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  'Here they call me Lev.'

  Lev draws Zach to his feet, then reaches into a deep flapped pocket and brings out a small flask, which once uncapped, steams and gives off the rich smell of coffee. Lev holds it to Zach's lips.

  'Slowly now, don't burn your tongue.'

  The coffee is black and very sweet, laced with what may be cardamom in the Saudi style. Though a fine programmer, Mishaal is something of a jokester who leaves his version of a calling card wherever most eccentric; a wink between fellow Janus. A few sips, and heat blossoms in Zach's stomach like a spurt of blood from a reopened wound, and his shivering subsides.

  'OK?' Lev asks.

  Zach nods.

  *****

  Lev points towards what, under the circumstances, couldn't possibly be a flock of sheep clustered near an open pond. As Zach peers at the gleam of aquamarine, a snow-covered building comes into focus. A hut or shed of some kind. And yes, now he can see light flickering in a window, lantern- or firelight.

  'It's nearer than it looks,' Lev says, 'but we'd best get started. This cold will kill you faster than a terr bomb.'

  'Is Lev a nickname?' Zach asks. 'It's not on my client list.'

  'Not exactly. But conserve your energy—the first rule of survival here. We'll talk inside.'

  *****

  Inside consists of a narrow anteroom where they shed their boots and outerwear, and through a tightly fitting door, a good-sized living room furnished with a long wooden table and benches, two simple sofas, a few chairs, bookshelves. Over the floorboards several brightly striped carpets are strewn, interspersed with furs—possibly polar bear. A fire is burning in the open fireplace, though the almost uncomfortable temperature suggests another, and primary, source of heat. The second door will lead to a kitchen, bathroom, and some sort of sleeping quarters. Though far from luxurious, this basecamp is less primitive than others Zach has used. As an instructor—not counsellor, and absolutely not Fulgur's ridiculous facilitator—at least he'll have his own room, no matter how small. He couldn't bear it otherwise, not now.

  Personal data about clients is kept to a minimum—'to avoid prejudice', reads the team manual—but Zach is disconcerted when two girls glance up as he enters. They're seated cross-legged before the fire, a jigsaw puzzle half-finished on a large tray between them—5000 pieces, by the look of it. Slender, hollow-cheeked girls without makeup. Sixteen or seventeen, both of them. Laura's age.

  Zach turns away for a moment till sure his face expresses the right degree of polite interest. There's no way it could be this easy, and though he's known it all along, the sight of the girls brings blotches of colour to his cheeks. He moves closer to the fire, the heat of which would redden even the darkest skin.

  Lev comes into the room, shutting the door behind him, and Zach has his first good look at his rescuer. Cropped dark blonde hair, blue eyes, a small scar at the corner of his mouth, as though he'd been licking off a steak knife and it slipped. A few years older than Zach himself, possibly in his mid-twenties. Not a youth offender, then, so what is he doing here?

  The girl with dark curly hair gets to her feet. 'There's some hot soup in the kitchen,' she says. 'You two look as if you need it.' Zach realises that she is in fact the lad he's been expecting.

  'You're Ethan?' Zach asks.

  Ethan nods, then indicates his companion. 'And this is Chloe.'

  Neither of them seems discomfited by Lev's presence, so Zach decides to say nothing till he works out just who this bloke is. A misstep at the outset could easily destroy Ethan and Chloe's trust in a field instructor—tenuous at best—making cooperation difficult, if not impossible. Zach has never heard of anyone dying during Virtual Wilderness Therapy, but he wouldn't like to put it to the test.

  After the meal Zach introduces himself, a nicely offhand set piece, but contrary to Fulgur guidelines, restricts his remarks about the programme itself to the briefest sketch of his immediate plans. They've surely been lectured enough; a few days on the ice sharpens everyone's listening skills. Then he gives each of them a chance to talk. 'Anything you like,' he says, 'questions of course, but anything at all, even how much you detest the cold and the snow and don't want to be here and are bored out of your skull and didn't do anything wrong anyway and plan to throttle me as soon as I'm asleep.'

  'Nah,' says Chloe, 'fuck you.'

