Souls in the Great Machine

by Sean McMullen

  They arrived back at the beam flash tower as the sun was setting and the clerk in the office rang a message for Zarvora to come down. She emerged from the pulley lift limping but looking better than when they had left. They walked along the streets to the jeers of those who recognized her.

  "Run from the Ghans, ya coward!" bawled someone in a hoarse voice, and something flew through the lamplit gloom and splattered on her ragged cloak.

  "Stay an' fight, ya bitch!" This time the voice was female, and from a balcony. "Us women belong here, with our men

  "We'd rather welcome the Ghans than fight 'em. Death to the Overmayor!"

  Glasken and Ettenbar flanked her as they made their way through the thickening crowd.

  "Pay no attention, Frelle Exalted Overmayor," said Ettenbar, marching proudly erect with a scattershot gun at his shoulder.

  "Aye, Frelle Overmayor," agreed Glasken. "Folk have been calling me a coward all my life, but--Stand back, ye buggers!" "They call abuse well in Austaric, although this is a Woomeran town," remarked Zarvora. "I know mobs, and this one is better organized than the Great Western Paraline Authority's schedules."

  Zarvora went straight to the lead coach after pushing through the angry, restless crowd at the rail side People began banging on the outside of the coach, while within were shrieking children and their wailing mothers.

  "Go to the Firefly and tell the captain to wait," she said to Glasken and Ettenbar. They immediately made their way forward.

  Captain Wilsart of the Firefly, the lead galley engine, helped them through the forward access hatch.

  "If this train starts to move there'll be a riot," Glasken warned. "The Overmayor says wait. Who's behind this trouble?"

  "Whoever 'tis, the Overmayor can count on the Great Western Paraline Authority replied Captain Wilsart calmly. Glasken looked out of the driver's window slit, and noted that the track ahead of the train was relatively free of people. A small knot of men with muskets stood on the balks and transoms, and one of them had a sledge hammer and bolt-wrench over his shoulder. Glasken turned at a commotion behind them. Zarvora was ing up into the driver's cabin, filthy with grease and dirt, and panting heavily. "Highliber! Did the crowd beat you?" gasped Ettenbar.

  She shook her head. "No, I crawled from the lead carriage under the Iron Duke, then entered by the floor access hatch. At my word, prepare to leave. your crew and nav vies on alert, Captain."

  "But what of the Iron Duke?" asked the captain of the Firefly.

  "I uncoupled it as I crawled here. I also unpinned the safety catches on brakes and jammed them."

  "Very good, Highliber," he said as he unclamped the brake lever and engaged the Ready signal.

  "Who are those men on the tracks up ahead?" exclaimed Zarvora.

  them is removing rail bolts!" Captain Wilsart seized Glasken's shoulders. "Glasken, go down to the for ward gunner, tell him to fire the grapeshot barrel at anyone who fires on us when we begin moving. Quickly!" He turned to the driver. "At my word... For, ward!"

  The Firefly moved smoothly away, with little more noise than the its wheels on the rails as a warning to those ahead on the track. Some of the crowd cheered, thinking that the galley engine was abandoning with the Overmayor still in it. One of the gangers looked up to see the engine approaching and shouted a warning to his companions. He raised his musket and fired at the driver's window slit. The bullet glanced off the heavy armored glass; then the forward gunner replied with grapeshot. The blast annihilated the group of men, and a moment later the Firefly jolted over flesh and weapons. The loosened rail held as the galley engine passed.

  It was not until the exchange of shots that those in the crowd realized that anything was wrong. A peppering of fire lashed out at the departing Firefly people fled or flung themselves behind cover. The leading agitators stormed aboard the Iron Duke, but the crew were all loyal Great Western Paraline employees and they feigned confusion. By the time the forward bombard had been unclamped and run out, the Firefly had disappeared around a bend.

  "The town has been filled with hired churls and churlenes from the inde pendent castellanies, probably in the pay of the Alspring Ghans," Zarvora said grimly to Captain Wilsart. "The beam flash tower crew was with them, too. I could tell by the pattern of clicks from their instruments that they were sending out orders contrary to what I was saying."

