Evil Machines

by Terry Jones

  ‘That seems to be all correct . . .’ The man in spectacles was now smiling at Orville. ‘In fact it is slightly more than we were expecting! But it’s all in a good cause!’

  ‘The Great Cause!’ chanted the others – who apparently also spoke English.

  ‘And, Mr Barton, I want you to know that we are men of honour . . . unlike some . . .’ said the leader.

  ‘Los Cojones!’ shouted the others accusingly, and shook their guns, so that Orville felt glad he wasn’t one of ‘Los Cojones’ – whoever they were.

  ‘We will always stick to our word,’ resumed the man in spectacles. ‘I want you to tell the world that.’ He then made a sign to one of the others, who disappeared into the hut.

  ‘How do you know my name?’ asked Orville Barton. ‘What is all this?’ The words had scarcely left his lips, however, before the answer presented itself. A young man was hustled out of the hut. His hands were tied, and he was frowning.

  ‘So they got you too, did they?’ he muttered.

  Orville Barton took a step back. ‘Jack! What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘If you’d taken my phone calls, you’d have known what

  I’m doing here!’ exclaimed his son. ‘I tried to phone you time and time again – ever since I was captured by these guerrillas . . .’

  ‘Freedom fighters!’ put in the man in spectacles.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Jack, ‘these freedom fighters. But you were always too busy to speak or even to return my calls. So now you’ll finally get to spend time with your son!’

  ‘Jack, I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick, old boy,’ said the guerrilla leader. ‘Your father has come to pay your ransom,’ and he opened up the briefcase.

  Jack looked at the money and then back at his father, who was, for the moment, too astonished to speak.

  ‘I . . . I . . . I beg your pardon, Dad,’ said Jack. ‘I really didn’t think you cared . . .’

  ‘He cares enough to come in person!’ smiled the guerrilla leader, who, despite his profession, had a soft heart. His name was Gomez Ortega. He had been brought up by his mother in the town of Ibagué, as his father had run away from home at an early age. Gomez Ortega had missed not having a father, and had always secretly thought that it was his own fault that his father had left.

  ‘Why did father run away?’ he would ask his mother.

  ‘Because he was too young,’ his mother would reply.

  ‘But I am even younger, and yet I shall not run away from you, mother,’ he would say.

  ‘You are a good boy,’ his mother would say, and then change the subject.

  Gomez Ortega patted Orville Barton’s son, Jack, on the back. ‘You are lucky!’ he said. ‘I wish I had had such a caring father.’

  ‘I still can’t believe you came all this way here, Dad, to pay my ransom!’ he said. ‘You normally get one of your assistants to deal with me and Annie.’

  Orville felt yet another wave of emotion that he didn’t recognize . . . if he hadn’t been such a successful businessman he might have realized that the feeling was shame. But now the guerrilla leader was smiling all over his face.

  ‘Let us sit down and celebrate this successful business with a cup of mint tea,’ suggested Gomez Ortega. ‘But do not forget to tell the world that we are Men of our Word.’

  ‘But why the change of heart, Father?’ persisted Jack. ‘What’s made you suddenly so concerned about me?’

  ‘Don’t ask why!’ cried Gomez Ortega. ‘Just be grateful that he is!’

  ‘No!’ replied Jack. ‘He can’t have just changed a lifetime’s habit for no reason. I want to know what’s in it for him.’

  ‘Have I really neglected you so badly?’ asked Orville humbly.

  ‘You never came home on my birthday, even when you and Mum were together!’ exclaimed Jack.

  ‘I was always away on important business,’ mumbled Orville. ‘Otherwise I would have done.’

  ‘And then you . . . you cut us out of your life!’ exclaimed Jack.

  ‘I . . . I . . . didn’t mean to . . .’

  ‘So what’s made you suddenly the loving father? I bet you didn’t even know I’d been working in South America for two years!’

  Orville looked at his son, and then at the guerrilla leader, who was watching them both with mounting anxiety. The

  successful businessman felt all his usual confidence draining out of him, and he suddenly started to feel sorry for himself. Yes! Orville Barton, the rich, charismatic, and ruthless man of business felt pity for the wretched creature that he really was.

