An armoured train sped through the tunnel. It was small as armoured trains go, with only enough space in the engine cab for a few people; it pulled only one car, which carried the rest of the people and equipment. Its windshield was thick enough to resist most light arms fire and was protected from railguns and shrapnel by armoured plates divided by slits just big enough to see through. The driver sat ensconced in a chair behind the windshield; another zene sat next to him, manning the cannon mounted on the front of the engine. Immortal and Travertine sat on a short bench behind them. They were approaching what appeared to be a barricade consisting of a ring of sandbags in the centre of the tunnel with steel cables strung taut across the tracks on both sides—a tactic developed during the war to prevent trains from passing.

“Who would be manning a barricade out here?” Asked Travertine incredulously;

“Those are humans.” Said the driver, “And they're not wearing Unionist uniforms. They don't look inclined to stand down.”

“I'd better have a chat with them.” Immortal got up and climbed the ladder at the back of the cab which led up to a railgun turret. A pair of armoured plates protected the gunner from enemy fire coming from in front, but otherwise the turret was open. The train slowed to a stop in front of the cables.

“Good morning!” called one of the men at the barricade,

“Enough small talk,” Responded Immortal, “who are you and why have you set up a barricade here?”

“That's classified information.”

“Classified by whom?”

“By the powers that be, of course.”

Immortal's head straightened in anger; “What are you playing at?!” He demanded, “Who do you work for?”

Meanwhile, inside, the driver jerked upright in his seat, flipped the train into reverse and shoved the speed control stick all the way forward. Everyone was thrown forward by the sudden motion;

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” Immortal shouted down the hatch. Travertine spotted the human sneaking up to the train with a satchel charge just after the driver did.

“He was buying time for his buddy to blow a hole in our train!” The surgeon told the one-eyed commander. As he spoke, a hail of bullets from a railgun slammed into the train.

“Gunner! Return fire! Driver, we're far enough away, bring us to a stop.” A shell from the cannon exploded just in front of the barricade, but the railgun kept firing. Immortal opened up with his own railgun. Bullets whizzed past or ricocheted off his armoured plates, but he ignored them. Having found his ranging, the gunner fired another shell which landed inside the barricade, sending sandbags and body parts flying and silencing the railgun. Smoke and dust from torn sandbags made visibility almost zero.

“Gunner, cease firing. Driver, advance slowly.” The train advanced until it reached the steel cables and stopped. The area was strewn with sandbags, mangled bodies, and pieces of bodies as the dust settled.

On orders from Immortal, the three men in the supply car (who had been wondering what all the stopping and starting and shooting was about) hopped out and searched the wreckage.

“If there were any survivors, they must have gone into the warrens through that door up on the pedway.” One of the men told Immortal as he came back to the train. “More importantly, we found out who they were working for.” He held up a black patch with a red spider on it.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a rail tunnel not too far away, Kyanite and Comrade Sergeant were eavesdropping on the Red Wolves' telephone line connecting their outpost with... somewhere:

“Hello, Dad?”

“Hello my son.”

“I'm afraid two rats escaped their cage and are in the maze.”

“Two rats? Where'd you find them?”

“Wandering around. We rescued them from some wildcats and had to put them in a cage, but they got out.”

“How'd you let them escape?!”

“I... uh... I don't know.” The first voice mumbled; “They were in their cages last night and this morning they just... weren't.”

“They—how—” The second voice sighed: “Are the rats tasty?”

“Yes, very. They discovered the presents and stole our date planner.”

“Damn!” It was quiet for a few moments.

“Dad?”

“We can't go to the party until our appointment, and we can't move the appointment up... look, son, you're going to have to chase the rats down in the maze. Take all your friends and get it done before the rats get home or our party will be ruined.”

“Y-yes, Dad.” Both ends went silent.

“Well, that was disappointing.” Said Kyanite,

“Hold on.” Comrade Sergeant said; he picked up a phone transmitter and hooked it to the telephone wire next to the receiver they had been listening on.

“What are you doing?” Kyanite asked, wondering what he could possibly hope to achieve;

“Hello, Dad?” The Sergeant spoke into the microphone,

“Hello my son?” Asked a confused voice on the other end,

“Where is home?”

“Home is where the heart is.”

“What time is the appointment again?”

“Who is this?”

“A station rat can wear a hunter's skin, but can it play in the dark with the big cats?” Without waiting for a response, the Sergeant cut the wire on both sides of his receiver and transmitter.