  "But what will--" Across the darkened rooftops the gallery at the top of the beam flash tower exploded in a ball of lurid flame. Glasken gasped in horror, but the gunner beside him did not even turn to look. Zarvora climbed down from the access walkway to join them.

  "The town walls are ahead there, gunner," she said as the Firefly rattled over a set of points. "If the gates are shut you will get but one shot at them, and that must hit the transverse beam or we are all dead."

  "Not te worry, Frelle Highliber," he replied. "Just tell me what speed we do."

  "Twenty-five of your speed units." "They be miles per hour, Highliber. Good enough for Brnnel, good enough for us. Now then, closed the gates be, and twenty-five, ye say. That's a three nick elevation, and a true of four point five."

  On the town wall, two of the militia watched the galley engine approaching with more than purely military interest. In spite of the darkness the two members of the Peterborough Train Spotters Brotherhood were sufficiently expert to be able to identify it from little more than the sound that it made on the par aline rails and the outline of its shape from its running lights.

  "There be a GWG-class galley engine of five-segment configuration," said musketeer first class Mansofial.

  "Firefly, that be the Firefly, GWG-409/5," replied his companion, Prengian.

  "No sighting on a number, we can't claim a confirmed sighting without seeing the number."

  "No carriages or wagons, now that's worth a note."

  "Leave the gates closed, we can hold up a lantern to the number as they wait. Have yon got the sightings book?" A rocket flew straight and true from the Firefly's forward tube, striking the gates a little below the transverse bar and exploding. Instead of breaking, the bar was blown clear of its clamps, and it came down just as the Firefly was butting through the splintered gates.

  "Firefly shot out the gate!" cried Mansofial in disbelief.

  "I'm a-nofin' it in the book," Prengian called back excitedly. The great wooden beam crushed the rear roof of the galley engine's last two segments as it butted through the heavy swinging gates and the Firefly slowed as it dragged the bar clear of the gates. Amid the cries of injured nav vies worked alongside Ettenbar, Captain Wilsart, and Zarvora to cut through of bar, fabric, and ash wood frame with hatchets. They were puzzled that militia on the wall had not opened fire.

  "Do we call this sighting an accident or an incident?" asked Prengian. "Accidents is unintentional, incidents is intended in part," was the reply. "Looks to be elements of both here. An incident what results in an accident. "We should put it to the next monthly meeting of the Peterborough Spotters Brotherhood," said Mansorial excitedly. "Good Lord, now look at They're convertin' it, they're detachin' the last segment right there on the

  "You're right!" exclaimed Prengian, "GWG-409/5 has become

  Does this merit a new entry in the book, or is it part of the incident report?"

  At last the nav vies were able to push the bar and wreckage onto the The rear of the engine was so severely mangled that its wheels were but galley engines were built from articulated modules. At Captain the rear third of the Firefly was evacuated and unclamped, and the galley en rumbled forward as if it had been freed from a leash.

  "Ah, Prengian," said Mansorial tentatively, as if remembering important.

  "Aye?" "GWG-409/4, Firefly, has just shot out the gate we're a-guardin'." "Aye, but as GWG409/5." "Shouldn't we have fired on it?" There was a short, awkward silence.

  "Ach, that would never do. It's a Great Western Paraline Authority GWG-class! The Peterborough Train Spotters Brotherhood would have us pelled before a single day was past fo
r a-doin' that."

  "But the Gate Captain will have us shot for not doin' so when he gets here."

  "Aye, you're right. Let's put a shot or two from the bombardiette into wreckage that's left." The little bombard had a flintlock striker instead of a fuse. Mansorial drew the safety pin, aligned the sights with the dark mass on the par aline squeezed the trigger. A one-pounder ball was spat from the barrel. It struck canvas and ash wood wall and smashed into the rocket locker for the rear The damaged segment was blasted apart as the warheads exploded, the mixed-gauge rails and in the process rendering the par aline impassable at least an hour. By this time the Firefly was lost in the darkness of the cast night.

  "Five crew dead and fifteen injured," Ettenbar reported to Captain Wilsart they passed the tiny rail side of Gumbowie. "Twenty-seven pedal mechanisms smashed or lost, and a quarter of the roof destroyed. The rear grapeshot bombard and rocket launcher are gone too, with the rear of the engine." "What about rockets?" asked Zarvora. "The main store was at the rear."

