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The Front Never Sleeps

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Something fell to the ground with a thud – it sounded like the end table that was next to my narrow, white bed. How long had I been asleep? A few hours, maybe? I didn't feel very tired. Perhaps I was only out for a few moments. I would have tried to drift off again, but I heard intense rustling and murmuring. What was Forticay up to? I was about to shout for him to quiet down, when the far-off sound of a bell ringing finally made its way into my consciousness. It was a low, deep-sounding bell, giving off its loud ring every three or so seconds. It sounded far-off, but was still clearly within the city. What was going on? I sat up, grabbing my shirt and pulling it on as I saw Forticay desperately packing his things into his bag in the dim lantern light.

“What-" I began, but he saw me and explained immediately.

“That's the alarm bell," he exclaimed breathlessly. “I just confirmed with the hotel staff – the Federation has advanced!"

“What? How far?" I, too, jumped to my feet and began to frantically dress, putting on the same clothing that I had worn the night before.

“They don't know," he continued, rapidly shoving items into his bag at random. He had thrown on a pair of grey pants and a blue shirt – already, he had his coat on. “But they seem to have blown past the front line we just crossed, or at least are about to."

“But that's so odd – why would they make a night advance?"1

“I don't know! But I was told that the train is going to leave tonight as soon as it's full."

“What?! What's it like on the street?"

“Not sure – look out the window." Having dressed myself, with my backpack, I raced through the narrow door into the entryway, which was still dimly lit by the dying fire. Martin and Vage were already in the room, knocking on Novka's door. She opened it, also already dressed.

“We need to go," Martin shouted. “It's bloody chaos on the street."

“You have the tickets," Novka asked.

“Those won't matter," he replied.

“But you have them?"

“Yes." As they spoke, I strode over to the window, throwing open the balcony door and stepping outside. Before I had even reached the railing, as soon as the door was open, I could hear screaming and hurried shouting, the sounds of cart wheels rolling over the dirt road as they rushed past, and the now-louder, deep ring of the bell sounding at its steady tempo. The actual sights confirmed everything I could hear: people running to and fro, from building to building, gathering things in their arms, running with bundles of clothing or chests or children. Some of them had packs, some of them had nothing; some of them were in small groups, and others were alone, sprinting for the train station. A cart pulled by two horses raced down the street, piled high with goods and furniture, its driver trying to dodge the people who ran about haphazardly along the road, but ultimately more concerned about getting to the station, nearly hitting into several of the frantic pedestrians. What time was it? It was still dark, and freezing-cold…Evidently still extremely early in the morning.

“We have to go, now," Martin reaffirmed.

“Got it, let's move," Forticay shouted as he exited his room, his pack stuffed full upon his back. I strode back inside, not even bothering to close the door, grabbing my ushanka and coat and trying to wrestle them on as I threw my pack onto my arm while we frantically descended the wide, carpeted stairs. We entered the hotel lobby, which was well-lit by crystal chandeliers, the only two people there being one young human woman who stood frantically gathering and sorting papers behind the counter and an older, jackal-like man with brown-reddish fur who was carefully removing some of the paintings from the wall – both were in red bellhop uniforms and caps, and neither acknowledged us as we raced through. Bursting through the front doors, we were met with continued chaos upon the street. I bolted out first, and was nearly run over by a fast-racing black carriage.

“Easy, mate, we can't lose you yet," Vage stated as we turned to jog down the road in the direction of the train station. It was not that the road was crowded, just chaotic. Someone had apparently set fire to their house, a few blocks back, as it was fully ablaze in flames and was pouring black smoke into the dark sky, like ink spilling into a bottomless pit, forcing the air to smell of burning and igniting the street with a vibrant, warm glow. I spared it only a quick look. As people ran, most of them with their arms loaded down with supplies – sometimes helping each other to carry particularly-large trunks or loads – they did not spare us or anyone else a glance, or even acknowledge each other.

Running in the other direction, in far-smaller a frequency as did those running for the station, were North-Army soldiers, their rifles clutched firmly as they sprinted towards the front. Some looked scared, some looked determined; some ran alone, some ran in groups of two or three; some were younger, some were older; but all of them charged in the direction of the presumed Federal infantry with a steady, determined pace, the ends of their long brown coats flapping behind them. Well…Not all of them, of course. In the middle of the road was a soldier – a human – without a rifle, running in the opposite direction, for the train. As we passed, three other soldiers ran at him from all directions, grabbing him as he tried to drop to his knees and crawl away. He started pleading, shouting at the top of his voice.

