"We have never been terribly welcome here," she said, turning back to Colmuir. "They will do their best to drive us off-world. I'm sure kujen Nahwar hoped to snare the lot of us – the Lord Prince included – once we'd arrived for the festival of the Nem."
Tezozуmoc laughed softly, face still hidden under the long hat. His hands were clasped tight on his knees and he'd said nothing from the time they rushed him out of the bathroom, across the platform and onto the train just as it prepared to pull out of the station.
"Wanted again," he said, most of the bitterness leached from his voice by an aftertone of adrenaline. "I should let them take me – I'd have some use then, as a bargaining chip between princes and the Empire."
"No, dear," Mrs. Petrel said, shaking her head. "Your purpose is doing what you've already done today, seeing your sworn men are looked after. And now – though I'd imagine master Colmuir is about beside himself with the added risk – you've three dainty Imperial ladies to see home safely as well."
This did not please the prince at all, who fell silent and slumped back into his seat, hiding behind the hat. Dawd tipped back the corner of the drapes over the window and watched carefully as the train picked up speed out of the station and began rattling down the tracks leading out of the town. The rail line crossed over a bridge; a thoroughfare passed below and the street was filled with a huge mob of Jehanan marching up towards the center of town, waving banners and placards over their heads. The sergeant guessed the crudely drawn figures on the wooden boards were supposed to be human, though most humans he knew did not have two heads or breathe fire.
"We've cut it fine," Dawd said to Colmuir and Petrel. The sergeant was beginning to shake a little bit, coming down off the steady adrenaline and combat-drug high he'd been on since the door of the prince's dressing room exploded. "But if the train doesn't stop until Parus, we might make it."
"Oh." Mrs. Petrel made a dismissive motion with her hand. "I've taken this train before – last year when the rains were full on – there are stops in Bandopene and Takshila, but I'm sure we'll be fine. They'll only check our ticket once after we've boarded. The conductors are very discrete – we shan't be asked again."
Really? Dawd kept his opinion to himself, though he guessed Colmuir would be of much the same mind. Then we'll have to shoot our way off this train at one station or the other…
Mindful of these realities, the sergeant set about checking his weapons, cleaning the last of the sewer sludge out of his equipment and trying to look impassive and professional while two rather attractive young ladies sat no more than a meter away and watched him – or were they watching the prince? – with unsettling interest.
Several hours later, the train jerked into motion again at Bandopene and Dawd let himself relax from hair-trigger readiness. Behind closed velvet drapes, the noise of the hot little hill-station echoed loudly, and every footstep in the passage made him tense. Colmuir stood poised inside the closed door of the compartment, automatic in hand, watching a longeye feed of the corridor, until the train doors closed at last.
Mrs. Petrel's calm demeanor proved warranted. No one bothered them save an elderly conductor who checked their tickets just outside Gandaris. To Dawd's eye the Jehanan had seemed oddly unsurprised to find a compartment full of humans on his train. But with the second station falling away behind them, the younger Skawtsman let himself relax a bit. Feeling the train rattle up to speed and boom hollowly over a bridge, he ventured to part the window curtain again and peer out.
Decaying slab-sided buildings lined the tracks. There were no windows and the wooden siding was turning gray and black with age. Tall brick smokestacks rose above sooty tiled roofs and the Skawtsman closed the window, disheartened to be so distinctly reminded of the industrial neighborhoods where he'd grown up. Alien worlds are supposed to be exotic and beautiful, he thought. Filled with never-before-seen vistas and unimaginable grandeur, not shuttered mills and tumble-down factories and fences of spikewire like Pollokshields.
"Well," Colmuir said, drawing the attention of everyone in the hot, stuffy compartment. "That's a bit of luck, I'd say. By my comp, we'll be in Takshila by dark and then overnight t' Parus."
"If nothing happens in Takshila," Dawd said cautiously. The sergeant turned to Mrs. Petrel, who had spent the day sitting quietly, cooling herself with a silk hand-fan bearing a hand-stitched image of Mount Tahoma rising above interwoven clouds and stands of pine. Both of her young ladies had fallen asleep in the heat, though now they were stirring, woken by the renewed movement of the train. "Mi'lady, a thought strikes me… What happened to Corporal Clark? Didn't hetake you to the station?"
