The mine office was inside a chamber hermetically sealed by a large hatch.

“It's sealed? What use is this place if it's sealed?!” Demanded OC-1, turning on Comrade Sergeant,

“I'm sure there's a way to open it, Comrade OC-1.” Comrade Sergeant shrugged.

“Move aside, Sergeant.” Kyanite shoved past him as she rushed to the computer console next to the hatch,

“That's Comrade Sergeant to you.” He retorted as he turned around to guard their backs. “Alright, I want a firing line right here. Nothing gets past this spot.” He ordered the others.

“The console is old, we replaced some parts a while back in the hopes of getting in, but to no avail.” Comrade Colonel told Kyanite as he set the unconscious Nationalist down. “Here, you'll need this. The power supply in the console died ages ago.” He handed her a battery from his backpack.

“Isn't there a way to circumvent the console? Fiddle with some wires to get the door to open?”

“No. This thing is designed to not open without going through the proper procedure. For security reasons, of course.”

“Of course.” Kyanite took the battery pack and quickly hooked it up to the console. “What stopped you from opening it last time?”

“Well... see, this console is a bit... temperamental.” Comrade Colonel leaned a shoulder against the wall. “It was installed back when some people thought we needed intelligent door consoles.” He finished with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh no...” Groaned Kyanite, “A SmartDoor console?”

“I'm afraid so.” Nodded Comrade Colonel grimly.

“SmartDoor Console online.” The console introduced itself in a soulless electronic voice with the usual broken intonation of a poorly-done synthetic voice: “The time is 3:57 PM, March 8th, 3146.”

“No it isn't.” Kyanite said reflexively (the current year being 3245) and immediately wished she hadn't.

“Excuse me. But this unit is a SmartDoor Console. This unit keeps a perfect record of the date and time at all times. Please don't demean this unit's excellent programming.”

“Don't speak unless prompted to, you'll only confuse it.” Comrade Colonel sighed, rubbing his eyes in consternation. Kyanite nodded.

“Excuse me.” Interjected SmartDoor again, “But this unit is a SmartDoor Console. This unit is incapable of becoming confused. This unit is designed to deliver perfect service and perfect clarity at all times. Please do not demean this unit's excellent programming.

“This unit is responsible for the hermetic door next to this unit. This unit sealed the door leading into Happy New Beginnings Mine at exactly 11:00 PM, August 17th, 3141, on orders from Mine Director Sandbay Strongarm. Will the current operator please identify themselves?”

“Incoming!” OC-1 shouted at that moment and a hail of bullets and fire swept the tunnel to keep the wolves at bay.

Kyanite leaned against the wall with one elbow and rolled her eyes in helpless frustration. “This unit apologises, but,” the machine imitated OC-1 perfectly: “Incoming!” complete with gunfire in the background: “is not a name this unit recognises. What is the password to unlock the door?”

Kyanite looked at Comrade Colonel, who shrugged. “I don't know.” She replied.

“Password incorrect. What is the correct password?”

“I don't know the password.”

“Password incorrect. What is the correct password?”

“I don't have information on the correct password.” Repeated the mechanic in as enunciative a manner as possible while trying to remain calm,

“Password incorrect. This unit will no longer respond to current operator—”

“It does this sometimes.” Said Comrade Colonel, “Here, let me reset it.” He opened the panel under the console and fiddled with some wires.

“SmartDoor Console online.” The console started over from the beginning. “The time is 4:00 PM, March 8th, 3146. This unit is responsible for the hermetic door next to this unit. This unit sealed the door leading into Happy New Beginnings Mine at exactly 11:00 PM, August 17th, 3141, on orders from Mine Director Sandbay Strongarm. Will the current operator please identify themselves?”

“They're retreating again!” Shouted Comrade Sergeant;

“This unit apologises, but 'They're retreating again!' is not a name this unit recognises. What is the password to unlock the door?”

“Hey Sergeant,” Comrade Colonel called, “would you stop shouting so loud? SmartDoor won't stop responding to you.”

“Comrade, you're this close to experiencing the most insubordinate moment of your life right now!” Comrade Sergeant shot back, waving a tightly clenched fist threateningly.

“Password incorrect. What is the correct password?”

“Execute password recovery routine.” Ordered Kyanite,

“Password incorrect. What is the correct password?”

Sighing in frustration, Kyanite leaned close to microphone and said loud and clear; “Execute order: password recovery routine.”

“Executing order: password recovery routine.” Responded SmartDoor. “Calling help centre in Ragnarok. Please wait on the line.” Piano music played. “The main help centre seems to be out of service. This unit apologises. Would the current operator like to call the secondary help centre—”

“Yes.” Answered Kyanite,

“Excuse me. Please do not interrupt this unit during playing of operator options.” Kyanite drummed her fingers on the console while sharing a sympathetic look from Comrade Colonel; “Would the current operator like to call the secondary help centre or run through a series of security questions?”

“Here they come again!” OC-1 warned and gunfire opened up once more.

“This unit apologises, but this is not an answer this unit understands. Would the current operator like to call the secondary help centre or run through a series of security questions?”

“Run through a series of security questions.” Kyanite answered:

“Hey Sergeant,” Comrade Colonel called, “how you doing over there?”

“Peachy, Comrade, just peachy!”

“I mean do you need another gun over there?”

“No, we can handle it, just get that damn door open!”

After the usual complaint about rude interruptions, SmartDoor started the security questions: “First question: What colour is the grass?”

Kyanite and Comrade Colonel exchanged confused looks.