“No, I won't go," he shouted. “I won't do it. Somebody help!" I didn't spare him more than a glance. Frankly, it merely showed how desperate the Northern Armies were for soldiers – they had lost so many over the course of the war that, apparently, diverting attention while mobilizing against an enemy advance to catch a single deserter was worth it. In the Federal infantry, soldiers who broke down just before combat were ushered away as fast as possible – the officers were terrified that their fear would spread to others. Here, however, concerns were evidently very different; but, given the fact that the population of the Northern Territories was dwarfed by that of the rest of Vaymansphere, it was far from unexpected. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me.

“Wait," I blurted out, skidding to a stop. I had fallen behind the others, so that only Forticay and Vage heard me – Martin and Novka continued on towards the train station, which had just become visible in the distance.

“What is it? We need to move," Forticay shouted back, stopping a few meters ahead of me.

“I have to stop by Hoffstead Street!"

“What? Why?" But before Forticay even uttered the second of those two words, Vage had strode over and grabbed me by the arm.

“Oh, no you don't," he shouted defiantly, dragging me away.

“Why not?"

“You're not going back for that Agrandan girl," he stated gruffly and with a flare of anger. “We have a job to do."

“But-" I tried to break away, but he was absurdly strong, which made sense, given his imposing physical build.

“It's seventy thousand salir, Tovef," he stated, exaggerating slightly, pulling me forward with a yank, forcing me to stumble and kick-starting me back into a jog. “If she's smart she'll stay hidden until the Federation's forces arrive. Why do you care so much?" Why do I care? I suddenly thought, genuinely questioning myself, now. Because she was nice? Because I liked her? I was torn. I ran onward, but my mind was heavily burdened. The front line was coming this way. Anything could happen – she could be running to the train and get hurt somehow; maybe the North-Army would break protocol and round up civilians for combat, like they sometimes did; maybe the battle would come here and she would be killed in the crossfire; maybe she would try to escape a different way and would be mistaken for a soldier; maybe the city would be shelled; maybe the Federal infantry would misbehave and start looting and killing civilians…But, on the other hand, she had survived this sort of ordeal once, in Agranda, at the hands of the far-less disciplined and far-more brutal troops of the Northern Armies. But that didn't mean that she would make it out safely a second time. War is random: it doesn't matter how much training you have or how careful you are – you either are lucky or unlucky.

I wanted to break away, to turn back, to find where she was staying on Hoffstead Street, and if I didn't have so much adrenaline rushing through me, I probably would have felt even more conflicted and determined to find her. But I had no idea what course of action she would take. Would she remain wherever it was that she was staying, or go off somewhere? Maybe she would wander off into the countryside a little, and wait until the area was liberated by the Federation's infantry. No – she had paid a lot of money to cross the Front, and being stuck behind it again would only keep her from her brother – she would almost certainly try to make the train. At least, that's what I told myself. By then, we had caught up with Martin and Novka (who did not seem to have observed any of what had just occurred between me and Vage), and had almost made it to the station.

The station itself was at the very end of the main street, intersecting with it at a perpendicular angle, composed merely of long wooden platforms that were only a few steps higher than street level, long overhead roofs with parallel gaps in between them held up by wooden beams for shelter. Lanterns hanging from the rafters illuminated the chaos underneath. The platform was wide, and there was one train on the tracks – a regular passenger train, by the looks of it, lined with square windows, a dark-blue coloration beneath its black top. Though it was hard to discern, given that the platform was mobbed with people of every walk of life, it seemed, all regular boarding procedures and waiting lines being abandoned as the mob pressed forward en masse.

The wealthy stood in nice clothes and hats and eagerly leaned forward and gazed about with nervous expressions just as desperately as did the poor who crowded the platform. It was a free-for-all of shoving, pushing, pulling, and tugging, as luggage crashed and trunks broke open on the ground as people dropped them or tried to pass them from the platform to the train over the heads of those who stood between them. All were bundled tightly in their winter clothing, some with their faces covered up past their noses under scarves, which I'm sure only added to their confusion. The whole platform was a furious mess of shouts, talking, and conversation.

“Come on," Martin shouted as we pushed in deeper, turning himself again towards the train. He snaked on through the crowd with expert maneuverability, which I was quite surprised by. Forticay pushed through ahead of me, and I grabbed his shoulder to as to avoid being separated from him, Vage grabbing onto mine. We finally made it to the entrance of one of the cars, a lieutenant clad in his thick brown overcoat and peaked officer's cap standing in the doorway, checking papers and admitting only a few people at a time. He was middle-aged, with thin beard stubble, droopy cheeks, and brown hair.