“What was that for?” Asked Kyanite;

“Oh come on Comrade Kyanite,” Comrade Sergeant picked up his receiver and transmitter along with the recorder without bothering to disconnect them from the wire, “you can't say that wasn't at least a little bit fun.”

“But we still don't know what time the assault is set to begin.”

“We know it's long enough that they'd bother chasing us through the tunnels, and that's long enough for us to get back to Ragnarok. And obviously they can't move the appointment up—as you said, the special equipment they added to the generator's storage tanks is on a set timer. Now let's get moving.”

They went back into the maintenance tunnel they'd come from, where the others were waiting.

“They say anything important?” Asked the Colonel who, predictably, had introduced himself as Comrade Colonel,

“We didn't find out the exact time of the uprising, but it's far enough off they figure it's worth chasing us down.”

“Much as I'd enjoy waiting here and toying with them awhile, we'd better get moving. Razor, take point.”

“Yes, Comrade.” The group formed a line and headed out.

“Where are we going?” Asked OC-1;

“A back way.” Replied Comrade Colonel, “We haven't used it in quite a while, but it's the fastest way from here back to Ragnarok.”

“How do you know it's still accessible?”

“Because there haven't been any explosions or geoquakes around here since before the last time we used it. There's no reason to think it's collapsed.”

“What if unwanted pests have moved in?”

“You're not afraid of a pit viper or two are you?” Asked the Colonel, smiling,

“No.” Answered OC-1 seriously, “I'm worried about a spider-wolf nest or two. A back tunnel that's almost never used even by wildmen is the perfect place for a nest of them to move in. My analysis is that the chances of encountering something unfriendly of the eight-legged variety are uncomfortably high.”

“Bah! Spider-wolves shmider-wolves, we can handle anything that comes at us. I'm a veteran of two line wars, Comrade Sergeant a veteran of one, Anarchist over there participated in the Hanging Garden Mall Uprising of '43, Mad Dog and Nationalist used to be part of a Unionist military unit that specialised in clearing out wolf nests, and Razor and Den Mother were in Queen Emeralda's royal guard.”

“What happened?”

“What happened where?”

“Why are you out here?” OC-1 asked with a roll of his eyes, “Did you desert or were you cast out?”

“Umm.... let's just say I didn't appreciate the retirement package.”

“And I didn't appreciate having to call everyone 'comrade' all the time!” Piped up Comrade Sergeant,

“But you still do that!” Comrade Colonel retorted,

“Yes, but now I don't have to, comrade!” Comrade Sergeant grinned back.

They continued walking, mostly in silence from then on. Kyanite lovingly flipped through the pages of her thick notebook, glad the wildmen had given it back along with the rest of her things. She paid little attention to her surroundings, burying herself in what appeared to be various technical schematics. The wildmen navigated the maze of tunnels like it was their back yard. OC-1 marvelled at how comfortable they were here. They must have been cast out many years ago indeed to know these warrens so well.

At length, they arrived at a cave-in.

“Fuck.” Cursed the Colonel,

“I thought you said there was no reason to think it would be caved in!” OC-1 said angrily,

“Last time we passed through I did notice the ceiling looked a little weak, but not that weak.”

“Is there another route?”

“Yeah, but we'd have to go back where we came from, and that would put us in danger of being found by the Red Wolves or running into one of their barricades. Damn!”

“We could take the old desert road.” Suggested Comrade Sergeant,

“The old desert road?”

“You know the one I mean.” Comrade Sergeant nodded to confirm his own statement;

“I do. We haven't gone on that route for a long time. It'll also take us out by Dawnseeker, that's a ways from Ragnarok, and there's no telling if—”

“Can you think of any other way?”

“No.” Comrade Colonel ran a hand through his grey hair. “Alright. The old desert road it is.”

* * *

Rook awoke groggily as the train pulled up to the platform at Dawnseeker. He didn't bother standing up until everyone else had already filed out. Last to leave, he took a deep breath of the recycled air on the platform. Dawnseeker was a small station. It felt downright cramped after coming from Ragnarok. The ceiling was low, since there were no high-rise buildings, but it was much wider by comparison to accommodate the sprawling arsenal: a huge complex that must have employed half the station. A smell of molten metal, solder, industrial fluids, and other less identifiable smells wafted from it and mingled in the air to create a distinctive atmosphere. People probably would not appreciate his snooping around their place of work too much especially if what he did resulted in business slowing down, so he'd better keep a low profile.

He lit up a cigarette, pulled down his fedora and drew his coat around himself. Off to the archives, then.