The iron locking pin snapped with a sharp, ringing crack that echoed off the curved flanks of the storage vats like a pistol shot in an empty church.
Melli Dorn didn’t pause to admire her work. The four-pound cast-steel framing hammer was already swinging back over her right shoulder as the three-ton oak flatcar gave a deep, metal shudder. The cast-iron wheel bearings, greased with heavy metal tube oil that had thinned under the ninety-degree heat of the hall, groaned against the cold steel rails. The four-percent slope took hold of the load right away, the four axles settling forward with a rhythmic clack as the heavy wheels began to roll down the grade toward the south delivery portal.
“Intruders on the central spur!” a guard bellowed from the raised pump overhead frame twenty feet above the carriage portal. His brass warning whistle tore into the hot, sulfur-laden air, a shrill, wild shriek that bounced between the dark rock walls.
Melli burst from behind the stonework stone stand of Vat Two like an enraged badger, her heavy kiln boots pounding across the dark rock flat stone slabs as she sprinted toward the track switch ten paces ahead. Her leather apron flapped against her thighs, her bare forearms glistening with sweat and dirty water drops.
