Evil Machines (15 page)

‘A receipt,’ said Gomez Ortega.

‘A receipt?’

‘For the ransom money,’ explained the guerrilla leader.

‘Oh, how thoughtful,’ said Orville Barton bitterly. ‘I’m sure I can claim tax relief on that.’

‘Please come and visit us any time,’ said the guerrilla leader, ‘Our address and phone number are on the receipt.’

‘Whooo! Whooo!’ hooted the train, and its wheels began

to turn, as all the guerrillas lined up and waved goodbye.

‘Goodbye!’ they cried. ‘And thank you for the ransom money!’

‘No! Wait!’ shouted Jack. ‘I want to fight for the future freedom of your people and the right of all human beings to live in peace!’ And if he could have opened the door, he would have jumped out there and then, even though the train was by now gathering speed. But the train had locked all its doors again, and when Jack tried to stick his head out of the window he was slapped and scratched across the face by lianas and jungle fronds so he quickly pulled it in again.

‘Father!’ he said, ‘I demand you tell the driver to stop this train so I can get out and return to people who value me!’

But his father didn’t reply. In fact his father wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

‘Dad?’ Jack called out, as he made for the First Class carriages, where he would naturally expect to find him. But he wasn’t there either. So Jack hurried towards the front of the train. As he approached the driver’s cab, he was surprised to hear shouting coming from within it. When he opened the door he found his father yelling at no one.

‘What have you done with them? They wouldn’t just vanish into thin air!’ Orville was yelling. ‘ Where are they?’

‘Father, are you driving this train?’ asked Jack.

Orville Barton span round, and a look of guilt flushed across his face. ‘Er!’ he cried.

‘And who are you yelling at?’ Jack looked around the empty driver’s cab.

‘It’s too complicated to explain,’ said Orville Barton.

‘You mean, “It’s not worth explaining to
me”
!’

‘No! It’s just . . .’ How could Orville Barton explain to his son, of all people, that he was not in control of what was happening?

‘Listen, Dad!’ exclaimed Jack, taking his father by the shoulders and shaking him. ‘I want you to stop this train. I want to stay in the jungle.’

‘Well, you’re too late!’ said Orville Barton to his son, and it was true. The train was now rattling and hissing over the surface of the mighty Amazon, following its twists and turns and swinging round the curves as it bent its way towards the open sea.

‘Turn this thing round!’ shouted Jack.

‘No!’ yelled his father. ‘I won’t!’ Although, of course, he had no choice in the matter.

‘Then I’ll do it!’ shouted Jack, and he struggled with his father to try and get at the controls of the train.

‘Oh! For goodness’ sake stop it, you two!’ said the train.

‘Who was that?’ exclaimed Jack, jumping out of his skin and back into it again before his father even had a chance to groan.

‘Oh!’ groaned his father.

‘Where’s that voice coming from?’

‘It’s me . . .’ said the train.

‘
I’ll
do the explaining!’ snapped Orville Barton.

‘What?’ said his son.

‘It’s a special kind of train,’ explained Orville Barton to his son. ‘You have to speak to it.’

‘A voice-controlled train?’ exclaimed Jack.

‘Sort of . . .’ said Orville.

‘Train!’ shouted Jack. ‘I want you to turn around and

take me back to the jungle!’

‘Phooey!’ hooted the train. ‘Phooey! Phoooey! Phooey! And Phooey!’

‘You have to talk to it in the right way,’ said Orville Barton.

‘Train! Turn around at once!’ shouted Jack – articulating his words very precisely.

‘But we’ve got to find Annie and Little Orville!’ his father blurted out.

‘What’s my sister got to with it?’ asked Jack. ‘And Little Orville?’

‘They were here, on board the train, but they’ve gone!’ cried Orville.

‘What were Annie and Little Orville doing on this train?’ shouted Jack. ‘Why are you suddenly interfering in our lives?’

