Free City of Burning Shadows (Apocrypha: The Dying World) by Barbara J. Webb

idea?”
    “Something that could bring rain to the city.” No question I was tired. I didn’t feel any of the excitement this should have created. I didn’t feel much of anything right now. “She said it’s better they have it—that they have the resources to get it done and she doesn’t. But it doesn’t explain why they’re suddenly trying to kill her.”
    “Who stole it?” he asked. “Which company?”
    “We don’t know.” Now I thought about it, that was odd. “The car that chased us tonight—it didn’t have any corporate markings. That’s strange.”  
    “Indeed. Enough to make one suspicious.” Suspicious of what, he didn’t say. A bright light washed across his face and he stood. “Your train is here.”
    The noise of it shook the ground. I jumped up, feeling that jolt of artificial energy follows an interrupted nap. I was more tired than I thought if I’d fallen asleep in the tube station at this time of night. My good luck I was alone, but I’d thought my survival instincts stronger.
    After that lapse, I was extra careful getting on the train, walking halfway up the line to find a car that still had several people on it. I moved toward a bench in front of four chattering teenagers in fancy dress and reeking of alcohol. I knew they’d be getting off well before my stop, but the silent boneheads across from me were probably heading to my neighborhood.  
    The kids ignored me, but one of the boneheads swiveled his head around, following my progress with his eyeless, expressionless face. I couldn’t tell if he was suspicious, curious, or trying to be friendly. Once I’d settled, he went back to staring—or whatever—straight ahead like his friend.
    Just another night on the Miroc blue line.

CHAPTER SIX
    Kidnapped

    Water. Everything was about water.
    Miroc was a planned city. Young, compared to Tala or most of the other big cities in the world. It grew up in a part of the desert unclaimed and untouched by any of the local tribes, became a trade hub, a crossroads, a haven for those who wanted away from the stricter, church-controlled cities and towns.
    Water was a problem from the beginning, but a solvable one. Rain in the desert? A simple task for the Oulirians, the bird priests, back in the days when their goddess answered their calls. The Oulirians were proud, beholden to no one, but there are those born to every race who are motivated by greed.  
    The Miroc founders were men and women who wanted away from people looking over their shoulders, and they had the money to make that happen. But they weren’t so short-sighted as to rely entirely on the fickle Oulirians. They constructed a reservoir—one of the greatest civil engineering projects the world had ever seen. A great dam just outside the city, a canyon in the desert hills expanded, a retractable metal dome larger even than the one over the Crescent, to keep the water from blowing away in the desert wind. Large enough that when it was full, it could provide for the city for years.  
    The trouble was, it had been years. Two since the Abandon, since the last time rain fell on the city. The reservoir wasn’t empty yet, but if we didn’t get rain soon…
    Spark’s invention—if it could work—that was our hope. But someone had to make it work. Either the Jansynians or someone closer to home, it didn’t matter. As long as someone made it rain again, we’d be okay.
    Or so I believed.
    I dragged into work late the next morning. After the day I’d put in yesterday, I figured Amelia owed me a couple extra hours of sleep. Blessedly, my night had been nightmare free.  
    I’d only just arrived at my office and set my bag down when the intercom came to life. “Ash,” Amelia’s voice crackled, “come see me.”
    I stopped in her doorway and stifled a yawn. Amelia had her back to me, standing at the touch-screen display on the back wall. On it, the map of Miroc I’d seen last night, only now sprinkled with red and yellow