  For a fraction of a second Zach thinks she's swearing at him. He manages to keep his face deadpan when she adds, 'I'm dying to find out if an auger cock's really dead brute. A whopper, a piece of metal, a fucking iron harpoon, you're supposed to have between those skinny legs. Ethan doesn't mind sharing for once, do you, babe?'

  'Sorry I can't oblige,' Zach says coolly. 'Against the rules.'

  'Is that so?' Unperturbed, she smiles and glances round. 'Don't worry, no one will nark. Just like they won't mention how you, our Arctic mentor and guide, got lost on his way to our cosy little character-building venue.'

  Ethan laughs, while Lev stretches his legs, crosses his ankles, and tilts his chair back at an improbable angle, his eyes glinting with amusement. Zach meets their gaze impassively, each in turn. Manipulative behaviour is one of the first things he's been taught to deal with.

  'Sending Lev out to find me shows a genuine sense of responsibility. It means that you're ready to move on to the first phase of the outdoor programme. We'll start tomorrow right after breakfast.'

  'It was a test?' Chloe asks with some chagrin.

  Zach frames his response carefully. 'You're in good hands. Fulgur leaves nothing to chance.'

  They discuss the chore roster, with none of the usual complaints—perhaps a consequence of Chloe's come-on. She and Lev carry the dishes into the kitchen to wash up. While sorting through some of the puzzle pieces together, Zach asks Ethan a few casual questions. 'Any newcomers? Girls passing through?'

  Later when Zach is struggling to find a way around his memories towards sleep, Chloe comes to his narrow cot. He knows that he doesn't want to do this and that he's going to regret it afterwards, but the need for release, however momentary, translates into an involuntary groan which she misinterprets. Once she touches him, he's lost. She doesn't seem to notice that he won't let her kiss him or stroke his hair, nor does she realise his final cry is one of despair.

  Chapter 3

  Owen's breath was warm against her neck, and Laura could hardly mistake what was happening as he pressed himself against her. She wanted to laugh at the phrases he was whispering in her ear—did lads ever read girly blogs?—but the music was soaking through her pores and she didn't care to humiliate him openly and there was something rather sweet about his fumbling, not that she wanted to encourage him, but the air was thick and heavy hard to breathe no it was her body that was so light and smoky and insubstantial and she could smell his sandalwood cologne a scent she'd always liked and they were floating on the languid chords hardly moving swaying really and she would stop just now the music would stop he would stop he would he

  Laura glanced up to see Zach staring at her with his sardonic grin. Owen disappeared. The club disappeared. There was only Zach, leaning against a wall in his black jeans, his arms crossed and his mouth uptilted. Unlike his eyes.

  The music stopped. Laura heard Owen mutter something behind her, but she'd already moved away from him. Heads were turning towards Zach now, and for some reason the band hadn't pitched into another number, which left a silence to fill, a silence which was being stretched and pulled and shaped into a receptacle for their spit, their dirty wads of gum.

  'What's he doing here?'

  'It's bad enough we've got to put up with his sort at school.'

  'Dirty mulac pervert.'

  'Somebody better get rid of the freak.'

  'My sister told me they can fuck for hours.'

  'They ought to be kept in pens.'

  'Do you see those eyes?'

  'Thinks he can muck around with one of our girls, does he?'

  'Teach him a lesson.'

  'Au
ger cunt.'

  'I wouldn't mind, not if he uses a nice thick cocksock.'

  Close up, Zach smelled fresh, like newly fallen snow. He didn't take his eyes off her nor did he smile, but he had a way of listening that she'd never encountered before. He paid attention. Everybody else was busy with their own thoughts/reactions/arguments, or impatient for you to finish so that they could get a chance to centre-stage, or simply in a rush to be somewhere else. But Zach focused on your words as if they were nourishment, or even the oxygen without which his cells would soon starve. Were they all like him?

  'It was just a dance,' Laura said.

  Zach said nothing.

  'Were you looking for me?'

  His eyes flicked past her—temperature dropping, the first gusts, visibility impaired, icy track ahead. She turned her head. Owen and some of his mates. Zach uncrossed his arms and stood taller, away from the wall. His legs were incredibly long, she thought. Dark-clad limbs that might bend but not snap in the wind.

