The Lost Train of Thought by John Hulme Page A

they’d found anything of value, they’d clearly taken it with them.
    “No dice.”
    The door to the office swung open, and in walked the Octogenarian, waving a paper fan across her face. “The time cards say six people were on duty, but I can’t find a single soul.”
    “Any sign of Dr. Thinkenfeld?”
    Sylvia removed her sunhat and wiped some sweat from her white hair, then shook her head no. “I think we have to assume the worst.”
    The two headed out onto the platform, where Hassan was now squatting behind the busted vending machine. Judging by the way he was banging around inside, he appeared to be trying to fix it. “Where’s Fixer Blaque?”
    “He’s looking for the tracks that Casey mentioned in her transmission.” Sylvia pointed to the westernmost portion of the station, where giant rubber stoppers had been placed to keep the Trains of Thought from rolling into the desert. “Seems to think they might be over there.”
    “Blaque’s wasting his time,” mused Hassan. “The Listening Post picked up storms raging all across the Middle of Nowhere last night. Any footprints or trails the first team might’ve followed would be long gone by now.”
    As the Fixers silently considered what that might mean for their Mission, Hassan made a slight adjustment to the coin slot on the vending machine, then closed the back panel and plugged it back in. It flickered for a moment before firing up with a soothing electrical hum.
    “Anybody want a Zagnut?”
    The Octogenarian purchased a Powers That Be Bar instead, then found her way to the laquered map that was posted on the platform.
    “Still nothing from Contemplation?” she asked, pointing to the southernmost portion.
    Becker shook his head no. “The phones are all dead, and when I try to Bleceive them, all I get is this weird clicking.”
    “What’s the difference?” inquired Hassan. “Whoever stole the train took it into the desert.”
    “Maybe somebody saw something when they were loading it up,” countered the Octo. “Even if they didn’t, there might be some excess Thought lying around that could buy us a little more time.”
    “Good call,” Becker concurred. “Let’s go down there and take a look.”
    “You and Hassan go. I’ll keep an eye on Jelani.”
    As Sylvia put on a pair of big green sunglasses devised not for the brightness of the Seemsian sun but for her troublesome cataracts, she polished off the final bite of her nougat-wrapped, caramel-coated treat.
    “Be careful, boys. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here.”
    Back behind the rubber stoppers, Fixer Blaque watched two members of his team disappear in a cloud of dust, then refocused his attention to the parched ground at his feet. He had hoped to locate some evidence of where Fixer Simms had made her discovery, but the violent weather of the previous evening hadn’t done him any favors. A thick layer of sand covered every last corner of the station, and even his Vindwoturelukinvor™ had failed to uncover a sign. What was really fouling up the search, however, was the buzzing in his own mind.
    Though his meeting with Thibadeau Freck had been brief, it had also been quite illuminating. If what his former student said was true, then Fixer Blaque’s own time window had closed considerably, and a plan years in the making was rapidly approaching its day of reckoning.
    “Any luck?” The Octogenarian had snuck up behind him, looking for all the world like a giant green-eyed bug.
    “Nothing yet. Why don’t you do a sweep along the edge of Track #3.”
    “What am I looking for?”
    “Any marking that would indicate where the first team went in. Lisa knew the dangers out there from personal experience. She never would have embarked on such a journey without leaving some kind of sign.”
    Sylvia nodded in agreement, but something in Blaque’s voice troubled her.
    “Are you all right, Jelani?”
    “I’m fine. This place just brings up a lot of memories, is all.”
    That