THE OLD BETTY
The Mighty Fall of Freelanders Port, 420PT
The retaking of Devils Cradle II in the first week of 420PT would signal the end of an era for the Wanderers and for King of the Wanderers, Charles Davidson 'The Legendary." It would also begin swift centralization of power to the Authority government.
January 10th, 420PT.
All is lost. The battle did not end at the Devil's cradle, for it traveled one hundred kilometers to Freelanders Port. The Authority was ready. I do not know how. One hundred trains I sent with Ruby 'The Ruthless' and John Bergensen 'The Navigator' to fight them. And yet only a dozen or so returned. Fire and smoke filled the horizon as they battled. And behind them, at least fifty banners of Authority driven, trackless trains, running down the throat of my Kingdom. Everything I've built is lost. And as I write, I look outside to see Ruby fighting for dear life on The Red Phoenix as she burns, continuing to fire her long guns. I see the Black Duster with the tail between its legs scurrying away over the horizon. And I see The Yukon, Captained by Ivan Neckbeard, burning as bright as the sun above us. And I stare at my chamber, the Comradery still on the platform, waiting to be launched. I shall submit my final order for evacuation of the fortress walls. Long live Freelanders Port, and long live the Wanderers!
-First King of the Wanderers, Charles Davidson
The trackless train "The Yukon," burning during the siege of Freelanders Port 420PT
SOMEWHERE IN THE BARRENS, WINTER 430PT
AGE OF INDUSTRY
Chapter 2
The Sun is out, and the snowfall is heavy leaving ten meters of visibility in all directions. In full winter gear, as if stepping into a Biohazard zone, Madame E and Thor step out onto the platform. Despite their attire, they stiffen as the cold fills their bones, forcing their body to adapt. The platform is an eight-by-eight piece of steel that connects the Captain's laissez-faire chamber and the Eatery where the soldiers eat under the Old Betty head cook, Boomstick. A young Coal hand, posted on the platform, clutches the wooden repeater rifle in his hand at the sight of his Captain. He steps a few paces forward, trying to hide the pain in his black mittens from the nipping White Mother. He looks outwards at the Barrens, turning slightly to avoid the wash of snow flying up from the sides of the Old Betty. A wall of white pours overhead as Thor escorts Madame E towards the survey room at the front of the train. Two platforms before the engine, they walk up twelve ice and snow-covered metal steps with care. Another wanderer, that of a girl Madame E recognizes as Bertha—a recent graduate from the Darlings—stands at the top, holding the door open.
"Captain," She says through her scarf-covered face with gleeful brown eyes.
Madame E nods at Bertha.
"Enjoy your time," Thor says, waving his goodbye to Madame E, who accepts the dismissal, as he descends the steps to return the Quartermaster train cart. Madame E enters the survey room. It's dry and cold. Like an ice box. The door slams behind her, immediately muffling the loud noise of the train, and deafening wind.
Three men stand at a table. On the table is a map of the Wanderlands. The red marker of their destination, Coal Springs. As well as the blue marker, that of Old Betty. Behind them, on the wall facing towards the engine, four girls sit at a long table mounted to the wall with many buttons and rectangular metal boxes. Each wearing a headset and a microphone in hand, they're writing and jotting incoming and outgoing information.
And from the table, the eldest of the crew, Conductor Velheim, and second in command of the Old Betty, stands straight as a pin.
"Alas, the phoenix has risen from her cage," Velheim, smiles through his white and brown beard and silver-framed glasses. Above his breast pocket is an embroidered golden compass and silver pen--signaling his role as the navigator--on an all-black winterized tunic. He's unarmed, a personal preference from his time on the Virginia Snow. Or that's what he says, but Madame E knows instead of a pistol, Velheim always held a bottle. He's a heavy drinker and has lots to chat about. Give him a beer and a set of ears to speak down, and he could fill your brain until you're overflowing with 'then and how'. His stories always end the same, however. The dreaded final voyage into the Passage, and his cowardly Captain that curtailed back after significant losses. And the final blow, the beloved Virginia Snow melted down for scrap. Madame E found Velheim in the corner of a bar in Port City, drinking his life away as the dawn of the new age rose above the Wanderlands. She offered him a job as navigator of the Old Betty, under the new-world power: The Authority Government. That was ten years ago. She doesn't think he's changed much. His hair has thinned around his forehead. Maybe his attitude is dryer than before. But that's what being on a train for a lifetime will do to you—as well as destroy your body. It mustn't go unnoticed that the circulation in Velheim's hands has diminished, forcing him to resort to overtly large mittens and extra padded boots to maintain some semblance of warmth.
