Sitting there between the beams and the stack of steel sheets, I thought back to the comfortable chair in my apartment where I had been only a few hours earlier. I knew I needed to move—to keep up with Sophie as she headed toward the engine—but the rapid transition from that familiar chair to this perilous nighttime adventure aboard the-train-that-never-stops boggled my mind.

Reluctantly, I stood and donned my helmet, venturing back into the rushing wind, following the daring Sophie. I thought she had gone around the corner only seconds before me, but already she was halfway up the car. Sophie was brave and practiced; gripping the rail, she leaned into the onrushing air and pressed forward smoothly. My ego, at risk of further injury, compelled me to do what I had previously shrunk from. If she could walk alongside the very edge with nothing to balance her on the right, then I too must try.

Taking hold of the rail, I forced my gaze to stay on Sophie rather than letting my eyes drift to the hurrying ground below. I set off, determined to keep up, but I found it challenging. Sophie soon reached the end of the metal sheets, and I watched her with a twinge of jealousy as she transitioned to the next car with ease. Finally, I came to the end of the stacks, eying the transition nervously. Sophie stood looking back, waiting for me. Her attention only added to my anxiety.

I clipped one carabiner to the next car's rail, then released the other from my current position, dragging myself fearfully across. Sophie helped pull me over, and I turned my attention to the new challenge. This car held the large trusses I had seen at the mill, which overhung the bed of the car by a foot or so. On this side, the trusses arched, intruding into our space while offering no support at hand height.

Sophie, however, seemed hardly to notice. She set off up the car, effortlessly navigating the intruding materials. As she reached a cargo strap, she lowered herself to the catwalk, gripping the vertical rail support with one hand and the strap with the other. She turned to look at me, and it was her presence—her waiting form in the rushing night and beckoning hand—that got me through that daunting ordeal.

I found, all of a sudden, I was driven less by my sense of shame and more by a desire to please her—wanting to avoid making her sit and wait for me. The oppressive wind and the invasive steel trusses faded from my mind as I pulled myself forward, with her alone in sight. As I drew closer, she looked at me as though trying to see my face through her visor. Whether she could see mine or not, I could at least see her eyes shimmering in the moonlight. I saw care there—care and determination. I saw the eyes of Phoenix Jackson.

Pulling herself up, she set off again. Soon, we left the trusses behind and moved on to a series of standard boxcars, where the rails on either side allowed us to make better time. I wondered how much longer we had and how many cars remained, but there was no way to know. So, on we went, car after car, the wind blasting us.

Presently, we came to a transition to a tanker car, and here, due to a slight bend in the track, we could see that the engine was only a few cars further ahead. Greatly excited by this, I unclipped my carabiner from the car we were standing on and stretched out to clip onto the tanker car. The inward-sloping shape of the tank offered no assistance on the left, forcing me to make the change in a more exposed manner. I’m afraid I didn’t do this very quickly or gracefully, but eventually, I dragged myself across and turned back to assist my companion.

Yet, as I looked, I suddenly realized she was further away than she had been a moment before. Our cars had separated. Without hesitating, she stretched herself out across the widening gap, reaching for the catwalk rail, but it was already too far, and she had overstretched herself. I saw the panic in her eyes as she beheld the black void before her. But I’m proud to say I reacted instantly, some instinct within me greater than my fear. I lurched to the very edge of the catwalk and, holding the rail with one hand, reached out toward her flailing arm with the other. There was a split second of awkward fumbling before our hands united, and I pulled back with all my strength as she leapt forward. Our combined exertions pulled her clear of the departing car, and we fell together onto the unyielding catwalk.

I felt the breath knocked out of me and gasped. Yet, with her head so close to mine, and despite the wind and our helmets, I could hear her heavy breathing. She rolled to lean against the tanker base and smiled weakly at me, though I could only tell this by her eyes, as her mouth was, of course, concealed. I struggled to catch my breath and must have looked like a pathetic, terrified weakling.

She held out her hand and helped me drag myself from the edge to lean beside her. We caught our breath, together, as we watched the new launch slide perfectly into the prepared gap. I had hardly comprehended what riding the train-that-never-stops really meant when it had been proposed some hours before. When reading about the Möbius, the system made perfect sense and was fascinating for its innovation and efficiency, but being on the train was so much more terrifying and exhilarating.

