"Mariya!"
"I steal objects with calmer stories. That picture that my father gave back to the old woman? I stole that.” From about her person she produced various trinkets, jewelry, and small coins, and dropped them on the floor. “These too."
The old man shook his head. “Mariya, what am I to do with you?"
"I can't help it!” Mariya pleaded. “I don't know how Mother dealt with it, and you can't teach me...."
She trailed off into silence and the old man sighed. “If nothing else,” he said to Katya, “this should tell you how unsettling your story is."
Katya took another swallow of liquor and tried to focus.
"But we need to learn more,” the old man went on. “And that is why Mariya needs an object—"
"I'm keeping the gun,” said Katya. Her eyes went from Mariya to the old man and back. Then she brought out Andrei's letter. “What about this?"
Mariya made a relieved sound. “That would be much better,” she said. “Guns have violent histories, and they're rarely helpful.” She took the letter and examined it. “Anything else?"
Katya reached inside her collar and brought out a locket on a silver chain.
Mariya nodded. “Would you open it, please?"
Katya tried, but the hinge broke apart and the halves fell to the floor.
Cursing, she reached down to pick them up. But Mariya stopped her. “Wait!"
The girl retrieved the pieces herself, one in each hand. She looked at the pictures of Katya and Andrei, then closed her eyes.
Katya watched and waited.
"He is in the engine,” Mariya murmured. “He is in great pain. You ... must find him, Katya. You must—"
Someone pounded on the door, setting the woodstove rattling. Katya recoiled. The old man cursed. Mariya yelped then scurried behind her father.
The pounding came again. The door almost buckled beneath its force.
The old man looked at Katya's handgun. “Can you use that?"
She swallowed. “If I have to."
He looked at the coin, first at one side, then the other. Then he thumped it to the carpet and answered the door.
A voice, wheezing and clattering like a diesel engine, issued from the darkness outside. “The war's started again, Marko! I'm here to collect conscripts!"
Katya blinked. Started again? The war's been going on for—
A face thrust itself inside. Katya recognised it as Andrei's, then saw it was part of a lumbering, half-mechanical monstrosity. Lamplight gleamed off steel legs and an arm. Metal plates covered half its skull. Katya felt the blood draining out of her face.
"We understand your need for warm bodies, sir,” the old man—Marko—said, “but I ask that you overlook these ladies in exchange for my wholehearted service."
A mechanical arm seized him by the throat. “You live here under our sufferance!” The smell of dirty oil clogged Katya's nostrils. “When a war's on, we take what we need, when we need it!"
Mariya rushed to Katya's side and leaned close to her ear. “Shoot it!” she whispered. “That isn't your husband! Shoot it!"
The creature looked at Mariya. “Shoot me? You little...!"
It hurled Marko into a corner then lumbered toward Mariya.
Katya almost couldn't move. But she saw the monstrosity raise its arm against Mariya and found it within herself to aim Andrei's weapon and pull the trigger three times. The creature crashed to the floor.
Katya rested her head on her knees and began to weep. For a moment, nothing moved.
"Katya?"
She looked up. Mariya pointed to the creature. “Look at it."
Katya shook her head.
"Look!"
She did. The creature no longer bore Andrei's likeness. Sunken eyes, lantern jaw—nothing like the man she had married.
"That was not your husband,” said the dwarf. “You did not shoot your husband."
Katya let out a slow breath. Of course that thing wasn't Andrei. It didn't act anything like him; Andrei would never harm a little girl. Katya covered her face with her hands. It wasn't Andrei, wasn't Andrei, wasn't Andrei. I did not shoot my Andrei.
She raised her head. “Thank you.... Why did it look like him before?"
Mariya shrugged. “Father said they all looked the same during the last war too. I was a baby then, so I wouldn't know.” She paused for a long time, staring. Then she said, “I think Father would want you to have this.” And she gave Katya the coin.
Katya frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?” She looked around. “Where's—"
Marko still lay where the creature had thrown him. Katya realized he would never move again.