‘I wasn’t “interfering”,’ replied Orville. ‘I was giving Annie a lift. She was taking her husband Tom his lunch,’ said Orville.

‘Where’s my sister?’ shouted Jack at the train. ‘And my nephew, Little Orville?’

‘They got off,’ said the train.

‘You mean they’re back there in the jungle!’ exclaimed Jack.

‘If my daughter and her little boy are back there we must turn back at once!’ said Orville.

‘You keep out of this!’ said Jack to his Father. ‘I’ll find Annie. Train! Turn back!’

‘Phooey!’ hooted the train.

‘This train’s voice-recognition programme is appalling!’ said Jack.

‘Don’t be fooled!’ growled his father. ‘It knows what we’re talking about all right, it just won’t do what we want it to.’

But before Jack could reply, the train interrupted.

‘They’re not in the jungle!’ it said.

‘So where are they then?’ demanded Jack.

‘I can’t tell you,’ said the train.

‘Don’t be so stupid!’ yelled Jack.

‘Don’t call me “stupid”!’ roared the train. ‘That’s what she kept calling me! And “ridiculous”! I’m not stupid and I’m not ridiculous! I’m a Class 4MT BR Standard No.75027!’

‘Then where is my sister?’ yelled Jack.

‘I can’t tell you!’ cried the train.

‘Listen!’ said Jack. ‘If you don’t tell me, I’ll reprogramme you so you can’t talk at all!’

‘You couldn’t do that!’

‘Oh yes I could!’ yelled Jack. ‘That’s my job! I’m a computer programmer!’

The train went quiet for a moment. Then it said, ‘I can’t tell you where they are, but I can take you there.’

‘Then why didn’t you say!’ exclaimed Orville. ‘Take us to them at once!’ demanded Orville.

‘I already am!’ hooted the train. It had suddenly tilted up at an impossible angle and was now climbing up into the air . . . its wheels gripping on thin air as if the wind were a railroad track . . . climbing up and up, higher and higher into the sky.

Orville Barton and his son Jack picked themselves up from the floor, where they’d fallen, and looked out of the driver’s cab window.

‘We’re flying!’ exclaimed Jack. ‘This is some train!’

‘At last some appreciation!’ hooted the train, and up it continued to soar – 10,000 feet – 20,000 feet – 30,000 feet. Around 38,000 feet, it started to flatten out and as it did so, Orville and Jack’s jaws dropped . . . their eyes came out on stalks, for there ahead of them was a huge black cloud.

Now you might not think a huge black cloud (no matter how huge or how black) was such an unusual thing to see in the sky – especially here in the mid-Atlantic where the Equator crosses the northern shore of South America, and storms blow up out of nowhere in a matter of minutes. But this black cloud was not like any other black cloud in the mid-Atlantic. In fact it was not like any other black cloud that ever existed . . . It was made entirely of iron.

The billowing surfaces of the cloud were actually formed by massive panels of cast iron. Streaks of rust ran from the rivet holes and the joins in the metalwork. And yet the whole vast structure floated in the air as if it were gossamer. And the train was heading straight for it.

Before either Orville or Jack had time to so much as shout out, ‘Stop! Don’t go into that cloud! It’s made of iron!’, a panel in the side of the black cloud slid open, and the train thundered straight in, and as it did its wheels engaged with a metal track and the noise echoed from metal wall to metal wall.

At the end of the vast concourse was a large sign, hanging from the roof, that read: ‘Receiving Hall’.

When the last carriage had crossed the threshold, the portal closed, and the train clattered its way across the receiving hall until it finally ground to a halt beside a platform.

Orville and Jack climbed out, and looked around them. The platform looked pretty similar to any platform in any large railway terminal, except that the station signs read ‘Maurice’ and there were no other passengers. There was, however, a man, striding along the platform towards them. He wore green overalls, and was carrying a clipboard. His overalls also had the word ‘Maurice’ written in red on the left breast pocket.

