T is for Train, if by chance you see a train, don't feel bad to relieve the pain, but be careful not to offend, otherwise your journey might meet a bitter end.
"That sounds dumb." Cold Coal groaned.
"What do you mean?" White Whistle asked, "it's a great marketing catchphrase for the train."
The two brothers stood in the engineering car, arguing on the subject at hoof.
"'If by chance you see a train, don't feel bad to relieve your strain!' It sounds like you're telling our customers to go use the toilet."
Cold Coal was the oldest, a strong gray earth pony stallion with a firm jaw. His eyes the color of embers in a fire pit. He wore some gray overalls covered in black dust.
"My thought was that we are telling them to sit down and relieve the strain on the muscles." Whistle replied.
White Whistle was a unicorn stallion with a light gray coat. A pristine, blue train conductor's uniform rested well against his frame. Amber eyes peered from beneath his cap.
Despite their difference in appearance Coal and Whistle were in fact brothers, albeit from different mothers. When Coal was young his mother had passed away at the hooves of raiders. A few years later, his father met and fell in love with a unicorn mare. After eleven months, Whistle was born.
"Even if that's your intention," Coal said, "that isn't what it sounds like. Besides do we really need any advertising? We're probably the only locomotive transportation in the wasteland. It isn't like we have any competition."
"But we do," Whistle answered, "we are limited by the tracks, so we need to find ways to motivate ponies to come spend a few caps riding our train instead of crossing the country by hoof."
"Speaking of customers," Coal said, "shouldn't you be checking some tickets?"
"I suppose you're right," Whistle chuckled, "I'll check on our passengers, you just make sure that the engine is running properly."
Opening the door, White Whistle made his way to the passenger car where their customers would be seated. As he entered the car, a warm smile graced his lips, a contrast to the harsh, cold weather outside.
It was said, that before the bombs fell that the Crystal Empire was once a noble kingdom. Now it was a harsh, snowy wasteland filled with mutated beasts, raiders and slavers. Due to the harsh weather, radiation and aforementioned threats, passing through the frosty tundra could be quite difficult. Fortunately, Whistle and his brother provided a quick, safe way to travel for those wishing to do so. So long as they followed the rules there was nothing to fear.
The interior of the cars were carefully crafted to be nice and cozy. The walls and floor were made of wooden planks with a piece of metal that ran along the wall, underneath the window seals to serve as an additional barrier of protection. The metal was painted a deep forest green or so the paintcan had claimed. The wooden benches that made up the rows possessed green cushions. From the ceiling were a few lights that ran down the center of the aisles. On the floor mirroring the lights was a makeshift green carpet that went down the aisle.
Whistle's horn glowed with golden energy as he pulled a small metal device from his pocket with his magic. It was a ticket puncher or so their father had called it, a pre-war item preserved through the ages and a gift from Whistle's late father.
"Tickets please!" Whistle called out, "Prepare your tickets!"
This was a routine, passed down to him from his father and even from before the great war. Centuries ago a conductor would do the exact thing, punching tickets and greeting the passengers. It was meant as a distraction, to help aid the passengers in forgetting about the wasteland outside and to just relax.
Walking down the aisle, Whistle attempted to familiarize himself with his customers. Some of them were ponies down on their luck, spending their last few caps in hopes of finding a new starting point elsewhere. Some were families seeking to escape raider incursions. Perhaps there was a mare or stallion trying to run away from a steep debt. And then there was the occasional pony who had struck it big and was using the train to visit their numerous settlements.
But here on the Sol-Treader Express, none of that mattered. This train was its own territory and as long as the passengers followed the rules they would be enjoying a safe ride.
With each ticket that was given to Whistle, he would use the ticket puncher to pierce two holes into the piece of paper. The cut outs the shape of the sun, a reminder of what had once roamed the skies.
In one of the rows was a young colt that Whistle recognized as Spiked Gum, who was looking out the window nervously. Something that would be expected of somepony under his circumstances. He was a young earth pony with a pale pink coat and dirty blue mane.
"Hello lad," Whistle said, "could I have your ticket please?"
Silently, Gum gave Whistle the ticket.
Apparently, Spiked Gum's family had been killed in a raider attack on their settlement. Fortunately the colt had survived and had mysteriously braved the icy tundra all the way to Gemstock.
Taking Gum's ticket, White Whistle used the puncher on it and returned it with a warm smile. "Enjoy the trip."
White Whistle was about to proceed when he felt something tug on his uniform. Turning, Whistle saw that Spiked Gum had reached out with a hoof.
"Mister are we going to be safe?" Spiked Gum asked.
Making false promises wasn't something Whistle was keen on doing. They would be traveling through the wasteland and there was no guarantee that something wouldn’t happen anyway.
"I can assure you that we will do everything possible to keep everypony here safe." Whistle said with a smile.
This response seemed to satisfy Spiked Gum as the colt returned Whistle's smile and let go of his uniform.
