“What’s the plan, Dez?” asked Victor.
Desmond was still staring at the screen. Despite the gruesome fate that he was hurtling towards, a part of him could not help but marvel at the foresight of his foe to have planned all this. To know that he’d end up on this train on his way out of Councilor Xoltras’ residence, and then both sabotage this train and send another to crash into it? He hadn’t even known he’d use the SkyLine to get away until five minutes before he’d gotten on!
But somehow his unseen foe had. Which meant they were either some sort of super-genius… or one of the two people behind him had sold him out. And, knowing his reputation prior to this job, Desmond knew which of the two was more likely.
“Dez? What are we doing?” repeated Victor.
“Quiet. Let him think,” nudged back Raisa.
Surely they had to know that, by dooming him, they’d doom themselves too. They weren’t idiots. And, though this was quite possibly the worst possible time to recognize it, Desmond thought they were his friends. They were the only ones he ever had. He’d long since given up on expecting any respect from anyone else, at least not before he finished this job, but these two? They’d been through everything together.
Desmond shook his head, brushing the thought away. They’d be through this together, no matter what they’d done to put him here in the first place. There was no way to save himself without saving them too. If that was the case, so be it. They were still part of the plan.
He looked up, briefly searching the horizon for the approaching train but not finding it. He had time. That was good. Now, if he could figure out how to stop his SkyLine — no, that wouldn’t do at all, the other one would just slam right into him anyways — then perhaps he could figure out how to get a message to the other train and get them to both stop? He had no clue where to begin with that, and by the time he figured it out, it would probably be too late. Then what could—
Something caught his eye. There, on the map on the center of the dash, both SkyLines were highlighted, connected by the twisting and turning track on an inevitable collision course. But, in four turns, down a long, straight stretch of track where it seemed the two trains would meet fatally, there was a greyed out turn that would send their SkyLine veering to the right — out of the way of the other.
“Ha. Ha-ha!” laughed Desmond, immediately scrambling around the dash to switch them over. “There’s a turn up ahead. If we can make it, we’re saved.”
“Really?” Raisa cried. “That’s great!”
Desmond immediately reached for the map and pressed the turn, hoping that would do the trick. But a screen popped up instead, warning him that this deviation from the pre-planned route was highly irregular, and that he needed to authorize the change with his SkyLine credentials. Which, of course, he did not have.
“Great! I have to log in, apparently,” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. The SkyLine wheezed and rattled about, curving round a bend at a slight angle. Three turns to go.
“Maybe we can try the engineers’ Matrixes? You think that would work?” suggested Raisa. Behind her, Victor was already trying to pry a watch off of one of the unconscious drivers.
“Yeah, sure,” scoffed Desmond, shaking his head. What a ridiculous notion. If the system wanted an Matrix scan, it would have asked for it explicitly, instead of popping up a login screen. But this was good. If those two were distracted, wasting their time, they couldn’t further sabotage him.
He turned his attention back to the control panel at large, searching for any sort of manual steering on the SkyLine but not finding it. OK, fine. He looked out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the straightaway with the turn. But it was too far and too obscured by the buildings in between. It was no use.
Desmond placed his fists on the dashboard a little more strongly than he would have liked, huffing strongly, trying to find the way out. As his mind grasped at straws, trying to cobble together a plan, he heard Raisa and Victor talking over each other frantically. His focus disrupted, he whirled around to see the two holding one of the engineers’ limp wrists up, trying to force his Matrix off, and utterly failing.
“What are you two even doing?” said Desmond, less a question and more a statement of extreme annoyance.
“We’re getting the Matrix,” replied Victor innocently, while Raisa still tugged at the silver hexagon, to no avail. “Want to help?”
“Ugh. If you want to try that, why not just drag the guy over?” groaned Desmond, reaching over and pulling the engineer towards him.
Raisa, not quite getting the message, tugged in the opposite direction. “Almost… got it!”
Then the train shook again, and the three were all thrown to one side, landing flat on the floor with equal disgrace. While Desmond pushed himself to his feet, a pale blue light began to illuminate the control room, emanating out of the Matrix. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes, as the vague outline of a face began to take shape. Two turns to go.
Good afternoon, Alden, spoke the almost-organic voice of the AI. I… hold on. Hello? Why am I on the floor? Why is Alden unconscious?
The three bandits froze in momentary confusion, before Victor broke the silence, crying, “Aha!”
