Starlight Express and its characters (c) Andrew Lloyd Webber and RUG

My kingdom for a decent coach, Electra thought with an internal groan as he pulled the five trucks and the one blue coach down the line toward the downhill race track.

He had no doubt that he was going to win - this was what he had spent his life training for - but he did not relish how his victory photo would look on the front of the next morning's paper. Oh, he would look fabulous, no doubt - he had the very best in factory-standard facial features, the very best in red and blue paints and designer clothing, and the very best in hairstyles, one impressive Mohawk that expertly concealed his pantograph when he was not wearing his racing helmet. Unfortunately, the photographers would be obligated to include his race partner, that bubbly blonde bimbo in blue who was clinging to his red couplers at that exact moment.

Really, his troubles began after his entrance had been ruined - before that everything had been perfect. He had hacked into the security system of the rail yard, and with his expertise he had caused the station lights to go out. His train of trucks - who carried the components of his high-tech computer - had heralded his coming, and the pièce de résistance was when the mechanical bridge used in the high-budgeted railroad races had lowered, and Electra had rolled down into the gaping crowd. The rolling stock watching had been putty in his hands, amazed by this last word in electric technology - and then a locomotive's air horn had blared out, breaking his spell over them. Within moments, Greaseball, the reigning champion and the posterboy for diesel engines, had come zooming onto the scene.

In an effort to regain his dignity, Electra had rolled off to the side with his entourage, pretending not to care as the crowd now oohed and ahhed over their muscular celebrity. Not that it matters, he had told himself. He was rich, powerful, and had trucks that adored him. He would impress them all when he won the final, leaving that diesel in his dust. That thought had given him solace.

...Right up until he had turned to see his three female trucks rolling toward Greaseball, including Volta, his regular race partner and main lover. Fortunately for his dignity, Purse and Krupp had grabbed his couplers before he could embarrass himself by charging after them, but he had to watch as his own crew - and his own coach - had cooed and caressed his competition, completely mesmerized.

Once he was alone with his freezer, he had disconnected from her and had Purse go out to find the cute observation car Electra had spotted when he had rolled in, ordering the money truck to feed her a story about Volta having a headache. Pearl was a first-class coach, decked in pink and gold paint, and Electra had smiled at the thought of how she would look beside him at the finish line when the photographers would flood the track.

However, Pearl had been indecisive, nearly causing Electra to miss his elimination heat altogether. He had had to use magnetism to charm her - nothing permanent. It just rattled a rolling stock's head for thirty minutes or so, long enough to keep an electric engine safe when he was around fleets of diesel engines who might not like any other form of power in their yard. Pearl had been fabulous behind him despite tonight being her first race; she had kept her head during their elimination heat, and she had shown great stage presence for the audience. Unfortunately, the magnetism wore off at the most inopportune time, and the good will between Electra and the observation car vanished once Greaseball had set his sights on Pearl.

For the first time in the eighteen months of his life, Electra had been jilted by a carriage.

His trucks had flocked to him, offering their services, but there was no way he would race with any of his female components after their betrayal, and he was not about to pull his money truck or his armaments truck in a race where either could get damaged.

So, he had picked Dinah, Greaseball's long-time partner and recently abandoned girlfriend.

To his delight, Greaseball had glared daggers at Electra as he had arrived for the uphill final with the diesel's ex-coach in tow. Even with the pretty Pearl behind him, an obvious mechanical muscle had twitched on the locomotive's famous face.

But then C.B. the red caboose had caused a crash during the race, which disqualified the steam engine he had been racing with and prompted Control to hold a re-run on the downhill course.

And Electra was still stuck with Dinah, who had been icier than Volta for the past few minutes, though he had not the faintest clue why. Not that he cared a watt about her. He could not see why the diesel engine was attracted to the blue dining car or why he had pulled the silly coach in so many consecutive races. She was clearly a bottle blonde: her curly wig might have said "summer," but her synthetic skin's tone said her manufacturers had intended for her to be a winter. She wore a checked tablecloth for a dress as if she had honestly thought "Dorothy Gale on wheels" was the appropriate attire for the world championship railroad race. Her only saving grace was that she knew how to move behind an engine during a competition. If the uphill trial had not been cancelled, Electra had no doubt he would have won, even with a coach he had little experience with.