“Green.” Answered Kyanite with a raised eyebrow;

“Incorrect answer. What colour is the grass?”

“What grass?” Asked the Colonel;

“Correct answer. Second question: what is your favourite colour?”

“Dirty yellow?” Kyanite suggested;

“Incorrect answer. What colour is the grass?”

“What?! Back to this one?” Burst Kyanite, who was immediately shushed by Comrade Colonel;

“Incorrect answer. What colour is the grass?”

“What grass?” The mechanic replied through clenched teeth,

“Correct answer. What is your favourite colour?”

“Green?”

“Correct answer. Third question: What is the name of my secretary?”

Kyanite lost it and yelled: “Your secretary?!”

“Incorrect answer. What colour—”

“How are we supposed to know the name of your damn secretary you hunk of junk?!”

“Excuse me. Please do not interrupt—”

“Now Kyanite—” Started Comrade Colonel, but the mechanic had had it up to here. She started screaming and bashing the console with her toolbox:

“Screw you, you heap of steaming pig shit!!”

“What's going on back there?!” Demanded Comrade Sergeant, who was still shooting at advancing spider-wolves, “If I have to come back there and break you two up, I swear—”

A loud clang made Comrade Sergeant and Kyanite both stop. It was followed by a long, drawn out, metallic creak. A flashing orange light came on and the hatch started slowly opening.

“By Almighty, you've done it!” Breathed Comrade Colonel,

“You must've knocked something into place!” Cried Comrade Sergeant ecstatically;

“Ha-ha! I knew it! Who said violence never solves anything?” Kyanite cheered, waving her arms in the air. The group ran through the hatch, Mad Dog and Den Mother going last to cover their retreat. On the other side, Kyanite immediately spotted an emergency release lever which closed the door again before any wolves could get through.

Before they could take three steps in, however, red lights started flashing to the tune of an alarm klaxon while a voice called:

“Warning: unauthorised entry alert!”

* * *

Just then, something started beeping at the aide's desk.

“What's that?” Asked Travertine, who was seated across from the base commander,

“I don't know.” Answered the commander, cocking his stalk-eyes to one side. “Hey Querbook, what's that beeping?” He called to his aide;

“Uhh... it says something about an ongoing break-in at... Happy New Beginnings Mine? Never heard of it, is that place new? Can't be, it's in an abandoned section.”

“Who's the owner?” Asked Immortal as he jumped from his chair and crossed the room to the aide's desk;

“Hey, stop questioning my aide.” Said the commander in a stern voice. He strode to the aide's desk himself, cleared his throat, and asked; “Who's the owner?”

“New World Mining Industries.”

“That doesn't make sense. They went out of business decades ago. Why are we still connected to an old abandoned mining complex?”

“Oftentimes, when they abandon a mine, they don't bother cutting communications links, and sometimes they leave a lot of the equipment behind.” Offered Travertine, “Especially if they left in a hurry.”

“What?!” Asked the base commander incredulously, “Do they expect us to keep an eye on all their old installations? Have they no appreciation for national security concerns? We can't be bothered with menial malfunctions in old, barely working equipment. You told us yourselves there are terrorists lurking around here.”

“It could be the missing mechanics, or the Comrades.” Immortal said, staring at the aide's screen.

“It's just malfunctioning equipment. Or some scavengers.” The commander said firmly,

“We're going to check it out anyway.” Immortal told him even more firmly, “Can I get a printed copy of the map of that area?”

* * *

Tedious as archival work was, Rook now had a hunch on what to look for. What, he wondered, might I find if I were to check the munitions production record along with the export records and compare those with the import records at the other end?

That train wasn't taking a detour through a tin vein. He'd already found the maps of the tunnels in the area and there was no line that connected the route to Metalsprings to the line into the abandoned mines the train had taken, which would explain why they couldn't leave town first and then take a detour to wherever they were going. They had to rely on the fact that Dawnseeker was small and out of the way to avoid arousing suspicion.

But how would Rook avoid arousing suspicion by asking around about production and export records? Those wouldn't be in the public archive. Nevertheless, here he was outside the station platform's office/warehouse. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, let it out, snuffed the cigarette in a handy ashtray, and strode inside.

“Good evening!” Rook greeted the secretary behind the desk facing the door;

“Good evening, how can I help you?” She asked,

Rook leaned on the desk, flopping one arm lazily across it: “I'd like to see some records. Specifically, the export records over the past few months.”

“What do you need those for?” The secretary asked, confused. Rook pulled his hands back to the edge of the desk, revealing a few paper bills.

“I have my reasons.” He then pulled his coat slightly to the side to reveal his private investigator's badge.

The secretary glanced up; a handful of people were milling around the lobby, none looking this way. “Well, I guess it can't hurt. They're not strictly company secrets anyway. Come on.” In a swift motion, the money disappeared into a folder and the secretary led Rook into a room off the lobby where rows of filing cabinets were stored.

“Is there a copy machine around here somewhere?”

“A copy machine? Hmm...” the secretary stared at the ceiling and rubbed her chin in thought. Rook sighed internally and slid a few more bills into her pocket. “Oh yeah, there's an old one in the back corner behind those cabinets. It still has ink and everything, all you have to do is plug it in.”

“Thank you.” Rook said,

“No,” the secretary smiled wickedly, “thank you.”

As soon as the secretary had closed the door, Rook set to work. He was impressed with the tidy organisation of the records. He had no trouble at all finding what he wanted. There was even a bank of filing cabinets with blank paper which he used to print his copies on. Half an hour and he was out again. He even found out when the next munitions cargo was scheduled to leave.