//------------------------------// // (20) - Trainspotting // Story: A Pokemon Problem // by Solecism //------------------------------// A Pokemon Problem (20) - Trainspotting "Why do I have to do it?" I asked. "You're the only one who won't die if your plan goes haywire," was the immediate response. "Oh yeah. Right. That." I was currently hovering right above the train tracks, only a few feet from the ground. Philomena was perched on one of Seth's tusks, and she was staring daggers at Miranda as wisps of smoke curled up from her feet. The plan was simple: act like as a barricade on the rails, which would force the train to stop. Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy, except that I wasn't sure if the train was going to stop for me or not. Although, that shouldn't matter to me, since being a Metang should allow me to survive a collision with a jet fighter, and a train was no jet fighter. But that wasn't why I was worried. I was worried about what would happen to the train, and the occupants of the train if the conductor didn't stop. I didn't voice my concerns, however. Nobody else had said anything, and as the de-facto leader of our little group, I felt it necessary to instil confidence by not second-guessing my original ideas. Ryder could see my anxiety, however. "You okay, dude?" he asked, out of earshot of everyone else. They had retreated to a safe distance away from the tracks. To be honest, I wouldn't trust me, either. I paused, unsure if I should tell Ryder. He was essentially my second-in-command, and if I couldn't trust my best friend, then who? "Not feeling so great in regards to my current plan of action," I admitted. "I... I killed someone, Ryder. A pony. A living, breathing, sapient pony. He may have had it coming, but who was I take away his life? And that gryphon that I smacked into... was it dead, too? And what'll happen if the train doesn't stop? More death. More death on my conscience." Ryder seemed taken aback. He was silent for a few moments, then he reached over and patted me on the back with one of his dismembered hands. His shadow flesh felt like rubber. "I didn't think that you were hit that hard by... that," he eventually said. "I'm good at keeping things in." "Yeah, and that's your problem. I'm not going to tell you to tell me, or anyone else for that matter, everything that's wrong or good or happy or sad in your life, 'cause that's a load of bull crap, and I know you're the kind of person that likes to mostly keep to himself." I never considered Ryder to be a long-winded fellow, and giving advice like this was certainly as far out of his forté as me asking for it was. "But sometimes," Ryder continued, "sometimes you have to let other people help—whether you want them to or not. We're all in this together, remember?" "Yeah..." "Good. Now—" Ryder looked over at the train that was steadily approaching, "—let's try another tactic, shall we?" I wasn't too sure if I liked the glint in his eye. /\/\/ If I had a throat, I could imagine myself swallowing nervously. Philomena, with her keen eyes, informed us that the train was of the cargo variety, and contained no more than ten segments, including the first one. Rather than hijacking the train, Ryder's strategy was to force it to slow down enough for everyone to clamber aboard. And guess who's job it was to slow the train down. I stretched my arms and wiggled my spiky digits as if I still had tendons and ligaments. Everyone save for me was waiting further up the tracks, as close to the tracks as they dared, waiting for me to pull the train to a crawl. I saw a small, clawed hand shoot up into the air and wave at me. I waved back. The train was close, an inexorable force that chugged and whistled as it seemingly flew across the rails. A steady stream of black smoke billowed from the single smokestack, rising into the air only to be shoved down as the wind caught it and dragged it away. The rumble of the train was a steady beat in my head, echoing and reverberating throughout my metal carapace. In the span of a single blink, the train was upon and past me. I counted the carriages until I hit seven, then launched myself forward in an attempt to gain enough momentum to keep up with the train. I didn't time it perfectly, but I timed it well enough. The train continued to pull onwards, unrelenting, and the seventh carriage, along with the eighth and ninth, quickly moved out of reach. The tenth was in reach, though. I latched onto the solid steel bottom of the caboose of the train, and tried to pull in the opposite direction. Nothing happened. Gritting my non-existent teeth and narrowing my eyes, I heaved with every iota of strength that I possessed, enough so that the train began to slow down. The wheels screamed and sparked, but I didn't let go, and the train continued to slow. The train shook a little, and then it shook a lot. I let go with one hand to look behind me. The train had passed the spot where everyone was supposed to get on, and I didn't see anybody left behind. Through pure effort of willpower, I swung back around against the wind resistance and grabbed onto the train with both hands once more before slowly but surely clawing my way up. Thankfully, I had strong graspers: I left holes wherever I used the steel bottom as a handhold. I rested my arms for a second and looked around at the caboose that I was laying on. On both sides of me were crates of something, tied down with rope, creating a sort of hallway that I was currently sprawled out in. In large, black print, two words were printed on all of the crates. 'TO CANTERLOT'