Mariya began to weep. Katya gathered her into her arms and held her while the lamps burned and the wheels clattered.
When Mariya was done weeping, she lifted her head and blinked away tears. “More Machinists will come,” she said. “The sooner we leave here, the better."
"Mariya.... “Katya offered the coin back. “I can't take this. You're his daughter."
"You don't understand,” said Mariya. “No one can use the coin more than three times—and you will need it more than I.” She wiped her eyes. “Anyway, we'll be going together. We can hide in the sleeping car."
"But then what? We can't hide forever."
"True,” said Mariya. “We must also find your husband."
"But why was he brought here? Why am I here?” asked Katya, exasperated. “What is going on?"
"I don't know everything, Katya. I have much of my mother's talent, but none of her skill.” The dwarf fidgeted, as if very anxious to leave. “The Machinists collected her during the last war; she had Father use the coin so he and I would be safe. She was never around to teach me."
"Why didn't you and Marko leave? You had the opportunity at Stalingrad."
Mariya nodded. “Oh, we can leave. But the Train always brings us back. Always. The only way to truly leave her is to discover what she wants.” She rose to her feet. “We'd best be going."
They covered Marko's body with a fur and paid a moment's respect. Then they went to the door and opened it.
Katya gasped when she saw the stars. They surrounded the Train on all sides—even below the railroad ties that flew by faster than the eye could register. They shone crystalline and countless, and Katya gazed at them so long that Mariya had to tug her sleeve.
Breaking out of her reverie, Katya thought of releasing the caboose from the Train, keeping Marko's body safe from the Machinists. But then she saw the couplings.
They were human hands. Women's hands, three times as large as Katya's. As she watched, the hands turned on their wrists and an index finger waggled as if admonishing a child.
Shuddering, Katya went with Mariya to the sleeping car.
II: Sleeping Car
Looking through the door window, Katya saw a long aisle, dimly lit. Toward the other end, she saw lights and movement.
When she opened the door, she saw something else. A huge chamber lay before her, with a checkered floor. Two rows of monoliths, made of dusky red stone, extended from the door and beyond her sight.
"Mariya?"
The dwarf shrugged. “If this is where we must go, we must go."
"What about the roof?"
"In this wind?” Mariya paused to indicate the deafening howl. “If we fall, there will be nothing to catch us."
Katya sighed. Then she said, “Let's get this over with,” and went through.
The door closed behind them. Katya tried to open it again and found it locked. Cursing, she turned to examine her new surroundings. Far to her right was another double row of monoliths, these of black stone. Looking back, she saw that the door they had entered by stood in yet another monolith. “Have you been here before?"
Mariya started to shake her head—then stopped. “What's that?"
To their left, they heard a soft, melodic chanting. A male voice, aged and careworn, yet filling the vast chamber.
They walk
ed around a monolith and saw an old man, bald, wearing a grey overcoat with a Star of David sewn on the breast. Sitting with his legs tucked under him, he peered through wirerimmed spectacles at a wad of clay in his hands.
From his perspective, Katya decided, she stood about five centimeters high.
She and Mariya ducked back behind the monolith. When they looked again, they saw the old giant seemed not to have noticed them. He kept kneading the clay, shaping it, always chanting.
Then a door flew open behind him. Through it stomped a Machinist, similar to him in size. Like the Machinist in the caboose, it bore Andrei's likeness. “The war's begun again, Yoshua!” it bellowed. “I'm here to collect conscripts!"
Yoshua continued chanting as he rose to face the Machinist. Before it could seize him, he reached out and touched its forehead. Light sprang from his finger and the Machinist froze where it stood. Yoshua's finger moved as he chanted, and Katya and Mariya watched the light etch strange symbols into the Machinist's forehead.
When Yoshua finished, the creature turned and, without a word, left the compartment. Yoshua locked the door. Then he sat back down and picked up the clay.
Katya looked at Mariya, who shook her head.