To his left was Conductor Cornwallis, the middle-aged commander with an act of courage that border-lined stupidity. He had blond hair peppered in white with a smile of two missing teeth and a crooked nose. A weathered fighter and a heavy drinker in the stations, his ability to command and be relatable amongst the basic Wanderers, that of Clean Hands and Coal Hands, was especially important. He and Madame E locked eyes with a smile. She could feel his eagerness come over him with the twinkle in his eyes of—lust. A woman was his weakness, she was well aware. And in silence, she always wondered if he's fathered more bastards than Charles Davidson, a feat in itself.
And then there is Peters the pig, fat cow, boot licker, or his official title : Overseer. Peters is a craven man who eats far too much at the Eatery, no matter how much you tell him to stop. He can't fight. He enjoys being comfortable, even if those around him must suffer for it. He's an untouchable, a man who exists outside the rank structure of the train. For he is the Overseer. The direct-acting hand of the Authority. The eyes and ears of the Authority government. Officially he has the most power out of all of them. However, he knows that's paper--and paper doesn't hold much power outside of the Port City walls. Outside of Authority control he is powerless. But once inside those walls... he is bound only by the limits of his imagination. And for that is Peters. Full name Butch Peters. But on the Old Betty his main daily duties are crew morale, and being able to calmly and accurately deliver all news to a hot-headed tempered Captain.
"Gentleman," Madame E answers with a slight bow. "While it is true I spend most days in the Laissez-faire, I assure you it is not because I trust you to do your jobs, but rather my lack of tolerance for you squabbling bitches in heat. Sometimes I ask, why is it so hard for weathered men to navigate across the Barrens to pick up some damn coal? Coal Springs is our destination. So it better be good. As every time I'm called, my soul can't help but depart this trepid place back to the time where I walked with the finest of crew in the Wanderlands, sitting down and drinking tea with Charles fucking Davidson, to... this... "Madame E raises her hands to her three stooges, all who's posture is that of silence and rolling of the eyes. Like a grandmother repeating the same stories over and over again. "Oh how the 'mighty,' me, have fallen" Madame E speaks to herself, as she walks towards a wooden table that sits four empty mugs and a large teapot, which sits on a tray.
"A superficial role as Captain of the Old Betty. The once ruthless Madame E, now muzzled and leashed by the Authority. A lap dog I have become. I never thought in all my years I'd be turned into a merchant. This train... the Old Betty was built for battle. Until she was gutted and turned into a merchant train with a bone to fetch... "Madame E picks up the large teapot and pours herself a cup of warm, red hue, pyreberry tea. She immediately takes a sip, feeling the citric warmth fill her parched, cigarette-tasting mouth. She looks to the floor as if talking to the very train. "The old lady craves battle as much as I."
Cornwallis smiles, his hand falling to his sheathe. "You're reading Charles Davidson's diary again, aren't you, Captain?"
Madame E turns to her crew, covering the distance. Her eyes fall to the map. That of Port City and the Passage crossed out.
"Indirectly, yes," Madame sighs as she looks at the map on the table. Her eyes fall to the Barrens and their current location.
"I didn't choose to read it... My darling Claire chose it. It's a sign. It must be. A sign from Charles Davidson himself. As when he spoke to me, while his words struck fear into the little girls' eyes. He ignited the fire in mine," Madame E takes another sip as she looks at Peters with a smile.
"How about you Peters? Have you ever thought about the fact that you missed the greatest party in Freelanders Port? Before your scum came and burned it all to the ground, took it over, killed every Captain, melted down every train, and enslaved every wanderer to the cause or cut their gullets?"
Madame E, expecting not a response, points to an empty piece of white land within the Barrens. While nothing is on the paper--thanks to the Authority--she smiles At Velheim.
"Do you remember the Devils Cradle Velheim? Two hundred kilometers westward here? The glistening floodlights at the top of the high fortress walls that acted as a lighthouse in the thickest of whitewashes. A beacon of hope and rest in the dead center of the Barrens. Do you remember all the battles that happened outside the fortress walls? The endless gunfire and carnage, all the bandits that kept out in the east and west, waiting for the unfortunate demise of Wanderers?" Velheim crosses his arms, staring into the Barrens on the map—she can tell by his eyes that he indeed remembers. And then he smiles—and she's certain he has.
