A great big THANKS to capsuna-cb for helping me out with the German language and culture information! :D

Teller did not know at first that he was dreaming. From his perspective, the young satellite drifted in his usual orbit above the blue oceans, white clouds, and green-and-tawny masses of land, trailing steadily toward the night side of the planet where he could see the continent of Europe had begun to light up like a hotel vacancy sign. He probably should have noticed the lack of other man-made satellites, living or dead, which typically filled the void around him, and he probably should have perceived the sudden presence of arms, legs, and a head, all garbed in an astronaut suit, which the folks at NASA had not given his cylindrical frame, but for a time he just enjoyed his silent, weightless journey above the multi-colored sphere, not sensing anything out of the ordinary. However, it was not until he heard a sweet-tempered clearing of a throat and turned his head to see a young blonde woman with brown luggage upon her head and wheels on her feet that he at once became lucid.

"Hey, good-looking," grinned Teller.

The woman laughed and drifted toward him. "How about some hot cocoa for a cold night in space?" she said, and all at once a brown mug covered in white star print appeared within her gloved fingers, matching the design on her decorative headgear.

He held out his new hand, catching her own. "How come you guys never visit me when I'm awake, train girl?"

"Would you believe you still had all your marbles if you saw a train floating about in space?" she grinned before she linked her elbow with his free arm, tethering herself to him while careful not to bump the solar panels on his back. "Besides, the other satellites might panic and start crashing into each other, don't you think?" she asked as she tucked her skate-like feet beneath her.

"I guess it's not untrue," Teller said before he took a sip of the hot beverage. It might have only been a dream, but it sure tasted real - and delicious to boot.

His companion looked down upon the points of yellow lights in the dark world beneath, smiling wistfully. "It's always lovely from up here," she said admiringly, "though I guess it's different when you have to be in work mode when you're awake. Do you ever get bored up here, Teller?"

Teller shrugged, resting his stellar mug against his leg to keep it in place. "One of the boys down at NASA sends me files of cat videos from the Internet," he said, "and me and some of the other satellites P.M. each other now and then, but it's nice being able to hear somebody's voice for a change." He glanced about, looking toward the sea of bright stars surrounding them. "So, where's our friend?"

"Helping out her foster-kid," replied the carriage. "The train race is in a few nights, and he needs coaching."

Teller clicked his tongue. His nightly visitors had mentioned that race in previous dreams. He would have to remember to ask his contact at mission control to send him footage of it once it was up on YouTube. "Why would any machine with all her power spend her existence taking in strays?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Same reason why she sent me up here to give you a nice dream," replied his companion, bumping her box-like shoulder against his own. "That's just how Mama is."

"Fair enough," shrugged Teller before he took another swig. He had not known the two odd trains for long, but he enjoyed their company, even if the other satellites would have called him insane for believing these social calls were more than just recurring dreams. They might have said that his mind was just compensating for his destiny of being forever in orbit even after his systems died and that believing in two imaginary star trains was his way of coping with his mortality. However, Teller definitely thought the taste of cocoa in his mouth was better than what he had in the waking world, and that was not the only kind of goodies his friends brought him. "Any chance of getting that, uh, Kalter Hund again?" he asked, giving the gray carriage a hopeful look.

With her free hand, the smiling railcar reached for one of the brown hat boxes on her blonde head, and, like a cartoon he had seen once, she pulled out a rather large serving dish with a chocolate cake. She placed the cake in front of him as if on an invisible table, and the plate remained in place, moving as they did. She pulled out a clean knife, a fork and a smaller plate from a different suitcase. She cut him a generous slice, revealing the inside to be striped like a zebra with chocolate filling surrounding what Carrie called Butterkekse.

"So, Mama's kid is racing?" Teller asked around a mouthful of pastry. "Is it that rusted one?"

"Mmm-hmm," answered the luggage lady, but Teller noticed she did not sound so enthusiastic. "I love him and all, but Rusty has a tendency to give up under pressure." She gave her head a shake. "Still, if he proves himself, Mama wants to make him her successor. So, you might get a third friend up here." She flashed him a smile.

"I don't know. Is he as cute as you?" Teller winked back, causing her to chuckle prettily. Why couldn't satellites sound like that when they laughed?

He looked down at the dark planet to see that they were hovering in place above the nighttime Europe. He knew somewhere down there within the mass of lights Mama and the pretty train girl lived among the mortal machines. "So, what else is going on with the race?"