Electra came to a stop just below the hill with the tunnel which the racers used to enter the race track, choosing now to let his crew off. Dinah seemed to misinterpret his intentions, and she disconnected, stepping to the side.

In seconds the components took advantage of this and crowded Electra, murmuring encouragements and adulations while Wrench moved closer under the obvious pretense of giving his joints a last-minute inspection. Electa did not mind. He felt the familiar tension growing inside him - many athletes felt that way before a competition, he had been told - and it did not help that he had already gone through all this for the first final. The trucks' fawning drew his attention away from his nerves and kept his head in the game. He did not even mind it when he felt Volta's icy hand on his arm.

However, he could see the time flashing in big, red digital numbers on the monitors above the audience on the other side of the hill. He turned and saw Dinah off to the side, and he was surprised to see that a dark shadow had crossed her plain face.

Electra waved an elegant hand, and the components drew back respectfully as he glided toward his race partner. He drew himself up as he braked beside her, crooking his raised arm to accentuate his wonderful figure. "Ready?" he purred, adopting a fake comradery.

She shot him a cool look. "I don't think so."

Electra's mouth twitched. "Come again?"

She planted her fists against her waist, narrowing her brown eyes at him. "Maybe I'm fed up with all this racing."

"I really hope you're joking, coach," he said through his teeth. "There are only a few minutes left until the final - "

"That's exactly what I'm talking about!" she cried. "That's all you even care about, isn't it? You've been ignoring me since the moment I agreed to race you. You won't so much as whistle at me!"

Whistle? "I have an air horn," he said flatly. "So does Greaseball. I doubt he whistles at you either."

"That's not the point!" she snapped, her voice breaking with fury. "You asked me to race with you, and then you just leave me alone when C.B. called you - and you took your whole train with you. I was by myself, Electra! What were you even doing out that way?" she demanded.

"Your friends were with you," Electra argued, evading the question about the caboose. Then he remembered - and privately cursed himself. After the caboose had crashed the steamer, Dinah had tried to go see if the rusted engine was alright, so Electra had quickly turned on his magnetism to distract her. It had kept her on his holdings for the time, but now she was expecting a lot more from the electric engine than she normally would.

"Oh, sure, my friends were with me! That makes it all better!" she said bitterly. "I'm not even a girl to you. I'm just a pair of wheels to pull. Well, maybe I'm sick of it!"

Electra changed tactics. "I've been distracted by the race," he purred, adopting dulcet tones which had charmed many a car, "but do this for me, and I'll give you a night on the town to celebrate. Show everyone my best girl."

Dinah was not convinced. "Too little, too late."

Electra twitched. She was really doing this. She was really going to leave. Right before the final race. "Dinah, please - "

"Don't 'Dinah, please' me!" she shot back. "I'm surprised you even remembered my name."

He heard murmurs from the components, and his jaw tightened. He was not going to let this happen. He was not going to lose another race partner. Even if he had to do something drastic.

Dinah gave him a defiant glare. "Well, I need someone to whistle at me, even if you don't care - and that's why I'm gonna disconn - " But he gave her no chance to finish. In one expert motion he swooped down and silenced her with his lips.

Her brown eyes shot wide, and he felt more than heard her quick intake of breath. Electra moved quickly and cupped her face, holding her in place, and he had a sudden taste of champagne and passion fruit. She stiffened, but then - very slowly - her hands touched his sides, and she leaned into him, returning the kiss.

...And in that moment Electra understood why Greaseball preferred her.

"Control! Control!" the voice exploded over the intercom, causing Dinah to jump and break away. She drew back, covering her mouth, and Electra was surprised at the brief flash of disappointment that swept through him.

