“Would someone please explain to me what just happened?” OC-1 asked;

“I haven't got the time.” Replied the Red Wolf commander. He glanced at Gifrag and Amber before going over to his command centre, apparently to ponder his role in the coming uprising.

“Really,” Amber started, “you should have guessed when the soldiers caught me snooping around.”

“But they found nothing suspicious.” Said OC-1;

“Why would they? Why would we bring something that would draw attention when we could bring something totally innocuous that would get the job done just as well?”

“What do you mean?” Asked Kyanite;

“You're an expert, Kyanite. Think about it.”

She did think. It only took a second before she cursed savagely and added: “You didn't.”

“We did.”

“You what?” OC-1 felt like he already had the knowledge required to reach the conclusion Kyanite had reached so easily. His computing power was such that it wasn't often he wasn't able to put two and two together, and it frustrated him.

“Remember what I told you about the by-products from the generator?”

“Yes. Methane from scrubbing the carbon dioxide burns and turns into carbon dioxide and water, which get cycled back into the atmospheric recycler.”

“But what about the trace gasses?”

“Hydrogen oxides and carbon monox...” The proverbial light came on in OC-1's head. “Throwing in an extra hose and a valve would be completely innocuous.” He looked at Amber;

“Now you've got it!” Beamed the train driver, clearly proud of her work: “The garbage gas tank is in the back of the generator room, behind the generator. No one will notice until it's too late.”

“But just adding a hose between the waste gasses and the carbon dioxide going back in to get recycled wouldn't accomplish anything. It'd get filtered out, it wouldn't go into the oxygen tank.” Said Kyanite;

“No, it wouldn't.” Gifrag agreed, “Not unless someone updated the software controlling all the automated valves.” Between two fingers, he held up the same flash drive he'd held up before.

Kyanite looked over at him. For a split second, OC-1 thought she might cry. Then, without warning she let loose a piercing shriek and flew at Gifrag. They hit the floor together in a tangled heap of flailing fists and whirling limbs.

“Get her off!” Shouted Gifrag; Amber looked up at OC-1 to see he was smiling down at the rowdy mess at his feet and clearly was not inclined to help. It didn't matter; moments later, three Red Wolves ran over and tore Kyanite away from Gifrag.

“You bastard! How dare you use us like that?!” She screamed, struggling to get at him again;

“So, at a given signal,” OC-1 summarised, “all the valves open, pouring all the carbon dioxide in the holding tanks for the recycler and the generator as well as the carbon monoxide and hydrogen oxides into the outpost's atmosphere. The valves will be locked open. It doesn't take much carbon dioxide to suffocate a human or zene, and it takes even less monoxide to kill one. With the outpost's air poisoned, your men will meet with little to no resistance when they launch their assault. The Union will blame the Republic and thus begins the Third Line War. With the Union's frontlines weakened, a stalemate is less likely to develop like it did last time, giving the Republic the opportunity to finally capture Ragnarok for good.”

“Don't forget we're not the only maintenance team out here doing all of this.” Gifrag nodded; “Nor is this the only Red Wolf camp ready for the uprising. Nor is the uprising confined to the tunnels—we've got more units ready to strike at Union installations in the station above.”

“It doesn't bother you that thousands, hundreds of thousands will perish?”

“Red Wolves drink zene blood!” Amber smiled again;

“Humans will die too.” Pointed out OC-1,

“Death is to be expected in a revolution.” Retorted Gifrag,

“Meanwhile, we get blamed for something we didn't do.” Growled Kyanite, “We'll never set foot in the Collective Union again. Heck, the Cooperative won't have us once they get wind of this.”

“You're revolutionaries now.” Amber told them, still grinning; “Whether you like it or not.”

* * *

Scoria, proprietor of The Yelling Mechanic's Hardware Store, was surprised when Travertine arrived with half a dozen zene. All were ex-Union soldiers and most of them Travertine had gotten to know during his time in the service.

“Hello!” Scoria greeted them at the door of his shop, “I wasn't expecting you all to be zene!”

“Travertine is an old buddy of mine. They call me Immortal, I'm the proprietor of Tunnel Dog Security.” Said their leader as he shook Scoria's hand.

“That's quite the name.”

“Believe me, he's earned it.” Travertine grinned, “He's missing a patch of scales on his stomach where a Commie stabbed him with a bayonet, and another patch of scales was taken off his left arm and shoulder when a grenade almost killed him.”

“I see he's also missing an eye stalk.” Scoria observed;

“Another grenade.” Immortal explained, “Travertine here patched me up again each time. After that, people wouldn't stop calling me Immortal, but let's get to the business at hand.”

