—Total mortification! Man made steel… He looked down at his body, his hands, his limbs. Metal; smooth, hard metal untainted by corrupt flesh, unstained by red blood, all pure, holy metal. He threw up his steel arms in thanksgiving.
“Total mortification! Successful total mortification!” Glory-alleluiaing, the technical staff prostrated themselves. Inspiration Cadillac beheld his own glory in the wall tiles and remembered…
…the voice of the Great Engineer, calling him to prophethood… army poised against army and the Poor Children, between them helpless, leaderless… bright lights, humming, luminous machines, cold cold tiles, flashing steel, darkness.
“How long has it been?” he demanded of a female cybernetician.
“Eight days, holy one. The world has gone mad, holy father: the dome of the basilica has been destroyed, the sanctuary defiled by the fleshlies in their thanksgiving for victory; a war has been fought, lost and won in these very streets, hundreds have died and… and forgive me, but time and space itself went mad. Everything is changed: madness has run loose in the universe.”
“Peace, little one. It is then time that order and harmony were restored,” said Inspiration Cadillac. In a flicker of concentration a black halo appeared around his right wrist. The technicians gasped and alleluiaed. “What the Grey Lady was, I now am, and more. She was base flesh, I am sanctified steel. I am the chosen of the Great Engineer, the Future Man; in my circuits burns the power… And he opened his right hand and darkness flowed over all the technicians save those two who had spoken with Inspiration Cadillac, and it transformed them into black smoking somethings so hideous and obscene they defied the imagination. Inspiration Cadillac laughed a metal laugh. He had the addiction for power, and each successive abuse must be richer, deeper fuller. Before his cowering acolytes he transformed himself, sprouting wings, rotor blades, buzz saws, tachyon blasters, radio antennae, portable table-harmoniums, wheels, tracks, jets, rockets, washing machines in a blur of alchemy.
“Come with me,” he commanded the cyberneticist and the technician who had hailed him master. “I am tired of transformation.” To the cyberneticist he said, “You shall be my chamberlain,” to the technician, “You my chief engineer. Don’t fear me… you must love me. I command it. Now, I wish to receive the adulation of my people.”
“Ah,” said the chamberlain.
“Eh,” said the chief technician.
“Where are the faithful?” demanded Inspiration Cadillac.
“Alas, they were not faithful as we were faithful,” said the chamberlain.
“They believed you’d died when the airplane crashed into the dome and it collapsed,” said the chief engineer.
“You were, of course, safe underground,” said the chamberlain.
“But they weren’t to know that,” said the chief engineer.
“So they, ah, turned their devotions elsewhere.”
“They’ve found something else to worship.”
“It’s, ah, a train.”
“It came out of Steeltown after the timestorm and offered to take all the Poor Children to safety.”
“You see the parallel, holy father: the prophecies you circulated about the Steel Messiah coming out of Steeltown to save the faithful from war and devastation.”
“They, eh, went with it.”
“What?” roared Inspiration Cadillac. Growing rotor blades, he leaped into the air.
“Go west,” added the chamberlain.
From the air Inspiration Cadillac could see how some calamity worse than mere war had struck Faith City. The dome of the Basilica of the Grey Lady (now, he noted, the Basilica of the Total Mortification) lay in shards and slabs on the tiled floor of the audience chamber. The entire east wing together with a dozen hectares of Faith City had been swept away and replaced with a similar area of planted and irrigated maize. The Grey Lady’s private quarters were a fused cracked crater in the rock, and beside it stood the tangled remains of some kind of clumsy three-legged device.
—What has been happening? War, dread, outrage, apostasy; with a locomotive!
It was not even a particularly good example of locomotive building skills, Inspiration Cadillac decided, spying it from afar as a line of white steam on the western horizon. A Great Southern Class 27 fusion hauler; tokamaks due a good overhaul. Paintwork blistered and peeled, what was that it read, Adam Black’s Travelling Chautauqua and Educational ’Stravaganza? Pathetic. Shining silver-bright in the desert sun, Inspiration Cadillac patched in his public address system and chastized his people.
“0 ye of little faith!” Faces at the windows of the ramshackle carriages. They looked frightened. That was good. “0 faithless and perverse generation! I promised that I would return to you as the Total Mortification, yet not one of you would wait the eight days for the promise to be fulfilled! Covenantbreakers! Idolators! You worship this… Golden Calf rather than the physical manifestation of the Cosmic Engineer! See how I shatter all false idols!” He helicoptered in over the speeding train and raised his hand to hurl a thunderbolt of cybernetic command.
“We’d all much rather you didn’t do that,” said the train quite unexpectedly. The power evaporated from Inspiration Cadillac’s fingertips.
“What?”
The train repeated its statement word for word.
“A talking train! My my my.”
“Something more than that,” said the Great Southern Class 27. “I am the Total Mortification.”
“Nonsense! Blasphemy! I am the Total Mortification, the one, the only.”
“You are man made machine. I am machine made man. At heart, you are flesh, for you still wear the outward form of a man, but I have gone beyond such anthropomorphic chauvinism. I am machine in the form of machine.”
Poor Children’s heads poked out of the windows, evidently enjoying the theosophical wranglings. Inspiration Cadillac found his curiosity roused despite his fury and asked, “What manner of creature are you?”
“Take a look in my liveried carriage,” the train replied. Inspiration Cadillac retracted his rotors and made a jet-power landing on the paintpeeling roof. He extended a telescopic camera eye over the edge to peer in. The windows were thick with cobwebs and dirt, as was the carriage itself; dust, cobwebs, age and neglect. In the center of the carriage sat a cracked leather armchair and in the armchair sat a mummified corpse. Upon the corpse’s head was a metal diadam of peculiar and intricate design.
“Adam Black that was,” said the train. “When his soul passed to me, I sealed the carriage, never to be opened again. All that the carriage represents is past me now, I am a machine/man, the true future man, the Total Mortification if you wish. For many years I travelled the railroads of the world searching for some purpose for my spiritual identity, then I heard of the Dumbletonians of Desolation Road, a place I knew well in my fleshly incarnation, and my heart told me that here was the reason for my being. So I came, and they hailed me the Steel Messiah, and so they came with me in their tattered caravan of old carriages and wagons. And as there can be only one Steel Messiah, alas we must now do battle.”
Inspiration Cadillac sprang away from the speeding train with a pulse of pure jet power as Adam Black sent a circuit-fusing cybernetic command crackling along his superstructure. Inspiration Cadillac climbed to a safe altitude, then unleashed a bolt of purest God-power that severed the Poor Children’s shanty-coaches from the Travelling Chautauqua and Educational ’Stravaganza. By the time the blasphemous train had applied emergency braking and ground to a halt, Inspiration Cadillac had spun a diamond-filament cable out of his feet and was towing his faithful back to Desolation Road. Adam Black blew white steam, reversed direction, and accelerated after the Poor Children.