by Mick Farren
Phaid quickened his pace. Halfway up the long ramp he paused to look back. The rebel agents had reached the . foot of the ramp but, to Phaid's surprise and delight, the marikh security men were barring their way. Phaid smiled and walked on up. He was just congratulating himself on how he was clear away when a blaster burst exploded just a few paces behind him. He swung around, fumbling with his own weapon. It was one of the rebel agents who had fired, but he was being disarmed by the marikhs. Phaid decided that it still wasn't wise to linger. He trotted up the last stretch of the ramp and, with a definite feeling of relief, he stepped into the train.
Phaid found that Edelline-Lan had pretty much taken charge of things when he arrived at their assigned suite of staterooms. She was doing her best to placate the still raging Chrystiana-Nex while Streetlife provided the two of them with an unwilling and uncomfortable audience.
'You almost got us killed. Those rebels could have caught us, you ignorant, stupid slut! I don't care what happens to you! One court whore more or less makes no difference, but my life is important. I am special. I have a destiny to fulfil!'
Edelline-Lan's eyes blazed.
'I've taken about all I can take from you. You may have been our president once and because of that I have risked my life to get you out of the city.'
'My city.'
'It isn't your city any longer. You're going to have to realise that.'
'My city.'
'It's not your city. You're on the run just like the rest of us and the sooner you adjust to that the easier it'll make it for all concerned.' She saw Phaid come into the room and turned to him in appeal. 'Can you make her see sense?'
Phaid's shoulders drooped.
'I can't make anybody see anything until I've had a drink. I've just been shot at and I'm getting sick.'
Chrystiana-Nex rounded on him.
'You're sick? How dare you be sick? I am losing my city and on my way to exile! I am a special person and I require special treatment!'
Phaid started taking off his filthy, stained rebel coat. From deep inside the train there was the sound of the power units warming up. Any moment the train would start to move out of the Chrystianaville terminal. He looked at Chrystiana-Nex and wondered unkindly how long it would take the rebels to get around to changing the name of the city. He grinned at her.
'Why don't you get off it?'
'I'm special.'
'I don't give a damn what you are.'
Streetlife started to edge towards the door.
'I think I'm getting out of here.'
'I'm special.'
'For Lords' sake, shut your mouth, woman. We've all been through too much to listen to your shit.'
'I'm special. I'm special. I'm . . .'
Her eyes suddenly blanked out. Although Phaid had seen it happen before, he was still shocked. There was something frightening about the way her mind seemed to switch off and switch on. It was almost as if there was some outside entity controlling the woman like a puppet. Phaid couldn't guess at what she must have been through in all the time she spent with Solchaim. He thought about it but he wasn't sure that he'd ever want a detailed answer. After standing rigid and motionless for a few seconds, Chrystiana-Nex tottered backwards. Streetlife caught her under the armpits and laid her down on the nearest bed.
'She's gone again.'
'Thank the Lords for that. Let's hope she stays quiet for awhile.'
'Amen to that.'
Phaid picked up the comset. The line train was starting to vibrate slightly; departure was only a matter of minutes away. He ordered a considerable quantity of drinks and hung up. He dropped his coat on the floor, then took off his blaster and belt and let them drop too.
'I think I could use some peace and quiet.'
'And food.'
'And clean clothes.'
Edelline-Lan, Streetlife and Phaid all burst out laughing at the same moment. Streetlife pointed to the unconscious form of Chrystiana-Nex.
'If she stayed that way for the whole trip we could maybe have ourselves a good time.'
'Maybe she will.'
'You think we're due to get lucky?'
'Who's to tell.'
With the very smallest of lurches the line train began to move. Outside the stateroom's large picture window the roofs and spires of Chrystianaville slipped past, slowly at first, but then faster as the line train began to pick up speed. Phaid abruptly sat down.
'It's weird, you know, I spent a hell of a long time struggling to get back to this city, and now I'm leaving it again.'
Streetlife nodded.
'My momma always told me how if you wanted a thing for long enough you usually got it, but when you got it, you probably wouldn't like it.'
Edelline-Lan looked at each man in turn.
'You goddamn self pitying pair. At least we're on the damned train. What about poor Roni-Vows? If he's not dead already he's probably on his way to the White Tower or worse.'
Phaid closed his eyes.
'Right now I don't have the strength to worry about Roni-Vows' fate.'
'After all he did for you?'
'Did for me? Did for me?' Phaid was outraged. 'He never did a damn thing for me except drop me in the shit. I'm sorry he got caught, but I'm not about to weep bitter tears for him.'
Edelline-Lan looked as though she was about to explode, but before the argument could blow up into a full scale fight, there was a soft rapping on the door. Phaid jumped to his feet, considerably cheered.
'This must be the booze.'
Edelline-Lan wasn't about to leave it alone.
'Is that all you think about?'
Phaid nodded.
'For as much of the time as possible.'
He hit the door control with the palm of his hand. It slid open. Instead of the steward with a drink cart, he found a marikh officer standing there. His crisp tan uniform indicated that he was part of the line train's operational crew. The marikhs were not much given to insignia or decorations but, from the amount of braid that adorned this man's uniform, it was clear that he held a fairly substantial rank.
