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'Buchanan Station,' read Mariko.

'Any connections?'

'No.'

'What now then?'

A breeze rushed through the station, stirring the dust.

'We get off the platform,' said Mariko.

As they ran for the exit the breeze grew into a great rush of air. Clouds of dust whipped and spiralled around them as they dived through the archway into the short connecting corridors between the platforms.

'That's no train,' wailed Naran.

Mariko grabbed Naran's jacket and roughly pushed him ahead of her. Looking back she saw it come into the station The gateway was spiked open by a cone of blackness, two red lights planted either side of the needle-sharp nose. It reminded Mariko of something created on a kid's graphic program, a rough representation of a train made up of basic 3D shapes - a cylinder tipped by two cones. It looked hypothetical, imagined rather than engineered, with no surface detail on its glossy black skin. When it stopped Mariko noticed that its base was half a metre above the friction field.

Vertical lines of bright yellow light appeared at regular intervals along the cylinder body, where the doors would be on a real train. Then with a hiss they split open.

'Run,' screamed Mariko.

There was an access ramp at right angles to the corridor leading up into the unfinished heart of the station. Mariko dropped the board as they went scrambling up the slope; it clattered on to the concrete before sliding down to the level ground. The ramp went up for another twelve metres before levelling off into a corridor vanishing into darkness.

Naran hit the dead end first, Mariko heard a thump and then a groan. She found him lying on his back clutching his nose. The corridor terminated in a wall of solid rock. Mariko felt it with her hands. There were long grooves etched horizontally across its face. Mariko guessed that they'd been made by the laser-tunneller before it was turned off.

Naran sat up. 'What now?' he asked.

'Did you see any turn-offs?'

'No,' said Naran. 'I think I've broken my nose.'

'Then we wait here until it goes away.'

'Did you see it?'

'Yes.'

'What was it?'

Mariko looked down the corridor. The down ramp at the end was a rectangle of muted light.

'A ghost train.'

Naran snorted and started his nose bleeding again. 'Assuming it does go,' he said, 'how do we get out of here?'

'There's bound to be a communications relay point on the station somewhere, we patch into that and call for help.'

There was a noise from the platforms below.

'What was that?' asked Naran.

'Shut up, Naran.'

They heard a muttering and then a harsh metallic squeal.

'That's feedback,' said Naran. 'Someone's using the PA.'

The squeal tailed off, there was a noise like someone coughing down an amplifier.

'My fellow citizens.' The voice echoed up the ramp.

Naran's face had gone blank with fear.

'The station of the nation is the question.'

'It's the President,' said Naran.

'Ask not what your nation can do for you,' boomed the voice, 'but rather what can you do for your nation.'

Light exploded up the ramp and came boiling down the corridor towards them. Mariko saw her board caught up in the wave of light, whirling towards them like a leaf in a storm. Naran was screaming as the light picked them up and transfixed them to the wall. The board banged into the space between them and stuck upright. It was hard to see in the intensity, but through slitted eyes Mariko made out the silhouetted figure of a man coming towards them. He came on at a brisk pace, walking with an assured authority that was somehow horribly familiar. There was something wrong about the man's lower face; it bulged outwards as if his mouth had been stuffed with a dinner plate.

The man stopped directly in front of Naran and Mariko and put his hands on his hips. Then he leaned forward, face thrust ahead to inspect them. There was enough light reflected from the dull surface of the wall for Mariko to see his face. It really was the President, only someone seemed to have shoved a loudspeaker