Owen walked over cautiously with the others, sipping from his canteen to rehydrate. He wasn’t able to make out any kind of door on the black surface. There were scratches of white and yellow everywhere, and several points where torches had burned the shell but had been unable to penetrate. A variety of stains, from dust, dirt and pollen, also colored the wall. Ultimately the assortment of markings made it difficult to see any delineation in the original surface of the wall that might be a door or even a paneling joint.
Preston opened his folder and looked at a piece of paper. It appeared to be some sort of architectural drawing.
“Owen, help me with some measurements. You two—get the rope ladder.”
Owen and Preston measured the length of the wall from the left side of the building face. Preston made two marks in the dirt at the base of the wall.
“Put the ladder here,” Preston said, pointing to the marks. When it was mounted on the wall, Preston climbed up and outlined a rectangle in chalk. “We should be able to enter if we cut through this area with the torch.”
Preston didn’t sound entirely confident. Nevertheless, the railroad man named Milken scaled the ladder and started cutting. Sparks rained down, and Owen’s nose was impregnated with the smell of acetylene and melting alloys.
Owen looked nervously out to the top of the bluff. There were still four bandits. In the foreground the mules and other railroad folks had pistols, rifles, and crossbows at the ready. They were standing in a star formation around the platform, looking back at the bandits on the bluff in a long-distance staring competition.
Owen glanced again at the schematic Preston was holding. It was on crisp white paper, with no marks or discoloration. The lines looked too clean to be drawn by hand. Had this schematic been stored away, vacuum-sealed somewhere since Old World times?
“Where did you get these drawings, Preston?” Owen asked.
Preston quickly hid the drawing away in his folder. “We have access to lots of stuff like this at the Barnyard now,” he said. Then he gave Owen an annoyed look that meant don’t get me into trouble.
“I’m in,” Milken said as he pushed the metal slab inside. “Preston, we need your lantern.”
Owen and six of the railroad folks climbed up the ladder and into the opening. A couple of the mules left the platform and treaded cautiously closer as well, but Thorpe gestured to them with a stiff hand, halting them in their stride.
The weak light emanating from Preston’s lantern revealed a large empty room. On one side was a door that looked to have some sort of electronic interface associated with it. On the other side there was a ramp going down.
Following Preston, they took the ramp down. At first the light from Preston’s lantern allowed them only partial glimpses of what lay ahead. Thorpe ignited another lantern behind them, giving them a better view of their surroundings. Thorpe instructed Milken and Frank to stay and guard the exterior doorway.
The ramp zigzagged down a few levels and opened up into a large, warehouse-sized room. There were shelves with boxes and crates, and several sophisticated-looking forklifts stationed along wide aisles between the shelves. The forklifts had additional arms with several degrees of freedom, making them look a bit like a huge spiders standing on their side.
“Look there, what’s that?” Jeroun asked, pointing to the corner. The dim lantern light exposed what looked vaguely like an array of giant centipedes. As they approached cautiously they could tell they were robotic, and unmoving. A number of robotic arms were folded neatly on their backs.
On the base of the wall nearby was an assortment of tools, some clearly ratchets, pliers, and screwdrivers, but others with more confusing configurations. Each of them had an odd rectangular metal grip with a pattern of divots that made them feel uncomfortable in Owen’s hand.
Preston was examining his diagram as the others perused the Old World artifacts. He grabbed one of the odd-shaped tools and gestured to another ramp leading down. “This way,” he said.
The ramp ended in a door with a slanted mechanical handle. Preston fiddled with the handle, periodically looking at his papers, as if following the instructions for building an Old World furniture set. A metal latch could be heard shifting in the wall somewhere, and Preston pulled.
“I’m going to need some help,” he said.
The four of them crowded into the tight doorway to pull on the slim metal handle. The door heaved slowly forward. It was at least two feet thick, made mostly of concrete, the hallmark of a bomb shelter or bunker entrance.
It must be a Faraday cage.
On the other side was another, simpler door, which Preston opened easily with his handheld tool.
The room beyond the door exhaled a great breath of air.
SEEVILLE
Flora didn’t watch the scenery rolling by as the train departed Culpepper. She kept her eyes focused inside the car and on its wary passengers.
Patterson was sitting across from Ember. He said, “My guess is you ain’t never been on a train before mister.” His comment got a chuckle from one of his mule goons standing nearby.
Ember was indeed holding onto his seat, his knuckles blanched, and his face ivy. He turned his head slowly to Patterson, and his color began to redden. “And for that I am glad,” Ember retorted. “Although it sickens me today, I know the earth will repay me for not participating in its plunder.”
Then Ember turned to Rosalie and spoke with steel in his voice. “Tell me again why we are on this train?”
Rosalie answered. “Well, you know, it’s the fastest way to get into town. And where else would we parlay with the Spokes? The lords of Seeville—they are all there, in town.”
Ember stood up and corralled Rosalie aside, away from Patterson and the others. Flora stood up and joined them, curious to hear the conversation. Ember spoke in vehement whispers. “We shouldn’t have done this,” he said, “We should have insisted—I should have insisted we meet them out of town.”
“Look, Mr. Thisslewood. I get it. You don’t like trains. You don’t like a lot of what these Spokes do, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a good plan.”
Ember snapped back at her. “This has nothing to do with me or trains! I take Essentialist matters very seriously. I would gladly sacrifice some discomfort if it improved our strategic position. But this plan, with all these Spoke strongmen around us, with us not controlling the cadence of the meeting and who is going to be there. It puts us at a distinct disadvantage.”
“Now, now, Mr. Thisslewood, let’s just calm down a smidgeon. We’re here now. Bygones be bygones and such.”
The Spoke men were all witnessing the conversation. A couple of them stood up from their chairs. These two then moved to another side of the train car, fanning out. Meanwhile Mehta, who’d been lurking at the front of the car, inched over toward the debate. His eyes darted back and forth between the Spoke men and Rosalie and Ember. His hand was resting neatly on the holster of his pistol.
Ember’s nostrils flared as he continued berating Rosalie. “You’ve done your job to get us here, but I am the representative of the Essentialists. I know what we stand for. So when we arrive at the train station, we do this my way.”
“Now hold your horses…”
“My way!” Ember’s eyes bulged as he yelled.
Rosalie smiled and put up her hands. “Okay, okay Chief. You got it. Just be calm. We don’t want to wake up the natives, if you know what I mean.”