Whistle smiled as he came to the last set of seats where two mares were sitting. While most of the other ponies on the train wore old, tattered or ragged clothes, these two mares wore more formal attire. One was a young mare wearing a maid's uniform while the second elderly mare wore a deep maroon dress, over which she wore a heavy fur coat. Despite the heating talismans keeping the interior of the train car warm, the elderly mare appeared to be chilled. Looking this latter mare over, Whistle recognized her as Miss Silvermane.
Miss Silvermane was the leader of the CWAS, Crystal Wastes Archivist Society, which possessed a sizeable amount of power in the frozen north. A family company passed down the female line from before the great war.
"Hello ladies," Whistle greeted, "tickets please."
While the maid gave Whistle a smile for his greeting, Miss Silvermane kept looking forward , a condescending expression upon her face. The maid presented both the tickets for her mistress and her, to White Whistle.
"Thank you, sir." The maid said as Whistle took the tickets and used the puncher on them.
"The pleasure is all mine, ma'am." Whistle said with a smile.
White Whistle had to admit that the maid looked cute. Perhaps if she was interested he might be able to give her a personal tour of the train.
"For Celestia's sake, quit flirting with the young colt, Lily." Miss Silvermane grumbled.
Well, it seemed that such a tour would have to be on hold for now.
The conductor maintained his composure in spite of Silvermane's brash nature, and returned the marked tickets. Considering Miss Silvermane's high position, Whistle was a bit surprised that the rich mare had chosen to ride in the main passenger cars instead of taking one of the private cars.
"Please enjoy your stay."
Lily gave Whistle a soft smile, her cheeks tinted pink, before she returned her attention back to her mistress.
Now that the tickets were all checked the journey could begin. Heading to the back of the passenger car, Whistle opened a wooden box that was mounted on the wall to reveal an intercom inside. Pulling out the phone like device, Whistle spoke into it.
"Thank you all for your patience, we shall now begin our journey from Gemstock to Cryptmane," Whistle announced, "please sit back and please enjoy the ride."
The train's whistle blew and the locomotive began to move. As the pistons moved the metal wheels gradually began to pick up their pace, moving faster and faster along the tracks.
Closing the intercom box, Whistle walked back up toward the engine room to check on Coal. Coal sat in front of a terminal looking at various gauges and knobs. Of all these devices, one was especially important. A red gauge with a big zero on one side and a bright one hundred on the other side.
"How does it look?" Whistle inquired.
Coal looked up from the terminal, peeking over his shoulder to his brother. "It's looking a little close, but as long as we maintain our course, we should keep from hitting zero."
"Very good," Whistle replied, "in that case I will head back to my quarters and take a quick nap. Let me know if anything comes up."
Leaving the engine car, White Whistle began to walk back to the caboose, checking on the passengers as he went by.
The Sol Treader had been the legacy of Coal and Whistle's father, grandfather and even great grandfather. Supposedly, great grandpa had found the train engine car by itself in the center of a raider camp, being worshiped by the crazed cannibals. After fending off the fiends, he had retrieved the engine car and started crafting more cars to form an actual train line. While most of the ponies in the wasteland would have said it was foolishness, White Whistle knew the truth behind such madness.
It was a part of the curse.
Reaching the caboose, Whistle opened the door and stepped inside.
The caboose's interior was set up with a bed, a desk and a map of the train routes nailed onto the wall. On the desk was a small illustration of White Whistle, Cold Coal and their father, Blazing Trail. It had been drawn by Whistle's mother back when she was still alive.
Putting his hat on the desk, Whistle lay down on his bed and drifted off to sleep. He had probably managed to fall asleep for fifteen minutes before his slumber was disturbed.
There was a knock at the door, pulling the conductor back from the realm of sleep. Sitting up from his bed, Whistle walked over to the door and opened it. On the other side of the door, Whistle saw that it was Ember, an earth pony mare and a member of the Rail Bender family.
Decades ago, the Rail Benders had made a bargain with Coal and Whistle's grandfather, that they would help maintain the railroad tracks and in exchange they would enjoy the safety of the train. Even after learning about the curse, the Rail Benders had continued to serve.
"Sir, there is something you need to see." Ember said.
"What is it?" Whistle inquired.
"It would seem we have a stowaway, sir."
The act of sneaking aboard the train could have serious consequences for those on board. It could result in a food shortage, damaged goods or even injured passengers, all of which were unacceptable. Because of this, there was severe disciplinary action to deal with such matters.
"Did you throw them off?" Whistle asked.
"No, we haven't."
"Why not?"
"As I said, sir, you might want to see this."
Taking a deep breath, Whistle left his quarters and followed Ember toward the storage cars. In front of the door to the car was Salty, an elderly earth pony stallion carrying a shotgun. Another member of the Rail Bender family, Salty had been working on the train as long as Whistle could remember. If he was here with his trusty shotgun, something had to be of concern.
"Have they made anymore noise?" Ember asked.
"Nah," Salty shook his head slowly.
"Alright, who or what is it we are dealing with here?" Whistle asked.
Both Ember and Salty looked at each other, concern in their eyes. Finally Salty broke the silence. "It might be wise, if you saw it for yourself."
Salty opened the door to the car, his gun anchored firmly to his makeshift battle saddle. After reaching a couple boxes, Salty motioned for Whistle to proceed. White Whistle followed Salty's directions, with Ember following, Whistle rounded the crates to see who had warranted such attention.