Petrel's face tightened slightly and her eyes seemed to darken. "We walked – or rather, ran – to the station, Sergeant. Corporal Clark delivered us to the temple of the Immanent Sun quite early. The processions and prayers and ceremonies to greet the solar deities' first light upon the newly ripened Nem begin at a dreadful hour. But then he took off for the palace to secure more refreshments for the prince and for dinner. After that…" Mrs. Petrel sighed and shook her head slowly. "We've neither seen him nor the aerocar."
"Ah, now, that is too bad." Colmuir grimaced. "If he went t' the palace, they'll have seized him and the aerocar. Poor sod."
Mrs. Petrel folded up her fan. "If he was not taken unawares, he might have escaped. But where would he go?" She nodded to the Anglish girl, who had come quietly awake. "They sent men to arrest us at the dawn ceremony, but the captain of the soldiers fell to arguing with the head priest. Cecily noticed the dispute and we were able to slip away. Then I thought of the train…"
Dawd rubbed his nose, beginning to feel nervous. These girls see quite a bit, I would guess. A bold set of ladies these are, larking about on an alien world in their Sunday best. He pursed his lips, a nagging thought surfacing.
"Your pardon, mi'lady, but…you had train tickets for today? How did -"
Mrs. Petrel smiled whimsically, unfolding her fan in front of her face. The compartment was growing hotter with every kilometer they sped south. "I believe in planning ahead, sergeant."
"But -" Dawd fell silent, seeing the lady's eyes tighten slightly and feeling Colmuir's glare. He shrank back into his seat, wishing he hadn't asked so many questions. He was guiltily aware of the master sergeant warning him, more than once before, to keep quiet and mind his manners. "Your pardon, mi'lady. It's none of my business."
Mrs. Petrel nodded politely and began fanning her face again. Colmuir settled back into his seat, one hand still on his Nambu. Both Mei and Cecily closed their eyes and the sound of the train wheels clattering along the tracks and the jingling sway of the car and the susurration of people breathing filled the silence.
The prince, still sound asleep, began to snore softly, his head leaning against Dawd's shoulder.
Bloody hell, the Skawtsman grumbled to himself. I've never been able to sleep on trains. He snuck a look at his chrono. Another four hours until we reach Takshila. And our comms are still jammed. Poor Clark. Doubt we'll see him again…
Then Dawd closed his eyes, Whipsaw cradled in the crook of his left arm, right hand resting on the hilt of the combat knife strapped to his leg, and tried to rest.
The Parus express reached the outskirts of Takshila just after sundown and began to slow in preparation for stopping at the main rail terminal. The train engineer, however, saw that the skyline was lit by widespread fires and a pall of heavy smoke lay over the city. The sprawling slums lining the railroad approach were relatively quiet. Very few Takshilans had ever seen an asuchau human, but rumor of the kujen's war had permeated the city within minutes of the first bombing attack on the Mercantile Exchange House. The usual traffic of heavy wains piled with ceramics and bundles of flowers and stacks of fresh-cut lumber, runner-carts, tikikit buses and crowds of busy Jehanan out and about, shopping and bartering, was noticeably lighter than the engineer expected.
All of this made him wary and he kept one eye-shield peeled for warning lights a
long the spiked barricades lining the tracks. As a result, as the express slowed to barely twenty kilometers an hour, he caught sight of a diversion indicator light and swing-board at the first spur line. The engineer depressed the main braking lever, felt the entire train shudder at the squeal of brake linings on massive iron wheels, and leaned out as the express chugged onto the secondary track.
Seeing the warning light relieved some of the engineer's fears – the fires silhouetting the khus rising at city center were centered around the train station – and he had no desire to plow a sixteen-car train into a mob on the tracks or through a burning station. He eased up on the brakes, let a little steam build and the express settled out onto a straightaway.