“How do we?..." Martin began, clearly confused as to what the procedure was from here. I pushed passed him, grabbing the door railing and beginning to hoist myself up, but was stopped by the officer, who placed a hand firmly against my chest and pushed me back down.

“Sorry, only humans on this car," he ordered, gesturing to the others behind me.

“What?" I exclaimed with both surprise and frustration, still awash with adrenaline and full of anxiety and a mix of emotions.

“You get on," he looked to me and Martin. “But not them." He wouldn't even address them to their faces. Obviously, we weren't splitting up.

“But we have tickets," Martin protested, taking the tickets from the pocket of his thick black coat and holding them up to the driver with gloved hands.

“That means nothing, now," he shouted as he grabbed the tickets from Martin and threw them in the air, sending them fluttering to the ground. “Either get on or find somewhere on the rear cars with everyone else." He looked at Forticay. “Dragonborn at the back," he scowled.

“You worthless piece of shit," I shouted, losing it and grabbing the officer by the front of his coat, shaking him and trying to tear him from his place in the doorway as he tried to keep his ground, one hand on the vertical bar handle next to the door and the other trying to pry mine away. CRACK! CRACK, CRACK! Three loud shots suddenly rang out over the crowd. Everyone ducked as all of the collective noise swiftly died down, save the tolling of the bell that still droned on in the distance. Even me and the officer I was trying to wrestle from the train relaxed and let go of each other. Everyone slowly rose and looked at the young corporal who had fired the shot, his legs bent as he stood upon a pile of luggage – abandoned by its former owners – atop a cart that rested in the center of the platform, surrounded by the pressing mob. He wore the same dark-brown winter uniform and coat as the rest of the infantry, including a winter side cap. He had heavy beard stubble and a disheveled appearance, as if he had not had a chance to rest in days. His arm was still bent as he clenched the silver pistol in the air, gazing over the crowd with a stern but frantic expression.

“Now look," he suddenly shouted sternly, spit flying from his mouth. He finally let the pistol fall to his side, but continued to make dramatic motions with his other hand as he talked. “Ten kilometers up that way is the Federal army!" He pointed in the direction from which we had just come with his finger as he turned to gaze out over the rest of his audience. “But this train will not leave until it is full. And that will only happen if people behave in an orderly, civilized fashion, rather than pressing in a giant hoard for the entrances!" He paused, looking around again, taking in a large breath before continuing as he jerked his finger through the air. “Now: humans in the front cars, and everyone else at the back! You know the law!" He paused, wildness in his eyes as he gazed about him again, his movements slowing as he seemed to try and recompose himself. “And while I still have your attention," he began more calmly, with a renewed sternness, intending to continue speaking, but by that point, people had begun to take advantage of the stillness and push through the crowd to the doors. Murmurs began to arise again, and before long, people were once more shoving, jostling, and shouting as they pressed on towards the train. “I need fifteen volunteers, with weapons experience, who are willing to accompany us…Stop shouting!" CRACK! He fired in the air again, and everyone hunched over, but this time they did not stop pressing forward. CRACK! CRACK! People reacted to the gunshots less and less the more they occurred – they knew, or at least hoped, that the corporal wouldn't actually shoot into the crowd.

“This way," Novka shouted. I turned to see that the others were already filing towards the back of the train, pressed against its metal exterior. They apparently figured that it was no use fighting with the lieutenant and headed for the rear cars – or, the rearmost car, if we were to stay connected. We shuffled along the train, and I glanced around frantically, suddenly aware again and trying to grasp some clue that Larissa may be on the platform. I could have sworn that, for a fleeting instant, I caught the faintest, briefest flash of light blue. It could have easily been the color of someone's clothing, or hat, or any number of other things that could be that color or even another dragonborn. I desperately combed the area with my eyes – I couldn't catch another glimpse of whatever it had been. We pressed on until we reached a car that had no guard at the door. It wasn't the last car, but we threw ourselves on, and found it occupied with a random mix of people of various species – clearly, the discriminatory practices of the Northern Territories could not be very well enforced here under the circumstances.

