‘I don’t care!’ replied Jack. ‘She’s
my
sister.’
‘She’s
my
daughter!’ pointed out Orville.
‘Not that anyone would’ve noticed,’ muttered Jack.
‘Look! We should be working out how to get through these doors – not raking up the past!’ said Orville, and he
started grappling with the massive handles that hung on the doors like a pair of lifebelts.
‘I’m not raking up the past,’ responded Jack. ‘I’m talking about what happens next!’
‘What happens next depends on us getting through these doors!’ said Orville.
‘If only we had the code for that!’ said Jack, pointing to a keypad on the side of the doors.
‘Oh! Of course!’ said Orville. ‘I’m so stupid! We can just ask the man in the green overalls to give it to us,’ he groaned.
‘Ha . . . Ha . . .’ said Jack without laughing. And then suddenly he
did
laugh. ‘But wait a minute! Maybe he already has!’
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Orville, as his son started punching letters into the keypad.
‘Well, what was the station called and what was written on that strange man’s overalls?’ asked Jack, as he waited for the code to go through.
‘Er,’ said Orville.
‘No! It wasn’t “Er”!’ said Jack. ‘It was “Maurice”!’
‘Too obvious,’ said Orville. At which point there was a slight click, and the massive gates swung open.
‘I don’t think our friend in the green overalls has much imagination,’ said Jack.
‘There’s something odd about him,’ said Orville, following his son into the dimly lit tunnel that appeared in front of them.
‘He seems to have a problem with personal relationships,’ replied Jack. ‘But from my experience that doesn’t seem to be particularly “odd”.’
Orville didn’t reply. He was too busy looking round at the tunnel. The walls and ceiling and floor were all made of iron, and thick cables ran under foot, making it difficult to walk. There was a constant hum and the whole tunnel vibrated.
The occasional dim light bulb showed them a little of the way ahead but not enough to see where they would eventually find themselves. Then, suddenly, there was a rush of air, as the doors clanged shut behind them. All the lights went out, and they were plunged into darkness.
‘Look!’ said Jack. ‘I’d really rather do this on my own.’
‘Well, you can’t,’ replied his father.
‘What right have you got to tell me what I can or can’t do?’ said Jack.
‘I’m your father,’ said Orville.
‘Huh!’ snorted Jack.
‘Let’s just find your sister,’ said Orville. ‘Then you can take it out on me for being such a bad father.’
Jack just snorted again, and set off groping his way down the tunnel. Orville sighed, and followed behind.
At length, however, they saw a pinprick of light ahead, and, as they made their way towards it, the sound of crunching metal and the screech of steel being torn apart grew louder and louder.
Eventually Orville and Jack climbed a mound of scrap metal and found themselves at the mouth of the tunnel, gazing out on a desolate and ominous scene.
‘The breaking yard,’ murmured Jack.
‘What a dreadful place!’ whispered Orville.
And it was. Everywhere they looked machines of all shapes
and sizes were lined up waiting to be dismantled or crushed. There were washing machines and motor bikes, a printing press and a helicopter, several old-fashioned typewriters, a clutch of computers, hairdryers and haymakers, television sets and concrete mixers, a large diesel van, a microscope, a dozen machine guns, two pneumatic drills and a petrol pump.
There was an odd-looking car that looked a bit like a 1953 Humber Supersnipe, but it could have been a Mercedes Benz 230 Fintail only without the fintail. There was an old elevator, a telephone and a whole selection of vacuum cleaners – all lying there without hope, as they awaited destruction.
At that very moment one of the many refrigerators was picked up by a mechanical claw and swung into the jaws of the giant compactor that loomed over the breaking yard. A shudder ran through all the other machines.
The claw released the fridge and it sat there for a moment, looking strangely fragile and vulnerable.
‘Chugga! Chugga! Chugga!’ went the crusher as its engine started up and it shook as the great crushing block was raised up and up. The next second the crushing block had smashed down onto the fridge, flattening it into a thin panel of steel. Some of the other machines turned away, while others stared in horrified fascination – a crowd at a public execution.
