The Celestial Steam Locomotive (The Song of Earth)

by Coney, Michael G.

  “Ah, now—that’s a thing we’d never want to find out, would we now? Because I tell ye this, shipmate—I figger you and me would be nowhere. Just nowhere, somewhere between Jupiter and Pluto. All alone in the cold, cold Nothing, in our birthday suits, falling forever. Frozen dead like a schooner lost in the ice.”

  “I’ve got to get off!”

  “Ye knew ye were coming on an adventure when ye joined. The greatest adventure of a lifetime, they call it. The biggest thrill of all, for the cost of a smallwish. False fear ye’ve known, a lifetime of it. Now ye know real fear. Shiver me timbers! But you’re a craven dog!”

  “I thought we were on... on Earth. This is impossible!” Lips trembling, the little passenger turned and stumbled back through the passage of the tender. He didn’t believe. He didn’t—couldn’t—believe.

  And the walls of the passage turned soft.

  A roar of rage sounded behind him and he heard the irregular thumping shuffle of the one-legged man. “Back here, ye dog!”

  The Locomotive hit a curve and the little man, off balance, fell full-length through the corridor connector and onto the carriage floor. People gaped at him, glasses pausing on the way to mouths. A Neanderthal woman asked, “What are you lying down for? Get up and join the fun!”

  “Avast there!” thundered the voice from behind him, and the Locomotive let out an unearthly shriek. “This dog will be the death of us all, ye may lay to it!” Silver towered above the little passenger, standing on one leg, his crutch raised in both hands. “I’ll crack him like a gull’s egg, and we’ll hear no more of his bellyachin’. Make yer peace, Mister!” And he swung the crutch back.

  “Stop!”

  At that moment an odd figure appeared—a girl, or something very close to a girl. Dressed in a white robe that failed to conceal her ungainly figure, she lumbered forward and thrust herself between Silver and the fallen man. One or two passengers cheered.

  “Ah-hah! Now what do we have here? A circus freak? Out of me way, girl!”

  “Get up.” She addressed the little passenger, ignoring the fuming Silver. “He won’t harm you, I’ll see to that. Come and sit over here with us.” And then he found himself sitting with two new arrivals, an elderly man and a barrel-chested youth. Meanwhile the Girl—for it was she—faced Silver. “Pick on somebody your own size next time.”

  “Why, ye... ye... I’ll...” Inarticulate, Silver hefted the crutch.

  And the parrot reappeared on his shoulder.

  He glanced down at it in surprise. Evil-eyed, it leaned sideways and pecked viciously at his cheek. He yelled with pain, dropping the crutch and clapping a hand to his face. Grabbing a stanchion for support, he watched the Girl, the fury in his expression quickly changing to a shrewd look.

  “Might I suppose ye wished that bird on me, me girl?”

  “You might suppose that. Next time it’ll be a griffin. You’re just a big bully, you know?”

  Silver smiled easily, all trace of fury gone. “That’s as may be, me girl, and mebbe you’re right. Old Barbecue gets carried away occasional, but all in the line o’ dooty... So ye three be new passengers, eh? Well, now. Shiver me sides!” And he laughed heartily, playing the welcoming host, picked up his crutch and swung forward, his hand extended to greet his guests.

  The little passenger was still watching the Girl in awe and admiration.

  He didn’t recognize her, though. How could he? Neither did the Girl recognize him—which was fortunate, because the Ifalong held more important matters than the Girl’s love for a little man who used to be called Burt. This love, which to her had seemed the most important thing in Dream Earth, was already beginning to fade under the influence of Reality.

  In time the Girl would forget Burt altogether, which is one of the minor tragedies in the story of the Triad.

  Dreams Alone Are not Enough

  "Pleased I am to meet ye!” Silver shook hands with Zozula, Manuel and the Girl, and even nodded affably to the little man. “Welcome aboard.” He glanced at the parrot, now sitting quietly on his shoulder, and shook his head in admiration and disbelief. “Never seen the likes o’ that, not I. Anyways... Beggin’ your pardon, but I must discuss matters of importance with me shipmates here.”

  Zozula spoke quietly to the Girl. “Be careful. You can get hurt here. This isn’t Dream Earth, you know.”

