“Locked up how?” she asked.
The bloodbath at the pipeline had only heightened her resolve to hit Skynet where it hurt. Over Geir’s objections, she had gone straight to work the minute they’d made it back to the camp, barely stopping to change into dry clothes. A moth-eaten black turtleneck sweater, buckskin trousers, and fur-lined moccasins kept her warm enough inside the office. Her parka hung from a set of antlers mounted by the door, above her soggy boots.
A wood-burning stove fought back the cold winter night. A pair of Siberian huskies were curled up in front of the stove, with Sitka plopped down between them. Molly didn’t usually let them sleep inside, but she figured her lead dogs had earned it after outracing the killer snow plow. Kerosene lanterns gave the humans enough light to work by. Closed wooden blinds trapped the light inside, maintaining the blackout regulations she had put into effect. A loaded assault rifle was propped up against the table, always within easy reach.
“The ore is likely sealed inside heavily guarded storage compartments to prevent theft or loss in the event of a crash,” Doc continued. “Each individual railcar will be one big rolling safe, with automated locks programmed to open only upon their arrival at Valdez. Since there are no conductors or technicians aboard, the locks will be under the direct control of the train’s own artificial intelligence, but it may be possible to override the locking mechanisms at the site.”
He pointed a bony finger at a schematic. Mussed white hair met in a widow’s peak above his bushy black eyebrows. A pair of scratched wire-frame bifocals rested on his nose. His face was worn and haggard. Swollen veins and a ruddy complexion hinted at a drinking problem that persisted despite Sitka’s best attempts to keep the old coot away from the camp’s homemade moonshine. A fraying tan cardigan hung on his withered frame; he looked like he’d been forgetting to eat again. A pocket calculator weighed down one side of the sweater. His shoelaces were untied.
“The processed ore will be in the form of a coarse, lightweight powder popularly known as ‘yellowcake.’” His gaze drifted off as his mind started wandering again. Then he came back. “The Navajo Indians of Colorado, on the other hand, used to call uranium ‘the Yellow Monster’ after careless mining practices contaminated their land and bodies. A shameful episode, really. The incidences of lung cancer, pulmonary fibrosis, and birth defects were truly appalling....
“Can you hack into the locks?” she asked. Henry Rathbone had once been the chief engineer for a Pacific Northwest company that designed high-tech security systems for upscale homes and businesses. He’d been on a fishing vacation in Alaska when the bombs fell. A lucky break for the Resistance, if not for Rathbone. He might have been happier going up in flames with the rest of Seattle. Story was, he’d lost his entire family.
“Probably,” he said. “Maybe.” A sigh escaped his quivering lips as he contemplated the blueprints. He tapped a schematic of the train’s storage compartment. “Reminds me of the panic room I installed for a paranoid Microsoft millionaire in Tacoma. You should have seen that guy’s mansion. Had a special vault just for his comic book collection.” His rheumy gaze turned inward as his voice took on a wistful tone. “You remember comic books? They used to come out every week, like clockwork. Me and the other tech guys always used to take a long lunch on Wednesday.
“There was this diner down by Pike Place Market where we’d get together to read the new issues. I usually ordered a turkey sandwich and a Diet Pepsi. Or was it a Dr. Pepper? You remember Dr. Pepper? ‘I’m a Pepper, you’re a Pepper....’”
“Off we go again,” Sitka groaned. The teen rolled her eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of going on about way back when?”
Molly knew what she meant. Everybody who remembered life before Judgment Day longed for the past sometimes, but Doc had it worse than most. He just couldn’t seem to let go of the world he had once known. A melancholy aura hung over him like a cloud.
“Kids like you!” Rathbone turned, towered over Sitka, and shook his finger. “You don’t know what you’re missing, what life used to be like before everything went to hell. There were restaurants and museums and golf courses and Christmas and champagne.” A quaver entered his voice. His eyes grew wet. “We didn’t have to live like animals, being hunted by machines. We had lives then... real lives with plenty to look forward to. Not this. Nothing like this.”
He gestured at the rustic walls that surrounded them.
“You don’t know what it was like....”
Sitka yawned theatrically.
“Waste of breath. Heard it all before.”
Protesting a bit too much, maybe? Molly suspected that the teen was secretly fascinated by the old man’s frequent evocations of life before Skynet. Not that she’d ever admit it.
She made a mental note to have Sitka quietly search Doc’s bunk and workshop for illicit hooch. She needed to keep the traumatized genius on the top of his game, such as it was. Rathbone was teaching the girl what he knew about electronics and computers, but she was nowhere near ready to take his place.
“I remember Dr. Pepper,” Molly said gently. She took Doc’s arms and guided him back toward the table. The trick was humoring him just long enough to get his mind back on the present, before the maudlin nostalgia got out of control and he spiraled into a full-blown depression. She had to nip episodes like this in the bud. “But, anyway, about the train....”
“Right, yes, the train.” To her relief, he started sorting through the surveillance photos again. “Let me see. Assuming we can make our way aboard without being terminated, we’ll need a laptop, first-rate decryption software, hack-wires, clips... and maybe a screwdriver.”
A knock at the door startled her. She instinctively reached for the rifle, then caught herself and shook her head at her own jumpiness. What was she thinking?
Terminators didn’t knock.
“Yes?”
The door swung open and Geir walked in. Like her, he had changed clothes after getting back. Soot no longer blackened his handsome features. He had even taken a razor to his singed whiskers.
“Sorry to interrupt, but they’re ready to make it legal.”
Molly gave him a baffled stare.
“What are you talking about?”
“The wedding, of course.” He looked surprised by her confusion. “Roger and Tammi are getting hitched, remember?”
It all came back to her. The two young Resistance fighters had gotten engaged after surviving a firefight near Glennallen last month. The attack at the pipeline had completely driven the date from her mind.
“They’re still going through with it? After everything that’s happened?”
“All the more reason,” Geir stated. “Proof that life goes on, and all that.”
“Whatever.” She turned back to her battle plans and sat down in front of the drafting table. “Tell them to start without me. I’m busy.”
Molly was in no mood for such nonsense. The very notion struck her as ridiculous. Who the hell got married nowadays, the world being what it was? Weddings and bridal showers and “happily ever after” had disappeared in a mushroom cloud fifteen years ago. Mankind was locked in a life-or-death battle that left no room for the rosy frivolity of days gone by.
Till death do you part? That was a joke, and a sick one at that.
“Sorry. Not an option.” Geir yanked the chair out from under her. “This won’t wait.”
Molly stumbled to her feet to keep from falling.
“What the fuck are you doing?” She whirled around to confront him. Over by the stove, Sitka snickered out loud, enjoying the fireworks. Doc Rathbone backed away uncomfortably and pretended to be somewhere else. “Goddamn it, Svenson, I’ve got a war to fight. I don’t have time for some stupid wedding.”
“Those people out there need this, Molly. Now more than ever.” Standing over her, Geir refused to back down. “And they need you to share this moment with them.” He looked her squarely in the eyes. “You’re their leader. This comes with the job.”