There lying on the ground was what appeared to be a mare, her form covered with white cloth like a cloak, with golden chains binding her. A golden chain reached out from under her hood, stretching across the floor like a serpent.
"We found her in one of the crates." Salty said.
"How did she get there?" Whistle asked.
"I don't know," Salty answered, "but we have best be wary. Those golden chains, that's a sign that she was taken to be a slave for Golden Hoof."
"Oh, poor filly." Ember groaned.
White Whistle had heard of the infamous Golden Hoof. Of all the slaver gangs in the Crystal Wastes of the north, Golden Hoof's operation was the most powerful and wealthy. Taking slaves to dig in the frozen rubble to bring forth valuable gems, which could be used to power ancient machines from before the war. Golden Hoof also had a reputation of kidnapping mares and adding them to his own personal harem.
Standing there, looking at the bound slave, a mixture of thoughts flowed through his mind. On one hoof, he should just throw the slave out for sneaking her way onto the train. On another hoof, Whistle wasn't a big fan of the slave trade and a part of him felt compassion for the poor filly. Then there was the little nightmare on his shoulder, whispering how many caps they could receive if she was returned to her master, however, Whistle quickly repressed the thought.
"Ember, do we have any private cars available?" Whistle inquired.
"There is one available, sir." Ember answered.
"Okay, take our guest here to the car and see if you can unbind her."
"Are you sure that is wise?" Salty asked, as White Whistle went to the door.
"We don't deal in slaves," Whistle replied, "we'll free her and leave her at one of the towns along our route."
"Yes, sir."
Leaving the storage car, Whistle took a deep breath.
Slowly, Whistle made his way back to the front car, checking on the passengers as he passed by.
Reaching the door to the engine room, Whistle paused, preparing himself for his brother's reaction. No doubt, Cold Coal would be displeased. After all, this hadn't been the first time something like this had happened. Not with a slave of course, but still.
After taking a deep breath, Whistle opened the door.
"Hey Coal there is something I need to tell you."
Coal continued to work on adjusting the furnace. "What is it?"
"We had a stowaway on board, a young mare."
"Did you have her thrown off the train?" Coal continued to speak through the wrench in his mouth.
"No."
The wrench fell from Coal's muzzle. "Are you serious! That's one additional mouth to feed, you know that!"
"I'm aware," Whistle replied, "but she's a slave and she needs our help."
"Everypony needs help, the world is crumbling around us and everypony is doing what they can to survive! However that doesn't mean we can afford to help them! Not with the trouble we are already in!"
"I'm not saying that we take her on the full trip. Just to the next settlement is all."
Cold Coal was quiet, but Whistle could tell that his brother was fuming on the inside.
"You’re taking responsibility for this," Coal stated, "all the food she eats is coming out of your rations. Understood."
White Whistle nodded. "Understood."
Cold Coal let out a deep sigh. "I just wish you would think more with your head and less with your heart or whatever it is you think with."
Whistle nodded to his brother's grumblings. "I know."
It was about then that Salty stepped into the room. "Excuse me sirs, but we have a situation."
"What is it now?" Whistle said, letting out an exasperated sigh.
"There are three snow treaders tailing us," Salty explained, "they are flagging us down to stop."
"Do they have a banner?" Coal asked.
Salty swallowed hard and nodded. "Golden Hoof."
The room went silent. All of them knew that if Golden Hoof had sent his minions to stop their train, that something was up.
"So what should we do?" Salty asked, breaking the silence.
It would be foolish to try Golden Hoof’s servants, if Coal didn’t stop the train then the slavers might try to siege the train and harm the passengers in the process. In the end the passenger’s lives came first. So long as they didn’t come aboard in an attempt to enslave the passengers, then hopefully everything could be resolved peacefully.
"I guess we have to stop the train."
Both White Whistle and Salty were about to leave the engine car, when Coal placed a hoof on his brother's shoulder.
"Do whatever you can to get them to leave," Coal said, "we don't have much time."
Whistle nodded and walked away.
Due to its speed and size, the train took a while to slow down, the snow treaders drawing near as the locomotive drew to a crawl.
"Alright, let's go see our unwanted guests." Salty said, walking out of the room, his shotgun at the ready.
Coal, Whistle and Salty made their way to one of the compartment cars. A couple Rail Bender members waiting for them. Pulling back the doors, one of the attendants signaled the snow treaders to approach. One of the snow treaders drew near, bearing a black banner with a golden circle in its center.
The car was filled with various boxes, holding the passenger’s luggage as well as supplies that were to be delivered to other settlements.
A small ramp emerged from the snow Treader and was placed in the entryway for its passengers to cross over.
Three ponies boarded the train. Four of them were large stallions wearing black leather armors, rifles attached to their saddles, the symbol of a golden circle on the front of their masks. The fifth was a tall and skinny unicorn stallion wearing a black cape, held in place by a golden chain. He had a sickly green coat and purple mane, his purple eyes moving around the cabin in a calculating manner.
