Hi, everyone! I'm back with another installment! Let's get this show on the road, shall we?
And to shinobi420: Yuki would do Simon justice. I mean, really do him justice, but he's so big now. Would he voice for a show as small as Infinity Train after SNK?
And now chapter eight!
No one is there to whine and pester Grace that she's making a bad decision. When she finally pulls rank and lays down the law, the children aren't happy, but fall into place as expected all too easily. Simple logic dictates that the Apex follow the member with the highest number present. Simon is out, but Grace is in; therefore, certain recent rules are now deemed non-binding. A part of her mind is in mild disbelief that such faulty logic actually works but decides not to question it. Grace is a leader, not a teacher. It's not her job to encourage critical thinking skills.
Strangely Grace finds herself feeling more than a little bored. She doesn't know what she wants to hear. Dissent? Of course not. Concern? Grace frowns. Perhaps… There are times—though not often—when Grace finds that the Apex leader persona has grown stale and where for a moment she wishes to treated as just another passenger on the train. She would never dare admit it aloud, but at that instant while standing in the doorway of The Mall Car, she wishes that a hand would reach out with concern for her.
Grace misses her tall, grumpy shadow who would be now be spitting some procedure number whatever stating that it is illegal for Apex members to travel the train alone or something… It's all happened so often before that she can easily picture the furrowed brow—one dent is slightly deeper than the other, it's weird, and Simon has no clue why she laughs— that unique exasperated look of both care and disapproval… Grace sighs.
She hopes that he isn't crazy.
Strong winds buffet Grace's hair as she pulls out a wriggling orb dangling at the end of a short silver chain. It dimly reflects the perpetual semi-twilight of the wasteland. "Alright. Wakey, wakey..." With one finger, she gives two sharp taps along its side, and in response the sphere begins to emit a high pitched hum. To strangers outside the Apex, it may not look especially valuable, but this odd, yet useful little orb possesses the ability to track the location of any living being on the train, provided one has an item on hand to sacrifice that belongs to the person one wants to track. Formerly located inside the bottom of Simon's random stash drawer, its new home is Grace's fanny pack, and she is gracious enough to provide it fresh air and sunlight if it cooperates well enough on this trip—not that she would be willing to give it a choice otherwise.
"You're ready for new job?" Grace asks, raising the slobbering thing to eye level. Snarling, it strains its chain in a fruitless attempt to bite a chunk of her nose, and Grace gives a little laugh. "I guess you are. Alright, handsome. Open up." With her other hand she wiggles a long, golden strand akin to a worm on a hook, and the null hungrily locks its singular eye on the hair in an instant. Someone's eager… Grace is careful to keep her fingers away from many rows of needlelike teeth as it slurps up one of Simon's hairs like a limp noodle. The effect is immediate. Either Simon is incredibly delicious, or the thing's been kept away in that desk for far too long. The irritating hum stops, and the round little null drops down into a happy stupor after its meal. Oh no you don't…
Ping! Grace gives the null yet another sound whack along the side of its head. "No sleeping now, you've got a job to do. And if you find him, I'll feed you lots more where that came from." Grace doesn't normally waste her time sweet talking nulls, but she's done a lot of it today to real people, and old habits die hard. And besides, when was the last time Simon cut his hair? The null opens one suspicious eye, questioning. For a long moment, it seems not quite convinced, but then it gives an inaudible sigh before the pupil of its eye narrows into a cat-like slit, and a familiar red light juts out of its socket. Grace makes sure to direct its eye anywhere other than her direction or that of the children—no one present needs their retinas burned out today, she thinks—and watches as a line of crimson light twists in the air, completely unaffected by the howling winds of the train traveling though endless space, and darts forward into the distance, presumably towards its target.
Grace takes a second to observe the laser's light as it curves out of sight. She exhales slowly and clips the orb onto a hook on the side of her fanny pack. Its laser never dims. Good boy. Maybe she'd feed it one of Simon's socks next before they start to stink up her pack.
Her temporary goodbyes to the Apex are short and more tense than she prefers, her enthusiasm ringing as hollow as their halfhearted farewells in exchange. Grace could see the wheels turning in their minds—first one leader leaves, then the other. There must be some disagreement between them, but which one is at fault? Where does that leave us?
What if they don't come back?
Swallowing down her uncertainties, Grace aims her harpoon hooks at the edge of the nearest train car and shoots. She's sorry, but she has to do this. The teen feels the usual jolt in her wrists and arms and shoulders as the momentum caused by the firing of harpoon pack's many invisible springs and gears takes control. She lands with one knee bent as she's had a hundred times before, calf muscles straining, ready to propel her body forward. Grace Monroe is an athlete, and as she breaks out into full wonderful sprint across the car's metal roof, she feels the weightlessness of muscles suddenly coming alive after resting idly for weeks. In that moment, her soul is light, and her smiles comes easy. The cooling sweat dotting her neck and forehead is welcome.
