Maphira drove her boat toward the docks, provided that was actually what you called it when someone took control of a water vehicle. The terminology confounded her. She wasn’t sure whether to call it driving, steering or even piloting, but she had settled on driving within her mind.
As the city of Melbourne grew larger before her, she felt the dreadful feeling come over her once more. It was a common feeling, like a wraith hanging over her, that seemed to be present whenever she was too close to the machines which had taken over, thanks to the Conclave’s plot.
Feeling a little bit like a pirate, she docked her boat and leapt from the – possibly starboard – side, then tied the rope around the vehicle to prevent it from drifting off. Her boots picked up water from the pier as she made her way back to her welding workshop, a net of fish over her shoulder.
How many people would need a boat latch installed today? It seemed to be the most common service requested, although Maphira wasn’t sure why. If the people wanted boat latches, though, who was she to refuse them?
Pointing people in the direction of the best boat latch installers kept her busy. It was simply too risky to do anything else. In her downtime, she caught fish, grew her own vegetables and collected rainwater to survive. She pointed people in the direction of the workshop only to keep up appearances. Nothing better to keep the Mechanists away from her than a constant nod towards the location of snapper rack installation. Melbourne agents of the Conclave would never suspect that she was secretly the rogue police officer Maphira.
Even if they did, though, they likely wouldn’t care. As long as she kept to herself, they wouldn’t bother getting rid of her. Although she would have liked to fight back, it was simply too dangerous.
It wasn’t like she had any leads, anyway. No, better to simply keep her head down and avoid drawing attention.