The dining car was dark and filled with echoes of rail clanks as city lights from San Jose and Santa Clara rushed by the windows like a wild light show. The loneliness was broken by two emergency lamps rested on a table at each end of the car which illuminated clean, white tablecloths with no silverware.
One group talked in hushed tones, enough to hear each other but not loud enough to be heard from across the car through clanking echoes. Cooper sat on one side of a table poised as if conducting an interrogation, while Victoria sat upright on the other side as if in the presence of a military officer, and Murphy slouched next to her.
The second group was Jordan with a tablet, working on homework as a distraction while a green holographic version of Emma supervised her work. Emma’s avatar was precisely like her, a petite woman with glasses and short hair in a form-fitting lab coat, but she was made of green lines and projected by a small emitter in the side of her table’s lamp. Emma’s face was tight, her eyes puffy, and she required multiple reminders to even get through simple questions. Emma continued to be as supportive as she could sitting next her.
“We have limited time to stop whatever crime is in the works, a little less than two hours if our estimates are correct,” Cooper said. “The conductor and Federal Rails officials refuse to stop the train. Many of the passengers paid hefty incentives to ensure this line makes it to Salt Lake City within the day. But we also have incoming secret bounties on many of these soon-to-be political outcasts. Whether the passengers live or die, the company makes big money.”
Murphy scoffed.
“One outcome is most preferable for the company,” Victoria said. “The passengers have already paid and they cannot ask for a refund when they die in the derailment. That plus the bounties mean the company stands to make even more money if everyone dies. Even minus train repairs and family benefit packages for dead employees, their obvious desire is for us to fail.”
“I have to agree with your hunch.” Cooper narrowed his eyes and smirked. “The company officials I talked to assured me there was nothing to worry about, and get back to our assigned gig in making sure there were no fights or thefts.”
“And what do our bigwigs say about this?” Murphy leaned in with a clenched jaw.
“We haven’t received adjustments to our orders from Homeland Defense,” Cooper said. He stared at his subordinates and his loud exhale bordered on a sigh. “Even the Lion himself went into radio silence the second I reported in about the antigravity liquid. Emma attempted to do some digging, but she’s been locked out of the USDHD servers.”
“We have targeted trains derailing.” Victoria stared out to the darkness beyond the windows. “Other lines going through the same patch weren’t reported as affected by the fires. Only lines carrying political outcasts. But one of them had missing cars rather than a full catastrophe.”
“It’s like someone is plucking targets off a conveyor belt.” Murphy reached out his hand and grabbed at nothingness. “Maybe they’re lifting juicy prey off the tracks.”
“Stop.” Victoria crossed her arms. “You are about to claim aliens or wizards or ghosts are involved, correct?”
“Did you see the flying quicksilver?” Murphy cracked an incredulous smile. “If you had enough of that, you could use it to lift cars or entire trains off their tracks like putting helium into a balloon. I’m willing to believe that material is extraterrestrial.”
“Let’s examine the facts.” Cooper cleared his throat so both subordinates looked him in the eyes. “We have derailed trains and one incomplete train. We have secret bounties. We have a company willing to make a profit from death. We have our superiors going silent.” He looked directly at Murphy and said, “And we have flying liquid.”
“Don’t forget dead people.” Murphy scowled at his supervisor. “The three victims you had me sit in a room with. I’m going to have nightmares for months after seeing them.”
The train clattered as it shifted to a downward grade into the San Francisco Valley. The brilliant lights of Santa Clara sped upward and only the glow of refineries and factories lined the new, lower horizon. The world outside was more of darkness with hints of glowing smoke, rather than the vibrant rush of city lights.
“The kid has not been of any help.” Victoria motioned a thumb toward the opposite end of the car. “I asked her multiple times for any information on who murdered her parents.” She caught a questioning look from Murphy and added, “Yes, I was nice about it.”
“I’m sure you had the sensitivity of a chopping block.” Murphy cast his cohort a deadpan look. “Jordan knows something.”
“Do you believe that?” Cooper leaned over the table and folded his hands under his chin. “What makes you connect the death of her parents to the derailments? The liquid is strange, but I’m not seeing a connection other than your alien balloon theory.”
“I’ve seen a lot of guilty little faces working in education,” Murphy said.
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