|Prologue|

‘Soft Shoulder’ the sign ahead warned, as the sound of violence faded from Lucinda’s ringing ears. The half-cycle’s hover plate hummed a steady tone above the white noise of pebbles and sand flinging away from the rear Post-Plastic wheel. 

“Shelter.” Lucinda breathed beneath the motorcycle helmet that kept sweaty strands of deep red hair in check. There was a specific type of hideaway that Lucinda preferred after a scavenging run. It needed seclusion to be useful, but not too secluded that it might tempt others in the same position to inhabit it as well. 

Abandoned building after abandoned building watched as the Cycle and its rider blazed past. Each one offered a gentle cheer as the wind blew through empty windows and gaps in boarded doors. 

Well away from the imposing shadows of the Capital, it was difficult to find safe respite from the intensity of the three small Suns and the invasion of prying eyes. Lucinda passed many that were too visible, flooded with sand, or occupied by the Ku’Lai. Colourful, hand-stitched banners dangled like ghosts above the blood-soaked ground outside the Ku’Lai claims, warning Lucinda and others to keep those areas in their peripherals. 

Perhaps the wreckage of the old Library would be a good place to lie low… In the Cycle’s handlebar mirrors came a dim, artificial light peeking over the horizon in the centre of the paved roadway. Without hesitation, Lucinda felt around for the engine shut-off switch and flipped it, coasting with ease onto an off-ramp coated in sand and filled with cracks. Down the ramp, out of view of the trailing light, the dusty bones of an old cargo truck greeted the traveller with a metallic sigh. A heavy breeze followed Lucinda’s hasty approach and shook a thin layer of dust from the decrepit vehicle to reveal a large set of double doors built into its side. A good place to hide, if it was empty. 

Lucinda prayed to the Moons that the sand was soft and the wind was kind enough to smooth the tracks left behind the Cycle. With a measured glance through a crack in the worn and rusted doors, Lucinda took a large breath and heaved them open. The truck’s hinges let out an angry yawn, resenting the disturbance. Lucinda looked back up the ramp, seeing the stalking light growing larger. A host of muffled curse words whispered from within Lucinda’s helmet as they fled down the ramp.

As the ramp ended, an overpass shielded the sky from view and forced Lucinda to focus on what was within eyesight. Potential hideouts of varying quality filled the side streets ahead. Many were too small, others too obvious. Too open, too weak. 

A Cycle Storage Station revealed itself in the shadow of an old tin shack on the edge of a wide and otherwise empty road. Lucinda skidded to a stop and leapt from the Cycle, bringing a pronged and bladed weapon to bear and prying at the sliding hatch, flinching as the corroded lock and latch popped up from the concrete. The loosened locking mechanism found its way into a pouch on Lucinda’s hip. 

A pause. 

No alarms. 

Lucinda lifted the hatch and gently lowered it onto the sand. Looking from one end of the street to the other, the resourceful traveller wheeled the Cycle onto the rickety platform and placed a satchel on its seat before rummaging through its contents. A faint jingle came from within as a select few metal disks rolled out of the bag into Lucinda’s hand, then into the rusted 

coin slot of the storage station. With the clink of the coins and release of pressurized air, the platform sank down below ground. Lucinda pulled the hatch closed as the lift lowered, settling into a wide squat as it came to rest. If all went well, no one would notice the missing latch. Silence. 

Three long breaths passed. 

Then three more. 

Lucinda’s ears strained to hear beyond the rising wind whistling through the cracks of the hatch above. The slight rattle from the thin metal offered no confidence in the strength of its construction. 

A throaty thrum purred in the distance before the wind picked up to drown it out. 

Three long breaths. 

The door rattled and settled. The sand grated against the metal and concrete, ceasing as the wind subsided. 

The thrum was gone. All was quiet, save for three long breaths. 

Lucinda, heartbeat pounding and hands wrung around the neck of the Guide Spike, flicked away the thick strands of hair that escaped the helmet and wrapped around the weapon. Footsteps. And voices. They were close, but quiet. Untrained, but not inexperienced. They spoke of dividing loot. One sounded old. The other spoke too quietly. Younger. They wore a breather mask. Neither was speaking Ku’Lai, nor did they misspeak like scavengers. They sounded like city folk looking for excitement or an easy meal. Draft dodgers or out-of-rotation miners if they were this far out of the Capital. 

The voices came closer. They spoke of cooler weather and clean water. Grains of sand ground beneath the strangers’ attempts at quiet steps. Large boots and something mechanical. An artificial leg? 

Lucinda’s legs were growing stiff and adjusting them disturbed the hard-earned silence. A bag on the Cycle shifted and fell. Lucinda caught it upside down and the faint click of a button came from within. A bright blue glow emanated from the bag. A digital recording began to play at full volume. 

“Alrighty then, Dex, let’s get th–” 

Lucinda slapped the bag and the recording stopped, but it’s echo danced through the hollow shaft of the lift. One of the voices from above hushed the other. All was still. 

