Jan’s long, weedy body shifts from side to side as he waits outside the barbed wire fence that marks the entrance to the shuttle. His eyes are tugged down by deep grey shadows, like he hasn’t slept. I would feel guilty but I’m too excited.

‘Morning!’ I call out. Jan jumps, almost tripping over his shitty boots as he whirls around. I hold back a sigh. If he’s this twitchy he’ll give me away in five minutes. ‘Did you bring them?’ I ask, looking at the wad of black fabric he’s clutching to his chest.

Pale-faced, he proffers it up.

When I shake them out - Jesus he even folded them - it’s clear the overalls are too big. Doesn’t matter - I’ll just have to roll up the trouser legs, and I assume the Peacers won’t be looking at my uniform too closely anyway. ‘Nice,’ I say, holding them up. ‘Like a proper Patcher.’

‘Addie,’ Jan says in a small voice.

‘Yeah?’ I strip off my jacket, looking around for somewhere inconspicuous to stow it.

‘I really… really think you shouldn’t be doing this.’

‘Yeah I know.’ I crouch down and tuck the crumpled ball of my jacket behind one of the rocks near the fence.‘But I’m going to. And if you want a purifier for Mennie…’

‘It’s really dangerous. They could kill you.’ He’s nibbling his lip, hands twisting together. Aw, is he worried about me?

I straighten up and yank the borrowed overalls over my trousers. Jan’s ears go pink and he turns around to stare at the fence, even though I’m not doing anything remotely risqué. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, taking pity on him. ‘As long as you bought the thingy.’ Under the overalls, my waist pouch is sitting oddly. I spend a few moments adjusting it so it’s hidden under the pocket. There are only three things in there but they’re bulky: a smoke-bomb, a flip knife, and one of Finn’s mechanical keys. This one’s his latest version, and can usually open most locks in Mid. ‘You did, didn’t you?’ I say when he doesn’t reply. ‘You bought the pass?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Then there’s nothing to worry about.’ I hold out my arms. ‘Well? How do I look? Reckon they’ll buy it?’

He looks at me, up and down. I get a sullen nod.

‘Great!’ I clap my hands together and gesture at the metal door in the barbed wire. ‘Shall we head in then?’

The shuttle station is one of the tidiest places in Under. They cleared a block of old buildings, put down huge cubes of foundation stone to elevate the whole thing, and built the docking station on top. I can make out a small office building, a covered, metallic structure where the shuttle docks, and the transport line arcing up out of it, a silver curl raising over the roofs of Under towards Top.

Jan shakes his head. ‘The Peacers have the key. They’ll be coming down on the shuttle, so we have to wait for them.’

I frown. ‘And when are they supposed to get here?’

‘Eight.’

‘Eight? Why are we here at half six then!?’

Jan looks down at his boots. ‘Just in case, I thought it would be better… I didn’t want anyone to see…’

There’s a curse on the tip of my tongue. I swallow it down with difficulty - Jan is already spooked. He needs to relax and if I tell him he’s a fucking idiot it probably won’t help. ‘Right,’ I say instead. ‘Right.’ I force myself to exhale slowly, then hunker down in the dust. The overalls he gave me are too clean, anyway. ‘Come on then,’ I say, patting the earth next to me. ‘You might as well tell me more about being a Patcher.’

Jan’s answering smile looks very strained.

The other Patchers, when they turn up at five to eight, are hungover and yawning. I eye them all jealously - one asshole even still has pillow creases across his cheek. Like Jan predicted, nobody really bats an eyelid at me. Patchers get assigned jobs on a rota, so it’s not like I stick out - they just assume I’m a new trainee, or that I’m covering someone. I get a few curious glances, but mostly we all just hang around on the side of the street, quiet and subdued. The smell of morning pipe smoke grows thick and hazy in the sunlight.

‘There it is,’ someone says eventually and we all turn to peer through the fence.

The shuttle is a sleek metal box, tapered at both ends, and large enough to carry at least twenty people. It descends on a thin transport track, a silver flash against the dreary grey sky. As it slows, white sparks erupt along the tracks and the air splits with a piercing screech of metal-on-metal. I grit my teeth and try to bear it. If nobody else is going to clap their hands over their ears then I won’t either.

It takes twenty, torturous seconds before it finally judders to a halt and puts us all out of our misery. The door bangs open and two Peacers step out, moving briskly and efficiently: one to the office, and one over to the door in the barbed wire that we’re all clustered outside. ‘Have your passes ready,’ she calls out as she fiddles with the lock.