  ‘Why can’t my son love me like normal sons do?’ he wondered to himself. ‘Why does he have to suspect my motives like this?’

  And as he thought that, all the problems of the day suddenly overwhelmed him. It was all so unfair. It had started out as an ordinary business day like any other, and then the moment he’d got on that wretched train it had started to go wrong.

  And now the frustration and anger all boiled out.

  ‘I didn’t want to come here!’ cried Orville. ‘All I wanted was to go to Manchester! I’ve a crucial deal going through there! That’s what the money’s for! It’s not for you!’

  That’s what Orville Barton yelled at his son in the middle of the Amazon rain forest, surrounded by guerrillas. There was a terrible silence.

  ‘I’m sure he doesn’t mean that!’ said the guerrilla leader.

  ‘I feel sorry for you,’ said Jack. ‘I really do.’

  ‘You didn’t really mean that did you, Mr Barton?’ The guerrilla leader turned to Orville.

  ‘No. Yes,’ said Orville. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Here!’ shouted Jack. ‘You can take your money back where it came from!’ and he suddenly grabbed the briefcase of banknotes and threw it at his father.

  ‘Oh now let’s not be hasty!’ said Gomez Ortega, snatching the briefcase back again.

  ‘I’d rather stay a hostage, than be treated like someone who doesn’t exist!’ shouted Jack.

  ‘I have important things to do!’ yelled Orville.

  ‘Exactly!’ yelled Jack. ‘And rescuing me isn’t one of them!’

  ‘Yes! Yes! Of course it is!’ exclaimed the guerrilla leader anxiously.

  ‘I’m staying here!’ shouted Jack.

  ‘Fine!’ shouted his father. ‘I’ll get on with my business!’

  ‘No! No! No!’ shouted the guerrilla leader, and turned to Jack. ‘You can’t stay here!’

  ‘What d’you mean!’ shouted Jack. ‘You’ve been keeping me here against my wishes all these months!’

  ‘Yes, but now the ransom has been paid,’ said the guerrilla leader to Jack, ‘you can’t stay here any more. It just isn’t done! We are Men of Our Word!’

  ‘Let me join you!’ shouted Jack. ‘I’m fed up with being a computer programmer! I’ll become a guerrilla instead!’

  ‘No! No!’ said Gomez Ortega. ‘We must return you to your family and loved ones. The world must know that we are Men of our Word!’

  At that moment there was a terrible crashing sound in the jungle. Everybody froze. The roaring and crashing got closer and closer and the next minute the train suddenly smashed its way into the clearing, and screeched to a halt in front of the guerrilla leader. Gomez Ortega didn’t flinch. He stood his ground and glared at the huge engine.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked.

  ‘That is the cause of all my problems!’ cried Orville Barton. ‘That is the machine that has turned my life upside down!’

  The rest of the guerrillas and Jack had all scattered when the train arrived, but now they cautiously ventured back.

  ‘Did this train bring you here, Señor Barton?’ asked Gomez Ortega.

  ‘Indeed it did! Damn the thing!’ replied Orville Barton.

  ‘Then it can now take you and your son back to your home, where I hope you will grow to understand each other, and where, I trust, a mutual affection will blossom between you like flowers on a dry cactus,
’ said the guerrilla leader. He nodded to his men, and they hustled Jack and his father on to the train.

  ‘But I want to stay here!’ cried Jack, as one of the guerrillas slammed the carriage door shut behind him.

  ‘Wait a minute!’ cried the guerrilla leader. ‘I almost forgot!’

  Jack looked out of the window hopefully. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Your father needs this!’ exclaimed Gomez Ortega, pushing a piece of paper into his hands.

  ‘Oh . . .’ said Jack.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Orville Barton, taking the piece of paper from his son.

  ‘A receipt,’ said Gomez Ortega.

  ‘A receipt?’

  ‘For the ransom money,’ explained the guerrilla leader.

  ‘Oh, how thoughtful,’ said Orville Barton bitterly. ‘I’m sure I can claim tax relief on that.’

  ‘Please come and visit us any time,’ said the guerrilla leader, ‘Our address and phone number are on the receipt.’