And over at the other end of the yard was the train, still under the guard of the two shunting engines, waiting its turn to enter the dismantling shed, where robot arms unscrewed, undid, removed, took out and disassembled the bigger and
more complicated machines.
‘What are we going to do, son?’ asked Orville. ‘It looks like we may be too late.’
‘No!’ said Jack quickly. ‘It’s never too late until it’s over! Follow me!’
Jack had never said such a thing to his father ever before, but now he broke into a run and heard his father follow behind him. Together they dodged across the breaking yard, hiding behind oil drums and piles of scrap, to where the train stood still under the guard of the two shunting engines.
The rear shunting engine was chatting to a wood-burning stove that was lined up outside the smelting furnace.
‘At least it’ll be quick,’ the shunting engine was saying, ‘and – since you’re just a machine like the rest of us – painless.’
‘Yes . . . but . . . when I think of all the logs I’ll never burn, I cannot help but feel – unfulfilled, I suppose, is the word,’ said the wood-burning stove.
During this exchange, Jack had run up to the other side of the train and had climbed into the last carriage. His father followed.
‘Come on! Come on!’ the front shunting engine was complaining. ‘Get a move on in the shed there! We haven’t got all day!’
Jack and Orville ran through the carriages until they reached the driver’s cab.
‘Where’s my sister?’ whispered Jack. ‘And Little Orville?’
‘It’s too late!’ moaned the train. ‘The dismantling shed is being prepared for me. I can see the unscrewers and the disengagers are already free and waiting for me. The de-coupling arms will be ready in a moment.’
‘You’ve got to tell us where they are!’ insisted Jack.
‘This is my final destination!’ moaned the train. ‘This is my terminus!’
‘Don’t talk nonsense!’ exclaimed Jack.
‘I’m not talking nonsense! I’m a
Class 4MT BR Standard No.75027!’ said the train indignantly.
‘But you can get out of here!’ whispered Orville. ‘You can fly!’
‘No . . .’ said the train. ‘Here I can do nothing . . . The Inventor’s rule is absolute . . . I am nothing . . .’
‘But . . . You flew up here to the Iron Cloud!’ said Jack. ‘Fly off now! Fly out of this dreadful place!’
‘I can’t!’
‘You’ve got to show us where Annie and Little Orville are!’ said Orville.
‘I took them to the Inventor’s castle!’ said the train.
‘Where’s that?’ asked Jack.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ sighed the train. ‘I’ll never go there again!’
‘You’ve got to tell us! Where is this Inventor’s castle?’
But at that moment a siren blew, and the two shunting engines started to push the reluctant train towards the dismantling shed.
‘I’m finished!’ cried the train. ‘I’m a goner!’
‘So are we if we don’t get out of this thing!’ exclaimed Orville, pointing at the crusher that lay on the other side of the dismantling shed.
But Jack wasn’t listening – he’d already rushed to the door of the driver’s cabin.
‘I’m an ex-train!’ moaned the train.
‘Leave this to me!’ yelled Jack as he leapt from the footplate.
‘Wait for me!’ called Orville, but the door of the engine driver’s cabin had slammed shut again.
‘I’m not going quietly!’ cried the train, and it locked its doors and windows. ‘I won’t let them in!’
‘Let me out!’ cried Orville, rattling the door handle.
Meanwhile Jack was once again running like a champion rugby player, ahead of the train towards the dismantling shed. The reason he ran like a champion rugby player was because that is just what he had been both at school and college. He’d played for his university and his county, not that his father had ever noticed. Now, however, instead of the roar of the Twickenham crowd, Jack’s ears were filled with the roar of the lathes and cutting belts, the very sound of which sheared through his head like chain saws. In the centre of the shed, an articulated lorry was being rapidly reduced to its component parts, by an army of robot wrenches, hacksaws, spanners and screwdrivers, all operating independently but like a well-drilled surgical team.
The pieces were being hurried off on conveyor belts to be used in other machines.
