To The Stars

There were more protests from the passengers as they were unloaded but, in a few minutes, Jan was alone in the train. If anything happened he would be the only one to suffer. They could not afford to waste more time here; they must press on.

“All clear,” Otakar called from the open hatch. “I can still come along.”

“See you on the other side. Clear the train, I’m starting.”

He touched lightly on the accelerator and, at absolutely minimum speed, the engine crawled forward. As soon as it was moving he set the autopilot and took his hands from the wheel. He was committed. The engine would take itself across in a far more controlled manner than he himself could. As the train crept forward he went to the open hatch and looked at the edge of the Road. If there were trouble, it would be there. Centimeter by centimeter they crawled through the newly-burned section of Road, closer and closer to the far end.

The sound was a grinding rumble, easily heard above the drone of the engine, and as the noise began cracks appeared in the hard surface of the stone. Jan started to turn to the controls, then realized he could do nothing. He stood, his fingers tight-clamped to the edge of the hatch, as the great section of Road broke away and vanished with a roar toward the valley floor, far below. Cracks spread like deadly fingers across the surface, reaching for the train.

Then stopped.

There was a great gap now, a chunk bitten out of the solid rock of the Road. But it ended short of the engine. The powerful machine lumbered past the opening and Jan sprang back to the controls, frantically switching from camera to camera to get a view of the following car. Now the engine was through safely, past the gap.

However, the cars it pulled were almost three times wider.

His foot was a fraction of a centimeter above the brake pedal, his fingers resting on the autopilot, his eyes fixed on the screen.

The wheels of the first car crept toward the gap, the outer, double wheel apparently aimed directly at it. It would never get by. He was about to stamp on the brakes when he looked closer. Just possibly.

The wheel rolled to the edge of the gap — and dropped over the lip.

The outer tire of the two. It turned slowly in the air, blue sky showing under it. All of the weight of the overloaded car came onto the inner wheel.

As the tire skirted the very edge of the drop it compressed under the weight, flattening to an oval. Then the other tire hit the far edge of the gap and the car was safe on the other side. The radio bleeped in Jan’s ear and he switched it on.

“Did you see that?” Otakar asked, in a very weak voice.

“I did. Stay close by and report on the broken area. I’m going to take the rest of the train across. If it stays this way it will be fine. But tell me instantls if there are any more falls.”

“I’ll do that, you can be sure.

At minimum crawling speed the cars followed, one by one, until the entire train was safely across the gap. As soon as the last car was reported safely past Jan killed the engine, jammed on the brakes, and let out a deep sigh. He felt as though every muscle in his body had been worked over with a heavy hammer. To relieve the tension he jogged back to the new section of road to join Otakar.

“No more falls, none at all,” the co-driver reported.

“Then we should be able to get the other trains through.” The passengers were crossing on foot now, pressed as close to the inside wall as they could, looking with frightened eyes at the cut edge and the gaping crevice. “Take the first engine and keep going. Half speed until all the trains are over. It should go well now. When they are through I’ll catch up on the cycle. Any questions?”

“Nothing I can put into words. This is your show, Jan. Good luck.”

It was hours before the last train was past, but they all made it safely. There were no more rock falls. As Jan sped along beside the slow-moving trains he wondered what the next emergency would be.