The train is not as full as we expected, and looks pretty nice. The conductor, who looks even worse than I feel, greets us, promises us some tea (and coffee, when Tarja asks), and shows us to our compartments. Timo's and mine is number seven, and after putting all the luggage in their own compartments everyone gathers in ours.

We managed to pack our bags by some miraculous divine intervention. Rudy and Tarja packed theirs, too. Jamie and Katie seem to have failed big-time, and Katie says that the most important things are the passports, the credit cards, and the underwear, everything else can be bought.

"Open the door," sounds outside, and Rudy opens it. At that moment the conductor spills five cups of tea and one cup of coffee on his own pants. He says "oops, sorry" and goes back for more, leaving a big puddle in front of our door.

The second attempt at coffee and tea is better, and he manages to bring the cups to the table. The drinks are rather cold, which is understandable if the guy habitually spills them on himself, but still annoying. The pale yellow color of the tea suggests an entirely different kind of liquid.

"Look what I've got!" says Timo, opening his bag and taking out a spiral thingie with a cord. "A genuine Russian water-heating device."
"Probably banned by the Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty," mutters Tarja.

His plan for heating up the tea is thwarted by the fact that there is no electrical outlet anywhere. Rudy takes out a bottle of Stroh and tries to improve the tea with it, with dismal results.

"You've been quiet today, and you are not even hung over," says Timo to Jamie.
"I've been thinking."
"Thinking? You? That would be the first," laughs Rudy.
"I try to think for at least an hour every Thursday night. It's good for the muscle tone."
"What about?" asks Katie, "I mean besides sex, chocolate and computer games."
"Tonight? Coffee, my new hair color, some things about geometry that you really don't wanna know, that I want a new video card... also about tsunamis and Timo's cat."
"What about my cat?"

We don't get to hear the answer, because Jamie's phone rings and he goes outside to talk. Rudy decides to go to the restaurant car to buy some drinkable drink for all of us, then decides to drag Tarja and me along on account of not having enough hands.

"Jamie has been weird lately," he says, "he's been swimming for like four hours every night last week, and unnaturally tired after that..."
"If he's been swimming that much, it's called 'naturally tired'," points out Tarja.
"I am just worried, is all."
"He seems fine. A bit preoccupied maybe," I say.
"Sometimes when I ask what he is thinking he says things about maths that are beyond my ken."
"An average six-grader can say things about math that are beyond your ken. No offense."
"Bitch."

WTF is eating him? Rudy, in spite of his best attempts to put on a nonchalant exterior, is a chronic worrier - except that he tends to worry about all the wrong things and miss about 98.5% of real dangers until they punch him in the nose - and every time something he does not want to talk or even think about is gnawing on his mind, he manifests it as high and highly misplaced concern for Jamie's health and well-being. This phenomenon is symbiotic in a way - Jamie just loves to collect totally unearned sympathy points and redeem them for backrubs and chocolate - but every time Rudy becomes too solicitous, Jamie also starts worrying about Rudy's own well-being, and generally with a very good reason.

We buy one coffee, one coke and four beers, and bring them back. The rest of the evening goes peacefully, discussing the grand plans for sightseeing and shopping, and occasionally getting some more drinks from the restaurant car.