“Yes,” Nodded Scoria, “let's talk in my office.” The eight of them trooped into the hardware store's office and sat down on chairs, the desk, the floor, and one on an upturned plant pot.

“I hear you've lost a team of mechanics.” Immortal suggested the place to begin:

“That's the sum of it. They only went missing last night, so I wouldn't be overly worried yet except that there's a group of wildmen known to operate in that area.”

“We've heard of the Comrades. You think they took your team?”

“That's what I'm afraid of.” Scoria nodded again. “There's supposed to be about seven of them. They strike from out of the warrens and retreat back in again, so no one knows where they're based or what routes they take to get where.”

“Alright.” Immortal bowed his eye slightly, “Give me a description of the members of your team and their last known location and we'll set out to find them immediately.”

* * *

Located in the heart of the downtown district of the Union Zone of Ragnarok, the Labyrintelligence building was tall and imposing—even situated, as it was, in a cluster of other tall and imposing buildings. While he waited for the night watchman to verify his identification, Rook watched the TV next to the gate which constantly blared promos for the corporation. A female zene voice was speaking excitedly:

“Our parents and grandparents dug these caverns out using mighty automated machines.” The picture showed mighty earth-moving machines at work in some tunnel. “Using highly advanced computers programmed by skilled technicians, these machines drove themselves at our command, and at our command they dug through thousands of tons of dirt and rock to get at the precious minerals on which our noble society depends.” The picture then switched to showing humans hard at work in a tunnel using hand tools (large earth-movers still existed of course, albeit not nearly as many as before: that didn't fit with the ad though). “With the Human-Zene Great War on, parts were no longer available and we lost what our forefathers once had—mighty machines capable of driving themselves and doing the work for us.” Finally, the picture switched to a smiling zene female in an office. “Here at Labyrintelligence, our vision is to return to the old ways, to restore the technology our forefathers had. To build a better future for our children, we at Labyrintelligence are hard at work rebuilding the computers and the manufacturing tools necessary to once again have at our command the mighty machines—”

“Sir.” The night watchman addressed Rook, causing the latter to jump slightly. “Your ID checks out. You may proceed.”

“Thank you.” Rook said, taking back his ID.

No matter what time of day it was, Kharlyria was always willing to meet up as long as she wasn't already in a meeting. She was the only boss he'd ever had who didn't mind the weird hours Rook kept. Of course, being an artificial intelligence meant that she wasn't sleeping when he wanted to meet at 4 AM, which probably helped. They met in the same room they always did, on the top floor. Labyrintelligence Tower almost reached the ceiling girders, providing a panoramic view of the station below.

“What did you want to meet about?” Asked a voice that came from everywhere at once. It was not a cold metallic voice or a slow monotonous one, but a soothing melodious woman's voice. A hologram of a human woman appeared in the centre of the room. It was such a convincing hologram Rook could have mistaken it for being real if he didn't already know it wasn't. The hologram was of a woman of indefinite age: old enough to command an air of gravitas, but still young enough to be attractve. She had the advantage of being able to present herself in whatever form she thought would make the most positive impression on those she met with.

“I need you to do something for me. You have an office in Amber Ravine, right?”

“Yes.”

“I need them to find out all there is to know about a corporation called Amber Ravine Military Hardware.”

“Consider it done. But what do they have to do with your investigation?”

“There's a significant overlap in the boards of directors and shareholders of Ragnarok Habitational Services, Amber Ravine Military Hardware, and Dawnseeker Arsenal. RHS employees planted that bomb that went off down in one of Dirty Depths' mines, but their names were omitted or expunged from the mine work log and from RHS' own logs.”

“So you think the directors and shareholders at RHS and these other two corporations have sufficient motive to try to start another Line War?”

“I think they have sufficient motive to fund a terrorist group to keep tensions high, but I don't think they know the viper they're playing with.”

Kharlyria sighed and walked over to the window. She looked out at the station spread out below. Even at night, trains constantly ran on all the lines, ferrying passengers and cargo to and fro; more trains were constantly entering or leaving the station, stopping at the various checkpoints run by Unionist, Republican, or Cooperative troopers. People milled about their business on certain streets where the nightlife was strong. Lights from innumerable windows and streetlamps almost gave the appearance of starlight, Rook mused. Starlight was one thing he still remembered from long, long ago, before all the deportations started...

“All of this will burn if these tunnels are allowed to collapse in the fires of war.” Warned Kharlyria, turning back to face Rook.

“What do you care? You're a computer.”