  ‘Whooo! Whooo!’ hooted the train, and its wheels began

  to turn, as all the guerrillas lined up and waved goodbye.

  ‘Goodbye!’ they cried. ‘And thank you for the ransom money!’

  ‘No! Wait!’ shouted Jack. ‘I want to fight for the future freedom of your people and the right of all human beings to live in peace!’ And if he could have opened the door, he would have jumped out there and then, even though the train was by now gathering speed. But the train had locked all its doors again, and when Jack tried to stick his head out of the window he was slapped and scratched across the face by lianas and jungle fronds so he quickly pulled it in again.

  ‘Father!’ he said, ‘I demand you tell the driver to stop this train so I can get out and return to people who value me!’

  But his father didn’t reply. In fact his father wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  ‘Dad?’ Jack called out, as he made for the First Class carriages, where he would naturally expect to find him. But he wasn’t there either. So Jack hurried towards the front of the train. As he approached the driver’s cab, he was surprised to hear shouting coming from within it. When he opened the door he found his father yelling at no one.

  ‘What have you done with them? They wouldn’t just vanish into thin air!’ Orville was yelling. ‘ Where are they?’

  ‘Father, are you driving this train?’ asked Jack.

  Orville Barton span round, and a look of guilt flushed across his face. ‘Er!’ he cried.

  ‘And who are you yelling at?’ Jack looked around the empty driver’s cab.

  ‘It’s too complicated to explain,’ said Orville Barton.

  ‘You mean, “It’s not worth explaining to me”!’

  ‘No! It’s just . . .’ How could Orville Barton explain to his son, of all people, that he was not in control of what was happening?

  ‘Listen, Dad!’ exclaimed Jack, taking his father by the shoulders and shaking him. ‘I want you to stop this train. I want to stay in the jungle.’

  ‘Well, you’re too late!’ said Orville Barton to his son, and it was true. The train was now rattling and hissing over the surface of the mighty Amazon, following its twists and turns and swinging round the curves as it bent its way towards the open sea.

  ‘Turn this thing round!’ shouted Jack.

  ‘No!’ yelled his father. ‘I won’t!’ Although, of course, he had no choice in the matter.

  ‘Then I’ll do it!’ shouted Jack, and he struggled with his father to try and get at the controls of the train.

  ‘Oh! For goodness’ sake stop it, you two!’ said the train.

  ‘Who was that?’ exclaimed Jack, jumping out of his skin and back into it again before his father even had a chance to groan.

  ‘Oh!’ groaned his father.

  ‘Where’s that voice coming from?’

  ‘It’s me . . .’ said the train.

  ‘I’ll do the explaining!’ snapped Orville Barton.

  ‘What?’ said his son.

  ‘It’s a special kind of train,’ explained Orville Barton to his son. ‘You have to speak to it.’

  ‘A voice-controlled train?’ exclaimed Jack.

  ‘Sort of . . .’ said Orville.

  ‘Train!’ shouted Jack. ‘I want you to turn around and

  take me back to the jungle!’

  ‘Phooey!’ hooted the train. ‘Phooey! Phoooey! Phooey! And Phooey!’

  ‘You have to talk to it in the right way,’ said Orville Barton.

  ‘Train! Turn around at once!’ shouted Jack – articulating his words very precisely.

  ‘But we’ve got to find Annie and Little Orville!’ his father blurted out.

  ‘What’s my sister got to with it?’ asked Jack. ‘And Little Orville?’

  ‘They were here, on board the train, but they’ve gone!’ cried Orville.

  ‘What were Annie and Little Orville doing on this train?’ shouted Jack. ‘Why are you suddenly interfering in our lives?’

  ‘I wasn’t “interfering”,’ replied Orville. ‘I was giving Annie a lift. She was taking her husband Tom his lunch,’ said Orville.

  ‘Where’s my sister?’ shouted Jack at the train. ‘And my nephew, Little Orville?’

  ‘They got off,’ said the train.

  ‘You mean they’re back there in the jungle!’ exclaimed Jack.

  ‘If my daughter and her little boy are back there we must turn back at once!’ said Orville.

  ‘You keep out of this!’ said Jack to his Father. ‘I’ll find Annie. Train! Turn back!’

