Your apartment is mostly unfurnished, but the new city with the new horizons makes up for that, at least for you.  Besides, you smile as you pull out your game machine, the 'scriff-enabled' Xbox.  Its an old friend that has kept you company when you were in a new place looking about to find new friends.

You're sitting down on the floor in front of the TV, controller in hand, and a glass of water to your right, and you hear a noise at the door.  Seeing as this is a bad neighbourhood, you get up, slip your pistol in the back of your black jeans, and poke your head out.

A cat rushes in.

It runs about like its looking for someone, probably the previous occupant, and then you see it going like a beeline for the water.  You start running for it too because you can see the accident about to happen.  The glass starts to tip, and becomes awkward for your home invader to sip out of, and so it leaps away.  The glass flops down on the controller just as you dive, and miss the glass.

There's a scorch, some black smoke, and then a white flash rips out of the Xbox and slams into you....

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wake, feeling jostled about, and cold, but not bitterly so.  There is a steady hum, a low roar that continues without halt.  You feel like your hands are touch cold metal, and you smell oil.

PT

"Oh man, what happened?"

Standing up, I try to gather my bearings.  My whole scenery has changed.  Sniffing the air, I could tell it was a distinct diesal smell.

"A hum, vibrations, metal, and a feul odor filling the area; Good chance I'm in some form of transportation or a factory."

A crippling pain rolls through my chest.  Wincing in pain, half stumbling, I start to move around to establish some sort of cohesive thought.

"Let's see if I can get to the bottom of this, whatever this is."

The pain flickers through your chest, and then its gone.  You feel unhurt despite a clear memory of getting seriously electrocuted.

You are in a small cubicle with steel walls, and a door on three sides.  The doors have windows reinforced with metal wire, but on the other side of the window is a wood barrier blocking sight.

On the wall is a foot high red star, but it looks scraped and torn, and...bullet marked.

You hear some words, mumbling, possibly a foreign language from beyond the door to your right.

PT

"Well, this doesn't look at all like a prison."

I tapped on each of the walls to see which had a hollow backing.  Seems the one facing this wooden barrier had the least backing to it.  Shouts and a heavy slam against the door meet the final tap.

"Looks like there isn't much chance in the way of getting out of here.  Might as well save my energy and figure out just what in Gods name is going on and how I got here.

The door opens and you see two guys who are dressed in torn Army style clothing, although not your Army, and that winter wear.  The guy in back has an AK-47? pointed at the ceiling of what looks to be a train car with the window shades drawn down and roughly covered over with wool blankets.

The soldier in front has his hand on a small pistol in his waist holster outside his thick felt coat.

They both yell something guttural and loud at you.

And then the soldier in front says in broken English.

"Come. Come. See Captain."  He pauses. "Deutsche?"

PT

"Well I don't think I have much of a choice now do I?"

I shrugged.

"Let's Go."

He led me through another door, I saw out of the corner of my eye that one of the armed guards started to fallow closely.


I started thinking to myself, "What did I do to be so popular here?  For that matter, where is here?  Red star, foriegn language, seems Russian enough; but right now, nothing seems like what it should"

You pass through three cars, and the intervening spaces between them that are all closely cabined so as to keep out the faintest draft.  And then the fourth car is different.

Its warm, and the air is fragrantly scented with tea from the giant silver samovar on a side table.  A number of tables, rivetted to the floor, and covered with papers, laptops, and paperweights fill the left half of the car. A couch, the tea table, and another empty table at which sits a thin man with iron-gray hair, and keen eyes eating what looks to be breakfast.

There is a quick spurt of conversation.  At the end of which, one man stays by the door as a guard, and the man at the table waves you to a seat at the table.

"My name is Captain Ivanovich.  I run this nuclear mag-lev train.  I am greatly curious how an Americanski got on the Marie Pipov Expresse five hours out of Sardov City.  If I like your answers, you can join me for breakfast.  If not, well Balconov, my security chief will toss you off the train, and you can try to survive in Siberia after you, ah, bounce to a stop.  You understand yes?  I have many enemies, but I am still alive."  His diction is precise, like a well-educated man.

PT
PT

"Oh man" I thought, "I have to do something about this, try and buy myself time."

"To tell you the truth sir"

I made my body start to sway and put my hand on my forehead.  "Need to give him a reason to not suspect me remembering anything".

"I don't know what's going on.  I was hoping you could tell me."

I stumbled a side-step and gradually lightened my voice.

"Where am..."

