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belonged to one of the small, furry aliens rather than the large, more
threatening species. The fact that the invaders had translation devices
suggested the possibility of other, even more sophisticated technologies.
My name is Mon Lon. I am permitted to inform you that all of the individuals
on this train have been selected to serve as slave supervisors, a position of
considerable responsibility and one that entails numerous benefits. You will
receive extra food, comfortable quarters, and access to a well-equipped
medical facility.
The train will carry you to a place called Bellingham, Washington, where you
will participate in the construction of a Sauron temple complex. Military
rations are available in each car, as is water.
There was no Thank you, have a nice day, just a click as the PA system went
dead.
Damn, someone said, it took a long time, but I m a manager at last.
There was laughter, but it was brittle, and a woman put Blue s thoughts into
words. She stood and scanned the compartment. She had beautiful medium-brown
skin; large, luminous eyes; and dreadlocks salted with gray. You think that s
funny? Well,I don t. My ancestors came to this country the hard way, in the
hold of a slave ship, and there s some things I won t do. Becoming a
slavemaster happens to be one of them.
The woman pointed a long, bony finger at Blue. Everything we do matters.
Professor Boyer Blue taught me that and he s sitting right there. Askhim.
Then and only then did the academic recognize the matronly looking woman as a
fortysomething version of young Amanda Carter, just one of more than three
thousand students who had passed through his classrooms over the years.
Every eye in the car swiveled toward Blue, and the teacher recognized the
moment for what it was. He could remain what he had been up till then, a
well-trained observer, who though possessed of many opinions, left the doing
to others. Or he could take the plunge and actuallydo something, knowing even
as he did so that doers make lots of mistakes. Perhaps he could make a
difference or, failing that, exact some sort of revenge.
The professor stood, grabbed a luggage rack, and felt the train start to
accelerate. They were on the main line now headed for Pittsburgh. Rather than
the lights one would expect to see, darkness ruled the external world. Amanda
is correct. Everything we do matters.Now more than ever before.
So? a man in a badly ripped business suit demanded. What would you have us
do?
Blue was surprised by the strength of his own conviction. I suggest that we
escape from the train, find some weapons, and fight back. This isour
country,our planet, andour solar system.
There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of two hands clapping,
followed by general applause.
Passengers from adjoining cars forced their way in as someone yelled, Let s
kill the bastards!
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The man in the ripped business suit waited for the noise level to drop and
said what many were thinking. Grandiose plans are one thing making them
happen is another. The train is in motion. How do you propose to stop it?
Blue experienced a moment of complete hopelessness as the man s words blew
his fantasy to smithereens. What was he thinking, anyway? The entire notion
was stupid.
Then a young man stood up and cleared his throat. That would bemy job. My
name is Jared Kenyata. I work for the company that built the train. All the
operating systems are tied together by a bundle of wires and fiber-optic
cables that run through the center of each car. All we have to do is remove an
access panel, cut the correct cable, and voilà this baby comes to a stop.
The effect was magical. In one miraculous moment Blue s plan was transformed
from a wild-eyed scheme into something that might actually work. The academic
hadn t known about Kenyata, but the engineer s comments made it sound as if he
had.
So let s get to it, an older man suggested. What the hell are we waiting
for?
All eyes went to Kenyata. The young man pointed toward the deck and smiled.
The access panels are secured against unauthorized access. We need a
quarter-inch hex key. Does anyone happen to have one?
NEAR WINTON, WASHINGTON
The sun rose, tried to penetrate the thick gray overcast, and produced a
sickly yellow glow.
The feral humans, who had been allowed to bed down in what had been a rest
area, were covered with four-by-eight tarps they had been issued in lieu of
tents. They huddled in misery below.
Not that Norm Vecky spent much time worrying about such matters. That was his
gift not knowing, not thinking, not caring. It was a talent that stood him in
good stead when the state shuttled the younger version of himself into one
foster home after another. One of the social workers had nailed it in a memo
to file: Much like a cat or a dog, Norman seems to dwell in the eternal now,
having little or no concept of the past or the future.
So he could pass the night in the comfort of a forty-foot RV, boil oatmeal in
a pan, sprinkle brown sugar on top, make coffee, consume both, slip into the
heavily insulated parka, step out into the cold morning air, and produce a
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