The train was of a typical passenger type, with a narrow corridor on the right and multiple passenger compartments on the left that forced those in the hallway to shuffle along at a slower pace. The interior was at least brightly illuminated by gas lamps along the walls, between each window. Passing one of the passenger compartments, I saw that it was completely overcrowded with what looked like two separate families, both with small children, who seemed understandably worried, though they sat calmly and politely. We soon realized that all of the compartments were already completely full or, for some reason, locked – the evacuation was remarkably poorly-planned; but given its short notice, that was of course to be expected. As we continued to try to figure out what to do, the people pouring into the car on either end began to overwhelm us, shoving us up against one another with crushing force. Vage, for some reason, shoved his arms out, pushing both me and Forticay away and into those around us.

“What the hell?" I exclaimed, furious at him, until he threw himself against one of the locked, polished wooden doors to a passenger compartment with all his strength. The sound of splintering wood immediately signaled that the door would budge. I pushed further away from Vage and into those at my back to give him as much room as I possibly could. He threw his shoulder into the door again, and this time it burst open, forcing him to stumble a moment as he himself launched forward into the room. We poured inside before Martin, with Vage's help, slammed the door shut behind us, which thankfully still remained on its hinges, although the wood around the lock was busted. Vage leaned against it just in case someone else would attempt to push inside, and we could still hear shouts and jostling from the other side of the door, in the hallway, as well as the sound of more splintering wood – apparently, others had either observed us or gotten the idea themselves to start breaking the locked doors down. I looked out the window, which was facing the platform.

Outside, more soldiers had arrived to ensure a more-steady boarding process. Or were they? No: they were pushing civilians away, now, edging their way between the mob and the train so that it could depart – it must have been full. The soldiers held up their rifles horizontally in both hands, using them as barriers to push back the desperate people still trying to break through the crude line that they had formed and make it to the train – some still did, and others began to climb the side of the cars anywhere they could get a foothold, from the looks of things. One middle-aged human man, in a dark coat with a black moustache, stood right on the wheels below our window, hoisting himself up, and started knocking desperately upon the glass for us to open it and pull him inside. We just stared at him silently until the soldiers directly outside realized that he had managed to get behind them and dragged him back to the platform.

Suddenly, the train lurched with a hiss. It then slowly began to ease out of the station, hundreds if not over a thousand people still clamoring to get past the guards and get on – again, some still managed to break through the hastily-established and disorganized line and climb aboard. Nevertheless, had we tried to board the train even two minutes later than we did, we probably would have been among those still on the platform. I wondered if the cars actually really were full, or if the officers merely worried that the continued presence of the train at the platform would transform the panicked crowd into some sort of rioting mob. But, given how many people had been clamoring onto our car, I assumed that it was more so the former, even if it was probably a bit of both.

The oil lamp next to the door flickered, but did not die out. We were sitting on polished, center-facing benches with red cushioning, little golden decorations dancing across it, and room above the seats for the storage of baggage. This was clearly a nicer civilian train that either had the misfortune of being stuck at the station or had been diverted here initially for carrying paying passengers. In any case, we were picking up speed, and by now the dim lights of the buildings of Yestloblast were quickly sliding by as they retreated into the distance, the train tracks leading the locomotive away from the city.

“What does the Federal infantry do when they liberate a new town," Forticay asked with mild concern. I shrugged.

“Same as the usual procedure: clear the area of hostiles, make it defensible, enforce Federation law, and shoot anyone who resists," I stated frankly, my hands limp in my lap between my legs. I was thinking back to that glimpse of blue that I had caught earlier: had that been Larissa? Perhaps she had made it onto the train. If not, how would she get out? Would she get out? Would she even try to get out?...

“How are we supposed to book passage from the border to Lester," Vage asked, crossing his legs (rather obnoxiously, in fact, given how long they were). “The bloody border station will be overrun with this train alone."

“We either get lucky or we find tickets, I'd imagine," Martin shrugged.

“And how would we do that," Forticay questioned, scarcely taking his gaze from the window as he stared outside with childlike interest and concern.

“We've made it this far," Martin replied with a raise of the eyebrows.

“But that means nothing," Novka shook her head with a sigh. “Perhaps we can try and sneak aboard."

“Do you think that we'll be the only ones who've thought of that?" Martin seemed almost offended that Novka would offer such a basic solution. “Half of the individuals on this train are probably thinking that right now." Novka rolled her eyes.

“Well, when one of you has an idea, please let us all know," she ended matter-of-factly, and all retreated into silence, likely extremely tired. Tiredness had caught up with me, as well, but for some reason I didn't feel content to just sit there knowing that Larissa could be on the train. I decided to try and search for her. After ten or so minutes of nothing being said, I stood up, announcing my intention to find the restroom.

