The First Book of Ore: The Foundry's Edge (9 page)

Micah was like a kid in a candy store.

“No WAY!” Micah jabbered, his eyes goggling. “Those are F-20 Bloodtalons! Wha—?! That's a Gyrojet modded with subterranean Blackout rounds and—custom new Lightforce 7200 rapid repeater guns! Those puppies can fire six thousand rounds a minute. Oh man, Randy's gonna be so jealous!”

“Don't you get it?” Phoebe hissed in his ear.

“Yeah,” he said with a blissed-out grin. “I died and gone to heaven.”

“No. We shouldn't be here.”

Suddenly, the angry howl of the locomotive's horn erupted. It shattered what was left of her nerves. She waited for three Mini-lifts hauling chemical tanks to pass by, and when the coast was clear, she ran. Phoebe wove between rows of crates and pallets, using the shipping barriers to remain concealed. Micah was by her side as she crawled over the edge of the platform and dropped down behind the train.

With an electric zap and a tremulous thunk, the train's engine engaged, its wheels locking on the tracks. She scampered beneath the nearest freight car and scanned the network of machinery for some sort of perch. Micah caught on to what she was doing and pointed to an open spot in the chassis. Together, they climbed into the gap and out of sight.

Another blast from the horn, and then the train started to move. The oversized wheels squealed and rotated sluggishly. The gears and shafts churned inches from their heads. A railroad tie crept past below them, then another, and another. She shifted her hold on the struts. This wasn't a good spot, but maybe she could adjust once they were at a safe distance.

They gained momentum. The clack of wheels on rails was starting to accelerate. Gravel and ties began to blur. They were on their way, headed for the looming black tunnel.

The vibrations of the locomotive made it hard to hang on. Phoebe wished she was stronger, wished she hadn't skipped all those years of gym. The faster they went, the more her arms trembled from the strain, but she couldn't get a better grip without falling. There was nowhere safe to climb. The twirling shafts and pinions pressed in, so close she could feel their hot wind hit her face. One wrong move, and they would crush her for sure.

Micah wasn't faring any better. His teeth were gritted and every muscle was tensed. He shook his head and shouted something, but the screaming gears stole his words.

Blackness swallowed the world as the train plunged into the tunnel.

Phoebe fell.

The wind was crushed from her lungs. She hit the ground so hard that she bounced and rolled, turning over and over, she didn't know how many times—ground to ceiling, ground to ceiling before settling to a stop. Up ahead, Micah lost his grip as well and collapsed to the gravel.

The howl of the train faded to a phantom echo, and then was gone.

She lay on the tracks, her body charged with pain. It didn't feel like anything was broken, but she wasn't sure. She had never broken a bone before. Phoebe could feel a gathering tidal wave of despair, an angry ocean swell ready to break. Her mind was a seething void. After all she had been through to get here, after all this…

She had failed.

Her life felt meaningless.

She was never going to see her father again.

The ground beneath them trembled with a new sound. It was the harsh and grating squeal of metal on metal. The petals of an iron iris gate were emerging from the edges of the tunnel behind them.

Micah was on his feet in a flash.

Follow.

Did Micah say that?

“I said come on! Now!” he shouted as he yanked her to her feet and ran.

Follow.

There it was again. A voice—distant, but not at all far away. It was as if something in the darkness was summoning her, daring her to carry on.

“Freaky!” Micah hollered from the tunnel entrance. She could get out of the tunnel if she ran—the rotating blades of the iris door were still wide enough. “D'you hit your head in that fall? We gotta go back, this way, before it shuts! We gotta leave, NOW!”

Follow
.

Phoebe turned her back to Micah and stepped into the abyss. Instantly, her stormy thoughts parted, and her mind was clear. Without a word, she marched. There was no turning back. If the train was going a thousand miles, she would go a thousand miles. There was nothing important behind her. The only thing that mattered was straight ahead.

“You ARE insane!” he screamed. “I ain't goin' in there!”

But she just kept on walking, her footsteps echoing eerily in this gargantuan tunnel with the light dying a quick death behind her.

Then, a heart-stopping clang.

The tunnel was sealed.

 

s Phoebe marched into the oppressive blackness, the echoes of her footsteps seemed to ask unwelcome questions. How far did this tunnel go? Where did it lead? What if these tracks ran for miles and miles under the ocean, with nothing in between?

She had to keep moving. If she slowed down, she might start to think about what she was doing.

“I said
STO
P
!” Micah's shout split the air like a rifle shot.

Of all the people in the entire world to be stuck with in this pitch-black tunnel, Micah Tanner would have been her absolute last choice.

“Nice goin', Freaky!” he snarled from behind. “We're gonna die down here because of you. If a train don't come along and splatter us, then we'll shrivel up from no water or starve to death. Or get eaten by a giant frickin' cave slug.”

