PLATFORM: DIGITAL LOG (RECOVERED AUDIO FILE)
USER: TYLER JORDAN
STATUS: CORRUPTED / PARTIAL RECOVERY
DATE: ONE YEAR, NINE MONTHS, ELEVEN DAYS POST-EVENT.
LOCATION: TAZARA RAILWAY (MOVING SOUTH, SPEED 80 KPH).
[Entry 6]
The inside of a steam locomotive's cab is usually loud. Inside the Foundry's locomotive, it was deafening.
It didn't sound like a machine. It sounded like a dying beast. The firebox roared with a white-hot intensity that sucked the oxygen right out of your lungs. The pipes groaned under pressures that defied standard physics.
And in the center of it all stood the Automaton.
It was seven feet of brass and blackened steel. It didn't have a head—just a sensor cluster mounted on a rotating turret where the neck should be. Its arms were hydraulic pistons ending in shovel-like scoops.
We had just jumped in. The element of surprise lasted exactly one second.
"Contact!" Suleiman yelled.
The Automaton spun around. Its sensor cluster flashed from green to red.
INTRUDER ALERT. STERILIZATION PROTOCOL ENGAGED.
It swung its left arm. The heavy steel shovel smashed into the bulkhead where I had been standing a microsecond before. The impact dented the solid iron plate like it was tin foil.
"K-Ray! Get to the throttle!" I screamed, diving under the swing.
"I'm trying!" K-Ray scrambled over the coal pile (or rather, the rust pile) toward the control stand. "But the levers are burning hot! I can't touch them!"
"Use your boots!"
I scrambled toward the glass cylinder in the corner.
Juma.
He was floating in the bubbling liquid, his eyes rolled back in his head. His skin wasn't just violet anymore; it was pulsing with a dangerous, blinding white light. The cables attached to his temples were vibrating.
He wasn't just a battery. He was a Bomb.
I smashed the butt of my flashlight against the glass.
THUD.
Nothing. Not even a scratch. It was reinforced polycarbonate, maybe scavenged from a bank or an armored car.
"It's too thick!" I yelled.
Behind me, Suleiman was fighting for his life.
The Automaton lunged at him. Suleiman rolled, firing his crossbow at point-blank range.
TWANG.
The obsidian bolt hit the Automaton's hydraulic knee joint. It shattered harmlessly. The brass plating was too thick.
"My bolts are useless!" Suleiman shouted, dodging another swing that would have taken his head off. "I need something heavier!"
"The shovel!" I pointed. "Use its own weight against it!"
Suleiman was an elite soldier. He didn't need to be told twice. He waited for the Automaton to swing again. As the heavy arm came down, Suleiman didn't dodge away; he dodged in.
He stepped inside the Automaton's guard, jamming the stock of his crossbow into the exposed gears of the elbow joint.
CRUNCH.
The gears ground to a halt. The arm locked up.
The Automaton screeched—a sound of tearing metal. It tried to shake Suleiman off, but the soldier held on, riding the machine like a rodeo bull.
THE THERMAL CRITICALITY
"Tyler!" Nayla was at the control panel with K-Ray. She was looking at the gauges. Her face was pale with terror.
"What is it?"
"The pressure!" she pointed to a gauge labeled in German, likely scavenged from the Olkaria plant. "It's at 400 PSI and climbing! The safety valve is welded shut!"
"Why is it rising?"
"Because the Regulator is overloaded!" She pointed at Juma. "They're dumping too much heat into him! He can't absorb it fast enough anymore! If he rejects the heat, it backflows into the boiler!"
"And then?"
"Then the boiler explodes," K-Ray said, kicking the throttle lever. It didn't budge. "And this whole train turns into a crater."
I looked at Juma.
He was twitching. The liquid in the tank was starting to boil violently.
"I have to break him out," I said. "Now."
I looked at the block of Blue Salt in my hands. It was the size of a cinder block, wrapped in insulating cloth.
"Nayla, get back!"
I unwrapped the ice. The air in the cab instantly hissed as moisture condensed around the freezing crystal.
I pressed the block of Blue Salt directly against the hot glass of the tank.
HISSSSSSSSSS.
Thermal shock is a brutal thing. When a material that is 200 degrees Celsius suddenly touches something that is -50 degrees Celsius, the molecular structure can't handle the stress.
CRACK.
A spiderweb fracture appeared on the glass.
"Hit it!" I yelled to Suleiman.
Suleiman was still wrestling the Automaton. He saw the crack.
He kicked off the robot's chest, doing a backflip.
"Hey! Tin Can!" Suleiman yelled. "Over here!"
The Automaton, freed from the jam, swung its good arm—a massive haymaker punch aimed at Suleiman.
Suleiman ducked.
The metal fist sailed over his head.
And smashed directly into the cracked glass tank.
SHATTER.
The tank exploded.
Scalding water and shards of glass sprayed everywhere. I covered my face, diving to the floor.
