With the last threat eliminated, Corbus checked his bleedingarm. It wasn’t serious now, but it would definitely worsen, the longer he leftit untreated. He ripped some material from a cloak slung over the back of achair and tied it around his forearm as best he could to staunch the bleeding.Then he refocused on his mission.
He walked along the bank of controls, frantically searchingthe identification tags for the one he sought. He paused to close the controlroom door as he passed, and shoved a chair up under the doorknob. Finally helocated the control panel he wanted and began pulling levers down. In the yard,lights began flashing green as tracks were designated “open” for traffic.
After opening every line, Corbus pressed several buttonsthat triggered green lights outside the station in both the wall tunnel andexterior “wait” stations, where trains idled for their opportunity to enter thecity. That done, he set about damaging, destroying, incapacitating, andgenerally wreaking havoc upon the banks of machines. Sparks flew as he used afound hammer to knock levers out of alignment and break internal gears andgauges, then he cut and ripped out power lines.
At last, drained by the labor, Corbus wiped sweat from hisbrow and leaned on a windowsill to look out into the yard at the fruit of hisendeavors. He grinned. Several trains had all left at the same time, and onehad run into another, derailing several passenger cars. One had flipped over,and fire licked up its side. Passengers climbed out of windows, severalinjured; others appeared trapped. He could hear the distant wail of emergencyresponders approaching the scene, but it was a squawk from the speaking tubenearby that got his attention.
He lifted the stopper. “Control Room here,” he statedcalmly.
“This is the mainline switch operator. What in Jupiter’sname is going on?” a voice shouted.
Corbus smiled at the fear and panic in the man’s voice.“Whatever are you talking about?” he asked sweetly.
“Don’t you give me that, sonny,” the voice growled. “What isyour name and employee number? You’ll face the board for this!” the switchoperator shouted.
“Too bad I honestly don’t care. Enjoy cleaning up yourmassive problem.” Corbus began to replace the stopper in the tube, then thoughtof an idea. Lifting several paperweights from the table beside the tube, hedropped them one by one down the tube. The tube would look functional, but itwould require great effort to clear the blockage.
Confident now that his work was done, Corbus headed for thedoor, then stopped, hearing heavy footsteps pounding closer out in the hallway.Moments later a resounding crash shook the door, which bent inward slightlyunder the force of the blow. Alright, on to Plan B. He fiddled with hisutility belt for a moment, then secured one end of a coil of thin, high tensilerope to a control unit. He tossed the other end out the broken window, clearedthe larger shards of glass away with his belt knife, and swung over the sill,hands gripping the rope. As the door burst open under the force of anothercrash, he was already lowering himself down the rope to freedom. All thiswork, and it wasn’t even the main event! I wonder how Mom’s mission is going?
Amalia and her men had successfully infiltrated the militarysupply compound on the edge of the main train yard. It had been simple work toeliminate the two bored legionnaires at the front gate, and now her men stoodguard in their uniforms. The rest of her small party stuck close to the shadowsof the supply warehouse, waiting for the distraction that would pull most ofthe remaining guards away from the central records room and armory section ofthe facility.
As alarms began to scream in the distance, Amalia peeredaround a large stack of wooden crates, watching as several guards lazily pickedup their equipment and wandered over in curiosity. A clattering in the officebehind them indicated that the telegraph machine was typing out a message.Several moments later, an officer came out of the office and, arms waving, shoutedorders. An under-officer quickly formed up a squad and away they marched,double-timing it across the tracks toward the main station.
This was their chance. Amalia silently gathered her teamabout her and outlined her plan in a whisper. Her second in command, a youngganger named Fustus, took charge of most of the team. Silent as ghosts, theyrushed the quartermaster’s office. There were a few shouts and some screamsduring a brief skirmish between the surprised office workers and the ambushers,then silence. A shadow behind the window curtains revealed Fustus as he pokedhis head out to beckon to her.
He was wiping his sword with a rag as she approached. “Threecorrupt workers dead; one of ours got unlucky in the exchange.” He gestured tothe long, gawky body of a ganger lying on the floor. The young man’s eyes wereopen, still looking surprised at the foot of steel that had been thrust throughhis stomach to sever his spine. The legionary who had been quick enough to drawhis weapon to inflict the death blow was dying as well, bleeding out fromseveral stab wounds a few feet away from the dead ganger.
“Bring his body,” Amalia ordered. “We don’t want anyone toknow who we are, or even that there was more than one of us. Get the men busyloading up all the supplies we can carry. Also, take those uniforms off thedead men. We can clean off some of the blood. They may be useful.”
At that moment, a series of piercing squeals and explosionsshook the building as several trains crashed into each other, and the flamesfrom one ignited the cargo of another. Several of her followers gave a cheer.“Shush! We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves!” Amalia snapped, and gotthem focused on the task of liberating as much as possible from the supplydepot. Inwardly, she smiled-Corbus must have been successful. But where was he?He should have been here a while ago to rendezvous for the return to their safehouses.
“Domina! A strange man is running toward us from theterminal!” a gang lookout hissed as he aimed his repeating crossbow at therunning figure. “Should I take him down?”
Amalia trained her binoculars on the running man. Althoughhe was cloaked and a bandana covered half his face, Amalia would recognize thatlope anywhere. She waved off the lookout. “Don’t shoot; it’s Corbus, making hislate entrance, as usual,” she said with an unrestrained grin. She had spentyears training him in all the deadly arts that she knew, and one day, he wouldtake over her position and lead their people to independence and victory.
Behind her, men were gathering as many boxes of armor,rations, explosive warheads, artillery components, and other supplies as theirvehicle could handle. A man with a can of black paint quickly brushed over theblack eagle icons on the side of each box to help disguise the origin. Corbusran up just as they were loading the last of the boxes onto the six-leggedtransport hauler, one of hundreds in the city. The rest of her party scrambledinside, two men carrying the ganger’s body. The nondescript vehicle wouldattract no notice as long as her crew appeared calm.
Seeing the bloodied cloth on his arm, Amalia frowned as shelooked her son up and down. “What happened? Someone get lucky with a crossbowbolt?”
“No, someone got close with a belt knife. Don’t worry, Irepaid the favor with a five-story drop,” Corbus quipped. His tight smile neverreached his eyes, but still Amalia laughed. The cold, manic laughter floatedthrough the cavernous warehouse.
Fustus beckoned to them from the walker’s control shack, andCorbus and Amalia walked toward the hauler. Amalia pulled an explosive plumbatawarhead from her belt. She turned and threw it into a nearby stack of militarygear. The explosion was impressive, and several boxes caught fire. “That willkeep their attention for a while,” she said as she turned and entered thehauler. With a whine, the hauler’s steam boiler powered up and the six legsmoved it steadily away from the scene. They didn’t want to be anywhere near thewarehouse when forty tons of military grade supplies, including black powder,erupted.