He leapt forward, raising the Matrix upright. “Hi. I’m Victor. That’s Raisa, and that’s Desmond. We’re in a tight spot right now. We really need your help.” Then he paused. “What’s your name, actually?”
Desmond could not help but facepalm, letting his hand slowly fall from his face. The AI, apparently equally put off, gave a sideways glance at the three bandits, before her gaze landed on the two still engineers.
Um, she responded, looking back at Victor, smiling politely. I’m Jemma. Should I call the authorities?
“No, no—” Victor began, before frowning and looking over at Desmond and Raisa on either side of him. “Should we call the authorities?”
“Victor!” bellowed Desmond, snatching the Matrix away (and tugging the driver’s limp body forward, knocking his head into the side of the car with a soft thud).
Authorities have been alerted, informed Jemma sweetly as Desmond stared her down. He groaned once more. Stupid AI. Stupid Victor.
“I need you to do one thing,” seethed Desmond, shoving the AI towards the control panel, all but pressing it into the screen. “I need you to unlock this, and let me make this turn, so we don’t all die! Can you do that?”
Beneath his feet, the head of the unconscious engineer thudded against the base of his chair. Both Victor and Raisa got to their feet, holding on to the side of the car as the SkyLine shifted, clacking against the rails like nuts and bolts hitting the floor. One turn to go.
I’m sorry, but that would be rather improper, answered Jemma. As far as I can tell, you’re in no danger. Except from the authorities, who are on their way to Aurora Station to apprehend you as soon as you arrive.
“Then you’re as stupid as you look!” retorted Desmond. “There’s another train about to crash into us, and if we don’t make that turn—!”
Suddenly, he heard shouts from the car behind, and the tinny pattering of feet across metal. Desmond snapped his attention to the doors, where he could see three or four conductors, followed by a few passengers. Raising thin weapons fashioned from Thunderstorm’s light, they shouted angrily as they marched towards the control room. How had that happened?
“Not good, not good, not good!” Raisa repeated, running towards the door and throwing out her hands, once more calling upon the powers of the Thunderstorm. A violet, stone-like wall appeared in front of the incoming horde, who began to beat against it with their blades and bludgeons.
“Desmond…!” Victor called, pointing up ahead. The SkyLine caromed precariously around a single turn, and then headed down the long, straight stretch of track that would kill them.
Turning away from the infuriating AI for a moment, Desmond looked off into the distance. There — just a speck at first, the second train emerged from behind a building, its matte baby blue carriages popping against the shining glass buildings it sped past. It turned to face his SkyLine head-on, like bullets shot down the same barrel.
And there, off to the right — a twisting ramp, leading down to street level. Salvation.
“AI! We don’t have time for this!” Desmond reiterated, raising his hand. The Thunderstorm hadn’t always come easiest to him. He hadn’t always had the focus, the drive, the purpose to command it. He’d never quite known what he wanted, so the Thunderstorm never quite knew what to give him.
But now? Facing the prospect of going from the greatest victory of his life to the end of it in less than ten minutes? He wanted a plan, but he had none, and the Thunderstorm could not give him that, anyways. So he wanted it not to end there. He wanted to make it out. He wanted, more than anything, to live. He let that most primal, most desperate of emotions run through him, accepting at last that he was clueless, and scared, and lost.
And the Thunderstorm found him.
He let out a breath and drew out his hand. A thick, serrated knife made of golden light appeared between his fingers, its otherworldly shine instantly steadying his shaky hands and trembling breath. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, not drowning out everything around him like before, but beating like a drum in sync and symphony over the chaos around him.
“Save us,” ordered Desmond, his gaze steely as he held the knife to Jemma — or, more accurately, her Matrix’s face. “Make the turn. Or the first one that dies will be you.”
Jemma smiled back at him. Desmond held his gaze. The other SkyLine barreled towards them. Jemma blinked once. Desmond held his gaze. Raisa let out a cry of exertion. The conductors and their mob let out a cry of triumph. Jemma blinked twice. Desmond held his gaze. Victor frowned and pointed towards the other SkyLine. The other SkyLine was now moments away. A horn sounded twice. Jemma blinked thrice. Desmond held his gaze.
Fine, came Jemma’s somehow still chipper voice. The map on the dashboard let out a chime, and up ahead, almost imperceptibly, the junction at the turn shifted to the right. There you go. For all the good that’ll do you. You can drop the knife now.