  "Damn. How many rockets are left at the front?"

  "Three, Frelle Highliber." The Firefly rolled swiftly along through the night. Zarvora had the relief crewmen relocate the bow rocket launcher and bombard on the roof, so that they could be fired in all directions. At last there was no more to do. Zarvora, Glasken, Ettenbar, and Captain Wilsart retired to the driver's cabin, where they sat cleaning and loading their muskets and pistols in the lamplight.

  "Soon we shall fire a rocket into the tracks behind us," said Zarvora. "We must cut the track where we can."

  "Good work, Frelle Highliber," replied Captain Wilsart easily, "but there be better ways."

  "Better ways? And you are not upset at the damage?"

  "As Overmayor you authorized extension of the broad-gauge all the way to

  Rochester, Frelle, and you named your son after Brunel. You can do no wrong." The answer was not what Zarvora had expected. "What is it about you Great Western Paraline people?" she said, sitting back with her arms dangling beside her. "Why this fanatical loyalty to some preGreatwinter engineer who we know practically nothing about--and his seven foot par aline gauge?"

  "Because it's the best, Frelle. We always ask what Brunel would have done.

  Oh and by the by, it's seven foot and one-quarter inch."

  Zarvora smiled at the correction. "Was Brunel a general too? If he left any writings on battle tactics I ought to look at them."

  "He were a man of peace and building, Frelle. Our motto at Great Western Paraline is: Look To Functional Requirements. Just now your functional requirement is to tear up as much track as can. One rocket would take out a mere rail or two, and take a ten-minute to fix. I'll show you a scheme to do better."

  Zarvora sat thinking and resting for some minutes, while the Firefly's captain began to sketch a mechanism at the back of the galley engine's logbook. He handed it to her and she held it up to a pin lamp

  "Have you ever thought of becoming a Dragon Librarian, Fras Captain?"

  she asked as she realized what he was proposing. "Nay, Highliber. Train work is the only real work. No offense, mind. Libraries have their place and someone has to mind books and such like, but I count myself lucky that it's not me."

  Zarvora had killed everyone in the Peterborough bearnflash tower before she had even lit the fuse to the charge that blew its gallery apart. Thus the final set of messages sent out across the beam flash network was as she intended them to be,

  and in particular there had been no false orders sent south to Burra and Eudunda. Burra was actually a fortress of the old Spalding Castellany, and was well equipped for any siege. It had not been targeted by the infiltrators, and the local governor was loyal to the Southeast Alliance.

  The Firefly rolled into Burra without further incident. The governor and a.

  small group of dignitaries were at the rail side to greet Zarvora and receive their orders. "Send an unmanned wind engine north," Zarvora instructed the Burra gov,.i ernor. "Attach a balk drop truck and put mines with timers on the slip rails Set them to drop right on the par aline every seven miles, and set each after one minute. Have one large mine to explode in the engine after the is made."

  The injured from the Firefly were taken into the fort, and mechanics through the damaged section repairing and replacing mangled pedals and rigging up canvas streamlining. Before the work was complete, a crewless wind engine began its journey north, pulling its truck laden with mines. Zarvora was in the beam flash gallery of the Eudunda-facing tower when there was a flash of light to the north, followed by a distant boom.

  "That's the first mine dropped," said a beam flash receiver, the telescope facing north. "I can still see the rear running light of the engine. You know, Overmayor, the flash of the Peterborough gallery blowing gave me quite a start. Had spots before my eyes for a good quarter hour."

  "If they want war by infrastructure, I shall give it to them," Zarvora grimly. The receiver continued to stare through his telescope's eyepiece. "I can the glow of Peterborough clearly, and streaks like signal rockets above it.

  sorts of colors. A big party to welcome the invaders, it looks to be. Now wind engine--Argh!" The flash of light had even caught Zarvora's unaided eyes. She pushed dazzled receiver to one side of the telescope as the boom reached the gallery.

