This is not a RWS-styled story. It is also not an adaption or expansion of any aired episodes or specials, although it does borrow from many of them, up to and including the events of JOURNEY BEYOND SODOR. What it is, is a fairly serious exploration of the nature of living locomotives via their relationships with the humans who interact with them everyday...something for anyone who's fascinated by the very premise of living machinery in general. To this end, expect lots of chat and angst and original characters, not too much when it comes to actual real railway operations and background. My fondest hope is that even someone who's unfamiliar with any version of the Thomasverse could enjoy this story as a straight-up fantasy. But you, the readers, will have to let me know if I've succeeded at that.

Happy reading!

Disclaimer: The following story is intended for non-profit entertainment purposes only and is not meant to infringe upon the rights of any Thomas The Tank Engine/Thomas And Friends copyright holders.

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter One - An Incidental Lead

It began with one of the French tourists from the cruise ship anchored at Brendam Docks stopping to thank Christophe Pelletier for the day's outing.

"Really splendid trip. Thank you so much!" he enthused. "This has to be about the best excursion I've ever been on."

Christophe, who'd had the day off and volunteered to act as the excursion train's brakeman and quasi-tour guide and conductor, beamed.

"You're very welcome and I'll pass that along," he replied happily. "What part of the trip did you like best? We're always looking to make improvements."

"Oh God, what didn't I like? The museum, I guess. I still can't believe I saw Stephenson's Rocket, and he still runs! The miniature engines were great too. Oh, and this big fellow." The tourist waved at the red and black locomotive with its splashy white trim at the head of the train. "I always wanted to ride behind one of these ten-wheelers. And he's so nice! I talked to him during our stop at Ulfstead and he was very friendly and informative."

"Glad to hear it."

"You know what's weird, though? This isn't the first time I've seen this sort of engine. There's another just like him in a scrapyard only an hour's drive away from my home in France."

Christophe lifted an eyebrow. "That's rather unlikely," he said. "They only built three of this particular class. Are you sure it's not a 52 or a 50? There must be hundreds if not thousands of those still around."

"No. He's got four leading wheels, not two, just like your engine. And his frame sticks out in the front, like yours. A private salvage yard guy has him. Or had him. I last saw him about two months ago."

Christophe reconsidered. The odds that the tourist had actually seen another class 48 locomotive, the second of only three in the entire world, seemed astronomical, yet it was equally improbable that one had found its way to the Island of Sodor in the first place. He dug into his pocket for a piece of paper and a pencil.

"Tell you what," he told the tourist. "If you could, please get me a photo of this engine if he still exists. Just a side shot from the front back to the cab, that's all I'd need. And contact info for the owner. Would any of that be difficult for you?"

"Not really," said the tourist cheerfully. "My sister and her family live in the village where the scrapyard's at. We usually drive down to visit once a month or so. There's even a little railway station there and a bit of a yard. That's where the scrap guy picks up a lot of his stuff."

"Well, I'd appreciate any effort made. Here's my address. I'd love to hear back from you."

"Will do. And thanks again for a great day! I'm going to tell all my railfan buddies to take this tour."

"The North Western Railway thanks you in turn," Christophe said with a laugh. He watched the tourist rush off to board his ship, which had been tooting and threatening to depart for the last five minutes, stuffing the piece of paper with Christophe's address on it into his pocket as he ran. It had been a nice encounter and Christophe was glad that the tourist was happy, but he didn't really hope for much beyond their conversation. A lot of people, even enthusiasts, saw rare locomotives that turned out to be not so rare after all…

A few weeks later, Christophe picked up his mail at the post office and found a letter with a French stamp and return address on it included within the little bundle. He ripped it open on the spot and a photo fell out, onto the floor.

Christophe snatched it up and studied it. He glanced through the enclosed letter.

Seconds later, he was out the door, hurrying off to find Sir Topham Hatt.

to be continued...