Several guards manned Freedale's southern gate. Daniel Flynn was one of them. He watched as she skidded to a stop, gracing them with a curtain of burned rubber. Mia half-expected him to hand her a citation, as he brushed away the acrid smoke that lingered in front of his face.

"Fridays and Saturdays are 7:30 now, Mia," he called out.

"I know, I know. Why do they have to keep changing it?"

He walked towards her with a purposeful stride and wrapped a black gloved hand firmly around her handlebars. "It's only temporary."

"That's what they said the last time," she moaned.

Pulling out his scanner, his eyes sparked with mischief. He didn't need to scan her. Daniel was the kind of guy who did it just to feel important, and considering he sat near the bottom rung of the military's considerable hierarchy, his rigid enforcement of the city's laws made no sense to her.

"Your registration is up in two days."

"Thanks for the information." Mia glared, wishing she had anywhere near the $220 she'd need for that.

"What are you doing later on tonight?" He slid up the cobalt visor on his burnished metal helmet, the dimples on his cheeks now showing. "Lot of ragers going on. The bars should be pretty crazy. If you wanted to…"

"I'm working," she interrupted, glad she had an excuse. She had no desire to go out with a guard, and if she did, it wouldn't be him. Every girl in the city had been out with that guy, and she was no one-night engagement. Revving her engine, she glanced down at his hand. He grinned, removing it slowly.

Cruising east down the freeway, headed for home, the glare off the windows was blinding. While squinting behind her photochrome visor, Mia scaled up the volume on her headphones, trying to drown out the wail of the sirens. Hundreds of overhead wires cast blinking shadows as she passed underneath them. They were trying to give her a migraine and they were doing a really good job. Hitting traffic, she abruptly cut north, barreling down an alley. Swaying around garbage bins and steam from the grates, she popped out on Hudson Avenue. It was usually smooth sailing from there.

The east-side housing district where Mia lived was fast becoming a slum. Decades of graffiti caked the lower walls of the seven-story tenement she called home. Pulling into the small two-car garage behind their building, she laser-locked her bike. She couldn't think of too many people who'd want that piece of junk, but there was always somebody, somewhere. Head bent forward, she pulled off her helmet and walked to the back door. The sign above it, Blancharde Antiquity Traders, was probably older than half the stuff in there. She slipped her glove off under her armpit and pressed a thumb to the epad. Voice, it requested. Damned electronic garbage. "Mia," she answered impatiently.

The sound of a chain link fence being scaled brought a wry smile to her face.

"Sophie, why don't you ever use the gate?" she questioned over her shoulder, viewing her friend in the dim murky twilight that cloaked the concrete yard.

"Because I like to keep in practice," the girl responded, jumping off on Mia's side, bobbling a moment on the heel of one pump before regaining her balance. She dusted off her hands and gave a fast toss of her head, sweeping a cascade of caramel locks over a gold satin jacket. "Did you think on it anymore?"

"Yeah, but I'm still not sure."

"Mia, come on, you're twenty-two. You can't live at home forever. Think of all the wild parties we could throw. We'd have so much fun together," Sophie insisted, her eyes growing wide with excitement. "We're never gonna find another deal like this so close to the center of the city."

Mia stared at her feet and sucked in her cheeks, her lips puckered in frustration. It sounded like fun to share an apartment, but she hated to think of her father alone. "Sorry," she said weakly.

Sophie’s shoulders wilted in disappointment, but she didn't press the subject. Instead, she smoothed her palms down her skirt and wiggled the hem a bit lower, trying to contain her ample curves in clothes two sizes too small. "You gonna stop by the club later?"

"I can't." Mia opened her back door, stepping halfway inside. "I'm really low on funds."

Her friend gave a blithe wave of her hand and started down the alley, the sound of her heels echoing between its walls. "Have fun being a wet blanket," she said, glancing over her shoulder.

"Have fun being a tramp." Mia laughed.

Sophie turned and walked backwards a second to give her friend the finger.

Mia smiled, then sighed and closed the door. She made her way through a dimly lit room stacked with unopened boxes and trotted up the narrow staircase. Living right above their store had been a major convenience. The five stories above them were occupied by renters, but her father held the first two floors, which included their apartment, the storefront and warehouse, as well as the rear garage.