Yoshua finished sculpting the clay; it now bore the likeness of a Soviet infantryman. He drew symbols on its forehead, then set it on the chessboard on which Katya and Mariya stood.
And the monoliths sprang to life.
"Halt!” A rifle barrel was leveled at Katya. She looked up at a Russian lieutenant, three meters tall from her perspective. “Drop your weapon!"
Andrei's handgun clattered to the floor.
"What do you have, Lieutenant?” asked a shrill voice some distance away.
"Intruders, sir!” said the lieutenant.
"Send them here!"
The lieutenant herded them with his rifle. Mariya tried to get away, but the soldier was too quick. He caught her with one arm and pushed her back.
They were passed to a political officer, lines of self-righteousness etched in his face, a mammoth copy of The Communist Manifesto under one arm. He pointed onward, gazing down imperiously.
Katya sensed her opportunity, and with a sudden lunge shoved Mariya off the board. “Run, Mariya!” She tried to jump off herself, but the political officer stomped her down with his boot.
"Shoot her!” cried the shrill voice. Several guns cocked. Katya saw Mariya cringe—but then a barrier came down between her and harm. It was Yoshua's hand.
Weapons fired at the hand, others at his face, raising sparks from his spectacles. Yoshua did not even blink. He said, “This girl has nothing to do with your war. Nor does the other young lady. Release her to me, please."
Silence fell as the weapons were lowered and Mariya crept away. Katya struggled for breath.
Then the shrill voice said, “Bring her to me!"
The boot released her, prodded her in the ribs. “Go."
"No, idiot, carry her to me! Do some real work for a change!"
But instead of the political officer's cold hands, Katya felt another's, larger, gentler. Turning, she saw a woman, four meters tall. Uniformed like the rest, she had her blonde tresses tucked beneath an officer's cap.
And the woman, seeing her face, stopped short. “Katya?"
"What are you waiting for?” said the shrill voice. It belonged to a long-necked man in a general's uniform. “Give her to me!"
The queen turned to him. “Sir, I know this woman; her husband commanded my old unit. She's not a soldier."
"You think I care about her combat prowess!?” He pointed at Yoshua. “She's friends with that thing!"
The giant chuckled. “You think I am in charge here?” he asked. “You think I have nothing better to do than watch thirty-two golems shoot each other to ribbons?"
The king stared at Yoshua, his Adam's apple bobbing. Yoshua merely smiled and waited.
Then: “He's bluffing! Give her to me!"
The queen looked at Katya. She closed her eyes. “No."
And she hurled Katya from the board.
As she tumbled along, a thud shook the air as Yoshua's hand came down to protect her. Three shots rang out.
"What the hell are you doing!?"
"She disobeyed a direct order, sir! Treason is death!"
"I needed her for the war, damn you!"
Three more shots. Then silence.
Katya rose, fighting for balance. She peered around Yoshua's hand at the chessboard. The queen lay dead, shot in the base of the skull. The political officer was also dead. The Nazis on the other side were looking on with amused interest.
Katya found Mariya crouching some distance away. “Are you all right?"
"You might want this.” Mariya produced Andrei's handgun, handling it through the sleeve of her dress. “I palmed it when that knight looked away.” She then produced some rather large coins and smirked. “Got some change too, if you want it."
Katya took the gun. She looked back at the chessboard. “That poor woman...."
Yoshua reached forward and took the corpse. He wiped the blood off it with his thumb. “Many think I create these figures,” he said, studying the body. “My hands mold them, yes, but I am only—how do you say it—taking dictation?"
He began to chant, and the corpse became clay once more; he molded it, shaped it. He closed his eyes, as if needing only touch to know the shape of his work. When he was done, he set it down, etched symbols on its forehead, and there stood the Russian queen, alive again, breathing.
She looked around, until her eyes saw.... “Katya?"
An awkward silence followed. Then gunfire erupted—but it was only the Nazis attacking the Russians. The battle soon became a slaughter.
"Come away, ladies,” said Yoshua, pushing the chessboard aside.