“That may be,” Kharlyria smiled, “but I'm programmed to do all I can to guarantee the prosperity of the people of Area 51—all of them, not just those of the Collective Union, in spite of efforts made to re-program me—which means that peace must be kept. So, in a way, I do care, even if I lack what you would consider to be emotion. As for you...” She tilted her head slightly, “you have emotion, but don't seem to be too concerned with anything beyond your own well-being. Why is that?”

“I just have a realistic approach to life.” Rook replied before quickly changing the subject; “But back to the business at hand, I faxed you copies of my notes already, so there shouldn't be anything more we need to discuss unless you have questions.” He paused, hesitant to add the last piece of information; “Oh, and, uh, you should know I started working with a Unionist police lieutenant named Zadabakar Bluescales.”

“Ah, your old friend Lieutenant Bluescales!” Kharlyria beamed and Rook immediately regretted bringing him up: “Is he still a lieutenant?”

“He's a lieutenant again. Just can't hold onto a rank even when he steals his reputation from someone else.” Rook smiled a little at the thought of Bluescales being demoted.

“I see. Whatever the reason is that you're getting mixed up with him again, make sure he doesn't distract you from your investigation.”

“Of course.”

* * *

Kyanite awoke to a hand on her mouth. A dark silhouette appeared in the faint light of the single lamp set up on a table across the room.

“Shhh! We're here to get you out!” The whispered voice sounded familiar. “Promise you won't make a noise and everything will be fine.” Kyanite nodded and the hand was removed.

“Who are you and where'd you come from?” She whispered,

“No time to explain.” Another dark shape sidled up behind which she could see OC-1 sitting up in his bed.

“Follow me.” Whispered the second silhouette, and Kyanite did so.

“Now as for you,” The first voice whispered to OC-1, “I could slit all these Commies' throats right now, but I'd rather gather some incriminating evidence on whatever they're doing out here so we can nail them and all their comrades. You with me?”

“Of course.” OC-1 yawned. His biological parts were very tired and normally he'd be angry at being woken up at this unearthly hour, but considering the circumstances he digressed.

“Good. Come on, let's take a look at their map.”

OC-1 and the dark figure went up to the table where the Red Wolves' map was spread out. They showed the locations of all Unionist and Republican frontier posts in the area as well as the rail tunnels connecting them and even had marked the depth of each tunnel and outpost, relative to 'sea level' (a semi-arbitrary line that had been drawn at the planet's average surface elevation by the first surveyors on Grennow and used as a reference point by all subsequent generations).

It also showed the positions from which the nearest Unionist outpost was to be attacked. Presumably, these Red Wolves had not been told where the rest of their comrades were. In this business, it was actually better not to let the right hand know what the left was doing or one prisoner could ruin all their carefully-laid plans.

The dark figure quietly folded up the map.

“There was also a flash drive containing a sabotage program for the atmospheric recyclers.” OC-1 said. He remembered Gifrag putting it down on one of the tables; a quick search and OC-1 snatched it up.

“Was there anything else important?” Asked the dark figure:

“No.”

“Then let's be on our way, comrade.” The figure led OC-1 to a vent in the wall that led into a big shaft that went off to the left and right. “You first.” OC-1 crawled in, barely fitting into the tight space. The dark figure replaced the grate and the two crawled ahead. Eventually, they reached another opening back into the rail tunnel—in the very same place they had begun, OC-1 realised as he noticed their derelict train still sitting on the tracks.

“Excellent!” He remarked, “We can make great speed back to Ragnarok with our train still here!”

“Ha! No!” Laughed the dark figure as he crawled out of the vent. In the light of several headlamps, OC-1 recognised the dark figure as the sergeant who had captured them only a few hours earlier. Around the vent opening were standing Kyanite and three of the other wildmen.

“You!” Kyanite spat more than said, “What do want with us?! I've never been kidnapped in my life and today I've been kidnapped three times! Isn't enough enough already?”

“Now, now, you shouldn't be so loud or they might hear us.” Chided the Sergeant. “In point of fact, however, we don't care at all about you anymore. We just want to teach the motherfuckers who dared ambush us a lesson in why wildmen are the masters of the dark and they are just a bunch of larping station rats.”

“So,” OC-1 put in before Kyanite could respond, “we take our train back to Ragnarok, bring our evidence to court and prevent a big war, yes?”

“No,” Said the Sergeant again, “we listen in on their telephone line and record them reporting to their bosses about your escape. By the time we're done doing that, they'll have blockaded our route back to Ragnarok, so instead of wasting time with that train, we take a hike through the warrens.” The Sergeant paused to take a breath. “Don't worry, the hard part is over. By the way, you can call me Comrade Sergeant.”