The puerile voice continued cheerfully, "Re-run of championship on downhill course minus one minute! Re-run of championship minus one minute!"

Electra shook himself, drawing in a deep breath to calm his wires. He could sense the components' restlessness behind him - and he no doubt was receiving a very frosty stare from Volta - and he straightened his shoulders, adopting a dignified nonchalance. "Do you still want to leave?"

Dinah stared at her hands, swallowing hard. Her cheeks pinked, but she shook her head.

Electra turned, offering his red couplers. "Come on then."

Her dainty hands clasped hold of him. For some reason it felt more natural than before - and he immediately pushed that thought aside. The magnetism will wear off within the hour, he berated himself as he removed his Mohawk and retrieved his racing helmet from Krupp. Then she'll be screaming at you for touching her when she belongs to her precious Greaseball. Just win the race, and you can dump her before she has the chance to get clingy.

He pulled her up the hill toward the race track, and within moments he rolled past security and entered the tunnel. Bobo, the TGV who had won a spot in the final during the second heat, was already there with his partner, the wooden smoking car. Greaseball and Pearl were in front. Greaseball ignored the newcomers as they took their position behind him, and Electra returned the favor, but he was pleased to see that Pearl looked miserable behind Greaseball now. He did not know what had happened between them after the failed uphill final, but it appeared to have been deliciously unpleasant.

He briefly wondered how Greaseball would react if he knew what had just transpired between the electric and his ex-coach.

Fortunately, Control soon called their names one by one over the intercom, and Electra started forward behind the diesel into the station light. The sea of faces were broken with the flashes of cameras, and Electra struck a pose as he glided down the rails. He barely paid attention to Control's pre-race narration as he pulled Dinah down the loop past the adoring audience. The three finalists rolled right onto the mechanical bridge, and Electra elected to stay as far from the diesel as he could, allowing Bobo and the smoker to pass him. He gripped the truss beams for safety, but he took a moment to raise a hand toward the cheering crowd, ignoring the nerves inside him.

"Lo-co-mo-tion," he heard Greaseball chant under his breath as if psyching himself up - and it did not escape Electra's notice that Pearl sucked in a shaky breath.

It was then that he felt Dinah adjust her firm grip on his couplers - and he could not help noticing that the blue coach stood a little closer to him than she had at the start of the uphill final. So close he could feel her soft breath on his paint. For some reason that made his throat tighten.

But he did not have long to dwell on it.

"Earth... Water... Air... Fire..." a tenor sang out behind them. Electra turned his head to see a familiar figure, Rusty the corroded steamer, coming toward them with a hopper behind him. In his arms was his rusted racing helmet. "See the steam rise higher..."

The dumb relic did not know when to quit.

"Rusty, go home!" Control scolded. "Marshals, stop him!"

Two diesel switch engines skated onto the track, but Rusty picked up speed and easily kept ahead despite his corroded patches.

But I'm faster, Electra thought, pushing down his building tension.

"Hey, Rusty's gonna race in the final!" Electra heard a few boxcars cry out. It became a chant among the gathered rolling stock. "Rusty's gonna race! Rusty's gonna race! Rusty's gonna race, gonna race in the final!"

Within moments Rusty rolled onto the bridge. Pearl smiled at him, relief crossing her pretty countenance. The bridge shuddered and began to rise, carrying the eight of them into the upper tracks.

Control finally relented. "Fine!" he snapped and adopted his official tone: "Downhill final between Greaseball and Pearl, Electra and Dinah, Bobo and Ashley, and Rusty and Dustin! Race minus fifteen seconds!"

Electra strapped on his helmet as the bridge settled between the tracks. He rolled to the starting line and stood abreast with the others, overlooking the fenced-in course, and felt the electricity surge through him as his pantograph connected with the overhanging wires. Dinah's grip tightened on his couplers - her hands really seemed to fit there.

"Five! Four! Three! Two! One! TRAINS GONE!"

Electra shot forward, allowing gravity to pull him down the slope. All at once the tension released, and his mind focused on the stretching rails ahead. Now it was time to race.