‘Now listen here!’ Orville began. Whoever this odd little man was, if he had anything to do with the Euston to Manchester Express, Orville had plenty to say to him.

But the little man in overalls just swept past Orville and Jack and went straight up to the engine.

‘You’re a disgrace!’ he shouted. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

‘I don’t understand . . .’ mumbled the train.

‘You’re meant to be
evil
!’ exclaimed the man.

‘Well, I am!’ retorted the train. ‘I never took Mr Barton to Manchester, even though he kept begging and begging me to. And I took him to places he’s been avoiding for years . . .’

‘Idiot!’ snapped the man. ‘You’ve got that wretch talking to his children for the first time in years!’

‘They quarrel all the time!’ the train pointed out.

‘Being evil means running over old ladies! Crashing into crowded platforms! Running late so people miss vital appointments!’

‘I stopped Mr Barton getting to Manchester for a very important business meeting!’ said the train hopefully.

‘In which he was going to bribe somebody to do his dirty work for him!’ fumed the strange little man.

‘That is totally untrue!’ exclaimed Orville, who had been trying to get a word in. ‘I’ll sue you for defamation if you’re not careful!’ But the little man simply ignored him.

‘You’re going straight to the breaking yard!’ the man yelled at the train.

‘Not the breaking yard!’ gasped the train, as the man blew on a whistle. ‘Oh! Please! No!’ it cried. ‘Give me another chance! I’ll be really evil! I’ll do really bad things! Just let me think of something!’

But two tough-looking shunting engines had already pulled up – one behind the train and the other in front.

‘I’ll derail myself and spill everyone’s coffee!’ exclaimed the train. ‘I’ll break down and not let anyone out! I’ll turn off my heating in the middle of winter and on again in the middle of summer! I’ll go slow!’

‘Imbecile!’ said the man, scratching something out on his clipboard. ‘You have no idea of the meaning of “Evil”! You’re a write-off!’

And the two shunting engines started to move the train away from the platform.

‘No! Please!’ cried the train as it was led away. ‘Not the breaking yard!’

‘Now wait a minute!’ exclaimed Orville. ‘That train is supposed to be taking me to Manchester!’

‘Is that all you can think about?’ snapped Jack. ‘It’s showing me where my sister is!’

‘That’s right!’ said Orville. ‘It’s showing us where my daughter is.’

But the man in the green overalls wasn’t listening. He had pushed past Orville Barton and his son Jack, and was

stomping back up the platform, with Orville and Jack running after him.

‘Hey!’ shouted Jack.

‘Listen to me!’ shouted Orville.

But the little man moved surprisingly fast, and by the time they caught up with him, he’d disappeared through a door that slammed shut behind him. Jack and his father banged on the door and shouted for the man to open up. But nothing happened.

At that moment a siren started wailing. Jack turned to see the train disappearing between two great iron doors at the other end of the receiving hall. Without a word to his father, he started running towards it.

‘Hey! Wait for me!’ shouted Orville, but his son was already halfway across the receiving hall, dodging between bits of machinery and vaulting over obstacles like a champion rugby player.

But it was no good. By the time he reached the great iron doors, the train had vanished inside them, and the doors had clanged shut. By the time his father caught up with him, panting and puffing, Jack was reading the inscriptions stencilled across the doors in red paint:

The Rocket to Hell

‘You stay out of this!’ said Jack to his father. ‘I’ll find her.’ Jack and his father were standing outside the great iron doors through which the train, that was going to lead them to Annie, had disappeared.

‘What are you talking about?’ replied Orville. ‘We’re in this together.’

‘If it gets tricky,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t want a handicap.’

‘Are you implying I’m not capable of looking after myself?’ demanded Orville.

‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Jack. ‘I don’t know what you’re capable of.’

‘Let me tell you I can more than take care of myself!’ said Orville, prodding his son in the chest.