The second coffee was a bad idea. Maxwell’s already frayed nerves did not need further agitation. He had listened for the better part of an hour to Marigold, IT, and K take turns explaining the inner workings of the universe. All the while, he could feel the surge of caffeine peak and send him into a jittery crash that only sharpened the edges of the terrifying revelations being heaped upon him. Maxwell thought he was doing an admirable job of keeping his nerves under control, but evidently, he was wrong.
“Your boy looks a little rough, Goldie,” K said. “Hey kid, why don’t you head up to the cab and learn what you can with your own eyes? You’ll get a better idea of what’s what.”
“Is that OK?” Maxwell said, looking over at Marigold.
Marigold wrinkled her browless forehead. “I’m not your babysitter. You don’t need to ask permission.”
He stood up and walked toward the doors at the front of the dining car.
“And don’t mind the driver. K2’s not much for talking,” K shouted after Maxwell.
He nodded and moved into the next car. It was a patchwork like the rest of the train, with the same jumble of wires, pipes, and gears, but unlike the dining car, there was order here. Someone had kept chaos at bay with racks, labels, and plastic ties. At the front of the cab, a massive pane of glass provided a panoramic view of the Backend’s blinding glare. Sitting in front of the windshield was a large conductor’s chair made of leather, worn and patchy. In the chair was a wooden crate, on that crate was a second smaller chair, and in that chair was a creature identical to K, but blue and one-third of the size.
“Excuse me, are you K2?”
The creature said nothing.
“I’m Maxwell. K sent me.”
Still nothing. The creature continued to stare at the white expanse in front of the train. Maxwell walked around to get a better look at the driver, but the small blue orb was busy focusing on her job. One of her hands rested on a lever, and the other tapped out a silent rhythm on the chair’s armrest. Every few seconds, K2 would check the complex array of dials and meters in front of her and then look back up at the window to the parallel tracks stretching into the distance.
“You are K2, right?”
K2 finally looked over at him, nodded once, and then turned back to the controls.
“Nice to meet you.”
He received no further acknowledgement.
“So, this is the Backend? I was having a bit of trouble understanding how it all fits together. K thought seeing it might help.”
Once again, K2 did not answer. Instead, she reached out and tapped a series of buttons on the control board. Reaching under the seat, she produced a tiny crank, inserted it into a hole next to a patch of buttons, and turned. The roof and walls of the cab receded, leaving only a metal skeleton of lights and wires. The glass windshield remained in place, but the strength of the wind almost knocked Maxwell off his feet.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
He looked up and saw that the track that they were riding along was only one of dozens of identical railways. In the distance, he could see other trains, some stalled, some moving irregularly. K2 looked over at Maxwell and pointed above his left shoulder. He turned to see several railway tracks converge on a distant blue object with a swirling, oily surface. All the commotion encircling the object did nothing to diminish the beautiful strangeness of the thing itself. It looked like a gaseous planet, but instead of a sphere, it was a cube. Maxwell couldn’t take his eyes off it. The longer he stared, the more his eyes adjusted to the harsh light. There were other faint objects in the distance, dozens of orbs, boxes, and more complex geometric shapes in bright greens, neon yellows, and dark shades of purple. They were all far off but also felt much closer than they should be.
“Stations,” a voice called out to Maxwell from behind. It was Marigold. She had to shout to make herself heard above the wind. “They’re where we live and work.”
K2 took Marigold’s appearance as a cue to turn the crank in the opposite direction. The walls of the cab rattled back into place.
Marigold continued, “Each one houses an engine that powers some part of your universe. That blue one we just passed controls the tide.”
It didn’t seem likely, but Maxwell was trying to avoid more questions that led to more confusing answers.
Marigold turned to K2. “It’s good to see you,” she said.
K2 looked back at Marigold, flashed a jagged smile, and returned to work.
Maxwell’s eyes moved to one object that stood out among the others—a kind of golden stone carrot in the center of it all. The portion that corresponded to the leafy bit at the top was a jumble of iron track, winding around itself in an impossible assemblage that occasionally connected to the main structure but was mostly free floating. Below it, the massive gleaming cylinder tapered down to a point, shiny and new at the top, older and crumbling at the bottom. There was land below it, but the carrot was not connected. It hovered above, as if it had just been plucked by a massive god-like farmer. The long stretch of land cut a perpendicular line across the white expanse in front of the train in an endless ribbon on both sides. It seemed more solid and familiar than any other part of this world, but this was an illusion created by the gentle rolling hills and dense foliage. At its edges, it too was attached to nothing.
“Is that where we’re heading?” Maxwell asked.
“The Core,” Marigold replied. “We’re going to the Junction at the top.”
“The leafy bit of the carrot?”
“Carrot? What are you going on about? The train will take us to the assemblage of tracks at the top. From there we go to the Bureau, where hopefully find someone who can help us, if we can make it there in one piece, that is.”
“Normally, but everything’s working erratically if it’s working at all.”
They were coming to a rail fork. A small hut occupied a floating tuft of grass and a pink, furry creature in a hat was staring at the train.
“Get down,” Marigold said.
Maxwell ducked and watched K2 wave from across the control board. Once a few seconds had passed, Marigold signalled it was OK to stand up again.
“We’ll have to sort a disguise for you before we reach the Junction. We’re not bound to get very far with you looking like that.”
Maxwell looked down at his white shirt and shorts. His brief time on the train had turned them black and brown in all but a few spots.
“Not your clothes, your face.”
Maxwell brought a hand to his cheek. “What’s wrong with my face?”
“It’s human, and humans don’t wander the Backend. You’ll draw attention.”
Maxwell understood what Marigold was saying, but he couldn’t help feeling a little offended.
“With all of your explanations, I noticed you never answered my first question. Why are you helping me?”
Marigold shrugged. “Who else would? Everyone around here thinks the System will sort itself out. I’ve seen enough broken things to know otherwise, but if we can figure out what happened to you, maybe we can get things moving again. The important thing right now is to figure out who’s responsible for this whole mess.”
“You think someone’s responsible?”
Marigold nodded. “When you trace a catastrophe back to its source, you’ll always find incompetence hiding nearby. Somebody out there messed up, and we’re going to find them.”