Phoebe hadn't considered that something nasty could be down here, but she refused to give him the reaction he wanted.

“You don't listen to nobody, do ya?” he continued. “Did it ever occur to you that gettin' us killed might not be the best way to help your pa? 'Course not, 'cause you're a stubborn, spoiled loony!”

She ignored his tirade, trying to focus instead on her feet. Each step was bringing her closer to her father. Micah raced around her in the dark to block her path. He was so close that she could feel the heat pouring off of him.

“You don't deserve a dad that cool. Ain't he had a hard enough time without you bein' all bat-crap crazy? It's bad enough that his wife up and croaked, but now you—”

She lashed out at the sound of his voice.
SLAP!
Her hand found his cheek and cracked it hard, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Don't you
dar
e
!”

Her voice sizzled with rage. She couldn't make him out in the darkness, but her hand throbbed from the impact. Phoebe hungered to hit him again but fought back the urge.

“I don't want you here,” she snapped. “So don't blame me for your idiot idea to come in the first place.”

She heard him adjust in the gravel.

“But like it or not, you're here. So you're going to work.”

“
'Scuse me?”

She bridled her wild anger, and her voice became more measured. “My father needs help, and you work for him. I am his daughter, so until I find him, you work for me. You do what I say, when I say it.”

“Or what?” Micah's voice was hard to read in the darkness. Was he baiting her, or had she actually managed to subdue the twerp?

She spoke calmly, letting every cold syllable sink like lead into that thick head of his. “Or I will have your family fired and tossed out on the street and see to it that none of you ever works in Albright City again. Got it, Toiletboy?”

He was quiet for a long time. Finally, he hauled himself to his feet and approached her slowly. “Try and hit me again, and I swear I won't hold back 'cause you're a Plumm. Or 'cause you're a girl.”

Unlike most of what Micah said, Phoebe believed his words now.

“I'm going to find my father,” she retorted. “So are you going to do your job or what?”

“Whatever, Freaky.”

“That's Miss Plumm to you.”

“Pffft! Right, that'll be the day.”

She heard him shuffle ahead, deeper into the tunnel.

“Fine,” she sighed, catching up with a few loping strides. “You don't have to call me Miss, but you're not allowed to call me ‘Freaky' anymore. Or loony, insane, crazy, nutty, or anything like that. That's rule number one.”

“What rule?”

“If I'm going to do this…with you, then I have to establish rules.”

“Fine. Then no more ‘Toiletboy' either. That's rule two.”

“You don't make the rules. But I'll consider your request.” Phoebe thought that sounded reasonable. If she was going to be in charge, she wanted to be at least
somewhat
reasonable. “Do you have any matches?”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?”

She considered the contents of her skirt pockets, but there was nothing that could give them light. Then she remembered her Trinka, still clasped around her wrist. She fumbled in the dark to find its tiny button. Her toy radiated a pulsing crimson glow, a feeble light to guide the way.

“Oh,” Micah responded, looking at their newly illuminated surroundings. “That.”

The Trinka's tentacles began to twirl, and the toy fluttered out of her hands. Phoebe lashed it back to her wrist and tied its little arms in a knot. The Trinka didn't provide much light, but it was enough to keep them from twisting their ankles on the gigantic railroad ties.

“Wait, you had that thing with you this whole time? You only just now—”

“Rule number two,” she interrupted, marching past him. “You may speak only when you have something helpful to contribute. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut.”

“I'll show you rules, you stuck-up little…” he muttered.

They marched in silence. Phoebe was just beginning to think that she might be able to tolerate this new obedient Micah, when he began to whistle. It was like he'd been born to irritate her. She was about to establish another rule when she recognized the tune. Soon, he was kicking the gravel in time, and he began to sing:

“
Meridian cast off all her bonds

When Creighton Albright forged the bronze.

With ball of lead and sword of steel

We'll crush our foes beneath our heel.

So praise the gold, the brass, and chrome

Of Meridian, our mighty home!”

It was “Our Shining Hearts,” a song they taught every kid in grade school. Phoebe remembered singing it in the annual Alloy Day parade with her second-grade class. As Micah repeated the chorus, she recalled her parents' beaming faces in the crowd as she marched past, singing the praises of Meridian. How proud they had been of her.

He sang it again and again, and despite him being totally off-key, she didn't get sick of it. Soon, they were hiking in rhythm, which made the walk a little less tiresome. His singing eventually faded away, and they marched in silent sync.

“Why did you come here, really?” Phoebe asked.

“Oh, to serve you, Madame,” Micah said with a bow.

“I'm serious.”

“Duh. I wanna save the Doc, just like you.”

“But why?”

He looked down at the fake badges on his MIM jacket and imagined his face plastered on every Televiewer across Meridian. The fame, the glory, maybe a little reward money—that's why he had come. He had never heard of a national hero being forced to polish banisters or scrub bathroom tiles.