Three long, shaky breaths. 

Something slowly shifted the sand above. A rustling of fabric. Another footstep. One on top of the lift’s hatch. A mechanical click, followed by another, and another. A grunt of frustration. The sound of a hand slapping metal. 

Guns. 

One of them was jammed, but Lucinda began to panic. One gun was more formidable than a Guide Spike. If the strangers were smart, they would shoot without asking questions. But maybe they really were from the Capital, and weren’t that experienced. They could try to strike up a conversation or barter, thinking to trick Lucinda, giving time to escape. 

Another long, quiet breath. 

Sweat caressed Lucinda’s throat. The air in the lift was thick and humid. The helmet’s visor was coated in fog following the cadence of each shaking exhale. 

A pause. 

A boot shifted. A loud creak came from above. Lucinda’s eyes closed. A dozen gunshots rang out in rapid succession. The sound of bullets reverberated from every direction as they struck metal and sand. The empty casings sang as they bounced from onto the hatch and fell into the lift, rolling next to the Cycle and Lucinda’s boots. 

The door above Lucinda remained closed and without holes, while the sound of the gunshots sat at length in the tunnel beneath. The older of the two strangers growled at the other as the clicking and whirring of reloading began. They stepped off the hatch. 

Lucinda’s next breath was smooth and filled with relief, but cut short by more noise, this time coming from below the platform. The scraping of bone and gnashing of teeth filled the small space in a steady crescendo. A sound worse than guns. The sound of something fast, hungry, and in numbers. 

Lucinda leapt onto the Cycle without hesitation as the sounds below grew louder, and punched a large red button on the lift marked:

EMERGENCIES ONLY! 

The lift shot up to the surface as the Cycle roared to life and Lucinda’s arm raised to brace against the impact of the thin metal door, using the Guide Spike as a guard. The door smashed open. The Cycle launched several meters into the air, the rear wheel spinning as Lucinda reamed on the accelerator. The airborne sand from the hatch slamming shut filled the mouth of the older stranger, causing them to stumble away while hacking the dust from their lungs . The younger stranger, in the midst of reloading, looked up with wide eyes at the Cycle soaring overhead. Long strands of matted hair trailed Lucinda’s muscular silhouette. 

Behind Lucinda’s flight came the raking of metal and acidic spittle spattering the ground. Emerging from the cloud of dust was a host of human-sized spider-like creatures with bladed limbs and slobbering maws. 

“Kithé! Sh- shoot them!” The older stranger said between coughs as they finally got a hold on their weapon, hardly noticing the Cycle’s flight. 

Lucinda didn’t even bother to look back at the strangers as their voices cracked shouting at each other. The Kithé were someone else’s responsibility now. 

Gunshots called out into the night. Lucinda was soon far enough away that the sounds of magazines emptying and bones being chewed did not catch an ear to hear. A full hour of driving and attentive breathing passed before Lucinda’s heartbeat slowed enough to focus on the task at hand. After returning to a calmed state, a safe enough spot to stop came into view. It was a small shack on a slight hill; good for being able to see any trailing Kithé or scavengers at a distance. Lucinda put the Cycle in a broken shed not far from the back entrance, then barricaded the door with old bricks and wood before moving into the main building. 

The ramshackle estate was simple. Empty of scavengers and empty of sound. Thick doors and a basement. The cool air of the underground room was a welcome blessing after days of intense heat. With nothing sinister amidst the shallow sands that vaulted over the window sills or under the tattered furniture, a dusty couch and a wobbly table were a pleasant surprise, Lucinda blocked the entrance to the basement from the inside with a dense yet empty bookshelf. 

Now that everything was in order, the scavenged goods could be gleaned. The usual ritual for opening the containers and bags was underway, starting from largest to smallest in size, one container at a time. The goods were split into three piles; useful, useless, and unknown. Keep as much of the useful pile that could be carried. Dispose of the uncarriables and useless pile in the most efficient way possible, so as not to leave a trail. Flip a coin to sell or discard the unknown. 

Lucinda sat down on the couch and poured out the first canvas satchel. It was full of old computer parts and damaged post-plastic. A few canned goods and some decent quality, self-driving rivets had settled in the spaces between the larger items. From the very bottom of the bag and coated in a thin layer of grease, a Holo-disk rolled onto the table. This disk had almost led to a swift demise only an hour ago. Lucinda was sorely tempted to smash it to pieces. Instead, it was going to be the entertainment for the night. Making sure the volume was at a comfortable level before starting it up again, Lucinda pressed the power button on the Holo-disk and leaned over the edge of the couch to grab the next bag. As the next bag emptied onto the table, the light blue fluorescence appeared above the Holo-disk, showing an adult human wearing a weathered jacket and looking towards Lucinda. “ -is show a-rollin’. I got a lot on my mind, and I will NOT be doing two takes.”