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Two months later, at four o'clock on a January morning beneath a clear winter sky and
Sirius setting on the horizon, Bluemud stood on the footplate of his locomotive beside the
engineer. The first ship from the south had recently docked and he had been down to see
it: a gigantic thing, visible for miles, its funnel sticking from the swamps, continually
belching smoke. This was the fifth run the train had made leaving the coal stockpiled at
the dock. With experience it was a three night journey but, on this return, Bluemud had
ordered a detour for which purpose the train was now approaching Collecting Center #55. Two men awaited his arrival in the station. 'Glad to see you, Mr. Bluemud' said the Quartermaster. All was quiet. There was no crowd nor any glare of lights save for the small string along the station. 'They're gone, then?' 'Yessir. The Army went nearly a month back. About a week after you left in fact.' 'You were right, Mr. Bluemud,' said the Stationmaster. 'At the end they took most of us as well. The Fogarts all and all the rest that didn't take your advice and hide.' 'And traffic on the line?' 'There's not been a train through in three weeks now.' 'Did they leave any equipment?' 'Yes, sir. They left those four cars and that old engine that we showed you. That's a broken down old heap, though. It'll take some fixin' up.' 'Never mind, we'll couple it with mine and pull them both together. How about the Collecting Center, Quartermaster?' 'Closed, sir. The Army shut it up. Not even you can get stuff from it now. It's dangerous to be in the square. The Senior Clerk went in there last week. He's never been seen since and we're scared to go and look for him.' 'And I suppose you're getting hungry? Well, the choice is yours. As I said, I'll take all of you. You'll be fed and paid for your work. I think you can see now you have no choice.' 'We're ready,' said the Stationmaster. 'There are fifteen of us and seven children.' 'Like you said, Mr. Bluemud,' said the Quartermaster humbly. 'While we were waiting we ripped up some track. It's loaded in one of them cars.' 'Good man!' Bluemud slapped him on the back. 'You'll be running MY railroad now. Now get that train attached. We have to be on my spur by daylight.' While the men worked Bluemud went to the beginning of the main street of the Collecting Center and tried his key in the entrance to the provision store where formerly he had stocked up on cigars. As the Quartermaster had foretold the key no longer worked. One for Grabowski to break into later, thought Bluemud. He knew there was a way. He shivered, staring down the silent empty avenue between the huge sheds. There was hardly a sound except far away the beep, beep, beep of some mechanical device deep in the warehouse's bowels. What a waste! Bluemud had come across a report once which dealt with these Collecting Centers. Quote: 'While the wind down of the Gigamass is taking place the superfluous members of the population have been put to good use. What better use can there be that the salvage of the wreck of earth for which they were responsible? Mankind during the Industrial Revolution labored mightily. Though much of the goods produced were of poor quality they can still be profitably collected for the materials they contain. Once these materials have been gathered up they will be available forever for use by future generations.' This was the rationale for the Collecting Centers. The report estimated that the last major labor of the Gigamass which took place over the two hundred years between 2250 to 2450 collected about forty percent of the total production from the period 1800 to 2250, ninety-five percent of which was produced in the twenty-second century. Sadly, 'Of the vast production between the years 2100 and 2200 less than half was recoverable showing the dreadful state to which mankind sank during those years.' Bluemud agreed with that author. The world had sunk to a dreadful state. But the cure was as bad. Now the disease had gone but the cure remained and was too dreadful to contemplate. The evidence was here: Collecting Center #55, impregnable, bursting with the wealth of centuries had been abandoned and would remain so. A fitting memorial to the Industrial Revolution: a full warehouse in an empty land. |
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