While the Horizon Line station was indeed unwatched by Galbadian troops, the SeeDs learned quickly that this was so for a very good reason.

"Man," said Zell, observing the expansive but quite run-down transportation hub. "This place looks like nobody's been here for years!"

"They probably haven't," said Nida. "Train service to Esthar was terminated with the start of the Sorceress War." The station, he thought, looked easily as modern as the TV station, and its design was outstanding. Even abandoned, it looked nicer than several parts of town – though it should be noted that most of what Nida had seen of Timber had been back alleys. "I think this station was still brand new when it happened, too."

"Yeah, it was," said the Forest Fox daughter. Nida thought he ought to have learned her name, but it was now too late to ask without embarrassment at not knowing already. "People talk about linking it to the other lines, and it actually does run to the desert, but there's not enough traffic to be worth it."

"What about the Galbadia line?" asked Nida. "It seems like you wouldn't want trains running through the middle of the town square."

"The Galbadians put that one in," said the Forest Fox daughter. "It lets them deposit people right in the middle of the city in case of an uprising. At least, that's what everyone says."

"Hey, guys?" asked Zell. He was standing guard next to President Deling's refrigerator box, which he had carried single-handedly thanks to his GF, possibly damaging their theoretical efforts not to look conspicuous. "If this place is abandoned, doesn't that mean there won't be any trains here?"

Nida looked around at the seven or eight abandoned tracks; none of them contained a train, abandoned or otherwise. "Doesn't look like there are," he agreed. "...I guess we could wait until nighttime and try to sneak out on the rails. It probably wouldn't work, though."

"We might want to explore the option of going into hiding here in Timber," said Quistis. "Rinoa, do the Forest Owls have anyplace you can go if you lose access to your train?"

"Umm...." Rinoa looked down at her feet, which she was using to trace patterns in the gravel by the tracks. "Not really, no."

"Well, they've gotta start the trains again sometime," said the Forest Fox daughter. "Until then, you can stay with us!"

"Heey...." Selphie was staring out across the tracks, and didn't seem to have registered what anyone else was saying. "Is that what I think it is?"

Nida frowned in the direction she indicated. There, among a small number of abandoned railroad cars, was what appeared to be two miniature cars linked together. One was a normal flatbed car – normal except for being about half the typical size – but the other had what appeared to be a seesaw with hand grips mounted on it, and some sort of engine below.

"...A handcart?" Quistis wondered.

"Looks like one," Nida agreed. "Looks like a pretty old design, if that's a pump engine it has."

"Hey, no kidding?" asked Zell. "You mean it's one of those things where you kinda pump that bar thing and that makes the whole thing move?"

Nida ventured a guess at what Zell had been saying. "Probably," he replied.

"Awesome!" Zell exclaimed, hopping onto the engine car. "Hey, let's ride this thing out of here! I bet the Galbadians'll never see that one coming!"

"Probably for good reason," said Nida. No one seemed to hear him.

"You think we could do it?" Rinoa asked of Zell.

"Sure thing!" Zell said, self-assuredly. "We've just gotta get this thing on the right track, and...." He set his hands on one of the driving bar's handles, then looked around him appraisingly. "Yo, which one's the right track?"

"Wouldn't riding out on an open handcart make us an even bigger target than we would be just walking?" asked Nida.

"Yeah, but this way we'd be going really fast!" Selphie said, jumping up to take the other end of the driving bar—which reached up nearly to her shoulders. "What's the top speed of this thing, anyway?"

"Probably not fast enough to outrun bullets," Nida suggested.

Quistis, meanwhile, was frowning. "...It could work," she finally pronounced. "Nida, you know something about mechanics, don't you?"

"...Yeah," said Nida, blinking. He had never been in any of Instructor Trepe's classes; how did she know anything about him?

"I remember hearing these carts ran on steam engines; is that right?"

Nida nodded, feeling more secure now that something other than himself was the subject of her question. "Yeah, the control bar actually worked both to move the wheels and generate heat in the steam tank, which eventually made the cart go faster."

"And if it's not gas-powered, then it must be fairly quiet, right?"

"Assuming it's well-oiled and all, yeah." Nida got an idea of where she was taking this inquiry. "But it's still not exactly a stealth machine; if the Galbadians are watching the tracks at all, we'd be in real trouble. I'd think." The last sentence came as he became conscious that he was in effect starting an argument with Instructor Trepe. For some reason, talking to her did not make her seem nearly as imposing a figure as she had been at Garden.

"We're already in real trouble," Quistis said – here she threw a glance at Seifer, who had been uncharacteristically quiet and reserved for hours now. "And the Galbadians are only going to tighten their grip on this town so long as their president is a hostage here. Assuming the machine is in good working order, I think we have to risk it."

Rinoa clapped her hands, sending a somewhat discomforting echo through the train yard. "So it's decided, then! We'll operate the handcart to escape the Galbadian occupation, then consider our options! Okay, team?"

No one expressed any dissent. Nida still wasn't wild about the plan, but then there wasn't much of anything related to their situation that he was wild about.

"All right!" said Zell, noting the absence of dissent by pumping his fist in the air. "Let's move out!"

-

"So how long d'you figure they're gonna keep us on alert?" asked the young Galbadian soldier who, after seven and a half hours of an indeterminately long shift, was not on any notable degree of alert anyway.

"Beats me," said his companion. "I figured we'd be out of here right after the broadcast. You think something's going on?"

"Wouldn't surprise me," said the first soldier. "When has Command ever told us anything?"

"You know, I did hear something about new guys coming in from D-district," said the second. "And there was that business with the train. You think maybe the resistance is making trouble?"

"What resistance?" scoffed the second with a derisive laugh. The first soldier frowned, as the man's laugh seemed to have a faint squeak to it. The second soldier noticed the first soldier's expression, and frowned. "What?"

The squeaking was, in fact, not coming from the other soldier, but rather somewhere down the tracks, beyond the street lamps' reach. The first soldier stepped towards the rails, frowning more deeply. "...Sounds like there's something on the tracks," he said.

The other soldier looked over. "I don't see anything?"

"Listen." The squeaking did indeed seem to be growing in volume. "Doesn't that sound like—" He cut himself off as the source of the noise appeared at the edge of the lamplight. "...what the hell?"

The handcart was nearly past them by the time they had figured out what was going on. Since neither soldier had a weapon other than their standard-issue sabers, and the handcart was bearing down on them very quickly, their options for action were severely limited; they shouted for the vehicle to stop, then took up sheltered positions well off the tracks and attempted to cast Fire on it. One of the blasts managed to singe a large box that rested on the handcart's second platform, but otherwise the contraption whizzed past them and went on squeaking into the darkness.

As it passed, the two soldiers looked at each other.

"...So what do you think that was about?" asked the first.

The second glanced at the tracks again, then at his companion. "...What do I think what was about?"

The first soldier nodded, and they went back to their lookout positions without another word.