Opening the door to our compartment (which merely required pulling it, as without its door mechanisms attached anymore it floated freely upon its hinges), I stepped out into the hallway. Thankfully, I was met with a calm scene. Those who had not managed to get inside a compartment sat along the walls to either side or tried to stretch themselves out as much as possible along the walkway. They were packed together, most of them quiet – some of them were sleeping. It appeared that most were human, though I spotted some wolves or coyotes here and there, and a fox. Of those who were awake, the same calm, tired, indifferent expression was shared by all now that the chaos was over, and no one really seemed to take any notice of me, though making my way around them without stepping on fingers or toes was particularly difficult.

I made it to the end of the car, working my way to the back of the train and, finding the door bolted from the outside, figured that there was no use trying to break through – this door was metal. Unfortunately, that was the direction that I had glimpsed…Whatever it was that I thought was light-blue, so that was where I'd likely find Larissa if she were actually on the train. I told myself it was merely because I wanted to make sure that she was safe that I was investing so much effort into this, though she frankly was really the only person who I had meaningfully connected with or related to on a significant level in years – I was at least sensible enough to acknowledge that. I decided to try my luck down further towards the engine, painfully working my way back in the other direction, over all of the people who I had just previously carefully trekked over. Still, no one seemed to pay me any notice.

I continued on to the other car, peering into every compartment that had its door open as I did so, and scanning everybody in sight – so many were bundled up with their coats and hats that it was difficult to discern who looked like what, sometimes. Crossing the cars was not too difficult, given that there was a small, flexible walkway made of many interlocking metal slats that ran between each one, with handrails for support, as well as a large tan canvass that completely enclosed the walkway in a rectangular fashion. Each car was the exact same as the last – quiet and calm and completely full. Apparently the train really had been packed to the brim, after all. I did notice that the more I trekked on, the more humans there seemed to be, with less and less of any other species. It would seem that the discriminatory practices of the Northern Territories had been enforced further up towards the engine, after all. Entering one car and seeing a brown-clad soldier walking carefully over people in the same direction, I suddenly realized how I may could potentially compensate for my near-breakdown on the Front and for how I had snapped at Novka. Surely it wouldn't work, but at the very least, it was worth a shot.

“Sir." He looked behind him, one hand on the wall for balance. He was an older man, though still young (perhaps around thirty or so) with a fat face and a shaved head, wearing a simple brown side cap. He looked back at me with an expression of intrigue.

“What is it?" He turned around completely, placing his other hand against the opposite wall to steady himself as the train continued to rumble quietly down the tracks, now going quite fast.

“Is there any way I could purchase tickets to anywhere in Oslost?" He rolled his eyes.

“Look, like I told everybody else," he began, rolling his head around on his shoulders slightly with annoyance. “There'll be an opportunity to purchase tickets when we reach the Oslost border. If you don't have any luck then, you'll just have to wait for one of the refugee engines."

“How often do they come around?" He scratched his head.

“I think every two to three days?" He turned and resumed his careful journey in the direction I had been heading. I didn't think that I would achieve anything more by getting his attention. I began to look around, hopelessly, my mind now concentrating on our current objective. Vage had raised a great point: how would we get into Oslost? Even if we managed to get through passport control in a timely manner, there was no telling how quickly we would be able to find transport to Lester.

“Ay," a voice to my left sounded. I looked down, and saw a smiling man with long blond hair that flowed over his shoulders under a grey mariner's cap. He had a scratchy-looking thin goatee around his mouth, with a moustache that was thicker, and wore a simple brown coat over a stained, striped white shirt and khaki pants. “You want tickets to somewhere in Oslost?" I raised my eyebrows, skeptical.

“You can't possibly have anything for me," I replied. I had dealt with people like this man before: most likely, he would try to assure me that he had a contact he could set me up with for an advanced payment, or some fake train tickets that he had procured which looked nothing like an actual pass. The man looked around – no one else paid us any attention; in fact, most people were by now asleep, or at least trying to fall asleep.

“In there," he nodded his head to the side, gesturing at the little outcrop of a room that was either a restroom or a service pantry. I looked to the door, taking a step back and gazing inside through the small square window: it was an empty service pantry, with tight, unstocked shelves and a small counter to prepare food for when the train engaged itself on longer voyages. I was almost certain that this man had nothing at all of value to offer me, not to mention that he looked quite pathetic for someone who claimed to be capable of selling me something of remarkable value – he frankly looked like he could use a bath, to be honest. But then again, I probably did, too. In fact, I hadn't genuinely bathed since before leaving Ervef. Perhaps there would be time for that at some point in Oslost.