I remember looking out at the great grey moon, guessing it was somewhere near full. I realized I had never really given that luminous satellite much attention before, but somehow I knew I would never see it again without thinking of that moment. The wind rushed past, the train sped into the dark, and nothing mattered much besides the silvery moon and the strange stirring that occurred every time this unknown woman touched me—an almost electric sensation.

Once we had caught our breath, we stood together and pressed forward through the last few cars toward the engine. The fuel car preceded this massively massive machine, and I admit I felt an acute sense of unease as we moved along this car, with its many prominent combustion warnings. Ridiculously, I feared it would suddenly explode just because I was near, when of course, in the case of an actual explosion, it wouldn’t have mattered if I had been miles away.

Yet my fears were silly. The precautions and safety redundancies taken for the Möbius far exceeded what NASA had implemented in the 1960s when they first began using LH2 for rocket fuel, notably with the development of the Centaur upper stage and the Saturn V rockets. Now, with a lengthy history of LH2 and LOX fuels, I felt disappointed in my persistent risk perception bias.

As we continued, I pondered these irrational fears. My thoughts delved beyond surface terrors of statistically low probabilities into the deeper waters of unreasonable anxieties of a more personal nature. But I will spare the reader these romantic reflections, as they are both individual and universal; each traveler must learn to unwind their own Gordian knot when the time comes to determine what is attraction, what is infatuation, and what is love. It was a strange thing to consider, perhaps, as I clung to the rail and dragged myself along behind Sophie, but I did so.

We passed from the fuel car and onto the engine catwalk. The deep rumbling beat of the sixty pistons was a sound like no other I had ever heard. The thrumming was so low and steady that my mind imagined the power that drives the Earth itself—where molten inferno wages against time-hardened stone. I envisioned each of those pistons, each with a diameter of two feet, racing toward the spark plug, the injection of the hydrogen and air mixture, and the spark. Boom! The power of the explosion—nearly a million joules—forced the piston away, a stroke of thirty inches driving that massive crankshaft and producing over one hundred thousand Newton-meters of torque.

The instant I touched the handrail and catwalk, I felt the vibrations of the engine—a buzz of power that coursed through my body. Sophie looked at me, her eyes reflecting a smile. Pausing our progress, she placed her palm against the iron cage that contained the behemoth, its titanic growl resembling an ancient mythic monster of fire and force. She took my trembling hand from the rail and placed it flat against the engine wall, and I felt the pulsing energy surge up my arm. Yet even in that moment, I wondered whether it was the great Möbius that caused this, or simply the touch of this unknown woman.

For a moment, I was lost—my hand next to hers, her eyes laughing. I felt transported, as though this moment and the two of us were the only things that existed, had ever existed, and would ever exist. Then, bizarrely, a third hand was placed beside our own. I was puzzled as I looked at it while Sophie, surprised, pulled her hand away and spun around to see behind her. Ezra stood there, looking innocently inquisitive, and asked, “What are you doing, John?”

I fumbled over my words for a moment before saying, “Nothing… um… feeling the engine.” He squinted in confusion and replied, “You can feel it nearly as well in the cabin. Let’s get out of the wind.” With a wave for us to follow him, he headed back up the catwalk. I gave Sophie a quick reassuring smile, though I wasn’t sure how well she could read my face in the darkness, and then I followed after Ezra.

At the head of the engine car, Ezra tapped in the code on the keypad, then slid open the door, inviting us into the lit space. What a relief it was to be inside, out of the blasting wind. I lifted the helmet from my head, self-consciously wondering what had become of my hair. Sophie also removed her helmet, and for the first time in full light, I saw her face. She was as beautiful as I had thought, with the glimpses I had caught of her in the dark—attractive and expressive, holding herself with a certain quality that felt somehow familiar to me.

As Ezra slid the door closed with a clank, Sophie fixed her attention on him and said firmly, “Well, now that you two have me, did John speak truth? Am I captive or am I free?” I opened my mouth to respond, but Ezra held out his hand to her, saying, “I am Ezra Lockwood, and you are, like us, a passenger aboard the Phoenix Fire.” He gestured to the placard mounted on the forward-facing wall, emblazoned with this name. His manner was gentle and polite, his tone warm and settling. He was being charming in a way he could be when he chose to, at least for brief periods.

She took his hand and said, “Nice to meet you, my name is Sophie Ellis. Just call me Sophie.”