  'Is there a problem, Laura?' Owen asked.

  Nice, she thought. It's nice to protect your date.

  'Of course not,' she said.

  Tim and Derek closed ranks.

  'You'd better be going,' Derek said.

  Zach regarded him with the same mild interest he might afford a household pet which had begun to speak, but not quite mastered the intricacies of English grammar.

  'Did you hear what he said, mate?' Tim added after a short silence.

  Zach spoke for the first time. 'I'm not your mate.'

  'Listen, transfuck, do we have spell it out for you? Like in the toilet?' Tim said.

  Owen raised a hand. 'This is a private club, Zach,' he said, his voice conciliatory. 'There are lots of places where augers can go. Don't make trouble.'

  Laura winced at Owen's casual use of the word. In school he wouldn't have got away with it, at least not if there'd been a teacher nearby. And the worst was, he wasn't being deliberatively provocative or nasty. It's just what they all said.

  'What do you think, Laura?' Zach was watching her with the same intensity with which he'd listened to her talk about her family.

  The narrow path was slippery with ice, a jagged rockface on one side and a steep precipice on the other. Laura shivered, she wasn't used to such hard climbs.

  'Nothing to do with Laura,' Owen said.

  Zach lifted an eyebrow and waited.

  'I—I guess—' Laura dropped her eyes. Better know what you're doin', girl.

  'Fuck you too,' Zach said very softly, but not softly enough.

  Tim stepped in close, balled his hand, and with a loud 'fucking auger cunt' slammed his fist into Zach's solar plexus. Zach grunted softly and sagged for a moment against the wall, then straightened. His eyes never left Laura's.

  Smiling broadly, Tim directed a vicious punch to Zach's jaw, which cracked his head round into the plaster. This time he gasped and closed his eyes.

  'No!' Laura cried, and would have darted forward, but Owen took her arm and shook his head in warning.

  Zach licked his lips. Slowly he opened his eyes, slowly he twisted his head back again, his attention entirely focused on Laura. She could see a bubble of blood at the corner of his mouth, which with agonising sluggishness beaded, then trickled down his chin and hung trembling for a fraction of a second before dripping onto the floor. Laura suddenly understood he would stand there taking it till he collapsed. So long as she witnessed the attack.

  'Enough, Timmy,' she said. 'He's not worth it. Someone will ring the police, and there'll be a lot of unpleasant questions. Come on, let's have a drink, these devis leave a foul taste in my mouth. And the band's about to crank up again.'

  She leaned over and kissed Tim on the cheek. 'Thanks,' she said.

  Then she turned away, her arm hooked through Owen's, and was gone. Downhill always seemed easier.

  Chapter 4

  Next morning Ethan is feverish, shaking with chills, and so dizzy when he stumbles into the living room that Zach sends him straight back to bed. Though conditions are meant to be as realistic as possible, Zach is disgruntled by the delay and can't help wondering about this unexpected development, the second in two days. Illness isn't unheard of in Fulgur's little cyber realm, but never during the acclimation phase, which is stressful enough on its own.

  In the kitchen he finds a stock of herbal remedies and brews a pot of lemon balm, yarrow, and ginger tea, well sweetened with honey. Ethan drinks only a few sips before knocking the mug aside, rambling on about harpoons of acid blue light and batmen and a shapeshifting ice cave, but soon falls into a doze while Zach mops up. Despite official assurances, Andy has warned him to be on the watch for anomalies, particularly cognitive dysfunction, which might indicate a programming glitch. There's always the backfeed for reporting minor problems, but persistent hallucinations could necessitate a premature shut-down. Any simu who aborts a run without good reason assumes its entire cost. You'd be in debt to Fulgur till too old to notice. There are no aborts.

  If it weren't for Laura, Zach would have stuck to his resolve never to do another run again. And once they find out what he's up to, there'll be no other. Let them banish him to custodial duty; he'll scrub their toilets with savage glee. They wouldn't dare to assassinate him outright—not now, not with so much unrest. A martyr's death would suit him just fine.

