“They’re not running,” said Erik. “Is there a pedestrian tunnel?”

“No,” said Kinston, pointing. “See those lights. They have power. They’re like elevators. You just get on and push a button.”

“Show me.”

They climbed into the front row of seats in a little car. In front of each seat was a single button. Kinston pushed his, and it lit up green. “Push yours,” he said.

Erik pushed his button, and it turned green as well.

“This car is now departing for the Capitol Building complex,” said a recorded voice. “Please hold on to a post or handrail. Keep your head and hands within the vehicle at all times.”

Erik couldn’t help a slight grin. These recordings were the same, no matter what planet you were on.

The car accelerated smoothly out of the station with only a slight whine. Almost immediately, the track curved thirty or so degrees to the right. Once it was straight again, the car began to speed up.

The tunnel was well lit. Maintenance catwalks ran along either side, and periodically there were metal doors leading to some unknown destination—possibly a machinery room, or even a manhole to the surface.

The tunnel jogged slightly to the left, and suddenly they were plunged into darkness.

“Uh-oh,” said Kinston.

“This isn’t supposed to happen?”

“No.”

“We’re still moving. Maybe it’s just the lights that have failed.”

There were occasional emergency lights still working. Erik could see fresh cracks in the concrete walls. Broken pipes leaked water and foul-smelling fluids. Erik hoped the city didn’t have gas mains down here as well.

He squinted into the darkness ahead. He thought he saw something.

Erik yelled something guttural—not a word, just a sound—as he shoved Kinston out of the moving tram and went tumbling after him. They hit sand. Erik rolled, coming up on his feet just in time to see the tram smash into the stalled car ahead of it.

There was a crash, a shower of sparks that illuminated the collapsed section of tunnel roof, and then they were plunged back into gloom. He looked over, and could just make out Kinston, on his face on the ground, trying to get to his feet.

Something in the wrecked tram burst into flame, and it was suddenly much less gloomy.

Erik picked up the fallen envelope, brushed it off, and helped Kinston to his feet. “The whole tunnel isn’t blocked,” said Erik. “We can get around the wreck.”

Fortunately, they were almost to the Capitol. Only fifty meters past the collapse, Erik spotted the lights of the station ahead. Erik climbed onto the deserted platform, and pulled Kinston up after him.

Erik could smell smoke. A large concrete beam had collapsed at the end of the platform. “Where now? How do we get into the shelters?”

“I don’t know from here. I only know from above. We’ll have to get up to the building, then back down.”

Erik remembered the collapsed domes he’d seen from the street. “Not an option. You sure you don’t know how to get there from here?”

Kinston stared at him blankly.

“Okay, what levels are they on? Up or down?”

“I don’t know. I took an elevator. Down, I’d think.”

Erik nodded. “Makes sense. They’d bury it very deep.”

They exited the station into a wide, subterranean concourse. A few people huddled in doorways along the side, but it was largely deserted. Erik scanned every door and side corridor, looking for some sign. Finally, he spotted an unmarked door with an armored guard window next to it. The guard station was empty. The door, fortunately, had been blocked open with a chair.

Erik looked inside. Another stairwell, leading down. The walls were heavily reinforced, and there was no visible damage. “This looks good.”

They climbed down the stairs: two flights, three, four. There were no exit doors. Finally they reached the bottom of the shaft, and an enormous vaultlike blast door. Again, it was unguarded, and open just far enough for a person to slip through. Erik shook his head. “You people really have a thing or two to learn about security.”

He squeezed through, and Kinston followed. The tunnel beyond was narrow and lined with pipes and conduits of all kinds. They’d traveled a dozen yards when a voice addressed them.

“Halt!”

Somebody slipped out a side passage and Erik felt the barrel of a rifle pushed against the small of his back. Erik slowly put up his hands and turned to see who was confronting them. He found himself looking into the frightened eyes of a young private, whose finger seemed to spasm in the trigger guard of his automatic rifle. “Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘Who goes there?’”

“I’ve got orders not to let anyone pass without a staff ID.”

“Son, I’m Commander Erik Sandoval-Groell, envoy of Lord Governor Duke Aaron Sandoval. I’ve got important business with the Governor and the Legate. Are they down here?”

“I can’t tell you that, sir.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

The soldier looked even more nervous, if that was possible, as he tried to figure out if he’d been tricked into revealing a secret.

“Look,” said Erik, “we just need to talk with them. Haven’t you heard about the accord I’ve presented?” He glanced up at the ceiling as another missile fell somewhere. “Those are our mutual enemies up there. We need to form an alliance to help defend your world.”

“Sir, you are a foreign national—the last person I should be letting in. You could be a spy.” He licked his lips. “Maybe I should just shoot you.”

Erik held up his index finger. “No! Look, we’ve got this accord. Show him the accord, Ozark.”

Kinston fumbled with the envelope, trying to open it.

“This is Facilitator Ozark Kinston. He’s not a foreigner. Homegrown Shensi native. Haven’t you seen him around before?”

“I—I don’t know. He maybe looks familiar.”

Kinston managed to pull the accord out of the envelope. He held it out, and the soldier leaned over to see. For a fraction of a second, he was distracted.

Erik stepped from in front of the rifle barrel and spun, grabbing the barrel and pushing it up, twisting.

The soldier pulled the trigger, and a short burst of shells fired, bouncing around the tunnel and showering Erik with stinging rock chips.

Erik shifted his weight, grabbing the rifle with both hands now, using it as a battering ram to jam the stock into the soldier’s kidney. The private doubled over. Erik twisted again, rotating the rifle so that the barrel came up and hit the guard in the chin. By then, he was able to rip the rifle completely from the young soldier’s fingers.

The private was already off balance. Erik stepped on the man’s foot, pinning it in place, and pushed him over backward. Erik spun the rifle around, and looked down the sights into the kid’s face.

“Stop.” Kinston tugged at his sleeve. “He’s just doing his job.”

Erik relaxed slightly. That was true, and he was just a boy. Besides, Erik had the gun now. He considered the value of a hostage and dismissed the idea. But there was one thing he could use.

“Put your hands behind your head, and show me where to find the Situation Room. Now!”