I let myself fall to the floor.

He jumps up, examines you, and then says something harsh in Russian, a command.  The guard bolts from the room.

"I have summoned our doctor, young man.  He is very good."  He says, not like he is expecting an answer as you lay on the luxuriant rug.  Then he sits back down, and mutters something that sounds like a prayer, and a moment later begins to eat.

PT

Seems like it had the intended effect, better move along before he catches me bluffing.

I sat up and rubbed my face with my hands.

"Oh man, what's going on?"

He doesn;t even know how much I want to figure that question out.

"You fell over in my train car.  Possibly from a trauma or from lack of food and dehyrdration."  He gets up, picks up a pointer, and jabs it a huge map on the wall that shows Asia and Europe.

"You are evidently a stowaway in the year of our Lord 2025 aboard the Marie Pipov Expresse.  Its a beautiful example of good Russian engineering is my nuclear mag-lev."

He jabs the pointer at the map in the eastern part of Siberia.

"Here is Sardov City. And here five hours travel that took ten hours in real life is the Expresse."

The doctor comes in, and checks you over.

"He's fine, not dehydrated, but he looks like he's suffered a severe emotional shock.  His pulse is racing, and his eyes are unnaturally dilated which I think is from an overdose of adrenalin.  Give him some food, and a chance to relax is my recomendation."  The doc stands up, and the Captain nods his thanks.'

PT

I can't believed tat actually worked

I rubbed my face more intensly to hide any wayward sign I was bluffing.  I started to try getting up, making it very difficult for me.

"So captain, what do we do now?"

He gives you some food, or his cook does.  He studies you while you eat the military grade meal.

"I still need to know who you are, and what you're doing on my train." He says softly.  "I'm willing to consider you're not acting out of malice toward me. Please explain as much as you know."

Suddenly, you realize you didn't quite get away with it.  You just put it off a bit.

PT

Looks like I'll have to keep this up.  There's no way he'll believe what's going on.  I don't even know what going on.

"I...  I think my name is...  Rocky.  I don't know what's going on; I really don't."

I let my look of pure bewilderment come over my face.

"I just, don't know."

I sunk my head into my hands.

He leans back, and thinks, and closes his eyes a minute while his lips move.  Then he opens them and smiles.

"All right, Rockov, a good name. Strong.  I have need of crew. The Secret Science Cities route in lawless Siberia is very dangerous.  I don't pay that well, either, but I tell you true, its vital work.  Without us, the Secret Cities would freeze in the dark and the cold without our Emerald fuel.  If you've got a strong back, I can put you in as a crewhand.  If you've got some other skills, we can talk about finding you another position. Can you sew a stich in a man's skull? Fire an tank cannon and hit a small, moving target?  Fight axe to axe or pistol to pistol?  Can you cook?  Do you know anything about running a nuclear reactor?  Mind you, even if you don't I can have you trained in your off hours.  Some find it a better way to spend their time than using their off hours getting drunk on potato vodka.  And maybe in one of the Science Cities we can find you help.  Someone to untap that memory of yours."

PT

"Weapons systems have come pretty natural to me.  But I'm not opposed to learning anything new.  Just put me wherever you need me, I just need somebody to show me how things work."

"Allright.  We will put you with Security, and you can, in your free time learn how to run a tank cannon."

He calls in a man.  This guy is a bit short, but broad, and on top of that well-built, and on top of that he has large fat rolls including one on his neck below his nearly bald and sweaty head.

"This is Balconov.  He's won Toughest Man in Siberia competitions twice."

The guy grunts and takes you down two train cars to a mostly empty car.

"American, I've bit off a man's ear before in a fight.  Now I'm going to do the same to you. What would you say to that?"

PT

"You try it, and we'll have some problems."

He gives you a cold glance as he rocks back and forth, looking like he's trying to decide where to maim you first.  You tense, and wait for it.

Then all of a sudden he relaxes, and bursts out laughing.

"Very good, Americanski. Da, we need hard men. Dangerous men. You pass test." He opens up a cabinet with a lock on it.  "Ten gauge Pump shotgun or .50 calibre ripoff of how you say, Sand Eagle, gun made by the Jews, yah?  Ever meet an ape-wolf hybrid?"

He yanks his shirt down, and shows you a rippled scar that runs from his ribs to just short of his neck.  Its six inches wide.

PT

"Can't say I have, only shot four times."

I lift up my left sleeve to show not bullet wounds, but surgery scars, trying to pass them off as wounds to gain some sort of common ground with the guy.