“I just wanted to, is all,” Micah replied.

Phoebe shivered as the tunnel grew cold. She tried to rub the chill out of her exposed arms, to no avail.

“Can I borrow your jacket, please?”

“Say what?” he asked in disbelief.

“Your jacket. I'm cold.”

“You gotta be kiddin'!”

“I'm trying to ask nicely. All I have is a skirt and short sleeves. Can't you just be a gentleman for once in your life?”

“I'll pass,” he chuckled.

“I can make this rule number three.”

Micah stopped in his tracks to confront Phoebe, who had her hands planted on her hips. He shook his head in disbelief.

“You're somethin' else, I swear,” he protested as he ripped off his prized MIM jacket and threw it at her. “Happy now?”

“Yes. Thank you,” she said distinctly, as if trying to teach manners to a child. She slipped her slender arms into the leather sleeves and zipped it up. The jacket smelled like dirty boy, but it was better than freezing.

They resumed their march, Phoebe leading with her glowing Trinka and Micah stomping hard, pouting. How long had they been walking—one hour, maybe two? Her feet were killing her, and she could barely feel her legs. All she wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. What time was it anyway? Her stomach rumbled. She hadn't eaten since lunch, and her throat was parched. Phoebe thought about telling him to stop so they could take a break, but she knew he would just make fun of her again for being such a weakling.

As she listened to their footsteps, a strange realization struck her.

“That's weird,” she said. “I think we're going down.”

The slope started so gradually that she hadn't noticed it at first. But now every stone they kicked scuttled away and rolled downhill in a miniature landslide.

“Great,” Micah huffed. “A bottomless pit.”

Then, in the weak crimson haze of her Trinka, Phoebe thought she saw something in the shadows ahead. Her heart skipped a beat. The light began to fade, so she quickly hit the button again to keep her toy going. There was a faint shape in the gloom. Something with two spindly arms. Or antennae?

“Get down!” Micah whispered. The panic in his voice was unnerving. They lowered to a crouch.

“What is it?”

“Don't…make…a sound.”

Phoebe's skin had gone clammy. His warning about killer cave slugs oozed back into her mind. They huddled there in silence for a long time, ears peeled for any movement.

Then she felt something crawling up her arm.

“BLAHH!” Micah shouted as he snatched her wrist and throttled it, the red Trinka light flashing like a fire alarm.

She screamed.

“Gotcha!” he said with snide laugh. “That's for hittin' me.”

Phoebe growled and reared back to smack him again, but before she could, Micah trotted boldly up to the mysterious shape. Among the wreckage and scattered debris was what she had mistaken for a cave slug. It was a toppled machine, abandoned beside the tracks, like a ramshackle seesaw on wheels.

“Ha-ha, you're such a scaredy-cat! It's just an old pump cart,” he said. “Railroaders use it to get around on the tracks. Too bad this one's junk.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fix it.”

“Just like that, huh? You think it's that easy?”

“You tell me. You're the grease monkey.”

“I'm tellin' you it ain't! You think they'd dump it here if it was any good?”

“Well, we have no idea how far we still have to go, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“And this thing has wheels, right?”

“Duh! But—”

“Then quit being such a whiner.” She untied the Trinka from her wrist and forced it into his hands. “And fix it.”

Micah was trying to bubble up a nasty insult—she could see it in his eyes. Instead, he bit his tongue, snatched the light, and hunched over to inspect the pump cart. The machine was tipped on its side, a platform mounted on a row of metal wheels. Set in the middle was a seesaw with a red handle on either end. When he pumped the handle, it jangled free from its housing. He studied the contraption and sucked his teeth.

“So?” Phoebe asked.

Micah shot her an annoyed look, then hawked up some phlegm and spit into his hands. She wrinkled her nose. He slipped the wrench out of his back pocket and ducked out of sight. Phoebe could hear the cart squeak and rattle as he tampered with the broken mechanism.

It took a few minutes before he reappeared, covered in a new layer of grease. He gave his wrench a showy twirl.

“A couple of slipped joining rods, is all.”

“That wasn't so hard, was it?” she needled. “So, it works?”

“It might, if you shut up and gimme a hand.” He got behind the device and leaned against it, pushing with his feet. She grabbed hold and helped shimmy the thing toward the track. Once it was in place, he jumped up and hung from the edge of the cart, using his weight to pull it down. There was a groan of metal, and then a loud crack as the cart settled onto one of the massive rails.

“Good work,” Phoebe said with a halfway smile. She climbed onto the pump cart. “Now turn it on.”

Micah clambered aboard and shoved down hard on the red handle. The cart lurched forward a few feet, nearly throwing her overboard. She clung to the handle for balance.