Post by StaolDerg on Jun 26, 2023 10:11:29 GMT -5
Elenria lacked railroads. Or rather, what railroads it did possess were inadequate at best, and painfully under-performing at worst, denying the boons of better communication and transportation while still causing problems of needing to import locomotives, build rail lines, and provide the infrastructure for the rail lines to have locomotives run on them. And while this wasn’t to say the whole network was completely irredeemable, it made the delivery of goods and people across the land a much harder job for TAKPOE. A “Lower Department of the Railways” had been established some years after the TAKPOE administration’s formation in 1860, only for its leadership and management to become a whole carnival of incompetence and corruption.
Colonel Shou was a replacement’s replacement: his predecessor had been arrested for selling tickets to passengers riding dangerously aboard cargo cars by clinging to the side of the carriages for hours at a time, and this was tame compared to that Director’s predecessor, who downright sold off portions of cargo to the communities of stops along the way. In the end, the whole department had been completely disbanded and its roles were thrown into the hands of the Army who they hoped could whip the system into shape.
By training and role, he was an army officer: his tasks were to defend the land and its people from foes within and abroad, and he considered himself well-suited to that role as a career officer. But whoever had made the decision to put him in charge must’ve glanced at his spotless track record in exclusively military fighting commands and decided, “Yes, this fellow obviously knows everything on how to work a railway,” leaving him scrambling to become an expert in railroads despite not even knowing what a ‘locomotive’ was the day prior.
As the train came to rest at the platform, the Colonel stepped off from his car at the rear of the train’s procession, wiping his mostly bald head with a handkerchief before fixing his peaked cap back in its place.
Waiting for him was the station master, a human of average height, her role identified by the small insignia of a railroad track and star sewn onto her collar, or at least part of it– her clothes were rumpled and she looked utterly exhausted. If not for the black dress that denoted government officers, he would’ve taken one look at the large-brimmed peasant’s hat she wore and assumed she was another menial station worker.
“Welcome to Station Treskan, sir. You’re Mister Suo Ke’s replacement?”
“That’s correct.” The Colonel glanced around, noticing the lack of other station employees, save a single person manning the ticket booth. The rest of the station’s buildings were shuttered and closed, not that it seemed to matter all that much: to his concern, he could see boards covering up windows, and if the sun wasn’t playing tricks on him, the glass behind seemed to be broken. The more he looked, the worse it was: paint peeled from the walls, and he watched as a traveler stumbled on a loose cobblestone in the pavement.
“What’s happened here? This place looks like–”
“A shithole. Yes. I’m aware.” The station master interrupted tiredly. “Administration has rejected all my requests for additional funding as ‘non-critical.’ The regional government tells me to go to the Lower Department of the Railways for my problems, and they in turn tell me to go to the Ministry of Development, who in turn tell me to go to the regional government again. The water tower is chronically at quarter capacity, and the local community says that unless I slash the ticket prices into eighths I’m not getting a drop more. I can barely pay the three people that operate this station, let alone round up some workers to fix the buildings and the platform.”
The Colonel stared at her, the ends of his mouth twitching. “...What’s your name, Station Master?”
“Zuo Que,” she replied flatly. “If you’re going to fire me, fine. Tell my replacement the records files are in the basement in the padlocked closet because someone broke into the records room and stole the blacklisted passengers list. A general Station Master’s final report is located in the second cabinet, second from right, and second down from the top.”
She adjusted her hat and turned around,
The Colonel shook himself out his stupor and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not firing you.”
The Station Master managed to look more dead inside, but turned to listen.
“ I want you to walk me around the station, and show me how you and the staff run things– only after I have reviewed the station will I see what to do, and unless you are particularly deserving, then yes, termination may well be a possibility.”
Shou pointed towards the ticket station, nodding at the now rather alert clerk watching them. “Let us start there.”
For the next several hours, Shou followed Station Master Zuo about, surveying the many cracks of the station, administrative as well as physical. While he wasn’t the least bit surprised, the bitter disappointment grew as the problems mounted, and more so as he took aside the handful of workers and even some random civilians to inquire about the Station Master’s work, only to learn that Zuo had been dutifully fighting this miserable battle for nearly fifteen years at this point. Endless piles of letters sat organized as best as they could be in cardboard boxes in the basement, almost entirely notices of rejection from higher positions refusing further support, and those that did promise anything had been too little or nothing at all. Zuo wasn’t even from this area: her hometown was all the way in Luosen Province, near Pactstei, nearly the other side of the country, across a strait.