  “I smallwished the parrot on him, didn’t I?”

  “True. And if he’d hit you with that crutch, I think you’d have felt it. Just as he felt the parrot’s beak.”

  Manuel said, “This place is strange. Can we get off soon?”

  “I don’t think the one-legged man will let anyone off,” the little man told him. The rattle of the wheels had settled down to a steady, soothing rhythm. Faintly they could hear the beat of the Locomotive’s exhaust.

  Silver was moving among the other passengers, chatting, bowing obsequiously, smiling a lot. Every so often he would indicate his parrot and ask somebody to try to make it speak. “Pieces of eight!” the bird would squawk in varying tones of conviction.

  “He’s gauging their psy.” Zozula was concerned. “This train has closer links with Dream Earth than I’d realized. You can call a unicorn into existence and you can ride it across a meadow. But to sustain your belief in the creature for more than a couple of hours is nearly impossible—unless other people see it, too, and reinforce your belief. A lot of people must believe in this train, right now. I hope they can keep it up...”

  “Smallwishes drain you,” the Girl agreed.

  “So Silver will welcome new passengers with fresh psy.”

  “Messmates! Give me yer ears!” The roaring voice of Silver broke up their deliberations. “‘Tis time to discuss the voyage and the destination. And the reason for you fine folk being on the Train. Aye—we have a powerful assemblage here, to be sure. Smart as paint, ye are!” Standing at the head of the aisle, dressed in his picturesque uniform, he cut an impressive figure as he dominated the carriage. The parrot clung to his shoulder, darting quick, cold glances around, and the whole regalia was surmounted by a salt-rimed cocked hat. “Now, we all know why we’re here. We’re here for adventure. Adventure the likes of which ye’ve never clapped eyes on afore! Death we’ll face, and the most terrible fear, and monsters like ye’ve never dreamed of in your worstest nightmares. And we’ll win through, shipmates! We’ll win through!”

  Even as he spoke, he couldn’t resist snatching a quick, nervous look over his shoulder, back toward the Locomotive where the hooded stoker toiled.

  “Where are we going, Silver?” shouted the tall, weather-beaten man dressed in a bush jacket.

  “And what might yer name be, sir?”

  “Charles Willoughby-Amersham. Baronet.”

  “Where are we going, Sir Charles? I’ll tell ye where we’re a-going. We’ve set course for a planet so dreadful that no man durst say its name—so that is the name we give it. The Nameless Planet. Aye, in the Ifalong mayhap it will get a right and proper name, so I hear tell. But as for the here and now, the Nameless Planet it is!”

  Silver went on to describe the perils of the Nameless Planet in full and gory detail, with obvious relish. “Dragons big as blue whales, shipmates, with mouths like volcanoes.” The passengers reacted according to type.

  Sir Charles Willoughby-Amersham said, “By Jove! I really must bag a brace of those!”

  Telma, the Neanderthal woman, said, “Fire and shelter. Will we find shelter there, and be able to build a fire?”

  Psycaptain Hilary Yes said, “I remember well our sixth encounter with the creatures of the Red Planet. Now, that’s what I call a battle. If the dragons of the Nameless Planet are anything like those devils, then—”

  Bambi, the little brown girl, said, “My father dreamed up dragons—they were such fun! Fat bodies and great teeth and long tails. They always died in the end, though. They rolled over on their backs and gave a final puff. Then they were gone, and the good people had won again.”

&nbs
p; Wilbur Q. Mallet, star baron, said, “In point of fact, I believe the brutes are called Bale Wolves—although for some reason the real name went out of favor thousands of years ago.”

  Blondie Tranter, of the most durable profession, said, “People have always been superstitious—even in the year 100,000 Cyclic they were. They don’t like to say the name of the thing that scares them, because this gives them an image in their mind. And as we all know, an image in the mind is tantamount to having the monster standing right beside you, eh, smallwishers?”