'Are you Master Phaid?'
Phaid was immediately wary.
'I'm Phaid. What can I do for you? Is there some kind of problem?'
'Perhaps if I was to step inside.'
Phaid waved him in.
'Sure. Be our guest.' The door slid closed. Phaid indicated an easy chair. 'Would you care for a seat?'
'I'd prefer to stand. This is something of a delicate matter.' The officer had the closed, passive good manners that were common to all marikhs. He made a slight formal bow. 'I am Hant Vozer V'Cruw. I have the position of Third Assistant Captain in charge of Passenger Relations.'
'That's nice.'
'I'm sorry - what's that supposed to mean?'
'Nothing at all. What seems to be the trouble?'
The marikh drew himself up to his full height which, unfortunately for his dignity, still only brought him up to Phaid's shoulder.
'As you probably know, we marikhs have a policy of non-interference in the internal affairs of the nations and city states that subscribe to our transport services. However, the presence of the deposed president of the Republic on this train does, to say the least, present us with what has to be an embarrassing situation. It is made particularly embarrassing in view of the fact that the present regime looks upon the ex-president as a wanted criminal.'
Edelline-Lan was immediately on her feet.
'You can't call that a regime! They're nothing more than a gang of thieves, murderers and cut throats. Why, even now they're starting to fight among themselves.'
Hant Vozer V'Cruw was unperturbed.
'So long as our line or installations are not jeopardised, we do not make value judgements regarding administration of client states.'
'So why pick on us? We're just trying to get out of town. We have tickets and we aren't doing anyone any harm.'
'Unfortunately, Master Phaid, the situation is a little more co
mplicated. You may not be doing anyone any harm at the moment, but this is a state of affairs that may not continue. After the incident prior to departure, it becomes clear that the presence of the one-time president on this vessel is no longer a secret. It is all too possible that the present authorities in Chrystianaville may attempt pursuit in some other kind of ground vehicle. They may even attempt to stop and board this vessel with a view to seizing Madame Chrystiana-Nex by force.'
Edelline-Lan was horrified.
'That's impossible. Not even the sickest Day Oners would think of attacking a line train.'
'Unfortunately, madame, neither you nor anyone else can give us a guarantee of that. If such an attempt should be made, it would obviously imperil the safety of the train, its passengers and possibly even the line itself.'
Phaid gave the marikh a sideways, far from happy look.
'Are you leading up to tell us that we're going to be thrown off the train?'
Hant Vozer V'Cruw vigorously shook his head.
'Of course not. You have valid tickets. It would be a breach of our constitution and our most dearly held traditions.'
'Well, that's a relief.'
'On the other hand . . .'
'Uh-oh.'
'On the other hand, if we received word that such an attack was imminent, then we would have no choice. Our duty would be clear.'
'We'd be thrown off the train.'
'The train would be stopped and the ex-president set down. She would, of course, receive a full refund on the price of her ticket.'
Phaid sighed.
'Of course.'
Streetlife looked up sharply.
'Do you dump all of us, or just the president?'
'At this moment, we have no information that any attempt to stop the train would be other than to seize the president.'
Phaid scratched his chin.
'What happens in the meantime?'
'In the meantime you are free to enjoy our first-class service. We would, however, be grateful if Chrystiana-Nex would remain in the suite, and that the rest of you would severely restrict your use of the larger public rooms such as the ballroom to an absolute minimum.'
Phaid grinned.
'Does that include the gaming,room?'
'In your case I would think that it particularly include the gaming room, Master Phaid.'
'Particularly?'
'I'm sorry. Are there any more questions?'
Phaid raised an eyebrow.
'How much warning will we get before you dump Chrystiana-Nex off the train?'
'As much as possible.'
'I see.'
'Is that all you wish to know?'
There were no more questions. Hant Vozer V'Cruw bowed and made his goodbyes. Once the door had swished closed behind him, Edelline-Lan confronted Phaid.
'What are you going to do about all this? We can't let her be thrown off the train.'
Streetlife joined in.
'What are you going to do? She may be a pain in the ass, but she's worth a lot of money to us.'
Phaid deliberately didn't answer until he'd carefully unbuttoned his shirt.
'I'm not going to do anything about all this. Once the steward has brought our drinks, I'm going to go down to the train's shopping centre, I'm going to buy some new clothes, then I'm coming back up here, getting a clean off, dressing myself and then I'm going to go to one of the smaller, more intimate bars and get as drunk as a skunk. I never asked to become that woman's nursemaid and I've just about had it up to here. So, like our marikh buddy just said, are there any other questions?'
With almost perfect timing the steward rapped on the door.
Phaid discovered, as he began to wander the train, that there was a certain subdued, drab atmosphere. There was no mistaking that he was on what amounted to a refugee ship. Although he took the marikh's advice and stayed away from the gaming hall and the ballroom, it was still apparent that there was little sparkle and glitter on the particular journey.
When Phaid walked into the small cocktail bar between the shopping area and the forward observation gallery, he found that he was the only customer. As well as being deserted, the bar was decorated in mosaic patterns made from thousands of tiny mirrors. Phaid found it a little disconcerting to sit and sip his drink with an infinite number of reflections of himself staring back at him. In self defence, he turned his attention to the bar steward.
