He followed the low, sloping tunnel that was his frequent route below the city walls. It emptied into a narrow branch of canyon outside. Once he reached the end of it, the top opened up again into a small vestibule barely wide enough to accommodate his shoulders, but six and a half feet in height. He gratefully stood and leaned to use the eyepiece of the tiny, real-time camera mounted just below eye-level, manually swiveling it to give him a view of the hatch and the surrounding canyon.
All clear. He took up the rare night vision goggles he’d brought from Fort Nevada and slipped them onto his head, then left the security of the tunnel. He moved quickly through the cover of canyons and arroyos that hid him all the way to the edge of old town, the largely crumbled ruins of what had been Los Alamos.
This close in to Azcon, the houses and businesses had been long-since stripped of any usable materials, right down to pulling the wiring from the walls. In the post-Industrial world, where the most basic products were again hand-made, everything was valuable. He entered a dilapidated former restaurant with one wall crumbled away and the roof partially collapsed after some long-ago fire. Tumbleweeds climbed the wall opposite the openings, trembling in the slight breeze.
In the back, he levered his body through an opening that had probably once been covered by a grate then walked easily through the sub-level drain to where it joined a larger pipe. He crossed to a sealed door. The faded scrapes and gouges that spoke of attempts to force it open always amused him. He worked through the security by memory—security box and code, hidden tube with a lens for his eye, and a quick green pulse of light. He keyed the code to reseal tube and box and waited.
He didn’t doubt he’d be granted access. He was one of the few in Council Zone Three who even knew of the existence of the ancient train. Those who did know had graduated from the Ward School in the last twenty years. To a man, they gave their loyalty to Alex and Thomas, not the Council.
Locks at various levels cycled, and the metal hissed open, extending from the wall a few inches. In moments, he’d entered the controlled environment on the other side, nose twitching at the flat, stale smell of the air, and hauled the door closed again. As the edge of it engaged, it pulled itself back in and recycled through the locks, sealing him in.
He cycled on the lights and left the goggles for his return, then jogged down three levels of metal steps to reach the locomotive of the old mag-lev train. It had long since been disengaged from the passenger cars. Whatever the cars had been used for by the old military before the collapse, the need to transport so many people through the secret tunnels had died with them.
He stepped into the cab and crossed to the controls. After a brief pause to power up and run a check, he pulled it away from the platform. It moved slowly at first then built speed through the deep tunnel. A trip that might take him weeks by horseback had been cut to half an hour.
Chapter 4
Alex stepped off the mag-train in a station very different from the abandoned, hidden base he’d left behind. Likely nowhere near what it must have been during its heyday of military industrialization, Fort Nevada was nonetheless busy. The lights shone permanently, and the air cycled continuously, as all of the students at Fort Nevada took a turn in the power stations.
Alex strode across the metal platform and then down the short staircase. He exchanged a brief greeting with a young agent whose hands were deep inside a metal-plated control panel. Down here at the train level, a handful of Ward School graduated agents worked maintenance and inspected the lines and wires.
Both students and agents were required to have the knowledge and ability to maintain the infrastructure of civilization. They expected the young, highly powered Wards that came through be infused with a sense of responsibility not only to what was left of society, but also to themselves. Sparks should no longer be tools in the hands of others, and part of claiming the role they deserved meant ensuring Sparks weren’t rendered obsolete.
As Alex made his way toward the elevators, the duty officer appeared at his shoulder.
“Good evening, sir.”
The duty officer was a serious-faced young man whom Alex didn’t recognize. Once upon a time, Alex knew them all. Now he spent the majority of each year in Azcon.
“Good evening.” Tired and hungry, he kept moving.
The officer stayed apace next to him.
“I have a report for Councilor Five. I’ll be in the mess until he’s available.”
The officer nodded his understanding and peeled off, heading for his desk. He’d send a messenger up to Thomas’s offices. When Thomas wanted him, they’d send someone down to the mess to bring him up.