“And you may call me Ezra,” he responded, his smile and charisma somewhat grating to me. I felt the urge to speak, wishing my introduction had been smoother. I said, “Thank you, Sophie, for helping me along the cars. I’m not great with heights.” As soon as I said this, I realized I had been equating my anxiety aboard the Möbius with a fear of heights. This was illogical; we were often no more than five or six feet off the ground. I wasn’t afraid of heights but rather of falling. So I attempted to correct my nonsensical statement, by explaining, “I guess I mean I’m not great with falling.”

“You fell on me just fine,” she replied, smiling.

I turned red, recalling my terrified scream as I fell onto Sophie, but she redirected my embarrassment by saying, “I’m sorry about kicking you. How’s your head?”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“You quite startled me, standing there in the darkness. Still, you had your moment of bravery, John. Thank you for rescuing me from that ridiculous jump. I don’t know why I did that—I guess I was just caught up in something, or I didn’t want to lose you.” Despite her dark skin, I could see her blush fiercely, and she hurriedly added, “Because I didn’t know you or what you might do.”

“I understand,” I said. But she looked at me seriously and repeated, “Thank you, John. It was very kind of you not to let me die.”

And die she would have. I hadn’t really considered it; in the moment, it was simply action—taking action—and then relief, followed by the pleasantness of sitting with her. Yet, in that moment, her gratitude was all I could think about until Ezra said, “Great. You both have done… things. Now that we’re all together, let’s understand one another fully. Here, there is a chair, and over there is a booth. We can sit and discuss our arrangements. What we each have done and what we will do. We work as one now to uncover this mystery, if there is one, and unmask the culprit, if possible.”

As one can imagine, everything in that small compartment was fixed in place and compact. There was a tiny sink, a tiny refrigerator, a tiny cabinet, a tiny door for the tiny water closet, and a tiny booth before a tiny table. Sophie slid into the booth, and Ezra took the swiveling captain’s chair facing her. I hesitated, not wanting to seem impertinent, but Sophie slid further over and patted the vinyl bench.

As I settled down next to her, Ezra began explaining who we were in very general terms and what had been discussed between us and Ms. Jackson, again in broad strokes. Sophie listened with interest but without interruption. Once Ezra finished, she asked a few clarifying questions and then began her own tale. Despite knowing her as I do now, I won’t attempt to recount her words exactly but will paraphrase to honor her fine speaking style and eloquence.

Sophie explained that about six months prior, after struggling for years to find her purpose in life and flitting from job to job, she had decided to try her hand at journalism. This notion had come at the suggestion of a friend, who believed Sophie’s highly curious and active mind might enjoy the work. Not one to overly regard the opinions of others, Sophie was undeterred by the poor reputation of journalism and decided to test out this vocation. She had some writing skills and managed to find work with a small company that claimed accuracy and clarity were the highest ideals of their publication. “Informing with Integrity and Insight,” she proudly declared, was their motto.

Starting out, however, Sophie was given little license and functioned primarily as an assistant, helping other writers by editing, verifying, and so on. Eventually, after proving her value in this role, she was given the opportunity to pitch her own story. At that time, her apartment overlooked one of the Möbius launches, and she had always been curious about the train and the Phoenix company. After conducting some preliminary research, she presented this question to her editor: How was the Möbius affecting the people in the WILD, who necessarily relied on it as the de facto mode of transportation for products throughout the entire eastern swing?

This proposal was initially denied, with the editor telling Sophie that the story had been thoroughly covered in the first couple of years following the Möbius’s installation, and now everyone had moved on. The Möbius was viewed as a great win for connecting the WILD and the large metropolises, which were becoming increasingly isolated. Despite the shrinking population, millions depended on the agricultural and industrial commodities produced in the WILD.

Sophie, however, pressed on, as she had heard the oft-repeated rumor of discontent in the WILD communities. The idea was that instead of aiding the transfer of their goods to the metropolises, the Möbius had monopolized all transport—debilitating other systems and effectively blocking competition. Eventually, her persistence either irritated or inspired the editor to the extent that he allowed her a few days, unpaid if the story didn’t pan out, to visit the WILD and see if there was a story to be told.