"And yet Peters here wouldn't know any of that, bred like a fat cow as his father helped fund the Authority, which started out as a mercenary group itself."
Cornwallis leans into the table as he locks a passionate, burning glare towards his Captain.
"Captain... You're in the past again... that's a big cave to descend. Full of darkness too. We must get back on track." Velheim and Peters look at Cornwallis—his tone of soothing, but his words are rather out of line. You can tell Peters envies the relationship between Captain Madame E and Conductor Cornwallis, the way he squints his eyes and clenches his fists at his side. But not because of Cornwallis and his love affair with the Captain, but rather, in due part, to Peters having officially all the power in the world—yet none of the respect of the crew to properly utilize it.
"I dream of Freelanders Port. I dream of Charles Davidson and his golden train. Instead, we got Peters." Madame E states, her tone lacking professionalism and overflowing with anger at the Authority--of which Peters is the representation of working with the enemy.
Peters clears his throat and inhales and exhales to soothe himself.
"For starters, Captain, I would like to apologize in my capacity on Behalf of the Authority." Peters begins, pressing his frozen glasses up his nose. "Secondly, we brought you here on the basis we do have an actual problem. And telling of your mood, it may be of interest to you." Peters shifts, crossing his arms and letting them rest on the fat of his belly and thick clothes. He takes off his mitt for a second, to point his sausage finger onto the moguls and mounds to the right of the Old Betty's location.
"There is a train here... Glider class. Cornwallis sent the scouts out as per our obligations. They are reporting some interesting observations. First, Quartermaster Thor and others were correct in the initial assessment. It's in fact The Bombardier. On top of this, about two hundred kilometers ahead, we're getting reports of a whitewash like we've never seen heading towards Coalsprings. This one is huge. Visibility maybe three feet. There is so much snow coming down... and I can only imagine the hail and wind... if we get too close we may have to start sending people out to break the ice before we're even in it."
Madame E glances over to the radio girls, before returning her eyes to the map. She looks down at both of the markings, taking a sip of tea.
Poor timing. Poor visibility... Harsh frozen weather that will freeze a train on the move, and under the weight, if we're unlucky—bury us alive. No matter how many whitewashes we encounter—they're never the same.
"They always show up when we don't want them to, and they always bring hell with it. But the level of incompetence from the Captain must be acknowledged for a Glider class train to get swallowed by a whitewash. Who's the Captain of this 'Bombardier'?"
"This is where it gets interesting, Captain." Velheim sneers, watching as Madame E takes another sip, her brain mulling over the situation.
"The Port City train registry states it's a Freelander train. Owned and run by ex-convicts and slaves. The Captain is an Islander... His name is Flores and he had no business out here off his boat. If I'm being honest, the Seachicken should have kept to his ways of sitting in a tent all day, dick in hand, staring down the open hole in the ice."
"I hate Seachickens." Cornwallis says, "But get this, Ru... Captain. Peters, can you please read report 11?"
Peters nods and pulls a handheld journal of pen and paper.
"Fourteen twenty-eight hours. Eyes on The Bombardier. Thousands of rounds in the hull. Appears to have been rammed and split in the middle. Wreckage is trailing two kilometers. More to follow."
Something sparks behind Madame E's eyes as she clenches her fists around the table, staring down at the distance between Coalsprings, the whitewash, and the Old Betty.
Rammed and split in the middle. Always trust your gut to survive. But it's been ten long years. Why now John?
"Rammed and split in the middle, you say?" Madame E utters with a hint of instability in her usual calmness.
Cornwallis and Velheim nod, each looking at one another, leaving Peters to wonder what is being spoken in silence.
"Can we outrun or maneuver around the whitewash, Velheim?"
"Negative. I haven't seen a whitewash this large since I last entered the Passage."
"Then we must not stop. Let the Seachicken freeze to death." Madame E declares, standing. "Call back the scouts."
"We can't do that," Peters interjects. "As a representative to the Authority government, we must ensure that all survivors are safe and secure, and conduct a full investigation and report."
"I am the Captain here." Madame E declares as she steps towards Peters, expecting him to cower—and yet—for the strange first time, he doesn't—she wonders if he's finally grown balls beneath his fat—is he thinking he's being courageous when in actuality he's being stupid?