Desmond watched, his jaw slowly widening in awe and relief, as the SkyLine heaved and made one more turn, missing the incoming train entirely. For the second time since boarding that train, he was captured by a laugh. There was something strange about that SkyLine passing by, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it then. He didn’t want to, anyways, and threw back his head, falling into the engineer’s seat. He’d made it. They’d all made it.
Then, the dashboard blared an alarm, its screen flashing red with an all-too-clear advisory. They were coming up on a SkyLine station, and too fast. Every single one of the sparse denizens along the steel platforms stared at them, some backing away, others conjuring Vokation walls to protect themselves.
Oh, I should mention, added Jemma. You might want to brake.
Before Desmond could do anything, a high pitched-whine filled the air as the station’s emergency brakes were applied. The SkyLine slowed to a halt, but though Victor and Raisa held onto the sides of the car and braced, Desmond stayed on his feet in an attempt to stop the car and was bucked forward, slamming into the dashboard.
The train chimed, and the doors automatically hissed open. Welcome to Beorn Station, said Jemma with a pleasant smile. Please watch your step, and enjoy your day… in the local jail.
For a moment, there was only the labored breath of the train, cooling down, and the murmurs of the crowd outside. Desmond lay against the control panel, dazed. His head throbbed, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. Despite the circumstances, he didn’t feel like moving at all. Maybe he’d just go to sleep. Yes, a little rest sounded nice. He’d earned it, after all.
But as he shut his eyes and began to drift away, someone shook his arm, trying to pull him away. “Dez. Dez! We have to go!”
He heard another voice: “Look, Raisa, he’s hurt. Together, now.”
Then he felt a hand on his forehead, and the soothing energy of the Thunderstorm once more rushed through him. He found his body’s strength and his mind’s restored, as the fog clouding his thought was dispelled, and he opened his eyes to a blinding ray of white light. Over him, Victor knelt, his visage still as if in meditation as he finished up his healing Gale. And behind him stood Raisa, her hand glowing a slight purple as she set it on Vic’s shoulder, lending him some of her power and strengthening the magic.
While the two smiled down at him, Desmond gave the two a look of confusion. Surely one of them (if not both!) had to have betrayed him and derailed his escape in the most literal way possible. With authorities closing in and crowds staring, they could have made their escape and left him for dead. That would have been the smart play. That’s what he would have done if he was in their shoes. But they were still here, going out of their way to help him, and heal him, and now… and now they were helping him to his feet. What was going on?
“There you go, Dez. Now let’s go,” encouraged Victor, heading towards the door before stopping, a thought occurring to him. Quickly, he turned around, propping the now-bruised unconscious engineers up on the side of the car, trying to make them comfortable.
“Thanks, Jemma,” said Victor, giving the glowing blue head a nod, much to Desmond’s befuddlement.
You’re welcome, answered Jemma with a sarcastic smile, before promptly shutting off, darkening the car.
“Alright, now let’s go,” urged Raisa, already standing by the door. “That AI called the authorities, and they’ll be here any minute.”
Before Desmond could agree, a thought occurred to him. “You know, she sent the authorities to Aurora Station,” he pointed out. “But we’re not there, are we? We sent them the wrong way entirely.”
“And we’d better get out of here before they figure that out,” Raisa stated, waving him over hurriedly. “Come on!”
Desmond strode over to the door, catching a glimpse of the conductors and their posse, unconscious in the adjacent car. Apparently, in their struggle to get into the control room, they’d had an even nastier fall than him. Even better.
As the three of them stepped out onto the train platform, Desmond stumbled forth at first, glancing around the backing away crowd. He felt around his overcoat for the precious quarry that it had all been for, and, sure enough, he could feel its cold, thin shape, still snug in his inner coat pocket.
“So, where to now?” asked Raisa, leaning over to him.
Desmond didn’t know. “Not here,” he decided, before immediately sprinting towards the nearest exit. Raisa and Victor followed behind.
They managed to escape out onto the streets of Skyluria, which were quickly darkening now. Brilliant white street lamps began to switch on, sparkling like stars in the night sky and lighting their way forth. They rushed across the road, dodging out of the way of a car or two in the process.
They were all expecting a horde of officers to emerge any second and chase them down, but it never happened. They managed to make it several blocks away before finally stopping, certain no one was on their tail. At last, a huge, collective sigh of relief escaped their lungs.