Adventurous as she was, Sophie immediately headed west. She decided that the large plantations in the rural Ohio Valley, which had their own launches, would be the best starting point. She took a train as far as Columbus and then began what she called "hitchhiking"—a term and practice I had never heard of, essentially asking strangers for a ride if they were going in her direction. This approach allowed her to talk to several people about the area, their economic situations, and their thoughts on the Möbius. These opinions, she admitted, were not as mixed as she had hoped. Most people loved the system; it provided access to a broader marketplace with lower costs than previous options. It was reliable and consistent, and the fees hadn’t risen since day one.

Sophie had also assumed that people would have complaints about the land purchased to make the extensive track—stories of individuals coerced into selling their homes, and so on. Here again, she came up empty-handed. To whatever extent people had felt pressured to sell, the resentment appeared to be neither strong nor long-lasting. Instead, most people seemed to view it as a good use of land that had become isolated and degraded.

            At the end of a long day of travel, having uncovered no satisfactory leads, Sophie found herself walking along an old, empty road, wondering if she would have to sleep on the ground when she came upon the drive of what appeared to be a large plantation. Moreover, she spotted evidence of a launch on the property—just the kind of place she was looking for. Passing beneath the iron sign stretched over the dirt drive that named the plantation "Abundance Farms," Sophie boldly strode forward.

As the sun began to set, she arrived at the charming homestead. A dog bounded out, barking—not angrily, but with excitement—and she stroked its head as a child came around the corner. Sophie inquired about the owner of the plantation and was directed to the barn, where she met Eliot Ashford. After explaining her purpose and bewildering him with her audaciousness in wandering through the WILD without a set destination, Mr. Ashford admitted he just might have a story to tell her. With that, he invited Sophie to stay the night at his plantation with his wife and three children, promising to explain his troubles with the Möbius after dinner.

As it turned out, Sophie stayed more than just one night; she spent several days at Abundance Farms, thoroughly enjoying the place and the people. When she recounted those days to Ezra and me, she comfortably referred to Eliot and Clara as though they were old friends, chatting about their children, their dog, and the crops and equipment. It took a little redirection from Ezra to bring her back to Mr. Ashford’s claims against the Möbius.

Here’s a quick summary of what Mr. Ashford had to say. He had no issues with the Phoenix Corporation; in fact, the Möbius had generally been good to them. Sure, there were contracts, fees, and minimums, but the Phoenix Corporation split the costs of new launches with the owners and had been lenient with minimums when producers were struggling, such as in cases of poor crop yields due to weather.

I later learned that the Phoenix Corporation is very thorough with new potential launch owners, doing their best to ensure a good fit for everyone involved. Co-ops, communities, and cities often banded together to meet not only the financial requirements but also the shipping minimums, giving Phoenix Corp confidence that the venture would be beneficial to all parties.

Returning to Mr. Ashford, he claimed to be satisfied with his arrangement with Phoenix Corporation and felt he was receiving good service for the fees charged. While the final price of produce could always be better, that had nothing to do with the Möbius. However, in the past couple of weeks, he had noticed increasing discrepancies in shipment weights. Everything was tallied at the farm as it was loaded onto the cars, but the weights at unloading sometimes did not match his own. Initially, he thought his people were being sloppy, but after overseeing the tallying himself, he realized that was not the case. Furthermore, these initially slight discrepancies quickly escalated to significant amounts—thousands of pounds, in fact.

He reported his concerns to his buyers, who willingly investigated his claims. A management team closely monitored the unloading and weighing process, and since their scales were routinely certified as required by law, they found no irregularities. One buyer suggested that Mr. Ashford’s scales, which, as he was a seller, were not required to be certified, might be out of calibration. However, he had already considered this possibility and, after having them checked, confirmed they were accurate.

Mr. Ashford then reported his concerns to the Phoenix Corporation. After conducting their own investigation, they concluded that everything appeared to be above board. When Mr. Ashford pressed for more information, they had no answers to provide. Furthermore, since it wasn't within their purview—the Möbius transported the goods, and the seller and buyer were responsible for agreeing on prices and weights—there was little they could do.

This left Mr. Ashford in a serious bind. He was losing money with every car he sent on the Möbius, but if he resorted to alternative methods, the higher costs would completely outweigh his losses. It was at this point that Sophie entered his life, and he felt his only recourse was to go public with his grievances. Although he claimed to dislike doing this, he believed there was no other course of action.