“Fine," I decided to humor the man – I figured that I should at least take a look and see if what he was selling was legitimate. If I did not, it would be nagging at the back of my mind for the rest of the train ride. The man grinned and stood to his feet with difficulty. He groaned, grabbing the back of his right leg with his hand.

“My legs are failing me nowadays," he shrugged with a smile, though he was clearly no older than maybe forty or so. He stood to his feet, and to my surprise was quite shorter than me. We shuffled into the empty service pantry, and he closed the door behind us. I braced myself to potentially be robbed, but thankfully, he only turned to face me. It was horribly cramped, and there was only enough room in between us for a third average-sized person to potentially stand, or maybe two, but no more than that. Vage sure as hell wouldn't fit in here. Opposite from the door was another one, on the wall, used to load goods into the pantry, with a larger window yielding a view of the black night outside.

“All right then," I began, throwing my arms to the side (as much as I could). The man raised his eyebrows as he reached into his coat and pulled out a thin, white paper train ticket. I reached for it, but he yanked it back.

“No, only look." He held it up for me between his gloved fingers, and I examined it as best I could – random combinations of numbers and letters, the names of offices, certifications and seals, and so forth were all displayed in an orderly manner upon its surface. In fact, to my surprise, it looked…Perfectly legitimate. “It's a pre-destination ticket – good for traveling one-way to any city in Oslost," the man explained, trying to market his product. It did seem like just what we were looking for. Still, though – I had seen some good fake documents in the past, not to mention the fact that I was currently carrying one.

“Let me see it," I stated frankly.

“What? No! You'll just take it," the man protested, pulling the ticket away and covering his hand with his coat.

“And go where with it?" I retorted. “Out into the hallway? You could say that I stole your ticket and they'd probably believe you."

“You really think that I'm going to let the officials in on what I'm dealing here?"

“At the very least, I'd still be stuck on this train with you, and I'm sure that you could find some way of getting it back." The man seemed to think for a moment, eying me. “Do I really look that much like a thief?" He sighed, slowly withdrawing his hand and handing me the ticket. I grabbed it carefully, so as not to alarm him, holding it close to my face and bending it just slightly to judge its quality. It was made of firmer paper than regular writing paper, which was good, and it looked perfectly authentic; real or not, it was convincing enough that no conductor would give it a second glance. Not to mention, as the man stated, it was good for a ride to anywhere in Oslost.

“How many do you have?"

“Woah, sold, I see," the man smiled. I handed the ticket back out of politeness – I briefly thought about robbing the man, but if he really did manage to procure tickets this genuine-looking, surely he had hidden the other ones somewhere, assuming that there were actually other tickets, and I was sure that there was no way he would be stupid enough to have them on him right now. Besides, aside from my previous two jobs, where I was paid to basically be a robber, I hadn't actually really stolen anything from anybody in several years, and never anything so valuable nor in such circumstances, either. I decided to try and pay for what I could before deciding upon anything drastic, but I was fully committed to going to any length to get those tickets, if it came to that.

“I have eight in total, but one is for me," the man replied with his unappealing smile.

“How much?" The man thought for a moment.

“For you…Six hundred each," he beamed. _Three-thousand salir..._Even for tickets to Lester, that was outrageous.

“You cannot be serious," I stated with an expression of tired disbelief.

“Sorry, demand is high," he shrugged.

“How about four hundred?" The bargain was a bit low, but I wasn't even sure that I still had three thousand salir on me, between what I had given to Larissa and all of the little expenses that I had paid along the way to this point.

“No, only six hundred," he repeated, shaking his head with a childlike expression. This man was surprisingly unprofessional for someone who possessed such valuable commodities. How did he even acquire the tickets, in the first place?

“But I can't pay six hundred," I retorted in an annoyed tone.

“Then I guess that you won't be able to get into Oslost," he chuckled with a shrug. I sighed.

“Four hundred twenty-five," I offered.

“Ha!" He laughed. “So you do have more money. Anyone who would make that offer surely must have four hundred and fifty," he exclaimed.

“What?"

“Sorry, that's the new cost." I was losing my patience.

“Fine, four hundred fifty," I sighed.

“And that's how I know that you can do five hundred," he amused himself excitedly.