Her family's apartment was nearly archaic compared to ones uptown. Bare white walls surrounded the well-worn furnishings of their cramped three-bedroom home. Her father's room was largest, with a musty old bed and dresser. Her brother's room sat across from hers, unchanged from when he'd moved a decade earlier. Mia liked going in his room. She'd curl up on his bed when she missed him. Her own room was small but it sat on a corner so she could see the street from two sides.

Their kitchen was about the only place in their home where you could find anything modern. Her father was there, removing his breaded pork chops from the oven. She observed him from a distance as he limped around the counter; a little stiff but seemingly in good health. Mia pursed her lips and entered, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"Any luck today?" he questioned.

"Actually, I picked up a blip." She helped herself to a plate of food and sat down at the table. "Something metal. Didn't really get too far down. I'm gonna go back tomorrow with a shovel and get a better look."

"Oh, where at?" He started on his dinner, not bothering to look up.

"Over in the green zone," she answered, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

He put down his fork, turning his face fully towards her. "What did I tell you about digging out there, Mia?"

"Lots of people walk through the woods all the time, Dah. Nothing ever happens."

He shook his head in disagreement. "You're getting way too close to the line."

"I'm nowhere near it," she argued, her voice rising in irritation.

"Anywhere out there is too near it, Mia. You know I don't like it."

"That's not gonna stop me." She stuck a piece of meat in her mouth and smirked at him, letting the fork scrape out between her teeth.

Her father shook his head and sighed. He only had himself to blame. Dragging her all over the upper territories with him to seek out undiscovered ruins, following every old map, book, picture or rumor that happened to cross his path. They'd dug in some of the strangest places, and not all of them were legal. They'd been hassled, threatened, assaulted and arrested, although the arrested part was thankfully brief. The folks in the outskirts didn't take too well to salvagers, especially on private land, but he never cared. If there was something to be found, anywhere, he kept coming back till he found it.

"By the way, your brother was on the news." He leaned back, stretching his hands behind his head. "They had a fight with some of those purists. Looks like he beat 'em good, though." He couldn't hide the pride that sparkled in his eyes whenever he spoke of his son.

Eager to see the report, Mia touched the controls embedded in their kitchen table, bringing up a video screen across its flat surface. Tapping through a media menu, she launched the evening news. With a routine flick of her hand, she brought the screen closer and made it smaller. Doodling dozens of stars around her plate with the paint program, she waited for the commercials to end. Along the bottom of the screen, a red bar started flashing: Balance due…$187.95.

"I thought we paid that." Mia pouted at her father.

"We did. The system's lagging, as usual."

Studio news teams were computer-generated images. No one noticed anymore. Back in the old days there were still tell-tale differences. Their hands would clip through their desks on occasion and there was an unnatural cadence in their motion. Now it was perfected to an art. Their faces, through research, were specially crafted to look like people you could trust. Mia used to be more aware of that, but it was easy to forget.

"Renegade purists breached the two-hundred-year-long trust for the second time this month, firing on miners near the borderlands," the Walter Cronkite clone reported.

Video rolled, showing Freedale's soldiers engaged in a shootout with the purists. Colonel Zavier Blancharde, Mia's brother, led the battalion that was fighting. Ten years her senior, his life always seemed a world apart from her own. Mia watched it a minute, before narrowing her eyes. Tapping the arrow at the bottom of the screen, she restarted it from the beginning.

"Since when do the pures have guns?"

"Those renegades have them," her father insisted.

She guessed it was possible, but she knew the purists were funny about weapons. Outside of a handful of law enforcement officials, their citizens never used guns. Freedale could have overrun them any time, if they wanted, but the family that hung onto the dictatorship in the city would never have allowed it to happen. They believed in peaceful coexistence, as did most of Freedale’s occupants. The purists stayed on their side of the line, the techies stayed on theirs, and everyone was happy. Then, just about three months ago, these rebels started appearing.

"Can I borrow your ground pulse radar tomorrow?" she asked. A sudden question to her father, but not to Mia, in her train of thought. If things went bad between the cities, the green zone could be closed off, and she wanted to know what that blue metal was before that could possibly happen.

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