I turn to Jan, who’s staring at me with a sober, pale face. ‘Are you very sure?’ he says quietly.

I clap him on the back, a little too hard to be friendly. ‘Stop joking around and give me the pass,’ I say through gritted teeth. This has all suddenly become very real. I’m on edge enough as it is, I don’t need him making it worse.

His throat bobs as he swallows and he shoves small leather booklet into my hand before hurrying forward to join the queue for the door. I take a moment to check the pass, trying to remember if it matches the one he showed me yesterday. I’m fairly sure it does. I’m also fairly sure Jan doesn’t have the balls to give one that’s fake.

I take a moment to remind myself of why I’m doing this. If I can get Harry the biomech, he can reverse engineer it with his Affinity and design his own. It could change his life. No more purple bruises littering the back of his hand. No more fluid-filled blisters where the prosthetic’s burned into him. No more tremor. And then we could sell it on the black market. We’d be the first - we’d have monopoly. If we were careful, kept our source secret, we’d make enough money to move to Mid.

And, I tell myself, I’m just going to look for an opportunity. If I get to Top and there’s no way in hell it will work, I’ll just spend the day pretending to be a Patcher. No harm done.

When it’s my turn, the Peacer yanks the pass out of my hand before I can hand it to her. Her cold blue gaze flits from her clipboard, then my pass. I eye the holster on her hip, trying not to be too obvious. It looks distressingly well-worn. ‘Jack G?’

I lick my lips, mouth dry. ‘Yes.’

‘Jack,’ the Peacer repeats, frowning.

‘Short for Jacqueline,’ I say, wondering if Jan really has fucked me over. If I get shot because of Jan, I’ll be so pissed. I’ll haunt him. And his lungless girlfriend.

When the Peacer jerks her hand towards the shuttle I almost flinch. ‘Go on then,’ she says, handing my pass back. ‘Hurry up.’

I take it on autopilot, step through the gate and into the station. The back of my neck feels cold and damp, and my heart is beating like crazy, but I’m through. They think I’m a Patcher. I’m going to Top.

The others have already disappeared into the dark mouth of the shuttle. I shove the pass into my pocket, take a deep breath, and make my way over.

It’s dim, when I duck inside, and stinks of old sweat and bitter metal. Wooden crates are secured with red rope at the front and the back, leaving an empty floor space in the middle for the fifteen or so of us to hunker down on. There aren’t any seats - the shuttle’s not usually used for people.

I find Jan near the crates at the back. ‘Well,’ I say under my breath as I squat down next to him. ‘I’m alive.’

‘G-good,’ he says.

And all of a sudden I’m in an incredibly good mood. It might be the adrenaline rush. ‘I gotta say, I’m not so impressed with their security. This is all we needed to get me in?’ I snort.

‘I don’t think they believe anyone actually wants to sneak in to Top,’ Jan says.

‘Well I do,’ I say, getting comfortable with my back against a crate. ‘Bauman has something I need.’

There’s a pause, and then Jan says in a weak voice, ‘You’re going to steal from Bauman?’

‘That’s the plan,’ I say. The engine gives a thrumming heave, like the purring of a great cat. My palms slap against the floor for balance as the shuttle jerks to life.

We’re going up.

The city of Erudict is built like a pointed mountain. Under is the base - we live in the streets and buildings left over from before the Katerakts, sleeping on the top floors or roofs just in case our walls cracks. Mid is the slopes, still with some older buildings but most extended up to four or five stories. Top is the summit. When the Katerakts came they razed the middle of the city and laid down massive blocks of foundation stone, then built their buildings and walkways and parks on top. Great for them, because the Katerakts are bad at climbing. But it makes importing anything from outside the city bloody difficult - hence the shuttle.

I’ve never been to Top before. As the shuttle slows, reaching the end of the line, I leave Jan and shoulder through the crowd of Patchers at the window. Then, like the rest of them, I stare.

From above, the inner city looks like an instrument. Like the inside of a clock. Gold and intricate and beautiful: glass-domed buildings, elegant spires, gleaming white walls. A line of sleek metal automobiles scuttle down a wide, paved street. People hurry past like glittering black ants.

Our route dips down. The new wall peeks out in flashes behind the buildings, big and black and foreboding. We’re heading straight to it.