“But I can't do that much," I protested, genuinely unsure if I actually did still have that much money or not (in all truth, I was pretty sure that I did, but, reasonably, I wanted to retain as much of it as possible).

“Five-hundred or no deal."

“Listen," I sighed, trying to make it as clear as possible that I was lower on funds. “I really cannot afford to pay that much," I insisted. "I'm just working with what I have here, that's all."

“Then I guess that you won't be going anywhere in Oslost anytime soon, unless of course you manage to fight the crowds at the ticket offices. Good luck, by the way: they sell out instantly." I heaved with exasperation.

“I need five tickets," I stated, holding up my outstretched fingers to emphasize how significant that number was. I was explaining my situation to him as if he were a child, tired and not motivated to engage in extended haggling. “And I cannot afford to pay five-hundred for each one," I continued. “So…Please, just lower the price a little." The man thought for a moment.

“Fine," he agreed. “Four hundred ninety each." I raised my eyebrows at him.

“I'm not lying to you," I lied. “I really don't have that much money." He seemed to think.

“Four-hundred eighty." I was silent. I thought it over. That was good enough, I supposed.

“All right." I turned around to pull my money from my coat, not wanting him to see how much I actually had. I began to count out the large yellow notes, but he grabbed me by the shoulder and, with impressive strength and swiftness, turned me around and snatched all of the money from my hands. “Hey!"

“So, you could have paid," he exclaimed.

“Give that back, you ass, we had a deal!" I tried to reach for it but, but he shoved his hand into his coat. I grabbed him by the arms, and was about to try and wrestle his hand from his pocket when I suddenly worried that the noise would attract one of the soldiers – if that happened, and they suspected that I was purchasing fake tickets from this man, and if they determined that those tickets really were fake, we would both be in deep trouble. The man seemed to be able to read my thoughts – he was smiling at me through clenched teeth. I realized that I was squeezing his arms with a death grip.

“What are you going to do?" He teased, and looked up at my head. “Nice hat – a black ushanka, just like the Federation's military wears." Oh, fuck.

“What the hell do you mean by that?" I seethed, tilting my head slightly with exaggerated sternness.

“I'm not saying anything about you," he tried to shrug, but I held him fast against the wall. “I'm just saying that, now that I have your money, I could easily turn you in as a spy – they would be desperate to show that they had caught one. You know that a private could get an immediate promotion to-"

“You will not say a fucking thing," I seethed, pulling him forward a little and shoving him back against the wall with a dull thud. He only smiled. My anger was boiling. First this man had robbed me, and now he threatened to turn me in. I glanced out the window that peered into the hallway for a brief second to make sure that no one was looking in: we were safe. “I am not a fucking spy."

“I never said that you were," he shook his head, and chuckled. “But that won't matter to them, as long as you look the part…In fact, I think I'll tell them that you tried to kill me – that'll put you down easy." He cleared his throat. “Unless, of course…"

“What?" I seethed, my teeth clenched.

“You give me your coat…And your hat, and everything else of value that you have on you."

“You'd just turn me in anyway," I spat. He raised his eyebrows as he slowly turned his head to the hallway door.

“Guards!" He suddenly shouted, but no sooner had he spoken than I had shoved my fist in to his mouth, muffling him with my knuckles. He bit down hard, and I grunted, trying to be as quiet as possible, pulling away as he shoved me against the wall. He grabbed for the door handle, trying to make an escape, but I grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him against the opposite door, rattling it. I punched him hard across the jaw and he grunted, shouting again for the guards, this time much more desperately. In response, I shoved my sleeve as hard as I could into his mouth, muffling him again, and he bit down hard onto my arm, but my thick coat prevented me from feeling any actual pain. I pressed into him as firmly as I possibly could, his face turning red in an effort to scream, his legs frantically bouncing around as he tried to kick me: he was remarkably light. Suddenly, there was an odd creaking sound, and an instant later, the door against which I held him broke loose.

For an instant, the man was hanging out of the train as I instinctively grabbed him by the coat collar, one side clenched in either fist. He looked down the tracks and then back at me with terrified eyes. I made up my mind instantly, letting go of one side of his coat before he so much as had a chance to scream. He simply fell out of the car without a sound, into the pitch-black darkness, easily sliding out of the coat that I still held onto with my other hand.