After a while, Grace settles into an easy rhythm: for every three cars she runs through, she flies above five more—one of the first, and final for the unfortunate, lessons a passenger learns is that the more time one spends hanging around outside cars, the greater the chance a ghom may show up—and all the while, the red light emitting from her side continuously projects somewhere out into the distance. Grace's core and legs begin to burn, but the burn feels good. Her mind zones out into a comfortable world of muted grey, and she does not think about Simon, or nagging guilt over the Apex, or her ever increasing weariness as the hours without sleep begin to take their toll. Grace does not even count the number of train cars in total that she passes—she registers only the twisting red string of light leading her onwards and the hard thuds of her shoes against dirt or grass or rock or metal.
Eventually it is her stomach that finally forces her to stop for a break, and so Grace stops short and decides to make a quick dip into the nearest car. Entering an unknown car is always a gamble, usually inconvenient at best and life threatening at worst, but Grace is much more adept than the average train passenger. With one hand on the her hook, she uses the other to gently prop open the car's door and peaks her head inside. Standard Apex procedure… She hears these words in Simon's voice.
"Hmm…" The teen closes the door behind her to enter what appears to be a gigantic classroom expanding infinitely in all directions. "So far so good…" At a glance, Grace is disoriented by the sheer scale of it before she gives herself a harsh mental shake and reminds herself of her objective. Find exit first, exploration later. Fortunately for Grace, she feels something shift against her hip, and she looks down to see the locator null pointing its light somewhere to the south, its terminus evidently the exit which she cannot spot from this distance. Nice… She smiles. That null is definitely going to earn itself a sock.
It is perhaps due to Grace's many years on the train that she doesn't pause to question the peculiar oddity of this car—she has seen too many cars to count and only a precious few that could be considered "normal". Her main concern is that her current surroundings don't seem very dangerous or annoying—after all, there is a car on this train comprised of nothing but ducks. What purpose does that car even have, oh train? In Grace's experience, most train cars appear to have no rhyme or reason. If she happens to step on the random pair of glasses or pass by a desk clearly sculpted out of jam, the teen doesn't question it. She prepares her camp as she's had a thousand times before near the exit doorway and chows down upon her unsatisfactory meal.
What she doesn't expect is to find herself falling asleep afterwards, head bowed and arms crossed. When she opens her eyes again, she will wake up to discover that the null has chewed a fist-sized hole in her pants.
The more things change; the more they remain the same. Amelia Hughes never gets along with her bosses.
"Amelia, dearie, don't you think that's a bit too radical?"
"That's Amelia…Amelia Hughes—only bird in the office, y'know."
"-knows what's what, but a right pity about that attitude of hers…"
"I highly appreciate that you're extremely motivated to do your job-!" "-but I'm too busy right now to write the obituaries of one hundred and thirty two passengers, and well, that and I just don't wanna…"
Bollocks. If anything, she's made that little robot's job easier. Such a large number of people escaping The Black Market Car all at once is going to cause his passenger mortality calculations to drop precipitously. The more, the merrier, and all that jazz… Yet One nonetheless finds a reason to complain about how she does her job.
Why didn't she allow everyone to evacuate The Black Market Car and then eject it to quarantine? Oh merry me, yes, why not? Of course, she has time ample enough to scan over a hundred humans, denizens notwithstanding, and their belongings. It's not like she wants to leave this train before she turns ninety. But no, Amelia! The robot says that's wrong! For now on, you must give warning to any passenger inside a car before you quarantine it… Therefore, Amelia finds herself standing outside a nondescript train car, one sensor going haywire from the severity of anomalies contained within and another beeping intermittently warning her that there are multiple passengers inside. Might as well get on with it…
With both hands, Amelia grabs the handles and turns them to open the doors to the defective car. She recalls a time when it had taken hours for her to just lay her trembling palms upon a door, a time where she would turn her face to the icy steel and weep bitter tears. It is cruel to see an artificial remnant of a happy past now confirmed to be irretrievable, made hideous and distorted by the powers of the train—it is even crueler to know that it was she who had created them. And it is she who must deal with them. Now, after dispatching hundreds of cars containing effigies of her Alrick, of their college days, their shared messy flat, turtles…the pain fades into a faint dull point, a jagged mountain worn down into a barren, rocky hill over time. Time to get it over with…
Amelia pulls out a scrappy bit of paper. "Dear passengers," she begins, her voice magnified hundreds of times greater than normal using a—frankly ingenious, if she were to say so herself— combination of her microphone and the natural programmable capabilities of the car itself. "By order of One, you are required to exit this car and not to return. Any puzzle in the process of completion or quests suggested by denizen is hereby nullified, and all doors are unlocked. If you have any questions or concerns, please drop a line within The Whiny Grievances Car. Have a lovely day… Woo, woo…" Here is where she pauses and allows the passenger, who is normally frightened out of his wits, to collect himself. Next she enters the car.