‘Here we go lads,’ someone says as we’re suddenly at a height with the buildings. We stream past them smoothly and enter a wide, empty square. There’s no unholy screeching and sparks on this end, as the shuttle slows to a gentle stop. We’re simply moving, and then we’re not.

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The shuttle trembles, and a clanging noise comes from outside. The door opens. Daylight spills in and we all wince.

‘Alright,’ the same Peacer who anointed me Jack G calls out. ‘Out you get!’

We file out one by one.

Objectively, the station is not that impressive, really just a cleaner version of the one in Under and lacking the barbed wire fence. The main difference so far is the air - it’s sweet. So sweet that it feels like drinking water, just to stand there and breathe. I take big pulls of it, deep down into my lungs until my ribs ache. Imagine breathing this every day!

‘Over here,’ the second Peacer calls - a tall, brown-haired man - and gestures us around the corner.

I follow Jan, our boots echoing on the stone as we walk. ‘Have you been to Top before?’ I ask him quietly.

He shakes his head, looking around with wide eyes. ’There’s never been a reason. The wall’s never cracked before.’

I suppose not; they haven’t even finished building the whole thing yet. And, unlike Under, it doesn’t suffer Katerakts throwing themselves at it night after night.

We trail out into an empty street, turn the corner, and there it is, about fifty metres away. I almost stop short in awe. No wonder we’ve run out of chemetal; their wall is massive. It stretches out on either side at an impenetrable height, even though Katerakts can’t climb. I can’t tear my eyes away from it. It looks like a huge black wave, like it’s going to come crashing down over us. I half expect it to move.

We turn another corner and it falls out of sight. I go back to peering at the buildings. Most of the ones surrounding the shuttle station are under construction, although the snatches of the parts not under tarpaulin look beautiful. I wonder how far up we are compared to Under. Beneath our feet must be the huge foundation stone blocks. It’s a dizzying thought.

Waiting for us further down the street is a large dark-green automobile. It looks similar to the Association trucks they have in Under, which prowl around, black and open-roofed and full of miserable looking people. Only shinier and less beat up.

I slide in gingerly at the back, the last Patcher, and settle into the bench. It’s cramped - barely enough room for my legs - and smells overwhelmingly of new leather. Someone taps their finger on the window sill in a quick, unsteady beat, as the automobile shudders to life.

Our route is more or less parallel to the wall. I spend the time staring out the window and trying to ignore my growing nausea. Something about the smoothness of the motion disagrees with my stomach.

After ten minutes we reach an elegant iron gate in the middle of a tall, well-trimmed hedge. The female Peacer gets out from the driver’s seat and talks into a panel on the side. A few moments later, the gates swing silently open.

We follow a long drive, straight through a pleasant, shaded forest. Grey light filters down from the canopy in chinks and the ground underneath turns bumpy. I run my fingers over the bulge of the pouch across my belly, under the overalls, feeing the shape of the knife. It doesn’t reassure me much.

The tension inside is heavy. The Patchers up at the front shift on their seats, restless, as Bauman’s house comes into view. I stare as it grows closer. It’s not a house; it’s a palace, a big block of pale stone with four proud columns at the front. It has two wings, and a golden steeple slicing up into the grey sky like a huge needle. It’s even bigger than the Association building.

‘Wow,’ Jan whispers beside me.

We drive right up to the house, and then turn left and head around to the back. From there, another, thinner road, cuts through the grass and towards another small forest. The ground here is more uneven, and the automobile sways and judders, slowing. I press my lips together and cling onto the seat. Throwing up would definitely get me noticed.

Thankfully, we come to a stop only a few minutes later, in the middle of the trees. Without the sound of the engine and the tyres bumping over loose stones, it suddenly feels very quiet. I can even hear the faint call of a bird.

‘Alright then,’ the male Peacer calls, opening the door. ‘Let’s go.’

As soon as I’m out I spend some time breathing with my hands on my hips, trying to dissipate the nausea. It doesn’t really help. The sick feeling of the car is just replaced by the sick feeling of chemetal so close. I can’t see it yet, it’s obscured by the trees, but I can hear it, a low, steady hum, like electricity in the walls. I’m not the only one: someone else is doubled over, clutching their stomach. Some people are sensitive to it.