For a brief moment, I did nothing – I was still too stunned by what had happened to really react. Then I worried that, in our scuffle, someone had heard us and alerted the guards. I turned to the other door: there was no one at the window. Careful not to get sucked outside the train to meet the same fate as that of my attempted robber, I reached around the outside wall and grabbed the door handle of the outward-opening door, closing it with effort, so that the deafening sound of the train racing over the tracks no longer filled the service pantry. I then cautiously stepped over to the opposite door, and, braving myself, expecting to see someone standing just outside, carefully opened it a crack – despite all that had gone on, the hallway looked the exact same as it had before, with people sleeping or resting quietly along the corridor, minus one ugly, conniving man.

Satisfied that our brief little melee had not been overheard, at least not by anyone who actually cared, I gently closed the door and began to examine the man's coat: my money, thankfully, had not fallen out of his pocket. I had also been too generous in assuming that he was wise enough to hide his tickets, as well, because those, too, were in his coat: all eight of them. Much to my surprise, he had even been keeping a silver officer's pistol in one of the large front pockets. Inspecting it, I found it to be loaded. I shoved it into one of my inside coat pockets – better to keep it for later. Calming myself, and taking one of my pills to settle my stomach, I finally exited the little compartment, leaving the man's coat balled-up in one of the corners. I was sure that no one would take any notice of it. I found, as I began to walk, that I was suddenly extremely exhausted – perhaps battling through several intense experiences while only having slept a few hours since the previous morning does that sort of thing to a person.

Part of me wanted to keep searching for Larissa, but I worried that if I ran into the soldier from before again, and if he for some reason noticed that the man I had just basically thrown off the side of the car was missing, he may (reasonably) suspect me of something, so I simply headed back to the rear of the train. As I made my way back to my car, mostly simply lost in thought, once more carefully stepping over the appendages of others, I noticed a very poor-looking woman wearing a tattered brown coat with patches holding a small child in her lap. The mother (I assumed – they were both red jackals, it seemed) looked very distraught, and very unkempt. I pondered for a moment, and then simply dropped two of the extra tickets now I held onto the woman's lap, between her and the baby with a quick “here." She seemed stunned – even frightened – not knowing what I had just handed her. I didn't even spare her a glance as I walked on, more focused on quelling the pain in my hand from having had an angry little man bite me.

“Thank you," I heard her shout, evidently confused, as I reached the end of the hallway. I grabbed the door handle and looked back. She was staring at me with wide, grateful eyes. I didn't expect it to affect me the way it did. I nodded, and continued on my way…The other extra ticket I had decided to hold on to, just in case…Well…Just in case. Reaching the compartment, everyone looked at me like I had been gone for hours.

“Where were you," Forticay asked, confused. In reply, I merely reached into my pocket, and held up five of the tickets for everyone to see, my expression tired and uncaring. Their eyes widened. “Are those…?"

“Anywhere in the country," I affirmed.

“Are they real," Martin asked as I took my seat and handed them to Novka, who had evidently wanted to examine them.

“Real enough that no one will take any notice."

“These are…" Novka seemed shocked as she lowered them from her scrutinizing eyes. “Just what we needed," she finished. I merely nodded with the same tired, indifferent look.

“Yeah." Everyone seemed sort of shocked at my mild demeanor. Perhaps they expected me to go in detail about how I managed to procure them.

“How did you get them?" Forticay finally asked. I gazed at him with a weary stare.

“Uh…That's not important," I ended, and continued to be stared at for a few moments more before everyone seemed to be at peace with the fact that they would not find out how I had acquired the tickets anytime soon, not that it mattered much to them, anyway: one way or another, we had passage to Lester. Now we merely had to wait out the ride to the border, which would probably drag on into the late morning. Before closing my eyes, I looked at Novka: she actually gave me a nod, with a slight smile, perhaps the best praise I had seen her give anyone all week…I soon fell asleep with my head leaned against the top of the back cushion and my hand wrapped around my minor bite wound.

Footnotes:

1. During the Great War, it would have been reasonably advantageous for Central forces on the Western Front to launch attacks or advances in the mornings, when the sunlight would be in the faces of their enemy, while the Entente forces on the same front could reasonably do so in the afternoons or evenings, for the same reason. However, because I imagine the planet upon which Vaymansphere resides to be in sync with the typical daily rotation of Earth, which of course results in a twenty-four hour day in which the sun travels Westward through the sky, and due to the fact that the dominant political conflict taking place in this book is being fought primarily on a North-South Front, [in spite of the existence of a Western Front] there would be no particular advantage in staging attacks at any specific point in the day versus another. Orchestrating a night advance, however, would nevertheless present a whole host of challenges, in addition to advantages, that soldiers and the officers who commanded them would need to navigate.