“Move along!”  Steam flooded the platform as a voice cut through the din.  “Last call for the Henry Express!”  Henry checked his pocket watch and shook his head.  The train was already two minutes behind schedule. Operating a train company was an expensive venture with stiff competition.  In all his years as conductor, he knew just how cutthroat business could be.  Two minutes behind schedule could cost him the line. 

He glanced down the platform again.  The scrolling letters on the engine were beginning to peel but in a better day they had been shiny and proud. He could well remember the day he had been promoted to engine operator.   He had been young and naïve, stoked that he had been able to scrounge all his earnings together to buy shares in the railroad company that signed his paycheque, thrilled that his quick wit and entrepreneurial mind had the foresight to see a worthwhile investment.  He had begged and borrowed, and despite the many naysayers, that day as he looked at the large steam engine, he had been 100% confident that all his speculations would pay off.  Who could say they owned a train?  Well, he partially owned it, and he operated it, which put him way ahead of all the other shareholders. 

That was before he knew how much of his time would be spent in litigation claims and dealing with the never satisfied behemoth of public complaint.  Last year alone, he had spent more time dealing with customer complaints than he had driving the engine.  As operator he was responsible, or so he had been told.  Those men in the stiff suits were good at one thing:  delegating.    

The feeling of directing a beast of such proportions was like nothing Henry had ever experienced.  There he felt freedom and power he had never possessed.  Knowing that thousands depended upon his line for every aspect of their life, was a responsibility not to be held lightly. 

Henry snapped his watch shut and shoved it back into his pocket.  He had had enough.  He could still see a couple locked in a farewell embrace lingering on the platform.  Beyond them a young mother struggled to collect her luggage, two children running circles around her.  Why didn’t people arrive early enough to sort themselves out in time?  “Not my problem,” Henry muttered to himself as he swung his hefty frame up the engine steps.   “Let’s pull out,” he instructed Louis, his assistant, who nodded his assent.  Henry adjusted his striped engineers’ hat over his wiry, white hair that surrounded his head like a cloud.  Refusing the compression, the hair sprung the hat two inches higher off his head.  Henry popped his head out the window and examined the platform one last time.  Indifferent to the signs of departure, the couple remained locked in embrace.  The woman was struggling to control her children, having placed one on board, now was running after the next.  Slowly, the train inched forward.  The woman froze as if unsure of how to respond.  She began screaming.  Oblivious to the upcoming predicament, her belligerent child ignored her.  A cruel smile crossed Henry’s face as he watched the drama unfold.  Becoming as one possessed and with herculean strength, she managed to grip her fighting child and made a running leap onto the moving train steps.  Henry tucked his head back into the engine cabin. 

“Did we have another runner?”  Louis asked, shifting his wad of tobacco into the other cheek. 

Henry snorted, “He was a lively one, looked to be about five.” 

Louis nodded. “They get younger and younger all the time.”      

As the train picked up its pace, both men eased into their familiar roles, moving in perfect synchronism with each other.  Henry settled back in his seat, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.  He felt his body begin to relax.  Now that the train was mobile, little could stop it or cause any further delay.  He thought of the couple on the platform, a small casualty of maintaining standard procedures.  He checked the rail track map.  Within minutes, they would be approaching the Line 3 cut-off.  He had done the switch off thousands of times, could do it in his sleep.  The curve was a steep one and he needed to slow the train to about 33.5 km/hr to make the turn carefully yet productively.  Time was money in the train business.  He chuckled to himself as he contemplated how long it had taken him to perfect his craft.  It was a shame that public noise could spoil such a craft.  He had been called all sorts of names, been accused of being hard hearted and money tight, but no one could accuse him of being less than diligent when it came to running the rails. 

As the scenery whipped past the window, he pulled out his crossword puzzle.  He had five minutes down time before his attention would be required at the control booth.  He glanced up in annoyance as the radio crackled beside him.  What in the world did they want now?  Henry was notorious for ignoring central control.  A group of well dressed, educated, office personnel with no practical experience on the rails, they spoke with authority they did not possess.  Often Henry ignored their instructions trusting his gut instead, a method that had proved successful more times than he could count.   The radio continued to crackle.  Henry took a long slug of his coffee, savoring the taste, before he reluctantly put down his puzzle and turned his attention to the individual on the other side of the machine. 

“This is the Henry Express, over.”  He acknowledged the crackle on the other end. 

“Henry Express, this is central control.”  A high-pitched nervous voice responded.  Henry rolled his eyes.  Who else would be yelling at him?  “We are calling to inform you that there is a breach on the line 3 cut-off.  I repeat, a breach on the line 3 cut-off.” 