‘We’re going to head to the wall now,’ the male Peacer announces. ‘There are three subteams - one to sort the rubble, one to weld the chemetal and the other to patch up the stone. We’ve got eight hours before the shuttle departs, and today is the only day you’re on double pay. If you don’t finish and we have to come all the way back tomorrow it’ll be back to standard.’

Grumbling.

The Peacer’s lip quirks. ‘There are buckets of protection gear near the break. We’ve got masks and gloves. Use them. If anyone gets sick, you’ll be waiting in the automobile until the rest finish. There’s only one shuttle ride back planned.’

I make a note of that. Perhaps I can use it somehow.

The wall emerges through the trees after a minute or so of walking. It’s just as foreboding up close, only now I can tell that the whole thing isn’t chemetal, like I’d originally thought. The surface is matte black, the kind that sucks in the light, and if you look closely you can see the faint ridges of the stone slabs they’ve used to build it. Chemetal, on the other hand, is black but has an oil-slick surface, swirling with rainbow colours when the light hits right. They’ve used chemetal as the core, I realise, sandwiched between the stone.

Murmuring breaks out in the group and I look fully at the crack we’ve been bought in to repair.

It’s not a crack. It’s a huge, three-metre-tall gash, right the way through, like some giant claw has come and ripped through the wall. Bit of black rubble litter the grass. Some of them come up to my hip.

‘Jesus,’ someone says next to me. ‘How the hell’d they do that?’

I look around for Jan, who is avoiding me, and just decide to ask the guy next to me. ‘You think it was the terrorists?’

He glances at the Peacers, then purses his lips as he considers. ’Wealthy terrorists if so,’ he says after a moment. ‘Woulda needed a hell of a lot of explosive power to do this.’

‘Get your gloves and masks!’ the female Peacer barks out. ‘Then come over to me to get your assignment.’

Lucky for me - or perhaps Jan’s work - Jack G is a junior Patcher, which means I’m on the rubble-sorting team. Mostly this means I don the stiff, over-sized safety gloves, pick up rubble, check if it’s stone or chemetal, and then deposit it on the right tarpaulin. It’s easy physical work, which lets me spend the time mulling over my options.

There are only two Peacers - that’s good. Their guns though, are not so good. If I start running, and they see me, they’ll shoot.

I could tell them I feel sick because of the wall - which is true - and then they’d send me to sit in the automobile. But then I’d have their attention. They might remember me. And they might send someone to accompany me, which would make sneaking off infinitely harder.

Is there any way I can get sent to the house?

No. Not that I can think of. We even have our own temporary toilet set up.

I need a distraction, I realise. If it’s large enough, and chaotic enough, then I think I could disappear without anyone noticing. It would probably take me ten or fifteen minutes to get to the house, depending on how fast I walk. Then I need to orient myself, find the biomech - presuming it’s already there for the event this evening - grab it and get back. That’s… at least an hour.

Could I cause a distraction that would keep them disoriented for an hour?

I don’t know. And even if I could, it’s risky. There’s only fifteen of us. They can do a headcount at any time and realise I’m gone.

But I don’t see another option. And my risk tolerance has always been a little too high.

I crouch down over the next batch of rubble. Mostly it’s chunks of black rock, and only occasionally do I see a glimmer of chemetal. The swirl of the surface is beautiful, but it gives me then same feeling riding in the car did. I try not to look.

Was this the point of blowing up the wall - were they after the chemetal? The bits I’ve seen are clearly a stronger alloy that they normally use, which makes it worth a pretty penny.

I pick up a brick-sized lump of black stone and walk over to Jan, who is standing right in front of the gash in the wall, frowning up at it.

‘Do you think it’s going to collapse?’ I ask hopefully.

Jan frowns. ‘No. They’ve propped it up with supports.’

‘Oh right,’ I say, then make a split-second decision to squeeze past him, into the gash in the wall. It’s like stepping through a very ragged door of broken black stone. Daylight cuts off and the air around me smells bloody, like copper. The humming in my ears grows briefly deafening as I pass under the exposed chemetal core, but I force myself to take my time, to scout out the thick metal poles that have been put in place to keep it supported. I count six in the ten seconds I’m able to last, then have to keep walking when I start to gag. I step out into the daylight on the other side, swallowing compulsively. Technically, I’m now standing in Mid. It looks exactly the same as Top: more boring forest.

There’s a single Patcher on this side, scribbling stuff on a clipboard. He looks up at me, gaze falling to the rock I’m clutching. ‘What’s that for?’ he asks.