"Hello there," the stallion spoke, "I am Grim Whip, one of Golden Hoof's lieutenants. I assure you that we are boarding this vessel on inquisitive terms."
"Inquisitive terms?" Coal asked.
"Yes," Grim replied, "it would seem that a package belonging to my master has gone missing and we have reason to believe that it might have been smuggled onto this vessel."
"By package, do you mean slaves?" Whistle asked.
Grim Whip gave a shrug. "It might have been a slave of sorts."
"Well, we don't deal in slaves." Whistle retorted.
"Oh, I know," Grim answered, "all the more reason for you to return my master's possession to him."
"I assure you we don't have it." Coal said.
Grim Whip gave a wicked grin.
"Could you please check," Grim inquired, "that would be much easier then having my crew search your train wouldn't it?"
The slaver tapped his hoof against the floor and the four guards spread out along the space.
"While you proceed with your search, I think I will become more familiar with the other passengers. Of course, if you do happen to find it, just know that Golden Hoof rewards those who serve him faithfully."
A knot grew in White Whistle's stomach. This wasn't a very good situation.
Two of the guards followed Grim Whip, while the remaining two stayed in the train car.
"I'm returning to the engine room." Coal shot his brother a death glare. "I'm trusting you to fix this."
Whistle planted a hoof in his face. Then after taking an angry breath, he turned toward the private cars.
White Whistle walked toward the slave mare's room, rebuking himself for his stupidity. He should have followed his brother's advice and thrown that slave overboard. Now there were slavers on board and the train was halted. The gauge drawing closer to zero.
As he approached the private cars, he saw Ember standing in front of the door to the room. Seeing Whistle approach in ill continence, Ember positioned herself in the aisle. It was something foreign for Whistle to see her doing this.
"Sir, are you alright?"
"I need to speak with our guest." Whistle said, still seething with self loathing.
"Sir, about the slave," Ember replied, "there is something you should know..."
Ordinary or not, her presence onboard the Sol Treader was a danger to all those riding aboard. As much as Whistle wanted to know how this slave had been smuggled aboard, it didn’t matter if the lives of the other passengers were at stake.
"Ember get out of my way!" Whistle growled.
Ember looked into Whistle's eyes, a little frustrated herself. Reluctantly, she stepped aside.
"Remember. I tried to warn you." Ember mumbled.
Whistle ignored the remark and stepped past, before opening the door.
"Alright, miss I think you have some explainin..."
In the center of the room was the slave, the cloth that had covered her gone, her chains missing save for the golden collar around her neck. Now the mare's body was exposed, and it wasn't at all what Whistle had expected. Her coat was brown with a tan mane and tail. A patch of fluffy tan fur covered her neck.
Noticing Whistle's entry, the mare turned to look at him, her large yellow eyes examining him, the two feathery antennae on her head twitching. Two large, moth-like wings rested close to her body, the fragile wings rustling nervously.
Seeing all these details, one name echoed through Whistle's mind. A name that brought with it much terror. Moth Mare.
There was a pregnant pause as Whistle and the moth mare stared at each other.
"Ummm... Excuse me, miss." Whistle said before withdrawing from the room and closing the door.
With the door shut, Whistle turned back to Ember who stood there with one eyebrow raised.
"That's a moth mare."
Ember nodded. “I know.”
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Ember frowned. "You wouldn't let me."
She had a fair point.
"Well, what do we do now?"
"It would probably be polite to talk to her," Ember answered, "we shouldn't keep our guest waiting and I think since you opened the door to speak to her, that you should be the one to do it."
Once more much to Whistle's chagrin, Ember was right. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside.
The moth mare's eyes remained focused on Whistle's movements. While the gesture reminded him of a cornered rad-rabbit, Whistle felt as if those golden eyes possessed secrets and insights he couldn't imagine.
"Uh, hello," Whistle chuckled nervously, "you merely caught me by surprise by... well..."
The moth mare nodded but continued to remain silent.
"Umm... are you able to speak?"
The moth mare's antenna twitched at the response, hanging close to her head.
"Yes," the moth mare answered meekly.
Well, that was a good place to start. Perhaps a formal introduction would help ease the mood.
"My name is White Whistle," he said, "I am the conductor of this train."
Her antennae continued to flex even as she remained silent.
"Do you have a name?" Whistle asked.
The moth mare's left antenna twitched before standing up. After a short pause, she replied. "No."
"Oh." Well, that was odd.
Both of the moth mare's antenna stretched out.
"My kind don't have names."
"You don't?"
"No," she continued, "we produce a unique... hum that we can sense when we are near one another. So, we have no need for names."
"I see."
Whistle would have found this to be interesting if it wasn't for the slavers on board. Otherwise he would probably like to inquire more.
"However, if you need to assign me a name, there were a few titles I was given during my captivity," the moth mare spoke, "I heard some ponies call me the moth mare, others monster. There was even one who appeared to be producing excess amounts of saliva, who referred to me as, mistress."
The names made Whistle wrinkled his nose, while referring to her as just the moth mare could be used for convenience, it wasn't really a fitting name. As for the other two, they weren't really something you would call your guest. Furthermore, there were other important matters to deal with and Whistle would need to break the news to her.