Henry scowled.  What did they mean, ‘a breach’?  Was there a cow on the line?  Had they mixed up their signals, something they were notorious for doing?    “What do you mean, ‘there is a breach on the line’?”  Henry demanded gruffly. 

“I repeat there is a breach on the line 3 cut-off.  We are advising you avert your train to the line 4 extension.”

Henry’s brow furrowed.  He studied the map before him.  Averting the train to the line 4 extension was ridiculous.  “That can’t be right.”  Louis joined him over the map. 

Henry pointed to the line 4 extension.  Henry was well acquainted with that line; he had used it many years ago when he had hauled only a single car behind him.  He had four cars attached to his engine this morning.  The line 4 extension was not built to uphold the weight of the tonnage he was hauling.  He glanced at Louis who shook his head.  “It can’t be done,” Louis muttered. 

Henry snatched the radio back in his hand.  “Henry Express to central control, over.” 

“Go ahead, Henry Express.” 

“You must have your facts wrong.  Line 4 extension is not built to maintain the weight we are carrying today.  Averting the train would mean certain destruction.” 

The petulant voice responded.  “I’m afraid you have no choice.  There is a breach on the line 3 cut-off. Failure to follow instructions could result in civilian casualties and catastrophic damage.  I repeat:  You need to avert to line 4 extension.” 

Henry stared out the window stunned.  The scenery flashing past seemed to pick up speed.  Realization dawned on him.  They were requesting he sacrifice the Henry Express for the greater good of the rail system.  For the greater good of many innocent bystanders.  He thought of the mother and her unruly children, of the young couple who had reluctantly kissed goodbye.  Had their farewell been their last?  Did he not have a train full of innocent bystanders?  Did their lives not weigh on the balance?   Could he choose one over the other?  Can any mortal decide one life worth saving more than the other?   Didn’t the very act of choice belong only to God?  Henry had been accused of many things in his long life, but never had he been accused of playing God. 

Time was gone.  There was no longer any time to weigh in the options.  He had to act now.  He felt his hand hover over the switch.  One small movement would change the course of the train.  Would change the course of the future for many of his passengers.  When he had first dawned his conductor hat he promised to maintain and uphold the safety of his passengers above all else, a line he had strictly maintained.  He had wavered on good many things in his conducting career but never at the cost of safety.  He hesitated a fraction longer, then grabbed hold of the radio again.  “Central control.  You are certain the breach is on line 3?” 

The high-pitched voice almost screamed back at him.  “Avert to line 4 extension!”

Still Henry paused, wiping the sweat that trickled down his forehead past his bushy eyebrow, blurring his vision.  He had no right to choose one life over another.  He applied the brake as the train slowed to the required 33.5 km/hr to take the curve and remain on line 3.  In a fraction of a second, his choice was made, proving unable to change the course of events set in motion.  Louis and Henry stood side by side, the clock ticking each slow second.  Henry squared his shoulders and took a deep breath.  His choice would lead to certain disaster.  A choice to not choose.  To let fate do what she will.  Mechanically his hand lifted the radio control to his mouth.  He spoke one word.  “Negative.”

He replaced the receiver slowly into its cradle. 

A voice screeched.  “Repeat, Henry Express.  Repeat.”  Louis put his hand on the knob and glanced at Henry for approval.  At Henry’s nod he turned the volume dial to zero. 

Henry returned to his chair, picking up the puzzle and taking a long swig of his now cold coffee.  He calmly resumed his puzzle as though the weight of all his passengers wasn’t hanging heavy upon him.  He glanced at the clock.  They would be approaching the blockage within minutes.  The cabin was deathly quiet. 

 One minute slowly crawled into the next, the only sign of apprehension was the slight shake of Henry’s hand as he held his pen poised to fill in the next answer.  Carefree passengers, unaware of their impending doom, chatted with each other, children laughed oblivious of what was to come.  Henry pictured his steam engine as it was when he first started.  Miles upon miles of successful trips flashed upon his mind.  He would not change a minute of it all.  He thought of his dear wife, Alice, so patient through the years, early accepting the fact she shared his heart with a hulk of steel.  He would miss her.

The clock ticked on.  A bead of sweat trickled unhindered down Louis’ cheek.  The second hand inching around the face, unable to stop.  One second followed the next until Henry finally stirred in his chair, suddenly animated.  “By George,” he whispered.  They had arrived at the fateful spot.  Henry rubbed his eyes, blinking to clear them.  “How is this possible?”  he questioned, disbelieving.  Louis too rubbed his eyes.  The line before them was clear.  There was no blockage. 

Henry picked up the radio control, his hand violently shaking.  “Central control,” he cleared his throat, “this is the Henry express, over.” 

A calm voice responded.  “Our apologies Henry Express.  We misread the number.  It was line 33.  Continue on.”