Sophie explained to Ezra and me that she had grown increasingly furious with Ms. Jackson and her company, convinced that the Möbius was somehow to blame. “I couldn’t believe that massive money-making machine was squeezing more profit from the farmers forced to use the Möbius,” she said dramatically, then laughed at her own reenactment. “But knowing my editor would want more proof than just Eliot’s story, I realized I had to see what was happening with my own eyes. I had to hitch a ride on the Möbius itself.”

I was shocked by her audacity as she described sneaking onto one of Mr. Ashford’s cars in the darkness of an early morning. Knowing her hosts would try to stop her, she had told them nothing of her plan. She admitted to us that she had been terrified, but having resolved to fulfill her duty, she clung to the roof rail and, wearing a borrowed motorcycle helmet, waited for the launch to depart. Terrified of the sudden moment she knew was coming but unsure exactly when, she lay anxiously stretched out on the cold, hard metal roof. The sudden blaring of the warning siren set her heart racing. It wailed through the silent morning, growing faster and faster until with a jolt, off she went. She couldn’t suppress the scream that erupted from her lungs as she sped through the damp, foggy fields toward the Möbius.

Her first sight of the great train filled her with awe. Sophie told us she had read about how the train operated: how the launches split near the main tracks—one spur for departing cars, one for oncoming cars—and how the Möbius separated to let cars in or out. She understood it intellectually, but seeing it all with her own eyes and being part of it stirred in her the same panic I had experienced that very evening. However, as I had also witnessed, everything went smoothly, and she was soon attached to the long line of cars hurtling through WILD.

Lying as low as possible, Sophie waited, unprepared for how fierce the wind would be. Time dragged on, and eventually, the cold gray dawn gave way to a warming sunrise, revealing cars coming and going, their metal shining in the golden light. She knew she was destined to ride the Möbius for many hours, bound for Missouri, Kansas, or perhaps even Texas. Realizing she could not endure the brutal beating of the wind for the entire journey, she looked around for a place to find shelter while still being able to monitor Mr. Ashford’s car.

Just as she was considering this, a new launch approached the Möbius. Watching with interest, Sophie noticed that the final car of the launch was a large double-deck flatbed for hauling passenger vehicles, fully loaded. As if fate were playing an obvious hand, this new launch settled directly in front of her, placing the vehicles almost within arm’s reach. Tempted by the comfortable refuge any one of those vehicles would provide, Sophie resolved to see if she could find one unlocked. Initially, she considered jumping—after all, it was only a few feet—but ultimately decided it was too great a risk.

Instead, Sophie ventured to climb down from her high perch to the catwalk below. As she described the forty-foot descent down the steel ladder—secured to the sides of all stackable containers—I felt my own nerves come alive. While listening to Sophie’s story, I could sense the rumbling of the Phoenix Fire’s engine and hear the howling wind outside, acutely aware of the impact that terrible rushing air had on a body.

Once on the catwalk, Sophie made her first transition with some apprehension. However, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that she exaggerated her fear during this movement from car to car, perhaps to excuse my own shameful performance that night. Afterward, on the car hauler, she climbed around, testing the handles of each vehicle. This was a dangerous and arduous task, and she nearly lost hope when, at last, she found a door that opened. The car was loaded facing backward, and the door could only open slightly due to the steel curb. This turned out to be fortunate; otherwise, the wind would surely have snatched it away.

Sophie squeezed her thin frame into the gap and dragged the door closed behind her. I understood her relief, but you’ll have to imagine yourself the comfort it must have been after hours of being battered by the wind and navigating the alarming challenges of climbing among the vehicles, to finally be able to sit comfortably at ease. Furthermore, the vehicle could not have been better chosen. It was on the second level, at the very rear, and as I’ve already mentioned, it faced backward, giving Sophie the perfect view of Mr. Ashford’s boxcar.

As she sat there, waiting and watching in the cozy warmth of the sun-heated vehicle, Sophie became drowsy. Knowing she was in the vast WILD and that it was highly unlikely the transport car on which she was stowed would be departing the Möbius, she decided to yield to this natural urge and take a nap. Yet, even as she resolved to do so, her mind began to analyze her plan, realizing how poorly she had thought it through. How could she stay on Mr. Ashford’s car and remain out of sight for the entire trip?