"Yes, it would seem that your previous captors are here."
The moth mare's antenna drooped, and she peered down at the floor. "I know, I could feel their threads."
Watching the moth mare's reaction pricked Whistle's heart strings. As tempting as it was to give her over to the slavers, his insides churned at the thought.
As he pondered the thought further, Whistle realized the potential danger of the situation. It was said in myth that moth mares possessed prophetic abilities, warning of impending tragedy. If Golden Hoof had one at his disposal, she wouldn’t just be another concubine in his harem. He would use her to extend his influence over all of the Crystal Wastes and perhaps even further south into the Equestrian Wasteland. For every assault against his monopoly, Golden Hoof would have a countermeasure and nopony would be able to stop him.
“Excuse me again, miss.” Whistle said as he left the room.
As he closed the door, Whistle saw two ponies approach, his brother and Salty.
“So, what are we going to do?” Salty asked.
“Well, whatever we do we need to do it fast.” Cold Coal said, panic in his voice. “The gauge is almost critical. We need to get this train moving, now! Otherwise we could have another Tattledale incident on our hooves.”
“We can’t have that.” Salty said.
“No, we can’t.” Whistle moaned.
Whistle took a deep breath, measuring the tables in his mind. If the moth mare was given to the slavers, lives would be saved, for now. If they refused, the slavers might focus their anger on the crew and potentially the passengers. If the engine’s gauge dropped to zero…
He had been young when the Tattledale incident had occurred, however White Whistle could still remember the gritty feeling of ash as it matted his coat as half a settlement came to a horrific end.
“Then what shall we do?” Salty asked.
As he considered their options, a thought occurred to Whistle. Another memory from his past appeared before his mind, of a time very similar to this one.
“Salty, do you remember what happened back during our ride between Gemcrypt and Ametport?”
“Do I ever.” Salty chuckled. “I still have a scar from the raider that sliced along my back.”
“How do you feel about recreating that encounter.”
The endeavor had involved a gang of bandits that had boarded the Sol Treader using ropes and hooks. It was a gnarly situation with the train’s crew and the passengers fighting for their lives against a small party or murder happy maniacs. Not only that but the raiders had managed to create some sort of vehicle that allowed them to keep up with the train, creating combat both inside and outside of the Sol Treader’s walls.
A broad, crooked grin stretched across Salty’s lips. “That sounds like it could be a lot of fun.”
“So, we’re going to fight?” Coal asked.
“Sure, sounds like it.” Salty said, gleefully, “I’ll go tell the boys the plan. Dynamo’s going to be thrilled!”
As Salty hobbled away, Cold Coal gave White Whistle a concerned look. “Are you sure she is worth it?”
Whistle considered the inquiry, the image of the moth mare’s yellow eyes looking back at him sank into his soul. Could he so easily give her over, after she looked at him like that? Could he give that innocent looking creature over to Golden Hoof just so he could defile her?
No.
White Whistle nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”
Coal let out a deep sigh. “I hope you’re right.”
As Coal headed back to the engine car, Whistle walked back to his quarters for possibly the last time. Once inside, he walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled forth a wooden box. Opening the box, Whistle revealed a revolver with an ivory handle, with the symbol of an hourglass engraved inside. It was another parting gift, this time from his mother, the exact same weapon she had used to defend herself when she roamed the radioactive wasteland to the south.
The Time Turner.
There was also a small box of ammunition inside, with twenty bullets.
Clicking open the barrel, Whistle loaded all six of the pistol’s chambers, spun the cylinder and swung it back into place.
When his father was still alive, he made sure that both Coal and Whistle could use and maintain a gun. As much as he hated taking a life, Whistle had learned at a young age that the best way to stop a rape happy raider was with a firearm. Preferably with a single bullet to the skull.
Whistle placed the box of ammo and the Time Turner in his coat in order to conceal them, before stepping back out into the hallway.
Stepping into the passenger car, Whistle saw Grim Whip and his two guards standing around, looking the guests over. The slaver standing in the setting area next to Miss Silvermane. With a quick glance, Whistle saw a few of the Rail Benders among the passengers, preparing for anything.
Grim Whip’s expression was that of annoyance. At least until he saw Whistle approach, then an overly sweet smile stretched across the slaver’s face.
“Hello again, mister conductor,” Grim Whip greeted, “I hope you bear good news.”
Sadly, Whistle knew that he was going to be very disappointed.
"I'm sorry mister Whip, but we weren't able to find the package you were speaking of," Whistle said, "I would suggest looking elsewhere."
Grim Whip's expression soured.
"Don't consider me a fool, colt!" Grim barked, "I know when I am being lied to. Now we can do this either the easy way or the hard way. The easy way, you turn over the slave and my master gives you a generous amount of bits for your loyalty. The hard way, you don't give her over and we take her by force! Now which is it going to be?"
Sadly, despite Grim Whip’s statements there was no easy way out.
Whistle let out a deep sigh. "Fine, you win, we discovered the slave not too long ago."
"See that wasn't so hard." Grim smiled. "Now just fork her over and I will return her to my master."