‘Uh,’ I say. ‘I was asked to start clearing this side too.’

He nods and goes back to his clipboard. I make a show of inspecting the chunks of wall that have landed here. It’s less than in Top - which means it’s likely whoever did this set the explosives from this side.

I turn and head back through the crack, dutifully taking my cargo over to the tarpaulin marked STONE as a plan solidifies in my mind. The supports look just like the ones we use for the old buildings in Under, with a small sticky-out bit on the side. If you pull it down far enough, the hold unlocks and the metal support will shorten. I reckon I can make it look like an accident - and the break in the wall is precarious enough that something will fall. I just have to avoid it falling on me.

I spent the next ten minutes going backwards and forwards through the wall, carrying the bigger chunks of rubble and making a point to look busy. Each time I pass under, I pause for ten seconds and look at the supports. By the fifth pass, I’ve narrowed it down to one. It’s propping up a huge slab of rock that would have long fallen otherwise. And that slab of rock is holding another support in place. I’m fairly sure if I can get it to slide free, it’ll do some pretty serious damage.

I spend another three passes making sure of it. By this point my stomach has gone numb, and my vision is a little shaky. When I deposit the stone on the tarpaulin and straighten up, I have to wipe cold sweat from my forehead. The material of the safety gloves is covered in black dust and smells disgusting, and for a horrifying moment I think I’m going to faint. I sit down before my legs go out. I don’t think anyone’s looking at me, but I make a pretence of examining some chunk of rubble, frowning. The frown, at least in sincere.

For someone that lives close to the Pits, where the raw stuff gets hacked out of the earth, I shouldn’t be so affected. Either it’s the automobile journey still screwing with me, or there’s something about the quantity of the chemetal. Or that it’s refined, and not just dust. Either way, I’m going to have to make a move soon. I don’t think I can physically keep going for much longer.

I look around. The two Peacers are standing facing each other, deep in conversation. The other Patchers are doing stuff around the sides of the wall or soldering together the bigger chunks at a workstation off to the side.

I spend ten seconds staring into space, letting the voice of concern in my head wriggle free from where I’ve shoved it down.

Are you completely fucking insane! it screams, now that I’m finally listening to it. The whole thing could come down on your head! And even if it doesn’t, they might notice you running and shoot you! Or someone at the house’ll catch you and tell the Peacers and they’ll hang you on sight! Or-

Good enough, I think, shutting it up again. All that stuff is true. But I’m careful. If they see me running, I’ll say I’m sick and heading to the automobile. If a staff member sees me, I’ll... say there was a queue for the toilet and I was desperate.

I’ve come all the way to Top. I’ll never get a chance like this again. And I want that biomech.

I blink a few times, come back to myself. Then straighten my shoulders. Alright, I think. Let’s go.

I walk inside the jagged arch, into the darkness. Immediately I take two quick steps to the left, and inch up on my tiptoes. I look back over my shoulder as I reach for the slider on the side of the support, checking for Peacers or Patchers. There’s movement outside, someone walking past. They can’t see me though, the lights too dim.

The tips of my fingers skirt along the pole, feeling for a protruding piece of metal. Sweat worms down my face and into my eyes. The gloves are too thick. Biting my lip, I yank the glove off my right hand and reach out, straining. Nothing… nothing… nothing, and then I feel the protrusion. I grab hold of it and pull.

For a moment nothing happens. Then, with a little click, the lock pulls down. The support makes a strange groaning sound, and the two metal ends snap towards each other as it shortens.

Holy hell, I think, stunned. I’ve done it.

The rock begins to slide. It’s far quicker than I expected. That massive slab of jagged stone shoots down and out and goes crashing into the ground. I stumble backwards, hands flying out to stop myself from tripping. My finger brushes something freezing cold, far colder than even the support.

Oh shit, I think, turning. Something glimmers between my fingers, even in the low light. A swirling black rainbow.

I’ve just put my bare hand on exposed chemetal.

A surge of blistering white heat rushes through my body. Around me, there is a deafening rumble, so loud I can feel it in my teeth, in my jawbone, in my eyeballs. I try to stagger the two steps back, back out into Top, into daylight, but I can no longer see.

Noise rings out from behind me. Someone’s shouting. A weight slams into my back, hard. The ground? I turn to the side, feel warm liquid moving up my throat, out my mouth. Then - nothing.