The other three employees followed a roughly similar route: the signalman was an inselni named Kü, and though he spent the better part of his time drinking and playing mahjong on the platform with locals, Shou noted that he was very much still a skilled person: he’d manned a signal box since the first rail lines from Aundui Yio extended across the Esila Desert to Oplia Si some forty years ago, and despite being trapped in this dead-end station had still managed to keep up with developments in the network by writing to fellow signalmen by post.
Then there was the ticket clerk, a Crown human named An. He wasn’t actually just the clerk– he was the porter, janitor, and switchman, mostly because all the other people who were supposed to have those jobs had been let go at some point or another, but mostly recently after the Empress had died and brought the Yairen down with her. But more importantly, the Colonel realized, the man knew the limitations of an average employee: he could probably give an accurate assessment of what workloads an employee could bear without losing efficiency or becoming injured.
And finally there was the engineer, Guo. A heavyset, stocky human Crown, he was a grumpy old man who nevertheless managed to keep trains that passed through in good working order, even if that meant forging his own replacement parts in the local public smithy. He wasn’t actually supposed to be working in this station, as the Colonel eventually discovered during the interview: Guo was here because he had followed Zuo from her previous station at a terminus and disliked the replacing officer. In any case though, the man had nearly thirty years of experience under his belt, and the Colonel figured he would need the man most given his utter lack of knowledge on trains at all.
By the evening, Shou had come to a conclusion, and he had all four staff members of the station brought before him.
“This station is being disbanded. It costs too much to maintain and the recent devaluing of the Yairen has only further shrunk the budget that we have.”
The station employees looked unsurprised. They’d expected this answer for years.
“But you four are not being let go. On the contrary, each of you have demonstrated redeeming qualities that will be needed to reform this blasted tangle of corruption and incompetence that is the national railway administration. Therefore, I’d like to extend an offer to each of you as the Superintendent of the Railroad Reformation Board, as ordered by the Territorial Army High Command: This train is bound next for the terminus station outside Pelven. I need people who are better informed on railroad technology and organization to be my advisors.”
Guo spoke up. “How much will we be paid?”
“I will pay each of you five thousand Yairen a week, with room for bonuses. You will be berthed aboard the train’s sleeping and eat in the dining compartments: I need your presence when I deal with other rail authorities. You are free to spend the money as you like, so long as you return to the train before we are due to leave for the next stop.”
The old man rubbed his beard and nodded. “Four times my old salary. I’m on, then.”
“Me too.” Kü glanced back at the station. “When do we leave?”
“Two hours.” The Colonel replied. “What about you, An? Station Master?”
“Very well,” Zuo replied. “Pay’s nice at least.”
“It is,” the clerk replied. “Count me in.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you all soon.” Shou tipped his cap, and turned about, returning to his carriage.
Colonel Shou was a replacement’s replacement: his predecessor had been arrested for selling tickets to passengers riding dangerously aboard cargo cars by clinging to the side of the carriages for hours at a time, and this was tame compared to that Director’s predecessor, who downright sold off portions of cargo to the communities of stops along the way. In the end, the whole department had been completely disbanded and its roles were thrown into the hands of the Army who they hoped could whip the system into shape.
By training and role, he was an army officer: his tasks were to defend the land and its people from foes within and abroad, and he considered himself well-suited to that role as a career officer. But whoever had made the decision to put him in charge must’ve glanced at his spotless track record in exclusively military fighting commands and decided, “Yes, this fellow obviously knows everything on how to work a railway,” leaving him scrambling to become an expert in railroads despite not even knowing what a ‘locomotive’ was the day prior.
As the train came to rest at the platform, the Colonel stepped off from his car at the rear of the train’s procession, wiping his mostly bald head with a handkerchief before fixing his peaked cap back in its place.
Waiting for him was the station master, a human of average height, her role identified by the small insignia of a railroad track and star sewn onto her collar, or at least part of it– her clothes were rumpled and she looked utterly exhausted. If not for the black dress that denoted government officers, he would’ve taken one look at the large-brimmed peasant’s hat she wore and assumed she was another menial station worker.
“Welcome to Station Treskan, sir. You’re Mister Suo Ke’s replacement?”
“That’s correct.” The Colonel glanced around, noticing the lack of other station employees, save a single person manning the ticket booth. The rest of the station’s buildings were shuttered and closed, not that it seemed to matter all that much: to his concern, he could see boards covering up windows, and if the sun wasn’t playing tricks on him, the glass behind seemed to be broken. The more he looked, the worse it was: paint peeled from the walls, and he watched as a traveler stumbled on a loose cobblestone in the pavement.