Nervously Whistle walked over to the intercom. Taking a deep breath, he spoke into the speaker, "Dear passengers... prepare for a bumpy ride."
Suddenly the train lurched as the engine came to life.
Grim Whip looked around, shocked by what had just happened, before turning to glare at Whistle. "What did you do?"
Gradually the train began to pick up speed as it began to move down the track.
"Stop him!" Grim barked.
One of the slavers raised his rifle toward Whistle, however by then he had already drawn his revolver. A spray of blood erupted from the slaver's neck as the Time Turner's hammer came down and the pistol fired.
The slaver gurgled his last breath as he toppled to the floor.
As his comrade fell to the floor one of the other slaver guards fired off three shots, all of which flew past White Whistle down the aisle. Adrenaline pumped through Whistle's veins, the world seeming to slow around him. Squeezing the trigger, Whistle fired off two more shots.
One bullet pierced the slaver's left knee, causing him to collapse and misfire into the floor. The second bullet cut through the slaver's mask and pierced his skull right below his left eye.
Out of the corner of his eye, Whistle could see a Snow Treader moving alongside the rushing train only for the front of the vehicle to burst into flame before crashing into a snowbank. It would seem Dynamo was having a good time.
When the slaver fell, Whistle heard a cry to his left. Turning he saw Miss Silvermane, the barrel of a gun being held to her head by a sickly green aura, Grim Whip standing behind her.
"Put down the gun, conductor," Grim said, "or this old mare gets it."
Despite her silence, Whistle could tell by Silvermane's grimace that she was quite offended by the statement.
Whistle shook his head. "I can't do that."
Grim Whip growled, before he started dragging his hostage toward the hallway.
"I'm getting off this train and you're not going to hear the last of this!"
White Whistle watched as Grim went through the doorway, disappearing into the next car.
"Mistress!" Lily called out.
Watching the scene unfold, Whistle knew she had to save Miss Silvermane. They prided themselves on having the fastest and safest train in the Crystal Wastes. If Grim succeeded in kidnapping her, they could no longer uphold that claim.
With the Time Turner at the ready, White Whistle proceeded to follow the slaver.
Following Grim Whip and his captive into the next train car, Whistle saw the other two slaver guards. One raised his rifle as Whistle shot off a bullet into the slaver's body.
The second slaver was much bigger carrying a large, metal hammer in his jaws. With a roar, the slaver charged toward White Whistle. Whistle fired off two shots at the assailant. While momentarily stunned by the bullets, the slaver's rage continued, his weapon held high.
Whistle felt himself being pushed from behind as something large and metallic appeared out of the corner of his eye.
Bang!
Whistle's ears rang as the shotgun next to his head fired, the slaver's face eviscerated by the blast. Dead, the slaver crumpled to the floor.
Frantic, White Whistle glanced around, his ears still ringing from the gun that had fired off at ear level. Salty came into view, trying to ask him something. Eventually his hearing recovered enough that Whistle could understand what he was saying.
"Hey, are you okay, lad?" Salty asked, visibly concerned.
Whistle nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Having recovered from the conflict, Whistle and Salty continued to chase after Grim Whip. Following the slaver, Whistle thought he heard somepony running on the top of the train.
Whistle was about to reload his revolver when suddenly a strange sensation went over his mind. It was as if a wave of water had rushed through him and suddenly he found himself in a storage car, Miss Silvermane being held hostage by Grim Whip. Aiming at the slaver’s head, Whistle fired… and missed.
Silvermane’s head erupted in gore as the Timer Turner’s bullet impacted. Whistle could hear somepony yelling off to his right, but the guilt of killing his passenger brought the world to a halt.
‘No.’ The mother mare’s voice echoed through Whistle’s mind. ‘There is another thread that you can take. You don’t need to reload yet.’
Whistle gasped, finding himself back in the train car.
“Wait, what?”
What had just happened? Had the moth mare somehow shown him the future? Remembering the small glimpse he had seen, Whistle decided to take her advice and leave the chamber empty for now, pushing the cylinder back into place.
Opening the door to the next car, Whistle ducked as a bullet hit the door frame.
"It doesn't have to be like this conductor," Grim called out, "just give me the slave and all will be forgiven. Nopony has to die!"
White Whistle wasn't too sure that was true. Literally all four of Grim Whip's guards and one of his snow treaders had been destroyed. After hearing another explosion, Whistle guessed that the second treader had been destroyed as well. Still was the moth mare so valuable, that the slaver would gladly throw all of that away, in exchange for her? Such an idea was unsettling.
"I can't do that!" Whistle called out from behind the door.
The small glass window on the door shattered as another gunshot went off. Peeking around the door, White Whistle watched Grim drag Miss Silvermane into the next car.
Entering the train car, White Whistle found himself back in the car that had been used for the slavers' entry. The door to the car still wide open, the harsh cold wind blowing through the opening.
Grim Whip stood in front of the doorway, his pistol aimed toward his hostage. Even as Whistle examined the situation, he noticed a shade hiding in the shadows of the room.
"Put down the gun conductor," Grim hissed, "or this passenger will pay for your incompetence!"