  And the strangest smallwisher, a robot named Bot, said, “The creatures of the Nameless Planet are Bale Wolves, and no euphemisms will change that. The people on this train regard it as fun, going forth to do battle with these creatures. It is one step more daring than the fictitious adventures on Dream Earth, where nobody gets killed. It seems there is something in the human make-up that demands danger—real danger—and Dream Earth cannot provide that. The Bale Wolves can. They can kill. They can condemn humans to Total Death. I hope that every passenger realizes this. We are soon to face Total Death.” The words rang around the carriage, metallic and relentless. “Total Death. When both mind and body are wiped out. It isn’t a game any longer. We are in a dimension beyond the help of Dream Earth and its cozy heroics. Silver offered you adventure and he spoke the truth. But I’m not certain that everybody understands the implications.”

  “Just how dangerous can these brutes possibly be?” Sir Charles bristled. “God, man, I’ve faced down a charging rhino!”

  “In the days of Galactic exploration, no ship passed within a light-year of the Nameless Planet and lived to tell of it,” said Bot.

  “What do they look like?” asked Bambi. “Do they have black fur and shiny white teeth?”

  “Logically enough, no living human being knows what they look like.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this.” The little man spoke quietly. “It seems to me there’s a difference between adventure and certain death. Honestly, I wish I’d never set foot on this train. I’ve been a fool.” These remarks were addressed to Manuel, who sat beside him.

  “We’re going to get off, soon. Why don’t you come with us?”

  “I don’t have the psy. I Bigwished not long ago, and then I smallwished myself onto the Train, and now I’m all psy’d out. I asked Silver to let me off, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Silver cocked an ear in their direction. “And rightly not, shipmate. Rightly not. I told ye afore—we’ll have no lily-livered whelps deserting the ship. Belay there!” he suddenly shouted, as the discussion about the Bale Wolves dragged on. “’Tis high time to splice the mainbrace.” He produced a bottle of rum from his pocket. “I’d like to propose a toast, if I might make so bold. To the finest bunch o’ shipmates I ever set sail with!” He raised his bottle, smiling broadly at the passengers. They cheered. He drank, blinked and wiped his lips.

  Sir Charles shouted, “And a toast to Long John Silver, the finest skipper in the Galaxy!”

  When they were quieted, Silver spoke more soberly. “And here’s to the Celestial Steam Locomotive, lads, anΩd may she carry us fair and far, and may we soon see the color of our enemies’ insides! To the Locomotive and the voyage!”

  And with this stirring toast he drained the bottle, threw it to the floor, where it shattered into glittering fragments, and raised his hand high.

  “The song, lads. The song!”

  He thumped his crutch on the floor and led the passengers into the famous song that echoed down the aeons, even after the Locomotive was forgotten—but for a mention in The Song of Earth—and the Domes were deserted and dead. It is a rousing song, part solo for a strong, lusty voice, part chorus. Its rhythm echoes the rattling of the railbeats, and its tune is simple and sturdy.

  We're all aboard for the trackless night.

  (Close your eyes and believe! Believe!)

  Wheels a-clanking and the firebox bright.

  (So cross your fingers and convince your brain,

  And clutch your rabbit's-foot and drink champagne,

  Lest Reason should annihilate this phantom Train)

  As our way through the stars we weave!

  Now Silver raised his crutch in the air. “Mark one! Mark two! Mark three!”

  And they all yelled back: “BELIEVE! BELIEVE! BELIEVE!”

  Smiling, Silver waved his crutch, swiveled on his foot and stumped back toward the Locomotive.

  Manuel caught sight of his face a second later as he plunged into the corridor connector. The mask had dropped and there was a terrible fear there, and the lips were trembling...

  Silver’s Nemesis

  “This is getting out of hand.” Zozula looked around at the other passengers drinking, playing cards, making love. “It’s obvious the math creature isn’t among this bunch of fools. He must have got off somewhere, and it’s time we got off, too. I’m almost beginning to believe all this claptrap myself. That damned song keeps running through my mind. It’s meant to, I suppose.”

  The little passenger said, “Nobody can get off.”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Zozula irritably. He’d been in charge of events for so long that he resented this insignificant little fellow telling him what he could and couldn’t do—even if he meant it kindly. The small passenger was somehow familiar. Where had he seen him before? He seemed to see the man peering, searching. No matter... “I’m going to have a word with Silver,” he said.

  “It’s time,” said the Girl. “We could miss our stop.”

  “How do you know?” Manuel was surprised at her certainty. “It’s all dark out there. All I can see is stars.”