To Teller's surprise, the baggage car suddenly frowned, and her gray-blue eyes flashed. "Four of the National racers have lost their partners in the past two weeks through 'unrelated incidents'," she said, flourishing with her free hand toward the shadowed mountain range where she dwelt. "The Japanese and British cars were hurt from a crash after a right-side failure. The German carriage hitched a ride on a freight train only for the whole train to have brake trouble, and the Italian train's brother got hit in a tunnel collision. The poor guy keeps drifting in and out of consciousness."

Teller's eyebrow rose. "Whoa." Sometimes he was glad he was up here, far above the drama which seemed to plague the planet. "Can't you help them?"

"Not unless they ask for our help," replied his friend, frustration etching her fair face, "but most of them aren't lining up for a prayer meeting. Mama's a stickler for the rules when it comes to altering reality."

Teller frowned slightly. He did not fully understand how "invitations" worked, but he did remember the lady engine telling him once that free will of mortals could never be encroached upon. "Does Mama know what's causing the accidents though?"

"Probably," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Not that she'd tell me. The Nationals aren't my case. I'm assigned to some coaches."

"Like that lounge car you told me about?"

"Yep, and a diner. She's been having some trouble with her boyfriend and his wandering eye lately aber sie hat Tomaten auf den Augen." She snapped her fingers. "Oh, yeah. There's also this new coach in the yard that I started to keep my eye on, though I haven't officially met her. Rusty's taken a shine to her and has asked her to race with him. He doesn't think I know, but I do."

Teller cut himself another slice of Kalter Hund. "Mama's boy is growing up, huh?"

"He's gonna have his hands full with that carriage; I can tell," she answered. "The girl dreams of a steamer who can whistle at her, just not Rusty. It's probably for the best."

"Why's that?"

"If he's going to be the next Starlight, it's gonna be hard on his love life," she replied. "He'll be another Winzy once his girlfriend reaches old age."

Teller did not quite know what she meant, but he could guess from the context it was bad. He gave her a sideward glance. "You think a relationship between a star train and a machine can't work? Even if it's an astronaut?"

The baggage car turned her head and gave him a smile. "I think an astronaut has a better chance than most," she replied with a playful wink before she gave his elbow a gentle pat. "You have to wake up soon. Your NASA friend is about contact you to ask you something."

Teller gave a sigh of exaggerated disappointment - mostly to hide his actual disappointment. "Don't be a stranger, babe."

"Ain't my intention, doll," she replied, and then she was gone.

Her wheels touched upon rails and concrete ties once more, and Carrie looked about the quiet track to make sure she had not startled an unsuspecting train before she adjusted the star-printed luggage on her head. She had quite the collection; some of the local trains thought she was overdoing it, but Carrie liked her fashion tastes. While she might have been a luminous being among the stars, here in Bahnhof Stadionring she was Carrie der Gepäckwagen, and she tried to look the part.

The gray carriage might not have been as glamorous as the time she had been assigned to the Orient Express, but this form was serviceable. Her gray skirt was studded; her arms were swathed in orange opera gloves beneath short sleeves, and she had a nice collection of suitcase stickers on her front. Most trains would take one look at the star prints on her hat boxes and the brown roof of her shoulder compartments and then immediately peg her as a religious nut - or they would look at her simple appearance and decide she was not worth their time - but it served Carrie's work in Standionring. Most trains didn't follow a baggage car's advice because of their good looks; when somebody listened to a plain piece of head-end equipment, it was because they had something worth saying.

With her evening with Teller put on hold, Carrie decided to check in on her other charges. She could sense that Belle the lounge car and Dinah the dining car were in the illuminated Biergarten of the restaurant where Belle worked part-time. The wooden lounge car and the diner sat as customers at one table while Belle chatted amiably with a coworker, and if someone did not give her a friendly reminder, Belle might be rolling home tipsy.

Carrie stepped lightly upon the well-worn track, but no sooner had she started to roll in the direction of her two friends that a green figure stood in front of her, as if materializing from thin air. "Hold on, Miss Wheels."

Carrie braked in time to stop from colliding with the train. "What's wrong, Mama?"

The lady engine before her might not have looked like much to other trains: she had had a chance to live on the Brockenbahn where she would have been well maintained, but Mama had chosen to take up residence in Stadionring where her once smooth, tawny skin had wrinkled and her green paint had become off-colored in places. Here, her knee-length skirt looked cheap, and she was obliged to tie back her silvering black hair with a brown rag she had pulled from a donations barrel. Yet even Stadionring could not diminish the gleam in her brown eyes, the one that twinkled with the brightness that could only come from the current avatar of the Starlight Express.