Miss Silvermane whimpered in Grim Whip's grasp, as the barrel of his gun hung close to her head. Despite Whip's threat, Whistle raised his gun toward the slaver's brow, watching his eyes as sweat began to drop down Grim Whip's face.
‘Well, I hope this works.’
Brandishing a smile, Whistle pointed his gun at the slaver and magically pulled the trigger.
Click!
There was no gunshot, just the click of the hammer slamming into a spent shell.
Grim Whip blinked, surprised for a moment before letting out a cruel chuckle. "Well, it would seem that the conductor is all bark and no bite!"
Throwing his hostage aside, Whip aimed the pistol at White Whistle.
"Do you have any last words!" The slaver asked.
"Yeah… Bang!"
In a flash, a mallet came from the shadows, hitting the gun, knocking it out of Whip's magical grasp onto the ground, the weapon’s frame damaged by the mallet’s impact. As the slaver let out a shocked gasp, Whistle motioned with his revolver for Miss Silvermane to vacate the room. With fear on her face, the elderly mare didn't hesitate to obey, fleeing as quickly as possible.
Now the tables had turned, with Whistle and Coal facing the last slaver.
"How dare you!" Grim Whip barked, "All you had to do was return Golden Hoof's prize and you could have received a great reward, but instead you had to make things difficult!"
Whistle used the quick eject, causing all of Time Turner’s spent shell casings to tumble to the floor, before he proceeded to load in six bullets.
"As I already told you," Whistle answered, "We don't deal in slaves."
A frightened expression crossed Whip's face as he watched Whistle reload.
"You're not going to kill me are you?"
"Probably." Coal answered, matter-of-factly.
The cylinder clicked back into place.
"You're mad!" Whip growled, "I'm one of Golden Hoof's most esteemed lieutenants. If you kill me it won't just be the slave, he'll be coming for. He'll have your heads!"
"In that case he better get in line." Whistle said as he raised his firearm back to the slaver. "And buy a bucking ticket."
Bang!
The Time Turner went off, the bullet burst forth from the barrel into Grim Whip's skull, propelling him out of the storage car into the snowy wasteland.
"Alright, it should be alright, for now." Whistle said.
With the slavers no longer a threat, the Railbenders proceeded to deal with the bodies, covering them with blankets before pulling them away.
As White Whistle observed, he felt something tug on his uniform. Looking down, he noticed that it was Spiked Gum.
"I'm sorry," Whistle apologized, "I wish I could have made your ride with us a little safer."
The colt nodded. "It's okay, mister."
"We should be drawing closer to Cryptmane, so you should probably return to your seat."
"Mister?" Gun inquired, "what's going to happen to the bodies?"
White Whistle put on his best smile. "We're just going to throw them out into the snow."
That was a lie.
The rest of the trip to Cryptmane was uneventful. It had been three days since Golden Hoof's slavers had boarded the train and not a single Snow Treader had been spotted since. White Whistle wasn't sure if he wanted to consider this a sign of good fortune or merely a calm before the storm.
As the train came to a stop, the doors opened and the passengers gradually proceeded to leave.
"Thank you all for your patronage," Whistle called out, "please consider riding the Sol Treader again."
As the other ponies began to step off the train, Miss Silvermane approached the brothers, her expression sour. Silvermane's maid followed at a distance.
"Hello Miss." Coal said.
"Gentlecolts, let me just say that wasn't a pleasant ride," Silvermane spoke, "in addition to being taken hostage, both of you showed yourselves to be reckless. I could have been killed!"
White Whistle kept silent, as much as he wanted to argue with her, Miss Silvermane was right. Not only had they made themselves enemies of Golden Hoof but Silvermane could have lost her life.
Whistle bowed his head. "Sorry."
As soon as Whistle's apology left his lips, Miss Silvermane's mood became calm and calculating.
"In spite of all of that, both you also proved yourselves to be cunning, resourceful and driven. The very elements I was looking for when I bought the ticket for this trip."
"What?"
Both of the brothers gave Silvermane a confused look.
"There is a monopoly here in the Crystal Wastes that my company and I wish to topple. A monopoly owned by somepony you've just become enemies with," Silvermane explained, "While I possess the caps, I like the resources to accomplish such a feat. If I had a safe way to transport research teams to the locations where they could uncover useful pre-war technology, that would be a great investment."
"Are you saying you want to commission us?" Coal inquired.
"I am simply wanting you to aid my research teams by ensuring them safe passage," Silvermane continued, "should both of you agree to this, I am willing to ensure that you both receive a hefty amount of caps for your troubles."
The two brothers glanced at each other, considering the opportunity they had been given. Coal gave a nod in agreement, before heading back to the engine car.
"It would seem that this could be a mutually beneficial arrangement."
"Excellent," Silvermane said, "perhaps sometime in the future we can share a bottle of wine, celebrating this union."
"Maybe so."
"Lily, give him the token." Silvermane instructed.
The maid pulled forth a box and presented it to White Whistle. Opening it, Whistle saw a golden coin with the symbol of a sun with four rays shooting off toward the right, engraved on its surface.
Whistle closed the box. "Thank you."