  "Fires, burning trees. Damn timer for the main charge must have gone early--but wait! Burning carriages, all smashed and tangled, at least a dozen them. They must have sent a galley train in pursuit of us from

  Your uncrewed wind engine slammed straight into it."

  The receiver massaged his eyes. "A good job, too," he said, "and by a

  Western machine." ii Twenty minutes later they were traveling south again, with the Firefly repaired and a full, fresh crew at the pedals. Glasken was unimpressed by the cold wind in the cabin from the open side windows. "Can't you have this thing glassed in like the South and Eastern Standard's wind engines?" he asked as he sat shivering beside Captain Wilsart.

  "Oh no, Fras. The feel of the wind gives you the mind of the land and weather. I mean, those SES ruff ins would take a wind's strength from the gauge on the roof." '

  "Seems reasonable to me." "But Fras, it's quality of wind that ye want. Is it steady wind, or is it blustery? What of direction? Is the direction changing from minute to minute? How cold is it?"

  "Well tonight it's damnable cold! I thought your galley engine is independent of winds." "Why yes, Fras, but the Firefly presents a profile to a headwind, and even a more of a profile to a vectored wind. The gears that you select and the pace of the crew depends on the wind--taken with the gradient of the track and the loading of the train as well. In a galley engine we must be optimal in our selection of the gearing between the pedals and the drive wheels to balance speed and torque while at the same time not wearying the nav vies who push the pedals. As captain, one must become part of the train, Fras, you must feel the wind as the train does. Now Mr. Brunel--"

  Zarvora interrupted. "This Brunel engineer, he is pre-Greatwinter, yet you know a great deal about him." "Aye, Frelle, he died two thousand eighty year ago next September, and those damnable traitors in the Britanical government destroyed the last of the broad gauge track in 1892 of the old calendar."

  "Britanica, I have read about that in one of your par aline verse epics." Her eyes narrowed for a moment. "Now, how long ago would that have been?" "Two thousand forty-seven years, Frelle Highliber."

  Zarvora sat uptight. "But that is exactly right. Do you know the date that the Call began?"

  "2021 of the old calendar, Frelle. One thousand nine hundred eighteen years ago."

  "Correct, all correct. Did you get it from my published papers in the 1702 Astronomical Transactions?" "Nay, just from good bookkeeping and logs, Overmayor. Mr. Brunel specified that good records must be kept. Some of our par aline epics and sagas help too, for when disorderly mayors made wars and burned our archives over the centuries, our epics were used to keep the records alive and preserve
d. Drop into our Kalgoorlie offices sometimes and you can check any entries and dates in our archives. We also have there the original pre-Greatwinter model diorama of Pangbourne Station in 1885. It's thirty-six feet long, and in four millimeter to the foot. Nearly all our knowledge of the original Great Western track work comes from that model."

  Zarvora closed her eyes and lay back. Glasken mixed some of his Naracoorte brandy with some water and held it to her lips. She sipped, coughed, then sipped again. Captain Wilsart went aft to check on the nav vies and Ettenbar had by now fallen asleep.

  "Glasken, John Glasken," Zarvora murmured.

  "Aye Overmayor?" She regarded him quizzically in the dim light from the navigation board pin lamps A long thin scratch across his forehead was beaded with drops of dried blood.

  "You stayed with me when you could have turned me over to the mob. As for the explosives wagon disaster last August, well I would be dead without your heroics. What drives you, Fras?"

  The question caught Glasken off-guard. He sat hunched over, wringing his hands with the cold in the weak light. "I'd not stopped to think, Frelle Overmayor. I suppose I've been in the stocks for more felonies than I can think of, but.." well, I may be a bastard, but I'm not a traitor. I mean, you're the Highliber and Overmayor, and the Southern Alliance is my home."

  Zarvora lay back against the ash wood and canvas wall of the galley engine to think. She stayed that way for several minutes while the train rolled along the tracks to the rhythmic clatter of wheels on rails and the shanty-cycle chant of the nav vies who provided its power.

  "The Ghans seem to know where to hit us to do most damage," she said at last. "Our strength is in infrastructure and they hit us there. Why is that, ken?"

  "They've studied us, I suppose."

  "No, I think not. They are being led by Lemorel Milderellen."