The Remarkable Palingenesis of Shelley E.

Chapter 32 :The Catskills

The dirigible 'Battle of St. Lawrence'—its running lights purposefully off—flew high over the Appalachians, following the progress of the train that held its commander.

Pagan's standing orders had been for the ship to abandon the hotel roof should he be unable to return to it. Elliot had stayed with him while the company's cook had been forced to rejoin the ship. The ship had left the roof just as several Canadian officers had arrived. A great deal of shouting and some warning shots failed to change the airship's mind as it drifted up high into the sky out of reach. There, she had perched, observing, through powerful eyepieces, the chaos below. She anxiously followed the progress of her leader to the local hospital and then, hours later, to a southbound train.

Mister Milliken, now the senior man aboard, was in command. He, like the few others remaining, was deeply concerned as to the fates of Ellström, Etoile, and Tesla, to whom they felt a mixture of feelings, not the least being a sort of parental obligation to their safety as the airship's adopted charges. Now that the salient personnel was all gone and the nodes with them, the 'Battle of the St. Lawrence' struggled to maintain its sense of purpose. Its men looked down at Pagan's train, tracked its winding course, and held fast to its psychological tether.

From within the ship's cockpit, Milliken considered the serpentine path of the locomotive below. His face brightened somewhat as the beginning of a plan of action began to form.

"That train is fighting to move up through the Catskill mountains... this could be our chance. Its path is so winding that we have an opportunity to cut straight across and actually be ahead of it, slow though we may be."

"Okay - It's possible, but then what, Mister Milliken? We can't shoot at it. It's a civilian train." asked the pilot.

"We winch a man down. Then temporarily attach the airship to the locomotive by hawsers - perhaps even get the Colonel and Elliot out of there."

There had been a quick exit in Toronto when the Americans from the embassy had taken Pagan and Elliot. At the Toronto hospital, Pagan's punctures had been sealed, and his death, just slightly, avoided. One of the Canadian doctors, a Quebecois fellow, had refused to release Pagan on issues of safety. The doctor did not back down until he was forcibly removed at gunpoint, as his patient was hurried into a waiting cart.
Now, on the train bound for New York City, a grim, crumpled-looking Mr. Elliot was seated by a window, shackled to a metal handle on its frame. Nearby, Pagan lay on a stretcher. Elliot had not left his side and had kicked up enough of a fuss that he was at least allowed to be manacled in the same compartment as his Colonel. 

Across from him, a tired and bored-looking federal agent leafed through a pulp magazine, occasionally stifling a yawn as he glanced over at the bandaged Pagan, whom he had manacled to his berth. Elliot's gaze drifted to the window and skywards as he looked for the 'Battle of St. Lawrence,' and though he saw nothing, he felt convinced of the watchful presence of his shipmates.

In the next car, wide awake amongst the snoozing rows of passengers, sat Tesla, nervously tapping his long fingers on the leather arm of his chair. He had seen Pagan brought aboard at Union station onto what was the only scheduled train that morning. Tesla had been delayed mightily for almost a day- detained and questioned by officials for lack of passports and luggage ( both of which were safely stowed in his cabin aboard the airship ) as well as his generally beaten appearance (owing to his tumble on the streets earlier).

He had concocted a story of being accosted by several drunken lumberjacks who had taken his papers and roughed him up. This fabrication had not been working. The customs authorities made him repeat his ridiculous story numerous times, questioning how he had managed to have his papers stolen but not his billfold.