* * * Community's IRC channel

<Hanne> Heh. So now we at least know he doesn't have the Skill to heat up the tea.
<Nate> Probably wouldn't do it with his friends there even if he could.
<Hanne> True. :)
<Scott> Hi
<Hanne> Hi Scott
<Scott> Did you know that this Jamie had already been mentioned in our wiki? I mean before Elina met him.
<Hanne> ?
<Scott> Remember when we tried to find out what Kensemi Ltd. was all about and checked out all their top brass and their families? He was and remains the husband of Katie Goldberg, their Chief of Genetic Engineering.
<Nate> Wow! So hot scientist chicks are not just in the movies?
<Sarah> Now our guys can spy on naked *scientist* women, not just naked women.
<Jessica> Cool! Now with any luck we can have our own guy over there.
<Scott> Or they can have their own guy over here. :/
<Elina> Or both.
<Sarah> Any word on the housemate they live with?
<Olafur> No. I have a feeling that the young generation here is mostly concentrating on the hot wife and the gorgeous housemate, and is not watching our guy like they should.
<Jessica> He is with them all the time, and he is not doing anything special. I mean - how long can you watch a guy yawning in front of the computer or running around screaming "bugger, where did all the t-shirts go?".
<Olafur> The extra-beautiful wife and housemate - could it be some Skill?
<Elina> No, I saw them in Helsinki, they are normals.
<Else> Evening, everyone.
<Sarah> Hi Else, how was sailing?
<Else> Thanks, pretty good.
<Else> Elina, don't freak out about your guy. There is only so much damage a mind-reader can do.
<Elina> Never know what else they can do until you interview and examine them properly.
<Else> Few people do anything too horrible, except in the first moment.
<Olafur> You used to bring airplanes down.
<Nate> Else used to be Darth Else?
<Else> Else used to be a soldier.
<Jessica> How could you? It's not right to interfere with normals' wars. I mean, I understand that some people get drafted and might not have a choice, but you have probably volunteered.
<Else> Jessica, they are our wars, too.
<Else> Jessica, you can be a pacifist but you can't isolate yourself from normals' world. We can't live in our own Harry Potter-like world with Hogwarts, Ministry of Magic, our own wizard kids, etc. We are born of normals, marry them, give birth to them, etc. We know each other and call ourselves the Community and have this channel, but there is no real self-sustaining community of the Skilled, never has been and probably never will be. I've been married to a normal for over 60 years, and have 5 normal kids.
<Jessica> It's still not right. Aren't you sorry or something...
<Else> Not really. They were trying to bomb me, I made their planes drop and burned them alive as they were trying to parachute. That's what soldiers do. I was better at this than them, tough shit, end of story.
<Sarah> Not to intrude on your cheery conversation, but has there ever been a Skilled that had a Skilled child?
<Olafur> No. It's in the wiki.
<Elina> Not that we know of.
<Else> Anyway, that was 60 years ago. Our resident pacifists can go pester Perv, he is a general.
<Nate> Or Hardeep. He used to be a colonel until he retired last year.
<Jessica> A real general? I thought he was a young guy?
<Elina> I guess you weren't here when he was bragging about his grandchildren. :)
<Olafur> Nate, Hardeep got his Skills when he already was a colonel, you really can't expect a man to change his career at 50.
<Nate> Any two Skilled ever get married, or had sex? Does anyone knows what happens then? Something terrible, like with two garou?
<Else> WTF is a garou?
<Nate> Werewolves from WoD. I am afraid the cultural reference is lost on you.
<Nate> WoD=World of Darkness
<Elina> Married, no. Sex, yes. Nothing unusual happened.
<Sarah> Elina: can you Speak to Jamie? Did you try?
<Elina> We tried it in person, and yes, we can talk telepathically. I tried it from here, too, but he didn't answer. Doesn't necessarily mean he can't hear it. I'll send him an SMS if I really need him to know something.
<Hanne> Look, something is happening down there in the train!

* * *

A sharp knock on the door wakes me up. I jump up and grab the half-empty rum bottle that Rudy forgot in our compartment, trying to remember whether any of the stories about robberies in Russian trains concerned the Helsinki-St. Petersburg train and hoping that even if the bottle doesn't deter the intruders, the sight of a naked and disheveled madwoman might. Timo is already up and opening a pocket knife.

"Open up! Open up!"

I open the door, trying to keep the bottle out of sight. Our conductor is standing behind it, very drunk, and another drunk man in civilian clothes is standing next to him.

"Let the passenger in!"
"Hmm, why?"
"Why are there two of you? You are suppose to have a free berth here."
"It's our compartment, and no, we don't have any free space."
"Sorry," says the drunk passenger, looking apologetic. I nod to him.
"The gentleman has a ticket here," continues the conductor.
"So do we," says Timo, who has already put the knife down and armed himself with tickets, passports and other anti-bureaucracy weapons.
"Lemme see," I say, grabbing the drunk guy's ticket, "it says 8. This is 7. I think you should just go next door."
"You sure?" say the conductor and the passenger in unison, and try to look at the ticket simultaneusly, colliding with each other's foreheads.
"Positive."
"And this is 7?"

Timo silently points to the number on the door. The drunks apologize and proceed to the next door. I jump out of the compartment and grab the passenger's arm.

"No, no, that one is 6. 8 is the other way!"

We close the door and start giggling. In a few seconds some kind of yelling starts outside.

"Open up! Open up!" they are knocking on our door in about 30 seconds. I open the door, already with a towel on.

"You again?" they are astonished.
"Yeah, and the compartment is still 7," says Timo from behind. They bugger off, only to start a scandal somewhere else. I stick my head out the door. The are pestering the people in 9, who are yelling that they would like to sleep. I go outside, and drag them towards the number 8, ignoring their screams of "not her again!". They manage to get in there, and eventually the noise stops.