“What’s happened here? This place looks like–”
“A shithole. Yes. I’m aware.” The station master interrupted tiredly. “Administration has rejected all my requests for additional funding as ‘non-critical.’ The regional government tells me to go to the Lower Department of the Railways for my problems, and they in turn tell me to go to the Ministry of Development, who in turn tell me to go to the regional government again. The water tower is chronically at quarter capacity, and the local community says that unless I slash the ticket prices into eighths I’m not getting a drop more. I can barely pay the three people that operate this station, let alone round up some workers to fix the buildings and the platform.”
The Colonel stared at her, the ends of his mouth twitching. “...What’s your name, Station Master?”
“Zuo Que,” she replied flatly. “If you’re going to fire me, fine. Tell my replacement the records files are in the basement in the padlocked closet because someone broke into the records room and stole the blacklisted passengers list. A general Station Master’s final report is located in the second cabinet, second from right, and second down from the top.”
She adjusted her hat and turned around,
The Colonel shook himself out his stupor and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not firing you.”
The Station Master managed to look more dead inside, but turned to listen.
“ I want you to walk me around the station, and show me how you and the staff run things– only after I have reviewed the station will I see what to do, and unless you are particularly deserving, then yes, termination may well be a possibility.”
Shou pointed towards the ticket station, nodding at the now rather alert clerk watching them. “Let us start there.”
For the next several hours, Shou followed Station Master Zuo about, surveying the many cracks of the station, administrative as well as physical. While he wasn’t the least bit surprised, the bitter disappointment grew as the problems mounted, and more so as he took aside the handful of workers and even some random civilians to inquire about the Station Master’s work, only to learn that Zuo had been dutifully fighting this miserable battle for nearly fifteen years at this point. Endless piles of letters sat organized as best as they could be in cardboard boxes in the basement, almost entirely notices of rejection from higher positions refusing further support, and those that did promise anything had been too little or nothing at all. Zuo wasn’t even from this area: her hometown was all the way in Luosen Province, near Pactstei, nearly the other side of the country, across a strait.
The other three employees followed a roughly similar route: the signalman was an inselni named Kü, and though he spent the better part of his time drinking and playing mahjong on the platform with locals, Shou noted that he was very much still a skilled person: he’d manned a signal box since the first rail lines from Aundui Yio extended across the Esila Desert to Oplia Si some forty years ago, and despite being trapped in this dead-end station had still managed to keep up with developments in the network by writing to fellow signalmen by post.
Then there was the ticket clerk, a Crown human named An. He wasn’t actually just the clerk– he was the porter, janitor, and switchman, mostly because all the other people who were supposed to have those jobs had been let go at some point or another, but mostly recently after the Empress had died and brought the Yairen down with her. But more importantly, the Colonel realized, the man knew the limitations of an average employee: he could probably give an accurate assessment of what workloads an employee could bear without losing efficiency or becoming injured.
And finally there was the engineer, Guo. A heavyset, stocky human Crown, he was a grumpy old man who nevertheless managed to keep trains that passed through in good working order, even if that meant forging his own replacement parts in the local public smithy. He wasn’t actually supposed to be working in this station, as the Colonel eventually discovered during the interview: Guo was here because he had followed Zuo from her previous station at a terminus and disliked the replacing officer. In any case though, the man had nearly thirty years of experience under his belt, and the Colonel figured he would need the man most given his utter lack of knowledge on trains at all.
By the evening, Shou had come to a conclusion, and he had all four staff members of the station brought before him.
“This station is being disbanded. It costs too much to maintain and the recent devaluing of the Yairen has only further shrunk the budget that we have.”
The station employees looked unsurprised. They’d expected this answer for years.
“But you four are not being let go. On the contrary, each of you have demonstrated redeeming qualities that will be needed to reform this blasted tangle of corruption and incompetence that is the national railway administration. Therefore, I’d like to extend an offer to each of you as the Superintendent of the Railroad Reformation Board, as ordered by the Territorial Army High Command: This train is bound next for the terminus station outside Pelven. I need people who are better informed on railroad technology and organization to be my advisors.”
Guo spoke up. “How much will we be paid?”
“I will pay each of you five thousand Yairen a week, with room for bonuses. You will be berthed aboard the train’s sleeping and eat in the dining compartments: I need your presence when I deal with other rail authorities. You are free to spend the money as you like, so long as you return to the train before we are due to leave for the next stop.”
The old man rubbed his beard and nodded. “Four times my old salary. I’m on, then.”
“Me too.” Kü glanced back at the station. “When do we leave?”
“Two hours.” The Colonel replied. “What about you, An? Station Master?”
“Very well,” Zuo replied. “Pay’s nice at least.”
“It is,” the clerk replied. “Count me in.”
“Good. Then I’ll see you all soon.” Shou tipped his cap, and turned about, returning to his carriage.