"Electra has the early lead!" Control cried. "But the champion takes it!"

Electra inwardly cursed as he saw Greaseball push ahead of him. He saw Pearl glance over her shoulder, lingering on something behind her.

The electric picked up speed. Pearl disappeared behind him. Now Greaseball. The lead was his again.

"Electra passes the champion! Bobo passes the champion!"

Electra could sense the three other racers behind him, gaining steadily, and he heard the sound of chugging steam from the corroded one. Suddenly, there came a loud crunchy sound of metal colliding with metal, and a pained yelp in French. "Au revoir, Bobo! The champion streaks ahead! But Rusty and Electra are still way up front!"

Electra could hear the chugging of the rusted pistons closing in on him. He waited a moment, allowing it to grow louder - and then swung a fist at the steamer. To his annoyance, the old engine dodged. The hopper had to hang on tight as his partner swerved.

"Hey! Something's holding the champion back!" Control exclaimed. "It's Pearl!"

Electra immediately heard a yell from Greaseball - followed by a shriek of terror and the sound of wheels pelting down a side track.

Greaseball had uncoupled her.

"No - Pearl!" Dinah cried out - as if the observation car had not stolen her boyfriend away.

Immediately, Rusty braked and spun around, uncoupling the hopper to head back up the hill.

"The champion's racing solo - that's not allowed!" Control groaned. "The rules say he has thirty seconds to find a partner, or he's disqualified!"

Electra kept his eyes ahead. He knew what was coming. He picked speed - but within an instant Electra felt a yank on his couplers. Dinah released his holdings with a cry of surprise.

"Just taking back what's mine," the diesel laughed on his right, guiding the coach behind his huge frame.

But Dinah did not grab his couplers. Her hands remained frozen, as if she was stuck in a state of shock.

Greaseball turned his head. "C'mon, Dinah!" he shouted over his shoulder.

Dinah did not move. "You hurt Pearl," she said in disbelief, staring at the locomotive as if he were a stranger.

Electra saw his opportunity. The steam engine was back, hopper once again behind him. With one great heave, Electra shoved Greaseball toward Rusty, and the diesel released Dinah. He caught sight of the steam engine dodging, and he heard the clank of Greaseball's large body slamming into the guardrail. Electra hoped he tumbled over it.

He grabbed Dinah, who still seemed shell shocked, and he picked up speed, pelting down the slope. To his relief the coach's shaky hands took hold of him.

He could hear Rusty near him. Electra swung his fist at the steamer, but the crusty engine ducked in time and gave him a shove back before switching to the furthest track, away from the electric lines and out of Electra's reach.

Electra focused on the twisting rails ahead. The finish line was below at the bottom of the hill. He picked up speed, but so did the steamer - and Rusty did not have to work as hard with that heavy aggregate hopper behind him. Electra pushed ahead, willing the electricity coursing through him to move his muscles.

Down. Down.

Faster. Faster.

Electra pulled ahead.

Now Rusty pulled ahead.

Control screamed with glee.

Electra's wires burned. The wind roared his ears.

Dinah's hands squeezed his couplers tighter.

Now Electra was even with Rusty.

The finish line zoomed forward to meet them and -

"It's a tie!" Control screeched with amazement. "Rusty the steamer and Electra the engine of the future have tied in the final race!"

A tie?

...A tie?!

"We can't have THAT!" Control cried cheerfully as if Christmas had come early. "We'll have to have a re-run tomorrow, folks! Stick around! Race time is noon sharp!"

Electra yanked off his helmet, using all his self control to mask his outrage as he ran the loop in front of the cheering audience. All the months he had spent training for this race, and he tied with a rusted steam engine!

He and Rusty coasted down the track with their partners, past the onlookers. "Don't get used to this victory, old man," Electra hissed at the wannabe upstart.

Rusty did not seem to hear. He suddenly spun around, twisting his head to search his surroundings. "I must find Pearl," he told the hopper behind him. "I must find Pearl." The hefty truck disconnected with a nod, and the corroded engine broke into a run and sped off into the night.

