I Choose the Skills Everyone Else Rejects

The railway employee did not return.

Nate watched the door to Coach Ten until the train passed through another bank of mist and the reinforced window became a pale reflection of the carriage.

A grey uniform and a tool case were hardly proof of anything. The man could have been checking a system Nate knew nothing about. Railway crews crossed the Wastelands every day, and the early adjustment to the train’s movement might have come from years of experience.

The amber light still bothered him.

It had appeared while the employee stood with his back to the passengers. He had not opened the panel, scanned his badge or spoken to anyone afterward.

Nate checked the time.

Six minutes had passed.

Milo shifted beside him, trying to find space around the two cases trapped between his knees.

"How are you doing that?"

Nate looked at him. "Doing what?"

"Staying still."

"I’m moving."

"Less than everyone else."

A rough section of track shook the carriage. Milo caught the edge of his seat while Nate let the motion pass through his ankles and knees.

Across the aisle, Iris lowered her book.

"He adjusts before the carriage completes the turn."

Milo looked from her to Nate.

"Kinetic Recall?"

"Training."

It was close enough to the truth.

Milo pushed one case farther beneath the seat. Nate noticed that he moved it with less effort than its size suggested.

"Does Burden Bearer make things lighter?"

"Once I accept something as mine to carry." Milo rested a hand on the nearest case. "My Trait reduces the weight. My Skill spreads what remains across my body."

"What happens when you put it down?"

"It becomes someone else’s problem again."

Iris glanced at the second case.

"So the passenger in Coach Nine paid you twenty credits to use your Class as storage."

Milo’s jaw tightened.

"I understood the arrangement."

Nate remembered the disappointment on Milo’s face during the awakening ceremony. Burden Bearer did not carry the image of a combat Class, but armies needed someone to move ammunition, food and medical equipment through the Wastelands.

"You’ll probably find work faster than most of us," Nate said.

"That’s what my father told me."

Milo looked out the window.

The floor shifted beneath them. A bottle rolled from beneath one of the seats, crossed the aisle and struck a passenger’s boot.

Nate looked toward the front connection again.

Iris followed his attention.

"What did the railway worker do?"

"He stopped beside the panel before entering Coach Ten."

"And?"

"The indicator flashed amber."

"That could mean a diagnostic."

"It could."

"But you don’t think it did."

Nate watched the blue light above the door.

"I didn’t see him use a key or scanner."

Iris closed her book around one finger.

"Then ask someone who knows."

Nate hesitated.

Reporting a railway employee because he had good balance and stood near a panel would make him sound paranoid. But waiting until something happened would be worse.

He unfastened his restraint.

Milo moved his knees aside.

"Let me know if we’re about to die."

Iris opened her book again.

"He won’t know until after you."

Nate made his way toward the rear of the carriage.

A railway attendant sat beside the emergency cabinet, reviewing passenger records on a small terminal. Her grey uniform carried no visible weapon, though the shoulders and sleeves were reinforced.

She looked up when Nate approached.

"Remain inside your assigned coach."

"I’m not trying to leave."

Nate pointed toward the opposite end.

"A maintenance worker stopped beside the access panel near Coach Ten."

Her fingers paused above the terminal.

"How long ago?"

"Six or seven minutes."

"What did he look like?"

"Grey uniform, dark cap, narrow tool case."

"That describes most maintenance technicians on this train."

"The door indicator flashed amber."

"Amber indicates authorized access."

"He didn’t open the panel."

The attendant studied Nate’s face.

"Did you see him use a badge?"

"No. His back was turned."

She entered several commands into the terminal. A list of times and carriage numbers appeared, too small for Nate to read.

Her expression did not change.

"There is no recorded access to the Coach Ten connection."

"Could the light have been a system check?"

"It could."

She continued looking at the terminal.

"Return to your seat. I’ll inspect it."

Nate walked back without arguing.

Milo leaned closer as he sat.

"Well?"

"She’s checking."

"That sounded calm."

"She’s railway staff. Calm is probably part of the uniform."

Iris looked beyond him.

The attendant waited until the train reached a straighter section of track, then walked toward the front. A security drone unfolded from a compartment in the wall and followed her close to the floor.

Several passengers watched as she knelt beside the access panel.

The drone projected a grid of green light across the metal cover. She checked the lock, ran her terminal along the edge and spoke quietly into the communication device at her collar.

No answer came.

She repeated the message.

The train entered a deeper bank of mist.

The landscape vanished beyond the windows. The lights along the ceiling dimmed and returned at half strength.

An automated announcement filled the carriage.

"Entering a low-relay zone. Internal communication may experience temporary delays."

The attendant remained beside the panel.

Nate felt the carriage begin to tilt.

His weight shifted toward the aisle. A second later, Milo braced against him and several passengers leaned in the same direction.

The false technician had adjusted even earlier.

Nate had taken that balance for experience at first. The missing access record and failed communication made the movement harder to dismiss.

The attendant removed the protective cover from the panel.

Rows of small lights appeared beneath it. Most were green. One near the bottom blinked amber.

She raised the terminal and scanned it.

A metallic impact struck somewhere beyond the forward door.

The sound travelled through the floor and into Nate’s feet.

Conversations stopped.

Milo tightened both hands around the cases.

"What was that?"

The train continued moving.

The attendant stepped away from the panel.

"Remain seated."

Passengers obeyed slowly. Several turned toward the windows as if the mist might provide an explanation.

The amber indicator above Coach Ten appeared again.

This time, everyone saw it.

The lock released with a heavy click.

The door moved a few centimetres before catching. Cold air hissed through the gap between the carriages.

The attendant pressed the emergency control.

The door did not respond.

She tried again, then gripped the frame and pulled. The opening widened slightly before the mechanism forced it back.

The security drone projected a red warning.

CONNECTION ERROR

COACH TEN — STATUS UNAVAILABLE

Questions spread through the carriage.

"Did we lose the connection?"

"Is Coach Ten still there?"

"Why is the door open?"

The attendant raised her voice.

"Stay seated and keep the aisle clear."

The command reduced the noise, though it did not stop it.

She returned to the emergency cabinet and removed a long mechanical handle. After fitting it into the door controls, she forced it downward with both hands.

The mechanism resisted.

The muscles in her forearms tightened beneath the uniform.

The gap began to close.

Metal scraped against metal until the door finally sealed. The lock engaged, and the indicator returned to blue.

The attendant remained beside it.

She did not put the handle away.

Iris had already closed her book and placed it inside her bag.

"Routine diagnostic?" Nate asked.

She looked at him but gave no answer.

The attendant walked back toward the rear of the carriage and opened a secured compartment beneath her seat. She removed a compact sidearm, checked it and attached it to her belt.

Milo watched her.

"That doesn’t look routine."

Nate took out his phone.

There was no network. The internal train channel displayed a loading symbol that never completed.

Nine guarded carriages separated him from Ethan.

At the front of Coach Eleven, the amber light appeared for a third time.

It remained on.

The attendant checked her terminal again. Her thumb stopped above the screen.

Iris leaned into the aisle.

"What is it?"

The woman raised her eyes toward the connection.

"All maintenance personnel are registered in Coaches Four and Six."

Her hand settled near the weapon at her waist.

"No technician was authorized to enter this section."

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