These thoughts jolted her from her drowsiness, leaving her both awake and irritated with herself when, suddenly, she noticed movement below. Her heart began to race as she realized several people were on the very catwalk she had occupied just minutes before. Tucking down as much as possible to remain hidden while still peeking out, Sophie watched surreptitiously as they opened the sliding door of Mr. Ashford’s boxcar and began unloading his crates, carelessly tossing his precious fruits and vegetables over the rails.

As the Möbius navigated a long, sweeping turn, Sophie could see more people further down the line typing in codes to unlock cargo doors and sliding them open, either dumping food out or loading the crates onto carts. As the morning wore on, these bandits moved about the Möbius, occasionally passing close enough for Sophie to see the kinds of crates they carried—more valuable items like pharmaceuticals, microchips, and precious metals.

The thieves worked diligently for a long time before stowing themselves back in their car and shutting the door. The train then passed near a densely populated area with a series of busy, active launches. However, once back in the empty lands, the thieves ventured onto the Möbius once again.

Terrified of being seen, Sophie remained in the car the entire day and, despite herself, eventually fell asleep. When she awoke, cold and stiff, it was dark, and the car was motionless and quiet. Peeking out, she realized she had left the Möbius on a spur and had come to the end of a launch. After surveying the area, she furtively slipped out of the vehicle and, with some difficulty, descended to the ground.

She found herself in the midst of a train yard. It was quiet and dark, with only distant streetlights to guide her. Checking her mobile, she discovered she was in Oklahoma City, and it was a little after ten o’clock in the evening. As she passed from the yard into a neighborhood, uncertainty nagged at her about what to do next.

Eventually, she stumbled upon a diner. As she ate her late meal, she considered her situation. The Möbius was long gone, and while she understood the method of the thievery, she had no idea who was orchestrating it. She had taken video, but it could so easily be faked it hardly counted as evidence. She decided she needed to get home and gather more information.

When Sophie boarded her flight back to Pittsburgh, she felt confident she had uncovered a compelling story. However, when she shared her tale with her editor the next day, his response was skeptical and reserved. The idea of thieves operating on the Möbius seemed absurd and far-fetched; while many news agencies would leap at the chance to report it, he insisted on much more concrete evidence. Sophie had Mr. Ashford’s statement, but what about other plantation owners or manufacturers in the WILD? What had happened to the thieves and their haul of stolen goods? Her story raised far more questions than it answered.

Moreover, after highlighting these unanswered questions, Sophie’s editor insisted that uncovering them was too dangerous for one person to handle alone. He told her the police needed to investigate. She countered that they likely wouldn’t, given her lack of evidence, and he agreed. They found themselves at an impasse: without more evidence, there was nothing to be done, and gathering that evidence was simply too risky.

Sophie, naturally, didn’t take this well. Over the next few days, she immersed herself in everything related to the Möbius, studying launch contract terms, transportation data, and more. She also tried to speak with Ms. Jackson directly, and after several attempts, she finally managed to do so. However, she found Ms. Jackson dismissive and skeptical. This only intensified Sophie’s determination to return to the Möbius, believing it was the only way to uncover the truth about what was happening in the WILD. Her plan was to identify the thieves' car and, when possible, position herself atop it to see where it went and what unfolded upon arrival.

I found that plan ludicrous and told her so immediately. “It could be in the middle of nowhere,” I said. “You’d be helpless and surrounded by criminals.”

“Maybe not,” Sophie protested. “What if we arrive somewhere in the dead of night? Once they leave, I can climb down without being seen, just as I did in Oklahoma.”

I was about to rebut this when Ezra stood and cut me off. “Excellent idea, Sophie. Your methodology is, of course, both dangerous and foolish, but together, with some intelligence, we can certainly identify this mobile den of thieves and determine its destination.”

I was pleased to see him acting like his true self again, dropping the false charm and reverting to his usual sharp directness—something I felt was justified in this instance. He strode the short length of the space, deep in thought, then said, “I wonder if we can alter the destination of a car from here somehow.” He turned toward the large blank computer screen that dominated the front wall of the engine. Moving to the controller, Ezra studied it for a moment.

“I thought that was a windshield,” Sophie said. Ezra pressed a key, and the screen instantly lit up, revealing a camera view from the front of the train. It certainly looked like a windshield, but I knew the front of the Phoenix Fire was solid metal. The screen displayed brilliant beams of light cutting through the darkness, illuminating the open land we were racing through and the track stretching endlessly into the night.

