Doctor Who_ Transit - Ben Aaronovitch [101]
Ming smiled down at him and Dogface saw for the first time ever that Ming really was a princess.
'Somebody has to live,' said Ming. 'And that somebody is you.' She pressed the panic button.
Dogface felt himself sink into the waters of oblivion.
Lowell Depot
Achmed had just managed to sit down when Deirdre called him. He'd propped himself against a wall in the freight depot and watched the military load up their hardware on to the flatbeds. The military, the NGOs and the police were pulling out of the Stop. A captain from the project police had briefed him on contingency plans in case of stragglers. The captain had scraped-back hair and tired eyes. Achmed's foreman brought them glasses of sweet tea and they'd gone over the whiteprints together. Achmed was a great believer in gathering local knowledge before he started a job.
The captain left along with the last contingent of police leaving Achmed and his team alone in the deserted projects. At least Achmed hoped they were alone. Just in case he made sure that his people worked in pairs, fanning out into the projects with the survey-drones. Their job was to take precise structural measurements and compare them to the whiteprints stored in Achmed's portable console.
He usually used this lull to collect his thoughts before tackling any problems. A couple of moments now could save him hours even days later. And as his wife Ming always said, 'time is money and sleep an investment.'
The communicator pinned into the lapel of his kaftan beeped. It was Deirdre his shift supervisor.
'Yes?'
'Boss,' said Deirdre, 'I think you'd better come and have a look at something.'
'What is it?'
'I don't know,' said Deirdre.
That worried Achmed. Deirdre considered herself the real driving force within the company and affected to regard Achmed as an overpaid supernumerary who was only kept on because he was co-married to the chairman's wife. If Deirdre was passing the buck upwards then it had to be serious.
'Where are you?' asked Achmed.
'The main passenger platform.'
'I'm on my way.'
Achmed got to his feet and walked up the narrow connecting corridor to the passenger platforms. One of his crew had wedged the security door open with a block of wood.
Deirdre met him on the other side, a small bulky woman wearing baggy rhino-hide dungarees and a New Jamaica T-shirt that was pulled tight around her heavy breasts. She pointed down the platform.
'Who authorized that?' asked Achmed.
The ugliest tank engine he'd ever seen was standing at the platform.
'Not me. Boss,' said Deirdre. 'I tried contacting STS Central but the link's dead.'
A freshly welded patch covered most of the nose, including the forward windscreen. It gave the engine a blind stupid look.
'Anyone get out?'
'Not yet,' said Deirdre.
'Did you look inside?'
'I thought I'd call you first.'
'There might be people inside,' said Achmed. 'They could be hurt.'
'After you. Boss,' said Deirdre.
The tank engine had another fresh patch where the emergency cabin door should have been. Achmed peered into the cabin through the one unbroken window.
'What can you see?' called Deirdre, who'd stayed at the end of the platform. 'Is there anyone in there?'
'I can't see anyone, but it's pretty messed up in there,' said Achmed. Most of the cabin instrumentation was dead, there was what might have been evidence of small arms damage.
'What are you waiting for?' he called to Deirdre.
'No way I'm going anywhere near that thing,' Deirdre shouted back. 'I've heard stories.'
'What kind of stories?'
'Ghost stories,' said Deirdre, 'about the black train.'
'Since when?'
'Since yesterday,' said Deirdre.
That's always been the problem with information technology, thought Achmed, instant myths.
There was a hiss from the rear section of the tank engine and its big cargo doors swung outwards. Achmed took a couple of steps backwards, just in case.
A drone came through the open doors at chest height, with a thousand-metre drum of electrical cable suspended from its belly mandibles. Three more drones followed, each