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C HAPTER
    4
    POST 121
    N o marker announced the border between Elloweer and Zeropolis, but Cole knew they had crossed when electric tingles raced through him and his ears popped. “Feel that?” Cole asked the others.
    â€œYep,” Dalton said, rubbing his ears.
    â€œWelcome to Zeropolis,” Mira said.
    â€œI didn’t feel squat,” Jace said.
    â€œNobody ever accused you of being sensitive,” Cole said.
    â€œI didn’t feel much either,” Joe said. “Maybe a little tickle.”
    In a corner of his mind, Cole had wondered if the crossing might help undo the changing Morgassa had worked on him before she died. Was it unreasonable to hope that whatever blockade she had raised to divide him from his power would be destroyed by leaving Elloweer? But as he searched inside, he still found no hint of his ability. His power remained out of reach.
    â€œWeird,” Dalton said. “I can’t make a seeming.”
    â€œDid you expect to be the only exception?” Jace asked.
    â€œNo,” Dalton said. “It just cut off so suddenly. I can still feel my power. It’s there. But if I try to make a seeming, I can’t even manage a spark. It’s frustrating.”
    Jace pulled his little golden rope from his pocket. “Is it kind of like having a really cool weapon that no longer works?”
    â€œPretty much,” Dalton said.
    â€œI think we all get the feeling,” Jace said.
    The trees thinned and prairie land came into view. As the group exited the forest, there was no missing Post 121. The outpost was much larger than Cole expected. He had pictured an isolated monorail stop with a few buildings and some mules. Instead, the community spread across the prairie for quite a distance, a windswept jumble of low, fenceless structures.
    The strangest dwellings looked almost like playground equipment—tubes and globes of colored plastic joined together in odd combinations. There were also boxy apartments made from concrete blocks, flimsy shacks composed of tin panels, earthy structures of adobe and plaster, patchwork pavilions of weathered hides, log cabins, canvas tents, and shanties cobbled together from scraps of wood and metal. The styles varied at random. With few trees or bushes in view, the only landscaping seemed to be the natural dirt and brush of the prairie.
    Above the sprawling mishmash of haphazard architecture, the monorail track and station stood out as the glaring landmarks of advanced civilization. Shining like polished platinum, the lofty track overshadowed the chaotic neighborhoods, itsmetallic whiteness gently curving away into the distance, supported by pillars at regular intervals. The station also looked very modern, a lustrous construction of glass and metal.
    Besides the monorail track and station, not many structures in town surpassed two stories. Joe explained that the large, weathered, egg-shaped building was the power facility, where the main energy crystals for the outpost were housed. He also mentioned that the two cylinders on the hillside were water towers. A few windmills of varied design poked up here and there. Cole’s favorite kind of looked like an upside-down eggbeater.
    The closer they got to the outpost, the more vehicles came into view. One looked like a cross between a dune buggy and a monster truck, rolling around on swollen tires. Another was a motorcycle with wheels as wide as overturned barrels. A spiderlike contraption prowled around on slender legs, while the driver sat atop the body yanking levers. Some vehicles had treads like a tank. The roads Cole saw were rough pathways carved by frequent travel. Without decent roads, he supposed the vehicles needed to be hardy.
    â€œIt looks like people made stuff out of whatever they could find,” Dalton said.
    â€œTrue enough,” Joe said. “The outposts only get materials from the city by monorail. Anything else they make themselves. The tinkers