I nodded, my eyes running over him, remembering his and Sam's toned, tough bodies.

"And then," James continued, "there are the boys."

Involuntarily I felt myself shiver.

"The boys are like you, Aston. Most of them are between eighteen and twenty-five. They keep fit, of course, but they're all smaller, softer ... weaker." He didn't make it sound like a bad thing.

"The boys never leave the fortress. They help to grow the food, but they never do the dangerous work that the men do. They serve the meals at dinners, they fetch and carry, and they do all the easy little tasks that need doing. But that's not why...