  At breakfast Chloe appears in a cherry-red tracksuit whose thick fleece might as well be diaphanous silk, or nothing at all, the way she turns sleepy eyes and moist pout and an aura of torpid conquest on Zach. He finds himself colouring, at which she laughs complacently. The run is fast becoming a disaster.

  Lev rescues him by suggesting Chloe stay indoors with Ethan while the two of them try to bring down a polar bear.

  'What for?' Zach asks bluntly.

  'We ought to take advantage of the good weather. It's stopped snowing.'

  'You know that's not what I mean.'

  'Practice. Teamwork and bonding in the face of a tough obstacle. Survival skills.' Lev says. 'Isn't that what you're here to teach?' There it is again—that brief glint in Lev's eyes, like a flash of metal through the trees. The scar makes it difficult to tell whether his half-smile is sardonic, or merely the result of reduced muscular control. 'Fresh meat.'

  'A full-grown male can weigh as much as 700 kilos, occasionally more.' Zach falls back on a practical concern. 'You and I can barely drag a quarter of that between us.'

  'We'll take whatever we can. Isn't that what humans always do?'

  Chloe is becoming restive. 'I'm going to have a good wash'—her lower lip is a touch overripe for her smirk to be tasty—'and check on Ethan while you two machos work out your kill.' She saunters off in the direction of the bath, then stops on the threshold to say, 'I forgot, the bath is filled with Earl Grey, I'll have to use the teapot.' Lev gives Zach an indulgent shrug as she heads for the kitchen; there's no accounting for sense of humour.

  'Killing a polar bear takes exceptional skill. How long have you been here anyway?' Zach asks once they're alone.

  'Why don't you wait and see what I can do?'

  'That's quite a lot to take on faith.'

  'We're expected to trust you.'

  'Not exactly the same thing, is it?'

  'Have you forgotten that I could have left you in the snowstorm to freeze? Perhaps you ought to remember one of the cardinal principles of wilderness training—mutual trust.'

  A test of some sort? Zach meets, measures, matches the daredevil in Lev's eyes. 'There are no firearms. So what will you use instead? A magical incantation?'

  Lev gives the first laugh Zach has heard from him, a rough snort like an animal's—a polar bear's chuff. Lev lifts his long jumper, exposing an age-darkened knife sheath on a belt. Zach can see the Puma logo embossed on the leather, and the distinctive staghorn handle that generations of hunters have reached for.

  'You must be sudsing,' Zach says. 'Easier to melt a glacier with a hair-dryer.'

  'We'll see. Now eat up, we
'll need the energy. I meant it, you know, about meat.'

  They finish their coffee and bowls of salty porridge to the accompaniment of singing from the kitchen. Chloe has a lovely voice, Zach acknowledges silently, a rich alto just smoky enough to be at home in a dimly lit club. For a moment he imagines an old song, a bitter song, dark as stout and liquid as tears yet with a touch of sweetness, a song pursued by the pleading voice of the clarinet, its subtle and bittersweet disharmonies, but never diluted, never tainted, never contained; siren song.

  Without comment Lev carries their dishes to the kitchen. The singing stops, and Zach hears low voices, though only snatches of what's being said. Lev returns with a bottle of dark yellow oil, which once unstopped gives off a strong fishy odour. 'Rub it on your skin,' Lev says. 'Polar bears have an acute sense of smell, even over vast distances.'

  'I haven't agreed to this misadventure yet. Ethan shouldn't be left.'

  Lev explains that Chloe will apply ice packs to Ethan's groin and armpits if his fever worsens. 'The therapy programme is built upon learning to assume responsibility, isn't it?'

  'It's a bit early to expect any changes.'

  'Chloe's prickly but not unfeeling. It's not for me to tell you your job, but there's nothing you could do for Ethan at this stage that she can't. And maybe you yourself ought to remember that she's more vulnerable than she pretends.'

  Zach accepts the bottle in silence.

  Chapter 5

  For a week Laura was determined not to watch for Zach. Once she saw his distinctive hair skimming above the roil in the corridor outside the gym, but by the time she elbowed through the mass of kids, he was gone. Another time she was standing with Owen and Olivia in the canteen and could feel someone's eyes on her, but when she glanced round there was nobody of interest.