The Automaton stumbled, its arm stuck in the broken machinery of the tank.
And then... a hand reached out.
A hand glowing with White Fire.
Juma.
He didn't look human. He looked like a star contained in a silhouette of flesh. He grabbed the Automaton's arm.
"You..." Juma's voice was distorted, sounding like two stones grinding together. "...are... NOISY."
Juma squeezed.
The heat transfer was instantaneous. The white glow flowed from Juma's arm into the brass of the Automaton.
The metal didn't melt. It vaporized.
The Automaton's arm turned into a cloud of metallic gas. The robot collapsed, its internal systems fried by the massive energy surge.
Juma stepped out of the wreckage of the tank. He was naked, steaming, and his eyes were burning holes in the air.
He looked at me. He didn't recognize me.
"Juma!" I shouted, holding up my hands. "It's Tyler! Cool down! You're going critical!"
THE DEAD MAN'S SWITCH
"The engine!" K-Ray screamed. "The pressure is spiking! Juma stopped absorbing the heat!"
The locomotive began to shake violently. The wheels were screaming on the tracks. We were going faster.
"The Red Dust!" Nayla pointed to the auger. "It's still feeding the fire!"
The automatic stoker was still running, dumping shovels of the rust-fuel into the firebox every second.
"Jam the auger!" I ordered.
Suleiman grabbed a heavy iron pry bar from the wall. He jammed it into the gears of the screw-feed.
CLANG-GRIND-SNAP.
The pry bar bent like a twig, but the gears stripped. The auger stopped turning.
"Fuel cut!" Suleiman yelled.
"It's not enough!" K-Ray was wrestling with the brake wheel. "There's too much residual heat! We need to dump the steam!"
"The whistle!" I pointed to the chain hanging from the ceiling. "Blow the whistle! It vents pressure!"
K-Ray grabbed the chain and pulled.
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!
A massive jet of white steam erupted from the roof. The sound was ear-splitting.
"It's dropping!" Nayla watched the gauge. "390... 380..."
"Not fast enough!" I yelled. "We're hitting a curve!"
Through the front grate, I saw it. The tracks ahead curved sharply around a canyon wall. At this speed, we would derail. We would fly off the cliff and take the hundreds of prisoners in the cars behind us to their deaths.
"Juma!" I turned to the glowing man. "We need a heat sink! You have to pull the heat out of the firebox!"
Juma blinked. The violet color was slowly returning to his eyes, replacing the blinding white. He seemed to come back to himself.
"Tyler?" he rasped.
"The fire!" I pointed to the open door of the furnace. "Eat it!"
Juma stumbled forward. He looked at the roaring white flame.
"Hungry," he whispered.
He reached both hands into the firebox.
Any normal human would have been reduced to ash. Juma just inhaled.
The flames were sucked toward him. The white fire turned orange, then red, then a dull, smoky black.
He was drinking the fire.
The boiler pressure gauge plummeted.
300... 200... 100...
"Brakes are responding!" K-Ray yelled. "I have friction!"
He slammed the brake lever forward.
SCREEEEEECH.
Sparks flew from the wheels—a shower of fireworks in the night. The train shuddered, throwing us all forward.
We slid across the metal floor.
The train slowed.
80 kph... 60... 40...
We took the curve on two wheels. The cabin tilted dangerously over the abyss. I saw the dark rocks of the canyon floor hundreds of feet down.
Then, with a heavy THUD, the wheels slammed back onto the tracks.
We were safe.
The train ground to a halt.
Silence.
Except for the hissing of cooling metal and the heavy breathing of the team.
THE UNWELCOME COMMITTEE
"We stopped," K-Ray gasped, wiping soot from his face. "We actually stopped."
"Don't get comfortable," Suleiman said, reloading his crossbow. "We just made a lot of noise."
I walked over to Juma. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the cold firebox. The glow had faded. He looked exhausted, his skin grey and ashy.
"You okay, big guy?" I asked, checking his pulse. It was slow and heavy, like a hibernation heartbeat.
"Full," Juma murmured. "Too full."
"We need to get the prisoners," Nayla said. "We need to uncouple the engine and..."
THUD.
Something landed on the roof of the cab.
Then another THUD.
And another.
"Company," Suleiman whispered.
I looked out the side window.
We hadn't stopped in the middle of nowhere. We had stopped right outside the Gates.
Ahead of us, blocking the tracks, was a massive wall of rusted iron sheets, welded together to form a fortress barrier. Searchlights swept the area.
And dropping from the canyon walls above us were the Bronze Knights.
Five of them.
They landed on the coal tender. They landed on the boiler walkway.
And leading them was a figure I recognized from the radio broadcast.
The Foreman.
He stood on top of the tender, looking down at us in the cab. His copper-tube suit was glowing faintly. He held a heavy, pneumatic hammer in one hand.
"You are persistent," his voice boomed, amplified by his mask. "Like rats in the wall."