"Anyways, I'll take that pistol, I prefer my weapons a little more portable."

He hands you a very large handgun, a .50 calibre Magnum.  Its seen some use you can tell from the scratches and general worn look to it.  He gives you two boxes of ammo, and a cleaning kit, and a set of instructions for it--in Russian.

"We'll go hunting for elk one time when the track gets stuffed with snow. You learn how to shoot that way."

He goes over the rules of your job: 1)Run toward trouble while everyone else runs away.  2)Break up fights, and send drunks to their cabins to sleep it off.  Don't break bones because the Captain needs these workers.  3)Do whatever the Captain, or I tell you to do.  4)Be generally helpful if it doesn't get in the way of your other duties.

He pauses.

"Considering we have Han raiders hit us, and ape/wolf hybrids trying to eat us, and who knows what else out there from the Science Cities, I trust you're not stupid enough to go anywhere without your gun."  He bites his lip in thought.  "Oh yeah, learn Russian. Any questions, Rockov?"

PT

"Seems straight-forward enough."

I checked the clip to make sure it was loaded, it was, and ran through a check down of the gun; making sure the slide is oiled properly and such, making sure there wasn't anything to break down when I would need it.

Gotta get used to the added wieght, little different from my old pistol, more wieght, recoil.

"As for anything else, a translation dictiontry and a map of the places I can get to so I don't walk where I shouldn't be."

He takes you on a tour since they don't have a map for you.  The train is fifteen cars long.  It starts with the electric engine/snowplow; then the nuclear reactor; then the storage area for the refined nuclear fuel (the reactor produces as a side effect) which is called Emerald and does glow green; the doctor's area; the captain's office and sleeping quarters; the other officers; the kitchen and food storage; the dining hall and rec room; two cars for barracks; and four cars for transport, and one caboose.

The doctor has a translation dictionary which Balconov takes since the doc is snoring off a drunk in his cot.

They show you your bunk, and your storage trunk.

Currently one of the transport cars is carrying ten aurochs, genetically engineered bulls with horns that are nine feet across from tip to tip.  They have mammoth like hair.

They study you with perfect hatred.  A calm, confident expression of "I will stomp you dead when I get around to it." rules each and every bull's face.

The other transports are carrying boxes and barrels.

Four of the cars have T-80 main tank cannon turrets welded to the top of them with full rotation.

PT

"Ok then."

I rub my forehead

"I think I'll go to my bunk and rest off this daze.  When and where do I report for duty?"

He looks at a watch in his pocket.

"Urrrmm.  Ten hours, twenty minutes.  Report in to the officer's car."

OOC: I'm not sure if you wanted to do anything now that you have a moment alone.  If not, the day and part of the night passes smoothly with only one stop for crewhands to get out, and shovel a thirty foot thick snowdrift from the rails.

PT

I walked back on the train after helping take care of the snow.

It's a good thing the cold doesn't bother be so much.

Seems like it's about time to get the the oficers car.

I start to walk around, trying to backtrace my steps and remember where it's at.

Its easy enough to get there, and a bit quiet as its the Midnight to Dawn shift for you.  On the way up, you see two guys arguing over cards while they sit on the far side of the car away from the Aurochs.

The officer on deck is the First Mate and he greets you with a quiet smile.

"If you have any problems that are not Balconov sort of problems, bring them to me.  My job is to help keep things smooth especially between the captain and the crew."

He then goes back to his paperwork or in this case laptop computer work.

"Do you know anything about shearing lambs?"  He suddenly asks.  "Because we have about five thousand Dollies at the next stop, and the people who raised them never considered that someone would have to shear them to turn them into wool coats.  Its your typical ivory tower scientist mess-up around here."

PT

"No, but I can learn, and if there's that much, I figure I'd get profficiant in a day or so.

"All right. Once we get in to that town, I'll put you in charge of a detail.  Some crewhands, and some local lab aids."  He dismisses you with a wave.

You are walking back down the train, checking on things, noting a draft in one car, and then you see the two guys who had been arguing have moved on to other forms of persuasion.

They both have short curved knives out, and are standing up, facing each other, waiting for an opening.

PT

I put my hand on my pistol and approach them.

"What's going on here?"

One grunts, and ignores you.

The other spits out a stream of Russian which provokes the first to shout back at him in Russian.  The shouts are, you're pretty sure from the tone, not pleasantries.

The second fellow begins to turn beet red.

PT