Electra saw a few reporters coming toward him, but he was not in the mood for press. He pulled into the side track guarded by the track marshals and the yard's security, ducking out of sight of the watching crowd. He had not gone far down the secluded track before he spotted his components rushing toward him.

He felt Dinah release him as the trucks swarmed him, all touching him. Volta sidled right next to him, laying an icy hand on his arm. "Wonderful, darling," she purred.

"Excellent!" Joule cried.

"Greaseball is dethroned!" Purse declared.

That was right. He had at least beaten Greaseball - and he had not lost his partner to him. He turned his head and caught sight of Dinah watching him. He felt an odd rush of warmth toward her.

He pulled away from his trucks, motioning for them to leave. They obeyed with obvious reluctance - Volta shot a dirty glance over her shoulder - and Electra waited until they disappeared into a tunnel before he approached his race partner.

She ducked her head as he neared, fingering the lace on her gloves. "Congratulations," she mumbled.

"You didn't go with Greaseball," he said slowly.

She shrugged, uncomfortable. "Guess not."

Electra watched her in amazement. His freezer had been both his race partner and his lover for most of his short life, but she had still left his side to fondle Greaseball. Pearl had been exposed to his magnetism, and yet the observation car had dumped him to race with Greaseball. Why then would the diesel's own coach stay beside the electric in the heat of a race?

Suddenly, Dinah's brown eyes flicked upward, and he followed her gaze. He spotted Greaseball's retreating figure among the upper levels, followed closely by his gang of diesel friends. Within moments, they headed off into the hills. He turned back and saw relief on the coach's face. "He's not hurt," she sighed, laying a hand over her mechanical heart.

Electra did not know why that annoyed him to the level that it did. "Will you still race with me tomorrow in the re-run?" he asked in an effort to change the subject, taking her free hand.

Her brown eyes shot to him in surprise, and he decided he liked their color. "O-Of course, I will," she said, a small smile appearing on her pretty face.

A very pretty face.

On an impulse which he could not explain, Electra reached up and stroked her soft cheek - and he was pleased to see the synthetic skin glow pink. He moved a little closer to her, enough to make the pink turn to a light red. "Thank you, Dinah," he said softly, squeezing her hand.

She said nothing but leaned into his touch. He decided he liked the feel.

She really did have nice features, he thought as he scanned her face. She was not a stern beauty like Volta or a glamorous luxury carriage like Pearl, but she had round cheeks and a soft jawline gently framed by her curls; even if her blonde tresses did not quite match her skin tone, it was not so distracting anymore either.

"Were you ever a brunette?" he suddenly asked.

Her eyes widened a little. "Well, yes," she admitted. "I came out of the factory that way - but Greaseball prefers blondes."

She probably looked cute with dark hair. He gave her a grin which he reserved for his favorite cars. "His loss."

She averted her gaze, but her sweet smile widened, and he noticed she had dimples. He allowed his thumb to stroke her cheek, not caring how long they were standing there.

But it's not real, a small voice said within him. She would have never let him touch her if he had not impulsively used his magnetism to keep her near him. Within an hour she would be back in her diesel's arms - but was it all from the magnetism? Was any of this her natural self? There was no thought of Greaseball behind her eyes now, but was there a chance, no matter how small, that she could still look at Electra this way in the morning when he came to collect her for the race?

Of course not.

He stepped back. "I can take you home if you want. We both need to be well rested for tomorrow."

She nodded and hitched behind him, and he followed her directions to the coach yard.

At the door of her shed, he risked giving her another kiss - just on the cheek - and before she closed her door, she gave him one last dreamy smile.

If only she would smile tomorrow.

THE END

A/N:

That moment when you realized that Electra's mangled-up love life is what drives the plot of this musical. XD

"...he had a sudden taste of champagne and passion fruit." In the Australia/Japan tour Dinah introduces herself with: "My name is Dinah. I'm the dining car. I'll pamper you with passion fruit, champagne and caviar."