She trembled with anticipation as the stream of people from the train slowed.

Boots were more serious than shoes. Matching boots were most serious. She associated matching boots with the men with guns that worked with the people in costume. When men with matching boots and people in costume got together, it was often to kill her kind.

She would save her king.

She crept along the underside of the ledge, where the platform jutted toward the train. When the train left, would she be exposed?

She would do anything for her king.

Her weapon was ready. The box cutter. It still smelled like the blood of the heroine. Of Burnish.

Thinking of the blood made her think again about how thirsty she was.

“Christ,” one of the boots said. “Incoming.”

Someone else groaned.

“Good afternoon,” a woman said.

“Afternoon,” was the curt response.

“You’ve got a thtowaway.”

Dot froze.

“A thtowaway?” was the response. There was a sound of an impact, light.

“Thomething thmall.”

“Is this like when you had us stop the train, put the entire city on hold, made us get the bomb disposal bot under the train with a camera, all to show us some squirrel roadkill caught in the machinery?”

“I’m here for a reathon. Thith ith what I do.”

“Every time you jerk our chains you lose trust, and you’ve jerked our chains a lot. You haven’t done much to regain that lost trust.”

“I wouldn’t jerk your chain, Adam,” the woman said. “I thpecialithe in noticing thmall thingth, and I know how thmall and thort your chain is.”

There was laughter.

Dot wondered if she had any options. There hadn’t been anything she could use to disguise herself as roadkill. What would she do if the train started moving?

“Can you actually see short, uh, chains?” another woman asked.

“No comment.”

“I think we have a camera we can drop to the track. It should be up at the station proper. We can do a quick search. You want to grab it, Adam?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’ll make a call, ask them to keep the train put while we search. Stay close, Rat?”

“The name’th Ratcatcher. I’ll thtay clothe.”

Dot made her way along the car, until she found one of the holes near the shit-hole. This hole didn’t lead up into the car, there was a grate barring her way, catching hair and other gunk, but it was just wide enough for her to squeeze most of the way into.

She waited, listening, until she heard the clatter.

Her role in the community had been a scout, to start with. She had ended up a leader after a while, but she was still a scout at heart. Exploring new places, figuring out ways to deal with traps, with the enemies that lurked out there.

She had dealt with the Machine Army. This little toy wouldn’t stop her.