Chapter 10 - Clear Signals Ahead
A year later, the spring sun was warm and golden over the Calumet Interlocking Tower.
Tower 9 wasn't a peeling, rusted relic anymore.
The red brick had been tuckpointed and cleaned; the second-story windows were now broad sheets of reinforced, energy-efficient glass that reflected the bright blue Illinois sky. Inside, the ancient analog boards had been upgraded to a state-of-the-art dispatch suite, combining high-speed digital fiber-optic controls with the rugged, unbreakable mechanical switches my grandfather had installed sixty years ago.
On the brass plaque next to the front door, the new inscription read:
*VANCE LOGISTICS & INFRASTRUCTURE*
*Dedicated to the Memory of Silas Vance and the Men and Women of the High Iron.*
Silas had passed away peacefully in his sleep three months earlier, knowing that the tracks he loved were safe, protected, and thriving. He had left his entire collection of vintage railroad memorabilia to the tower museum on the first floor.
I stood on the balcony, holding a heavy ceramic mug of black coffee.
No caramel. No sugar. Just the rich, honest aroma of roasted beans, sharp and clean in the morning air.
Below me, a four-unit set of brand-new, navy-and-gold diesel locomotives bearing the Vance Rail emblem rumbled to life, their turbochargers whistling with immense, disciplined power. Behind them stretched one hundred and twenty cars of high-priority freight, clear-routed from Chicago all the way to the Pacific Northwest.
My phone on the dispatcher’s console chimed softly.
It was an automated notification from the Illinois Department of Corrections victim notification network:
> *Inmate Vane, Cashion (ID: M-55409): Motion for sentence reduction denied by the Illinois Appellate Court. Next parole eligibility: November 2058.*
>
> *Inmate Vane, Coraline (ID: W-11892): Appeal of restitution order dismissed with prejudice.*
I looked at the notification for two seconds.
Then I tapped the screen, cleared the alert, and deleted the app entirely.
They didn't exist in my world anymore. They were just rusted spikes pulled from an old track bed, discarded by the side of the gravel ballast, slowly dissolving back into the dirt while the trains rolled on above them.
The radio headset around my neck clicked to life.
"Tower Nine, this is Train One-Zero-Four ready for departure on Track Two," the engineer’s voice rasped over the speaker. "How’s the high iron looking this morning, Chief?"
I reached out with my left hand, took the radio microphone from the console, and looked out over the three hundred miles of steel rails stretching westward toward the sun-drenched horizon.
The signals were all green.
Every switch was locked.
May you like
The momentum was mine.
"Train One-Zero-Four, you are clear through Junction Fifty-Two," I said, my voice steady, confident, and ringing with absolute authority. "Clear signals ahead. Bring her home."