As Sophie and I gazed at the scene in amazement, Ezra searched the controller and pressed another key, switching the display to a dynamic information dashboard. Our current speed hovered around one hundred and two point five miles per hour, while the pulling force—constantly changing with the varying terrain—fluttered in the one million foot-pounds range. This staggering figure represented the front engine’s pulling force alone and was nearly matched by the rear engine’s pushing force. Also displayed were the fuel level, fuel consumption rate, engine temperatures, and compression at each cylinder—essentially everything necessary to ensure the engine was running at maximum efficiency.

Another keystroke displayed a circuit overlay on a basic map of the eastern United States. Here was the Möbius Loop, with a graphic indicating its position as it tracked west. At that moment, passing south of Columbus, we saw a launch drifting toward us. The train segmented about a third of the way from the rear and twice near the middle. The Möbius was now in three parts, each drifting further apart as the rear engine applied its brakes, slowing its section while the middle cars coasted. Meanwhile, the front engine increased the spray of explosive hydrogen into each chamber, massively boosting its force and pulling the front segment ahead.

I felt the surge of power in my body and heard the roar of the engine as it worked to gain speed without assistance from the rear. I was fascinated and wanted to return to the previous screen to see the power this great beast was producing. But the map held my attention as a flicker appeared on the track ahead of the coasting section, indicating a switch. The cars peeled away from the Möbius onto an off-ramp spur. The instant the last car departed, the switch flipped back into place, and the rear segment continued with us. The incoming launch filled the gap, and within a minute, the Möbius was once again a single, great serpent speeding through the night.

A deep sense of alarmed awe sent shivers up my spine as I watched the electromechanical maneuvering unfold before me. The switch had only seconds to activate, and if it didn’t—or if it faltered mid-switch—what catastrophic destruction might follow?

“I don’t think I like seeing this,” Sophie said, her voice trembling slightly. “It gives me the same creepy feeling I get when I think about everything in my body that has to go perfectly right, again and again. And if it doesn’t, I die. I just can’t bear to think about it; it’s too terrifying.”

Her analogy struck true, perfectly capturing my own unease. Yet, in that moment, I wanted to project bravery. So, I merely remarked on how remarkable it was, though I sensed that the dryness in my voice betrayed my true feelings.

Ezra took up the controller wand from its dock and selected a car on the screen. A simple dialogue opened displaying information: a serial number, car type, current position on the Möbius, the origination launch and final destination. When I read this, I perked up saying, “Well, that’s very helpful.” 

Ezra replied laconically, “It could be, John, it could be. But keep in mind that whoever is masterminding this nefarious operation is doing so with help from inside the Phoenix Corporation.”

I hadn’t reached that conclusion myself, so I asked, “What makes you think that?”

“There are several indications that suggest the thieves must have an inside man,” Ezra answered.

“Like knowing the passcodes for the boxcars,” Sophie chimed in excitedly.
“Precisely,” Ezra confirmed.

He continued exploring the Phoenix Fire’s system, and we discovered we could zoom in and out and pan around the map. This allowed us to pinpoint Sophie’s first launch from Mr. Ashford’s plantation. Starting from there and considering the passage of time, we deduced where she had first seen the thieves. It appeared they perpetrated their criminal activity on a long, desolate stretch of the WILD between Chicago and Omaha.

At this point, we were nearing the Cincinnati launches, and it was around two-thirty in the morning. With the adrenaline long worn off, I began to feel increasingly tired, yawning repeatedly. Sophie also showed clear signs of weariness. Eventually, I suggested, “If there’s nothing more to be done right now, maybe we could get some sleep.” There was general agreement, and Ezra went to our backpacks, pulling out three sleeping bags. “John and I can take the floor, Sophie,” he said, handing her one of the bags. 

She thanked him, and we all prepared for sleep as best we could. Sophie settled into the bunk recessed above the booth, while Ezra and I lay transversely across the hard floor of the engine compartment, which felt as solid as stone. We had turned off the main cabin lights, but in the dim glow from the control panel, I could see Sophie looking down at me. She smiled and quietly said goodnight before closing her eyes. I hoped she would fall asleep easily and rest well, but I doubted I would, given the hardness of the floor. Yet, whether due to my weariness or the soothing hum of the engine enveloping me, I soon drifted off into dreams.