  She tried to explain, but gave up after a few words. How could she tell him of this rare gift she had, this occasional sense of predestination that enabled her to choose the right course whenever a decision had to be made? It was as though she had the knack of seeing a little way along the diverging happen-tracks and picking the one that counted. It was as though a little of the Oracle had splashed on her.

  Zozula led them through the tender.

  A deadly scene greeted them in the cab. The firebox door was still open and the flames roaring. The boiler pressure was well beyond the danger mark. Everything was washed in a flickering crimson glow.

  Silver fought with the fireman.

  His crutch cast aside, he lay across the fireman’s back with both hands locked around the other’s throat, his jaw jutting and his eyes narrowed. The fireman crouched there with bowed back, facing the flames. He still held his shovel. He made no attempt to shake Silver off.

  “I’ll teach ye who’s skipper in this cab!” Silver’s voice was a rasp of hatred. “I’ll wring yer neck like a spring chicken, that I will!”

  And the fireman laughed. He laughed quietly, easily, as though he had about his neck a loose collar instead of the murderous hands of Silver. It was the first sound anyone had ever heard him make, and its effect was instantaneous. Silver’s jaw dropped open, his eyes widened and, as the fireman twisted around, he fell to the footplate. At first the others thought that the fireman had deliberately thrown his assailant off, but as the hooded figure swung his shovel it became apparent that he was simply continuing his stoking chores, as though the attack had never happened. He lifted a shovelful of coal, swung back and scattered it smoothly across the fire. The flames brightened and the coal dust sparkled into little stars whipped upward by the draught.

  “Ye’ll kill us all...” Silver crawled to his feet and opened a large black trunk built into the side of the cab, extracted a bottle of rum, knocked the neck off and drank deeply, watching the fireman as if hypnotized. Then a movement at the rear of the cab caught his eye. He looked up and saw the three, and his expression changed immediately. He smiled, hopping forward. “Come to visit the poop deck, eh, lads? And what can I do for ye? Yer pleasure is my command.”

  “It’s time we got off the train,” said Zozula firmly.

  “Well, now, and I had ye figgered for a gen
tleman of fortune. Get off, ye say? Well, now, isn’t that just too bad. Shipmates shirking their responsibilities, is it? Mebbe ye don’t know this, but I have a saying: Dooty is dooty. Ye’ll stay.”

  “I’d rather not force matters.”

  “Ah-hah!” Silver’s voice was quiet and menacing. “Mutiny, is it?”

  “Stop the train.”

  “That I can’t do—leastways, not unless ye want to send us all to Davy Jones. ’Tis a little matter o’ steam pressure.”

  Now the Girl spoke. She was tired. Living in her gross body had taxed her more than she’d realized and the swaying motion was making her feel sick, too. “Listen, you phony. We can leave anytime we please. We want to make it easier for everyone, that’s all. We don’t want to cause any credibility problems by stepping out into High Space against your wishes, if you get my meaning.”

  And just for a moment the fireman paused in his relentless stoking and looked straight at them. Zozula drew in his breath, a quick hiss.

  Silver didn’t notice. He was laughing, slapping his thigh with the palm of his hand. “Why, shiver me timbers! And here’s a wee fat girl that thinks she can outwish a thousand souls! You and me should get along well, me darling—smart as paint, ye are! Dash my buttons if the girl doesn’t mean what she says!”

  “So stop the train.”

  “See here now, girl.” Silver’s tone had undergone another change; it was mock-pleading now. “Here’s a blessed hard thing on a trainful of honest souls. We need every bit of psy we can lay our hands to—and ye’ve got it aplenty, girl. Don’t take a spyglass to see that.”

  “All right.” The Girl sighed, then took the hands of Manuel and Zozula. An unearthly strength seemed to be flowing through her mind and body, washing away the fatigue. “Come with me, you two. Just let yourselves drift.” There was a vision in her mind: a blue glowing thing with a number of flat surfaces, hard, but not cold. It seemed to beckon, and it seemed to be an easy thing to concentrate on. Beckon... her subconscious played with the word. Beckon. Beacon. The blue thing was a beacon somewhere out in the Greataway—maybe on Earth, maybe elsewhere. But it was something she could lock her psy into and draw strength from.