'It's very quiet.'
'It stinks.'
The steward was particularly outspoken for a marikh. Phaid wondered if it was part of his training. He scowled as he shook up Phaid's second Mint Dropkick.
'We never ought to have brought this train into the Republic.'
The Dropkick gave off a heavy blue vapour as the steward poured it from the shaker. It drifted down from the glass and crept across the marble top of the bar. Phaid picked up the drink and tasted it. The steward looked at him enquiringly.
'How is it?'
'It's great.'
'Tell me something.'
'What?'
'You're not one of those Chrystianaville rebels, are you?'
'Who me? Not a chance.'
'That's funny. I had a four-hour pass in the city. I saw this broken hologram. It was for some rebel killer. It was a wanted holo, you know, offering a reward. The guy was some big time rebel killer. The hologram was left over from before when the rebels took power.'
Phaid knew what was coming but he asked anyway.
'So? What about it?'
'Well, I don't want to give offence, but the guy in the hologram, the big time rebel; he was your double. Don't you think that's weird?'
Phaid avoided the steward's eyes.
'Weird.'
'I mean, I had to find out if you were a rebel or not, not that we have too many rebels drinking up here, but I had to find out. I mean, personally, I don't approve of what those rebels are up to. Did you hear about that thing last night when they forced all those aristos to beat each other to death and . . .'
'I heard already.'
Phaid was hoping that the steward's garrulous conversation wasn't a result of training. It bode badly for marikh bars. On the other hand, if it wasn't, the man was some kind of aberration and that wasn't a pleasing thought either.
'Yes sir, I can tell you, if anyone asked me I'd say pull all trains out of the Republic until they've got a government that knows how to behave. I mean, the last president, that madwoman, she was bad enough, but this new lot . . . well, words fail me.'
'This is a very good Dropkick.'
Phaid decided to try and change the subject while words still failed the steward. He almost spilled his drink when a voice from behind him cut into the conversation.
'Master Phaid tries to avoid political discussion, don't you, Master Phaid.'
The steward slapped his forehead.
'Phaid. I knew it. That was the name of the guy on the hologram. It was you. Listen, I didn't mean to give any offence. Sometimes my mouth just runs away with me.'
Phaid ignored him. He set down his cocktail and slowly turned to look at the newcomer. He firmly refused to believe it was who he thought it was. Unfortunately the proof was there, right in front of him. Dreen was standing in the bar regarding Phaid with a mocking half-smile.
'You know something? If I keep running into you like this, I'm going to start to believe that you're following me. Isn't that strange?'
Phaid got angry.
'What exactly do you want?'
Dreen didn't answer. Instead he glanced at the steward.
'Just to set your mind at rest, he is the one in the hologram, but he isn't a killer. The whole thing was a bit of a sham.'
The steward began to busily polish a glass.
'I think I may have talked too much, gentlemen.'
Dreen hoisted himself on to a barstool. In his rather shabby, high-necked black coat he looked a little incongruous among the mirrors and chrome.
'What are you drinking?'
'A Mint Dropkick.'
'Are they good?'
'They're something of an acquired taste.'
Dreen gestured to the steward.
'Mix me a Mint Dropkick, will you?'
The steward smiled. He seemed happier now that he was back on safe ground. He poured the cocktail and its accompanying heavier-than-air vapour rolled across the counter. Dreen took a sip and nodded to the steward.
'It's good.'
'Thank you, sir.'
He raised his glass to Phaid.
'Good health.'
'Why don't you cut the crap and come out with what you want. You haven't come here to drink my health. Who are you and what the hell are you after?'
Dreen's reptilian face folded into a look of wronged innocence.
'You have a churlish streak, not to mention a suspicious nature.'
'Can we cut out the charade? Just tell me how come you're travelling on this train.'
'I'm just going from one place to another. It's the story of my life.'
Phaid drained the last of his drink. He coughed. He'd forgotten that one was supposed to leave the last fraction of a Dropkick. He swung off the barstool.
'If you want to keep this up, you can do it on your own. I don't know what you are or who you work for, but I'm walking out of this bar right now.' Dreen was immediately placating. 'Come now. Don't be so hasty. I'm just a traveller, the same as you, trying to get by. I don't mean you any harm.'
'How do I know that?'
Dreen's reptile smile came back again.
'Because if I did, we wouldn't be sitting here like this. Oh, don't look at me that way. I know all about your mission. I know that Roni-Vows has been caught. I suppose I should be sorry, but I never could have much sympathy for that particular conniving butterfly.'
'Are you going to sell us back to the Day Oners or what. I'd imagine they'd pay a great deal for Chrystiana-Nex.'
Dreen's face took on a look of sadness that wasn't quite plausible.
'You really do have a talent for wronging me, putting the worst possible construction on what I say. Why can't you realise that all I want to do is to help you?'
'Because I don't trust you. I swear to God that I saw you in the White Tower with police and priests. I've seen you in other places, too. It all adds up to a combination that can't possibly mean me any good.'
'There you go again.'