"We have your train!" I shouted back, bluffing. "And we have your weapon!"
I pointed to Juma.
The Foreman laughed.
"You have a stalled engine and a battery that is about to leak. Look at him."
I looked at Juma.
The Foreman was right. Juma wasn't just "full." He was leaking. Violet energy was arcing off his skin, striking the metal floor. He was shivering uncontrollably.
"He absorbed the engine heat," the Foreman said. "But without the regulator tank... his biology is degrading. He will melt in ten minutes."
"We can fix him!" Nayla yelled.
"No," the Foreman said. "You cannot. But I can."
He jumped down, landing with a heavy metallic clang on the coupling between the tender and the cab.
"Surrender the train," the Foreman demanded. "Surrender the hybrid. And I will allow you to work in the mines instead of being burned as fuel."
I looked at my team.
We were trapped. We had no weapons that could hurt them. Juma was dying. The prisoners were locked in the cars behind us.
"Tyler," Suleiman whispered. "Do we fight?"
I looked at the pressure gauge. It was at zero. The train wasn't moving anywhere.
But then I looked at the Red Dust pile in the tender.
And I remembered chemistry.
"Suleiman," I whispered back. "Do you still have that last flask of Hydro-Fluid?"
The explosive water-mix we used for mining charges.
"Yeah. One flask."
"The Foreman is wearing a copper suit," I whispered. "Copper is highly conductive."
"So?"
"So if we create a galvanic circuit... we can short him out."
I turned to the Foreman.
"We surrender!" I yelled, raising my hands.
The Foreman stepped forward. "Wise choice."
He entered the cab. The Bronze Knights crowded in behind him.
"Just one thing," I said.
"What?"
"Catch."
I nodded to Suleiman.
Suleiman threw the flask. Not at the Foreman.
At Juma.
The flask hit Juma's chest and shattered.
The liquid soaked him.
Water conducts electricity. And Juma was currently a walking lightning storm of raw energy.
ZZZZZTTTTT!
The liquid acted as a bridge. The energy arcing off Juma didn't ground into the floor anymore. It sought the nearest conductor.
The Foreman.
A massive arc of violet lightning jumped from Juma to the Foreman's copper suit.
"ARGGHHHHHH!"
The Foreman screamed as thousands of volts of bio-electric thermal energy surged through his armor. His suit short-circuited. The pneumatic hammer in his hand exploded.
The Bronze Knights behind him were connected by the metal floor plates. The charge chained through them.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Their internal boilers ruptured. Steam exploded from their joints. They collapsed like puppets with cut strings.
The Foreman fell to his knees, smoke pouring from his mask.
"Now!" I yelled. "Kick him off!"
K-Ray and I grabbed the Foreman's legs and heaved.
We threw him out the cab door. He tumbled down the embankment, disappearing into the dark.
"Juma!" Nayla rushed to him.
The discharge had saved him. It had vented the excess energy. He was unconscious, but cooling down.
"We have to go," I said. "Those weren't all of them."
"Go where?" K-Ray asked. "The train is dead. The track is blocked."
I looked at the Gate ahead.
"We aren't taking the train," I said. "We're taking the passengers."
I grabbed the intercom mic that connected to the rest of the train.
"Attention all prisoners," I said, my voice shaking. "This is the Arusha Rescue Team. We have disabled the guards. The doors are sealed, but we are coming to open them."
I turned to Suleiman.
"Grab the pry bar. We have a lot of work to do."
THE EXODUS
It took us an hour.
We moved down the line of cars, smashing the thermal locks with freezing cold water (melted from the last of our ice) and sledgehammers.
Hundreds of people poured out of the boxcars.
They were weak, dehydrated, and terrified. But they were free.
"Where do we go?" a man asked me. "The desert is death."
I pointed West. toward the darker, cooler silhouette of the escarpment.
"We go up," I said. "Into the hills. The Rust Beetles don't like the elevation. It's too cold."
"And then?"
"Then we walk to Arusha," I said.
"But what about him?" Nayla asked.
She pointed to the cab.
Juma was still unconscious. He was too heavy to carry.
I looked at the crowd of refugees.
"We need a stretcher," I said. "A big one."
Four men stepped forward. They were huge—blacksmiths from the coast, judging by their arms.
"He saved us?" one of them asked.
"He did."
"Then we carry him," the man said.
We rigged a litter from the scrap metal. We loaded Juma onto it.
As we began the long march away from the train, away from the Foundry's gates, I looked back.
The locomotive sat silent and dark on the tracks. A monument to a failed heist, but a successful rescue.
But in the distance, behind the walls of the Foundry, I saw a red light begin to pulse.
A siren.
And then, a sound that chilled my blood.
It wasn't a mechanical roar. It wasn't a beetle chittering.
It was a Drum.
DOOM. DOOM. DOOM.
"What is that?" K-Ray whispered.
"That," I said, adjusting my pack, "is the army waking up."
[TO BE CONTINUED]