Miss Silvermane turned to Lily, "Well, come on dear. We have business to take care of."
As the two mares began to depart, there was one more question that hadn't been answered. How had the crate holding that moth mare come on board the Sol Treader.
"One more thing miss!" Whistle said.
Miss Silvermane turned to him giving an inquisitive look.
"It would seem that somepony had smuggled a crate aboard, you wouldn't happen to know who was responsible?"
"No." Silvermane answered, however as she turned to walk away, Whistle thought he spotted a sly grin on her face.
While Whistle didn't like being manipulated, it would be foolish to pass down this opportunity. Now that Silvermane was gone, there was only one more guest to attend to.
White Whistle walked down the aisle to the private cars before stopping in front of the room that the moth mare occupied. Passing by one of the rooms, Whistle saw Salty tending to his brother Dynamo, another eldarly stallion with his mane permanently pushed back as if he has been caught in an explosion. His eyes moving along in a googly manner and a bronze horn hanging from his right ear.
“Hold still.” Salty groaned.
“What?” Dynamo asked excitedly, “there are enemies on the hill?”
“No, no, no!” Salty grumbled.
The way the brother’s interacted and worked off of each other made Whistle smile. Both of them had their quirks and despite that they worked together very well.
It didn’t take long for Whistle to reach the moth mare’s room. After taking a deep breath, Whistle knocked on the door.
"Hello, this is the conductor," Whistle said, "may I come in?"
"White Whistle, is it? Please do come in." A feminine voice came from behind the door.
Stepping inside, Whistle closed the door behind him. On the seat sat the moth mare, her eyes focused on him.
"Hello, how are you doing?" Whistle asked.
"I am feeling much better," the moth mare replied, "thank you, mister White Whistle."
"Whistle will be fine. Actually I should be thanking you."
The moth mare cocked her head to the side.
“You gave me that vision,” Whistle explained, “didn’t you?”
“It was the thread you were going down. I merely decided to present you with another.”
“Why?”
Her antenna twitched, yet the moth mare didn’t otherwise answer.
The two of them looked at each other in silence, Whistle not sure what to say or if he should broach the topic of her leaving.
"Fog Lantern." The moth mare said.
"What?"
"Fog Lantern," she repeated, "that's the name Ember gave me. She said my eyes looked like fog lanterns and since I felt it was very fitting, I decided to make it my name."
"That's nice… I was just wondering how long you were planning to stay with us?"
The moth mare looked out the window.
"I will be staying here a little while longer," Fog answered, "I can feel the threads pulling me along this path, so I will stay until it is time to diverge."
"I am sure I can find a way to accommodate that."
Suddenly the room grew very dim as Fog's yellow eyes shifted to a bright violet. Her eyes now purely focused on Whistle.
"Be wary little unicorn," Fog spoke in a nearly alien tone, "there is a shadow looming with this vessel. A darkness that rivals that within Golden Hoof's heart."
Then just as soon as she had finished uttering those ominous words, Fog Lantern's eyes became yellow once more and the rooms lighting returned to normal.
"I feel very tired," Fog said, "I wish to sleep for a little while."
"Uh… O-of course." Whistle stuttered, feeling uneasy with Fog's words.
Following the moth mare's wishes, Whistle left the room and made his way back to the train engine, Fog Lantern's words haunting him.
‘How did she know?’ He thought.
With heavy hooves, White Whistle made his way to the train engine. His face maintained a stern expression to cover up his unease.
As Whistle stepped into the engine car, the scent of burnt hair and flesh filled his nostrils. Coal sat next to the machine, a green flame roaring behind the metal door to the furnace. The gauge was at sixty percent.
"How is everything looking?" Whistle asked.
"It was a close one," Coal replied, "if we hadn't picked up speed like we had the engine would have gone into a frenzy."
"And our uninvited quests?"
The green flames swirled behind the ashen glass.
"Fortunately their bodies were able to calm down the engine's anger. It’s satisfied for now, however I don't ever want the gauge to go down that low. Next time we might not have enough corpses to feed to the fire."
The great machine was made of sharp, black metal with gears like razor sharp teeth and tubing like tendrils of a mutated squid. As Whistle peered through the window, at times he could have sworn he saw a shadowy figure in there, its eyes looking back at him. No, back into him.
That was the thing that the gauge governed over. As long as the train continued to move, the gauge would remain above zero and so long as it remained above zero, the entity would be contained. Otherwise...
"How is the stowaway doing?" Coal asked.
"She says she will be staying with us a little while longer." Whistle answered.
White Whistle wasn't sure if he should tell his brother what Fog Lantern had said. Not everypony was thrilled with the family's secret and undoubtedly Coal wouldn't be happy with an outsider knowing about it.
Coal gave a nod, "As much trouble as her presence has caused, I have the feeling she might bring us some good fortune."
"We can use all we can get."
Coal looked at the engine's furnace with weary eyes. The bones within the machine, smoldering in that unholy flame. The charred remains to sate the beast’s hunger and keep it contained... for now.
"We just need to not drop to zero. Not again."
Whistle rested a hoof on his brother's shoulder. "Never again."