The train chuffed past a rail yard traffic tower overlooking a section of cargo sidings, but though the engineer waved at the lit windows, he did not see anyone inside. This was puzzling, but not entirely out of the ordinary. The express rattled through the warehouse district at a modest clip. Inside the comfortably hot driver's compartment, the engineer hooted at his second, who bent over a laminated diagram of the rail network in and around Takshila. After a moment's scrutiny, the junior engineer warbled back, pointing at the map.
The engineer nodded, soot-stained snout bobbing, and prepared to reduce speed. He bled steam from the boiler, slowing the clattering wheels. The secondary track began to curve off to the south and the map showed a tunnel at the edge of town, just before the spur rejoined the main line. Tunnels were a dicey business sometimes, particularly if there was trouble in the city and the railroad temple guards were distracted by fires or rioting.
The engineer leaned out again, snout into the rushing air, and made sure the huge glassed-in lamp on the front of the train was burning, illuminating the pair of iron tracks snaking away into the darkness. One claw was firmly on the brake lever. In his twelve years of service, the engineer had seen stray molk on the tracks, short-horns daring the rushing speed of the wheels, even brigands trying to pry up the rails themselves. His mouth gaped, breathing in the tepid, smoky air of the city rushing past.
The train slowed, spitting sparks into the darkness, rumbling and swaying as the incandescent glare of the main lamp was swallowed by mossy brick walls. Steam and smoke boiled back, suddenly trapped in the tight confines of a tunnel. Car after car vanished into the side of a long ridge cupping the southern side of the city.
The tunnel mouth was faced with slabs of imported granite and a builder's plaque had once surmounted the capstone of the arch. The plaque was long gone, stolen by local crook-tails, but the railway easement itself was lined with spiked wooden barriers to keep looters, children and animals away from the tracks.
This had not, however, stopped two figures from cutting through the barrier with a monofilament saw. Now, as the end of the train came into view, the larger figure scrambled up the gravel easement, long kheerite-style cloak flapping around her legs as she ran alongside, grasped the step-rail up to the baggage car and swung aboard. The second figure jogged beside the train, gasping for breath, and then a clawed hand reached down, seized forearm-to-forearm and dragged Parker aboard.
Inside, by the dim light of a yellow bulb, the pilot coughed a little and untangled his cloak, leaning against a stained wooden wall. Outside there was nothing but darkness as the train clattered through the tunnel.
"See – wheeze! – very simple. Easy as pie. Anyone could do it."
Magdalena wrinkled her flat black nose and drew the cowl of the cape down over her eyes. The duffel bags on her back made standing difficult in the narrow passage. Most Jehanan were a little larger than a human, but they didn't have a hump of heavy comp and surveillance equipment strapped to their backs either.
"Yes, I can see this." The Hesht twitched her long, tendril-like whiskers. "Now where do we lair up? Not so many places to hide on a train…"
"Didn't I say I had everything covered?" Parker grinned, face bright with sweat. "You are a cat of little faith! You'd think, after diverting the train worked, you'd begin to believe in me…"
"Hrrr! We were blessed by the Huntress herself to find a switching station unguarded. The trouble in the city has driven all these groundcrawlers into their holes…"
Undaunted by her pessimism, Parker dug into his jacket, tossed away two crumpled tabac boxes and drew out a paper envelope. His eyes twinkled with delight. "And you just wanted to wait near the apartment…See, train passes! All we need to do is find a seat."
Magdalena beckoned with her paw, examined the papers and sniffed loudly. "Forgeries, I suppose. Or stolen…"
"They are not!" Parker snatched them back. "I paid good solid shatamanu for them. The only problem is…" The train rumbled out of the tunnel and suddenly everything grew a little quieter without the reverb of walls outside. "…they're not reserved seats. So we might have to stand."
"I see." Magdalena's lips curled back from her shiny white teeth. She stuck out her tongue, testing the humid, warm air. "At least my tail won't freeze to the door of the baggage compartment this time."
Parker scowled, crossing his arms. "That was not my fault. Anderssen decided we should take that night train!"
Maggie started to hiss, then restrained herself. She was very tired. "Enough. I will lead, you will follow and we will find seats, if any exist on this benighted contraption."