Mama placed a hand on Carrie's arm. "Change of plans, child," she said, her brow arching downward. "There's been another accident."

Carrie narrowed her eyes. "You're kidding."

Mama shook her head. "Coco's sister, the chair car, lost her wheels," said the green locomotive. "Poor girl accidentally fell asleep in the meadow, and when she woke, she felt as if someone had tampered with her brakes. When she tried to roll to the repair shop by herself, the coach lost control and tumbled into a ditch. They only just found her."

"This is getting ridiculous," said Carrie. "What about the other partners?"

"Greaseball still has his diner, so does Turnov, but you got yourself a new assignment, star girl," said Mama before she pointed toward the main yard in the distance. "You head over to Control and volunteer as a relief partner."

Under normal circumstances Carrie might have been thrilled to join in the fun of race night, but now she gave Mama a dark look. "Do you know who's responsible for all these accidents, Mama?"

Mama's lips became a thin line. "I have a few suspicions, but nothing concrete."

"Ich habe die Nase voll," exhaled Carrie, exasperated. "Can't we just shed these mortal forms and deal with it already?"

Mama gave her a stern look. "You know the rules, child. We are guardians, not a police force. We can't do the big stuff around earthly trains unless they invite us, and they won't invite us unless…?" Mama looked at her, beckoning with her hand for the carriage to finish.

"Unless they believe enough to ask us," sighed Carrie.

"Which is why our friendships with these machines are so important," said Mama firmly. "That's what the last Starlight Express taught me, and that's what you're gonna help me teach Rusty when it's his turn."

Carrie bit her tongue, deciding against the comment that wanted to escape, and she jerked a disgruntled nod.

Mama pointed again toward the busier portion of the yard. "Now you go on and sign up for the race, Carrie Maus. A lot of things are gonna go down this week, and you'd better be ready for it, whatever form it takes."

"Yes, Mama." Carrie stiffly began to roll toward the lights glittering beyond the hills, and when she paused to glance over her shoulder, the track behind her laid bare.

Carrie exhaled as she rolled, passing the decadent mechanical tracks and automatic bridges which Control spent much of his budget maintaining. Sometimes, it was difficult dwelling among earthly vehicles, especially when you were bound by ethereal laws. The old adage that the Starlight Express was "waiting to be found" had more truth than most knew. The Starlight did not interfere with free will but respected the decisions of mortals, even if said mortals chose to jump wheels first into the infernal terminal.

As she rolled onto a siding to allow an engine pulling wagons to pass, Carrie glanced upward to gaze at the stars visible in the dark above. Even in her mortal form, she could sense Teller trailing his way among the several thousands of man-made satellites. Out of all the machines whizzing about in space, destined to stay up there even after death as orbiting junk, Teller had been among the few to believe enough to ask something from an invisible train that he had heard about on an Internet video documenting railroad culture, and Mama had answered his request.

Carrie thought again of the damaged partners of the National champions, and she was glad her friend, Dinah, had been safe in all the accidents. Surely, the coach of the reigning diesel champion from America would be a target, but Dinah seemed to have escaped thus far. Meanwhile, Belle had been considering signing up to be a relief partner, having been a racing carriage in her old yard. Then there was Pearl; Rusty might not have officially announced who his partner was yet to his friends, but surely she could end up being harassed once everyone knew she was with the unpopular steamer.

Carrie picked up her speed with new determination. At least if she was in the race, she could keep an eye on the coaches and keep whichever racer assigned to her from a terminal accident on the rails. Whoever had sabotaged the French coach's brake shoes would soon regret it if they messed with a carriage that came from the stars.

THE END

A/N: After noticing that Carrie had stars on her costume, my friend, HashamotoGloria (check her out on DA!) and I discussed the possibility of Carrie being religious, and that somehow got to us discussing the possibility of her being a supernatural being. Since we're both fans of Touched By An Angel, we took to the idea quite quickly. Mama's line about them not being a police force is based on one of Tess's lines from the episode, "The Quality of Mercy."

Regarding Carrie not officially meeting Pearl, evidently in the new Bochum show, Rusty introduces Pearl to the other three coaches rather than having the four already be friends. I don't know if they'll rewrite this bit down the line.