  ‘Phooey!’ hooted the train.

  ‘This train’s voice-recognition programme is appalling!’ said Jack.

  ‘Don’t be fooled!’ growled his father. ‘It knows what we’re talking about all right, it just won’t do what we want it to.’

  But before Jack could reply, the train interrupted.

  ‘They’re not in the jungle!’ it said.

  ‘So where are they then?’ demanded Jack.

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ said the train.

  ‘Don’t be so stupid!’ yelled Jack.

  ‘Don’t call me “stupid”!’ roared the train. ‘That’s what she kept calling me! And “ridiculous”! I’m not stupid and I’m not ridiculous! I’m a Class 4MT BR Standard No.75027!’

  ‘Then where is my sister?’ yelled Jack.

  ‘I can’t tell you!’ cried the train.

  ‘Listen!’ said Jack. ‘If you don’t tell me, I’ll reprogramme you so you can’t talk at all!’

  ‘You couldn’t do that!’

  ‘Oh yes I could!’ yelled Jack. ‘That’s my job! I’m a computer programmer!’

  The train went quiet for a moment. Then it said, ‘I can’t tell you where they are, but I can take you there.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you say!’ exclaimed Orville. ‘Take us to them at once!’ demanded Orville.

  ‘I already am!’ hooted the train. It had suddenly tilted up at an impossible angle and was now climbing up into the air . . . its wheels gripping on thin air as if the wind were a railroad track . . . climbing up and up, higher and higher into the sky.

  Orville Barton and his son Jack picked themselves up from the floor, where they’d fallen, and looked out of the driver’s cab window.

  ‘We’re flying!’ exclaimed Jack. ‘This is some train!’

  ‘At last some appreciation!’ hooted the train, and up it continued to soar – 10,000 feet – 20,000 feet – 30,000 feet. Around 38,000 feet, it started to flatten out and as it did so, Orville and Jack’s jaws dropped . . . their eyes came out on stalks, for there ahead of them was a huge black cloud.

  Now you might not think a huge black cloud (no matter how huge or how black) was such an unusual thing to see in the sky – especially here in the mid-Atlantic where the Equator crosses the northern shore of South America, and storms blow up out of nowhere in a matter of minutes. But this black cloud was not like any other black cloud in the mid-Atlantic. In fact it was not like any other black cloud
that ever existed . . . It was made entirely of iron.

  The billowing surfaces of the cloud were actually formed by massive panels of cast iron. Streaks of rust ran from the rivet holes and the joins in the metalwork. And yet the whole vast structure floated in the air as if it were gossamer. And the train was heading straight for it.

  Before either Orville or Jack had time to so much as shout out, ‘Stop! Don’t go into that cloud! It’s made of iron!’, a panel in the side of the black cloud slid open, and the train thundered straight in, and as it did its wheels engaged with a metal track and the noise echoed from metal wall to metal wall.

  At the end of the vast concourse was a large sign, hanging from the roof, that read: ‘Receiving Hall’.

  When the last carriage had crossed the threshold, the portal closed, and the train clattered its way across the receiving hall until it finally ground to a halt beside a platform.

  Orville and Jack climbed out, and looked around them. The platform looked pretty similar to any platform in any large railway terminal, except that the station signs read ‘Maurice’ and there were no other passengers. There was, however, a man, striding along the platform towards them. He wore green overalls, and was carrying a clipboard. His overalls also had the word ‘Maurice’ written in red on the left breast pocket.

  ‘Now listen here!’ Orville began. Whoever this odd little man was, if he had anything to do with the Euston to Manchester Express, Orville had plenty to say to him.

  But the little man in overalls just swept past Orville and Jack and went straight up to the engine.

  ‘You’re a disgrace!’ he shouted. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  ‘I don’t understand . . .’ mumbled the train.

  ‘You’re meant to be evil!’ exclaimed the man.

  ‘Well, I am!’ retorted the train. ‘I never took Mr Barton to Manchester, even though he kept begging and begging me to. And I took him to places he’s been avoiding for years . . .’

  ‘Idiot!’ snapped the man. ‘You’ve got that wretch talking to his children for the first time in years!’