Amelia approaches each car using the same scientific method: observe, date, categorize, and record. First, observe. Amelia takes note of the rough wooden desks situated in neat, orderly rows. Oh good, a throwback from college; she doesn't come across many of those anymore. This car must be quite old. At the very beginning of her reign as conductor, Amelia did not immediately leap into trying to recreate life. One must understand the fundamentals before one proceeds to more advanced concepts—and as a result she had begun experimenting with the replication of small things: a telephone, Alrick's glasses, her childhood bedroom, her college physics lecture hall… There are no signs of any denizens native to this car, so it must indeed be one of her early creations.
Observe. Suddenly curious, Amelia walks a few meters in to where she can feel the seams of invisible panels meshing neatly together. After three decades, the process is second nature to her. Her hand presses forward, gently, as a panel becomes opaque and exposes a large black sphere. Yes… Amelia removes it from its resting place and gives the dark orb a once over. Yes, this one is indeed quite old. Perhaps even older than the first patch she'd pushed through-
"Excuse me."
Amelia nearly drops the orb. Who on earth-?
"That ball thing…" Amelia turns around to see- Oh God, why? "I saw something like that once. It was a very long time ago." Brown eyes look up questionably at her. "Do you…work for the Conductor?"
Amelia's first thought is to look behind her in case the blond one is thinking of running her down again. Children… For God's sake, why her? Really, Amelia, you should have expected it after stumbling across the stubbly one back in The Black Market Car—honestly, you do not need two teenagers stalking you right now… Amelia sighs and presses two fingers to her forehead in a futile attempt to calm herself. "Look. I have neither the time nor the patience to play along with whatever game you and your little boyfriend have come up with. This car will eject itself into quarantine within one hour. You have your warning so be done with it."
She watches as the girl's—Grace? If were not for Hazel's inconsistent babbling, Amelia would have never remembered the name at all—Grace's face flushes dark with anger, and then confusion. It's not the reaction that Amelia expects, but hey, people are all different. If they were both "normal", neither would be present on this hellhole of a train.
"Not my boyfriend…" Grace mutters under her breath, but then her voice rises, "But…you know Simon?"
Know him? Never in a mill- Before Amelia unleashes the most sarcastic response she has thus far made in the last three days, something about the girl's expression stills her tongue. Grace. She's serious. Amelia Hughes may not be a trained detective or a policeman and may have spent the last thirty years as a partial hermit confined within the engine of a supernatural train tinkering on her own personal Frankenstein experiment, yet she does remember much about human emotion. She, at one time, had been young. She could imagine Grace as somewhat of an actress, but the teenager is not that good.
"Grace-" The girl reels back when Amelia utters her name. "-that is your name, if I'm not mistaken? What has happened to you?" It's not that Amelia is concerned about Grace, not really. But she is intrigued, and, well, sharing tidings about her former traveling companions might be good for Hazel whenever Amelia has the opportunity to return to her other experiments. Grace herself appears taken aback for a second, before she steadies herself with another question. A good offensive is the best defense, Amelia supposes.
"Are you Cecilia?"
There is a short, but awkward silence before Amelia very nearly laughs. No, the older woman trembles for a long second before bursting into full guffaws. Cecilia? Cecilia! How rich!
"I only asked you a question. Look, lady, do you work for the Conductor or not?"
Amelia wipes tears from her eyes. "Oh ho! I-I must admit to you that that is the first real laugh I've had all week. Cecilia… My mother would be highly insulted if she overheard this conversation, you know. But yes, I'll answer your question. Yes, I do work for the conductor. You must have lost your hearing along with your memory; I did say that I have come here under One's authority and all-"
"One..? One.." Grace begins to back away, eyes wide. "You work for the robot, the False Conductor?"
Oh, for Pete's sake… "Are you children still on this False Conductor nonsense? Is this a joke?" However Grace is already backing away slowly towards the exit, her attention split between Amelia and making sure that there is a clear path behind her as if Amelia herself is a hungry tiger on the prowl that must be watched. Jesus, she now prefers Shortpants to Mistress Wet Blanket here.
"Look, my name is Amelia, genius. And I have to say I'm a tad disappointed in you, running away without inquiring about your little friend Hazel. You should be happy to know-"
Few things have the power to stop Amelia Hughes mid speech, but the sight of Grace Monroe dropping like a stone is one of them. Amelia's old heart skips a beat before she finds herself running. Wait, why is she running? She hears the clacking of numbers recalculating, and her mind stops wondering entirely. And what can she do exactly? She's not a medic!
Still, Amelia figures that she knows enough. Carefully, she rolls Grace over to her side and-
Beep! Beep!
Ugh! Amelia nearly screams. Too much! Too much activity is going on all at once!
"What now?" she moans with impatience as she pulls out a small monitor from her front pocket and stares. Another irregularity? Twenty cars down? But she had just come from that direction! How could it be possible-? Amelia looks down at Grace and then at her tracker. Decisions, decisions… Amelia sighs.
Children...
Notes: The title of this chapter refers to the legend of the Red Thread of Fate. Here, Grace literally uses it to track down Simon. I suppose the question is does he also see it? Also, enter more Amelia because we cannot have enough Amelia.
Thanks for reading, guys!