As they hurried toward safety, Katya turned to the queen. “You knew my husband?"
"I transferred out of his unit a short time ago.” She offered her hand. “I am Olga Mikhailovna."
Katya took it, her fingers disappearing in Olga's. “Thank you for helping me,” she said.
Olga addressed Yoshua. “Thank you, sir."
Yoshua smiled. “I perform the tasks assigned to me. We all have our purpose, here on the Train."
Katya hesitated. “Olga ... when did you last see my husband?"
Olga blinked. “It ... it was when he dismissed me from his unit.” She looked down at Katya, shrugged. “He seemed well at the time. Has something happened to him?"
Katya explained the situation, as well as she understood it; Olga's eyes widened with alarm. “Would you help us find him?” Katya asked then.
"Of course. Your husband is a good man. I am proud to have served with him."
"We'd best get going,” said Mariya. She turned to Yoshua. “Will you help us to the floor, please?"
"Certainly,” said Yoshua. “But I wouldn't go to the aisle if I were you. From what I'm hearing, the war is coming this way. The Engineers are beating the Machinists back."
"What do you suggest?"
Rising, Yoshua opened another door in the side wall. Katya thought it should lead to the next sleeping compartment, but she saw only darkness.
"Where does it go?"
"That depends on who enters.” Yoshua gathered the women in his hands. “You know ... Mariya, is it? I remember someone looking very much like you coming here during the last war."
Mariya's eyes widened. “Is she still alive?"
"I haven't heard from her in quite a while.” Yoshua shrugged. “It's all happening again, just like last time. The Engineers bring a prisoner aboard the engine and the war begins. But that bodes well for the Machinists. Now they know they must kill the lead Engineer."
"That's how the last war ended?” Katya asked.
"Yes."
"What happened to the prisoner?"
Yoshua hesitated. “I understand he died, miss."
Katya's throat went dry. Yoshua set them all on the carpet.
"Shall
we?” said Olga.
They went through the door. The bloodbath on the chessboard continued behind them. Gunshots and screaming accompanied the women into darkness.
III: Dining Car
New sounds of violence, deafening in pitch, met their ears as they proceeded—war cries and sword clashes punctuated by gunfire. Katya and Olga readied their weapons. Mariya hid behind Katya's knees.
Light streamed toward them from under a thick, dark curtain. They could see shadows moving, and Katya felt the battle pounding through her shoes.
Olga went forward, knelt by the curtain, and peered underneath.
As Katya watched, she saw Olga freeze where she knelt, as still as marble, transfixed. Then she began to tremble.
"Olga?” Katya called.
The lieutenant wrenched herself away. She ran past Katya and Mariya without a word and buried her face against the wall.
Katya and Mariya approached. “Olga, what is it?” asked Katya.
Olga turned to her, tears streaming down her face. “I ... I can't explain it, Katya,” she said, sobbing. “I ... don't know why.... “She gestured helplessly toward the curtain.
Mariya tugged Katya's sleeve. “I think we'd best see for ourselves."
They went to the curtain and looked underneath. It turned out to be a tablecloth; the companions were hidden beneath a table fixed to the wall of what seemed to be the dining car. And about that table was strewn all manner of carnage.
Twenty dead Machinists littered the floor. Four still stood, fighting—with muscular and hydraulic might—at hopeless odds against a dozen winged creatures of alabaster white with blood on their claws. These new combatants were humanoid in shape, with huge feathered wings black as coal unfurling from snowy shoulder blades.
They all looked like Olga. One flicked its talons, spilling a Machinist's bowels.
Katya felt a desperate grip on her arm. “Katya ... you must listen to me—"
She wheeled on Mariya. “What is going on here?"
"Those are the Engineers. They only look like Olga, just like the Machinists only look—"
"Why?” Katya brandished Andrei's sidearm. “The Machinists look like Andrei for a reason! Those things look like her for a reason! Why?"
GUD Magazine Issue 3 :: Autumn 2008 Page 12