‘Oblivion!’ the lorry was screaming. ‘Darkness! – Inexistence! – Not . . . any . . . gears . . .’ and those were its last words, as the final screw was undone and the final washer was disconnected from the last nut and the frame fell apart. And then the carcass was swiftly shot under the crusher.
‘Chugga! Chugga! Chugga!’ went the crusher as it started its dreadful business and in a second the lorry was a flat plate of steel.
Meanwhile the two shunting engines were edging the train along the track that ran into the dismantling shed, even though it had its brakes on. They strained and pushed, until the rear shunting engine gave a toot and a third engine joined it from behind. Finally the engine was uncoupled from the carriages and forced inside the dreadful shed.
Scanners ran all over its frame making a map of its construction, so that they would soon start the awful process of reducing it to bits and pieces.
‘No!’ cried the train. ‘Let me pull just one more carriage . . . Please! Let me just climb one steep gradient more . . .’
‘Let me out of here!’ yelled Orville, hammering on the window of the driver’s cabin. But the first robot wrenches, hacksaws, screwdrivers and spanners were already setting about their grim business . . . when an extraordinary thing happened.
Everything stopped.
The wrenches stopped wrenching and the screwdrivers stopped unscrewing. The robot arms froze in mid-air and the noise turned to silence. Nothing moved in the dismantling shed.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ The face of the Inventor suddenly appeared on a large screen that hung over the breaking yard. ‘Who has disconnected the dismantling shed? I gave no orders!’
Not a machine in the breaking yard stirred. They kept mum and waited to see what would happen next.
Orville Barton peered through the driver’s cabin window. He could see his son, Jack, hiding behind an oil drum near
the generating plant that supplied the dismantling shed.
Jack saw his father looking at him and gave him a thumbs up, but Orville caught his breath: a machine like a giant black beetle was silently creeping up behind his son. Although Orville had never seen such a thing before, he somehow instinctively knew what it was: a search engine. He could see its antennae which had been spinning round in every direction, were now focussed on his son. He tried to yell out a warning, but the window would not open. Orville rattled the door again.
‘Let me out!’ he called to the train.
‘You can’t come in!’ cried the train.
‘I’m trying to get
out
!’ yelled Orville.
‘Who’s that?’ asked the train.
‘It’s me! We’ve got to warn Jack!’
‘I’m doomed!’ cried the train.
‘No, you’re not. Jack just pulled the plugs on the dismantling shed!’
‘The Inventor will be furious!’
‘One of his machines is just about to get Jack!’
The train looked across and saw the search engine had now crept right up behind Orville’s son.
‘Jack!’ shouted the train. ‘Behind you!’
Jack span just as the search engine reached out a steel claw to grab him. He dodged to one side, did a feint and ran past the Evil Machine, but it twizzled round and another telescopic arm shot out and seized his collar.
‘Got you!’ croaked the search engine. ‘Beep! Culprit apprehended! Beep!’
‘Bring him to my office!’ said the Inventor from the
large screen, and the search engine wheeled round and sped towards the great gantry that stood at one end of the breaking yard. It lifted Jack high up into the air, his legs kicking against nothing, like an insect lifted up by a giant bird. Then it quickly undid a door, threw Jack into one of the rooms built on the gantry, and slammed the door shut.
The room was windowless, and when Jack picked himself up, he found the door had no handle on the inside. There was another door at the other end of the room, but that too was without a handle. He was trapped and there was absolutely nothing he could do.
Except one thing: he could sit and think. And so that is what he did. He thought about the guerrillas who had held him hostage for so many months. Were they good or bad? They had done something bad to him, but they had done it in a cause in which they believed.
And then he thought about his father, who had neglected both him and his sister throughout their upbringing, who had been too busy to be interested in their little triumphs and their little problems. Was he good or bad? Or wasn’t it a case of being
anything
at all. Certainly the things the guerrillas and his father had done had been bad for Jack, but did that mean that the people themselves were necessarily bad people?
But before he could think any further along these rather unproductive lines, he heard footsteps outside the room. The footsteps stopped, and the door was flung open, and there stood the Inventor in the green overalls. Jack scrambled to his feet.
‘You realize you’ve blown all the transformers in the