Ares Express by Ian McDonald Page A

Juniper's a merde- hole, but the Xipotle Slow Stopper's through in a couple a days and they've no dignity. You can ride the roof for two centavos. When it gets to Xipotle, it splits; front half goes on to become the Grand Trunk Rapido. Take you right to Grand Valley.”
    She glanced over her shoulder. Fat-thighed Chagdi was standing at the far end of the truck, sending his torch beam swinging around like a jive-dancer.
    â€œGot to go. Luck.”
    â€œThank you. I owe you.”
    â€œYou do, but I don't mean to collect, so I'll write it off.”
    â€œSweetness Octave, why did you do this?”
    Heavy feet on steel roof.
    â€œI don't know, I haven't time.”
    â€œI want to know.”
    â€œOkay, okay. I don't like seeing people getting trapped in things they can't get out of. Especially by other people.”
    â€œThat'll do.”
    â€œThat's all you're getting.”
    The face was swallowed by the grating black. This is the last time I will ever see you, Pharaoh , Sweetness thought. Quick and desperate and unprepared. But all partings should be sudden. Sweetness stood up. Chagdi's beam dazzled her.
    â€œWatch it with that thing.”
    â€œIt is you.”
    Light-blinded, then night-blinded. Phosphenes flocked like bats across Sweetness's retinas.
    â€œYou find anything?”
    A soft, gritty thud, then the brakes reached a crescendo. Can't see a smile in the dark.
    â€œHey, what happened to your djubba-stick?”
    â€œBastard caught hold of it. Took it with him.”
    â€œYou djubba him?”
    â€œRight off.” A whistle and a downward curve of the hand.
    â€œAnd is he?”
    â€œCouldn't see. Don't think so.”
    Plump Chagdi's face resolved out of the dazzle. He looked piqued. He had a reputation for capturing and tormenting caboose vermin and probably resented that his had not been the thumb on the djubba-stick trigger.
    â€œPity you lost the stick, but.”
    â€œYeah.” Sweetness sized up the dark gulf she must leap to get back home. “Pity.”

F orty-two long years on the iron road buys a woman a measure of dignity. When Grandmother Taal made one of her increasingly rare progresses down Catherine of Tharsis , she stopped, and the train moved for her.
    â€œHonoured Grandmother,” Tante Miriamme cooed from her cubby by the crew companionway. Grandmother Taal grunted acknowledgement and shuffled down another painful step. God smite these shoes.
    â€œFine morning, Amma Taal,” called Finvar Traction, penduluming across the feed pipes and plasma buffers in his abseil harness. No one believed that all this swinging and dangling was necessary to his routine repairs but he clearly enjoyed it and he was one of the sights of the railroad.
    â€œUmph.” Too damn hot in layered skirts and tight-laced bodice on a day like this. Electric blue sky. The hottest colour.
    â€œRegards to thee and thine!” hailed cheery Silva Deep-Fusion, eternally white to the elbows in flour.
    Grandmother Taal nodded and grabbed for the handrail as the train jolted over points. Son and heir he might be, but Naon was no part of the Engineer his father had been, in his day. But neither was he cyberhatted into the autonomic systems, the drooling autopilot on the long, boring straights. Grandmother Taal waited for the last creak of brake and huff of steam before stepping down to the ground. A tip of the finger to Prevell Watchman Junior in his shunting turret.
    â€œGrandmo'r!” he yelled in warning. She was already pulling on her track vest. Not so old, nor yet so incontinent, as to forget the laws of the universe. Catherine of Tharsis dragged her long load past Grandmother Taal. She fished in her waist purse for her needle case. Her thick thumb opened the leather wallet, felt out the smooth shaft of the delicate obsidian needles, anticipating power and pain. Had they no respect for a woman in her forties, that theymake her stand under hot sun and stitch