The Hesht turned, squeezing the duffels through the doorway into the passage running down the side of the train. Every time she swung her shoulders, the bags jammed against the wall, which made for slow going. Parker hitched up his own duffel bag and followed along behind.
He wondered, as his legs acclimatized themselves to the swaying motion of the train, if Gretchen had managed to escape the city, or even the monastery. Oh god, what if she's waiting back at the apartment right now? What if she's been captured?
But there was no way to tell and no way to go back. He wasn't even sure the voice blaring in his earbug had been hers, but what else could he do? It was enough to keep from falling as the train shuddered into a long curve, heading down out of the hills towards the plain of the Phison.
Aboard the Captain's Launch Approaching the Cornuelle
"Hold on," Sho-i Asale said, twisting her control yoke. The launch dodged to one side as a section of hull plating flew past. The fragment was only a dark blot against the abyssal darkness beyond the windows. Hadeishi, standing beside the airlock, felt a twinge in his gut, realizing they had entered the corona of debris around the Cornuelle.
"We're clear for final approach." The pilot eased back the thrusters. "I have visual on the aft shuttle bay."
Hadeishi braced one arm against the side of the lock, peering through the forward windows. The aft bay doors seemed intact, though he could see the starboard ventral point defense mount had taken some kind of directed beam damage. The shipskin was bubbled and twisted like taffy. Two stubby anti-missile railguns were exposed, the armor over their emplacement entirely missing, leaving a ragged edge. Mottled, ashy expanses of the shipskin showed the rippling effects of an energy overload to the reactive armor.
"Any response to your access code?" The Chu-sa could hear himself breathing harshly.
"None." Asale twisted around in her seat, looking back at the captain and the two Marines. "I can take us around to the other side. The launch bay is well armored, perhaps -"
"No." Hadeishi tapped the EVA bag clamped to his chestplate. "Too far from engineering. We'll need to get there first, if any good is to be done. Open the lock. We'll jet across and cut our way in if need be. Keep transmitting our ident codes. Something might wake up in time to let us inside."
"Hai, kyo." The pilot turned back to her controls and began nudging the launch sideways towards the hull a meter at a time.
Hadeishi craned his neck, watching for the surface of the shuttle bay doors to appear in the tiny window of the airlock. A cold band twisted tighter around his heart each time his chrono elapsed another minute. The Cornuelle had failed to reply to their hails as they approached,
and even the navigational display in the launch showed the light cruiser's wildly degraded orbit. The two-minute-long irregular burn by the out-of-control number three engine had thrown the Cornuelle into a sharp dive towards the planetary atmosphere.
The Chu-sa was sure the abrupt cut-off of the misfiring engine had been the work of someone still alive, aboard, throwing the ship into emergency shutdown. The damage inflicted by the mines was severe – Hadeishi had never seen his ship vomit so much atmosphere, so much radioactive debris, in any of her countless engagements – but the loss of navigational control was a mystery. Something else has happened, he thought grimly, pressing his forehead against the inside of his helmet. Perhaps main comp was damaged, or one of the control nodes severed. He refused to believe everyone aboard was dead.
On her new heading, the Cornuelle would not corkscrew to a fiery doom – gravity had already seized hold and she was wallowing towards a tentative orbit – but the upper reaches of the Jaganite atmosphere were already reaching up to clutch at her battered surface. Friction would follow as the cruiser settled deeper into the thermosphere, and that would steal her angular momentum. The end would come, later rather than sooner, with a glowing, red-hot hull and the stress of re-entry tearing the crippled starship apart.
"Twenty meters." Asale tapped the braking jets and the launch gentled to a halt relative to the crippled ship. "Cycling airlock."
The inner door irised open and Hadeishi stepped in, followed by Fitzsimmons. The launch airlock was too small to allow more than two men in z-suits with all the repair gear which could be salvaged from the launch strapped to their bodies inside at once. Hadeishi squeezed to one side – the Marine was nearly a foot taller than he – and took hold of the outer door locking bar.
Deckard waved cheerfully as the inner door closed between them. Hadeishi waited, listening to Asale breathing and counting their displacement from the Cornuelle, while air pumped out of the lock.
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