Peters leans forward across the table at his Captain.
"And I, as overseer, are here to ensure that you, Captain, do your job as an Authority Representative."
"And clarify, please, Peters on what my job is?" Madame E states through grinding teeth and a clenched fist at her hip.
"We need to protect and serve all the people. And that means figuring out what happened here. Besides, the whitewash is so vast we can't outrun it, and if it's heading in the direction of Coalsprings, then that means they'll probably be stuck in a Whiteout. This means Coalsprings is shut down. No one is working and everyone is stuck indoors until it passes. As Overseer, we are doing our duty."
Madame E squints, her skin wrinkles as her face turns a cherry red. She wants to open her lips and scream--and yet she turns back to Velheim and Cornwallis--again, glances of eyes towards the map, words being spoken in silence. And yet, at a moment's notice the tension in her face relaxes, sending her blood-flushed skin white. Her anger turns into a devilish grin.
"Well, the Overseer has spoken. My hands are tied. I like that. I like absolving myself of all responsibility. It's a nice feeling, isn't it, Peters? No wonder you love your job. So tell me then Conductor Velheim, what is the status report?" Velheim nods subtly with a superficial grin.
"We're in the Belly of the Barrens, Captain. We just passed the ruined fortress of Devils Cradle... another five days of our journey, about four thousand kilometers in distance. We could always turn back to Freelanders Port--"
"Port City," Peters corrects him,
"Port City," Velheim responds with each syllable clacking the roof of his mouth.
"If our Overseer wishes to remain in place... I suggest we push scouts out in five-kilometer quadrants. But at the shortest convenience, if we continue towards Coalsprings, we need to bring ourselves within 100 kilometers of the whitewash. We need flexibility over everything else."
Madame E leans forward onto the map of the Wanderlands, watching as Peters pulls out a handful of darts, placing the locations of the train pieces and those found dead.
"Flexibility is definitely key. Cornwallis?"
Cornwallis looks up from his hunched position, his knuckles rubbing against the cold table as he looks at the pieces on the board.
"You felt her calling for battle did ye?"
He asks, to which his Captain, from the outside calmly takes another sip of tea, this time sloshing the contents around in her mouth before swallowing. Her stomach is uneasy. She can't rid herself of the shadow on her back. She swallows hard and stiff.
"She's been scratching at me for a battle. I didn't know why. Now I know why."
"Then I say we prepare," Cornwallis says mildly, standing tall, leaning back, and sliding his cherry red hands into his warm pelts at his chest.
"B-but why? We're flying a banner of the Authority. Can someone please explain?" Peters' eyes look confused.
Madame E glistens over the question, clearing her throat. She looks to the location of Old Betty in relation to the Pyre Mountains, Port City, and the Rust Belt.
The big three.
"Then it's settled. We prepare, and we wait. I'll take the risk on the wide base of the Old Betty, let's get within one hundred kilometers behind the whitewash. If anything comes up, will that be enough time for you to think of a plan, Velheim?"
"I'll make it happen," Velheim bows, his eyes looking at the board and the red outline of the whitewash.
Madame E turns to her battle commander Cornwallis.
"As for us, Cornwallis, if the scouts come back 'empty-handed,' we continue forth. We'll mark the Bombardier and speak to Mr. Charlestone when we reach Coal Springs about a triple R mission. And I want everyone on high alert... As Peters says we stay, and if that's the case, prepare for battle."
Velheim and Cornwallis lock eyes, grinning. While Peters wears a face of clammy skin and horror—
"Will any of you savages tell me what is going on? I said nothing about fighting! We're a merchant train—the Authority," And Peters can't complete his sentence as he begins to draw the foregone conclusion.
"Prepare. For. Battle." Madame E spews at Peters, hoping that this is the one and last time the Overseer decides to grow a pair of balls beneath his belly of fat. Cornwallis and Velheim stand back from the map with the established plan of—
"We have a survivor! They found a survivor and the scouts are heading back."
One of the girls stands up from the radio.
"Hear that, Peters? Go get it, Captain," Madame E mutters sarcastically, watching as Peters, like a whipped pup, walks towards a small table at the corner of the room, which has an old box of many yellow and orange lights, along with a headset and microphone. He extends both arms on the table, hits a button, and speaks.