Starlight Express (c) Andrew Lloyd Webber and RUG
"M-Miss Volta!" Nintendo stammered, an embarrassed blush crossing his painted features.
With a snap Volta realized her hand had been running along the line of rivets on the Shinkansen's striped arm. Though Shinkansen livery was white and blue, Nintendo had decked himself in yellow and gray paint especially for tonight's race, broken by the white chest piece with a large red circle which represented the flag of Japan. Volta thought he looked ridiculous, but she forced a coquettish smile, playing it cool. "Such strong muscles," she purred, making her electronic voice as sultry as possible as she squeezed his upper arm. "No wonder you Shinkansen have broken so-o-o many records." She batted her long eyelashes at him.
Nintendo cleared his throat and took a step away, nearly disconnecting himself from the electric wires above. "You Americans are so different," the power car mumbled before rolling toward the bumper at the end of the track and hastily mopping his face. Perspiration from their elimination heat still clung to his white-painted skin. The Shinkansen was truly one of the fastest trains in the world, and he had proven it by gaining the second place in their trial, which guaranteed them a spot in the final race.
The downside, unfortunately, was that the great Nintendo, champion of Japan, had placed behind an old steam engine pulling a heavy hopper.
THAT will show Electra, the freezer truck thought bitterly, casting a disgusted look at her partner as he lowered himself on the bumper. By all rights she should not have been racing with some foreign stranger on the night of the biggest race in the railroading world. Her place was beside her superstar racer, the electric engine of the future, but it had become necessary for her to prove her point, and so here she was with this brightly colored fool while her locomotive was on some other track with his latest giggling airhead.
Volta gave herself a rueful glance, wishing she had thought to grab her polish before she had impulsively rolled after Nintendo. The sheen on her metal panels and black compartments had already dulled some from the dust kicked up during the second heat. Not exactly impressive. At least her hair still looked fabulous - she had crafted the fan-like ponytail herself after all. Let's see your little coach do something half as useful, Electra, she thought.
It was hard to believe that once upon a time she had been under a hot Arizonan sun in more yellow paint than on Nintendo's gear - a truck with a number and a normal voice, riding behind a diesel freight engine among a fleet of freezers. The only souvenirs remaining of her old life were the blue Santa Fe crosses on her belt and knees and the carefully placed decal of "Ship and Travel Santa Fe" over her black paint. Now, she was Volta, Electra's freezer truck, hairdresser, and a component of his advanced computer. On top of all that, she was his race partner. Usually.
She whirled on her wheels, turning on a warm smile for the Shinkansen. "Nintendo-san," she began with a purr, skating toward him, but Nintendo suddenly looked up, furrowing his dark brow.
"What is that rattling sound?" he asked.
"Haven't a clue," Volta replied, doing her best to hide her twitch. He's not a freight vehicle, she reminded herself. He did not recognize the tell-tale signs. She quickly sat down beside him on the bumper. "You know, it's a shame for such an eligible train to hang around on some back track. You should see the sights while you're here," she said. Preferably where Electra could see the two of them together.
Nintendo averted his eyes. "I'm very boring off the race course, Miss Volta," he said apologetically.
"We can fix that," she said with a laugh. "After all, how often are you in a new country?" She laid a hand on his arm - and had to resist the urge to run her fingers along his panels, searching for prime metal.
Nintendo gave a grimace, so she quickly added, "Could you at least give me a ride over to where the food cars are? I am positively thirsty."
He hesitated, but then he gave a nod. "Well, alright. Since you're thirsty." He rose.
Volta got to her wheels as well - and she heard the contents inside her compartment jostle. She stiffened.
"There's that sound again," Nintendo frowned, quickly checking his joints. "Is something loose?"
Fortunately, she was spared from explanation as she caught sight of a figure in the distance. Nintendo paused as well and squinted as the lone truck rolled under a lamp post. "Isn't that your friend's repair truck?"
Volta nodded, keeping her white face free of emotion, but she watched the approaching woman carefully.
The crane car barely glanced at the Shinkansen as she rolled up. She was just a little shorter than Volta, but the red latticed boom and jib of her helmet came above the freezer's tall ponytail. She was decked in red, blue, and silver, colors which she had chosen in an effort to match their electric engine, yet her red chest proudly displayed the white decal of the Santa Fe cross.
"May I speak with you?" she asked the freezer in greeting. Like Volta she spoke with an electronic voice.
"Depends," Volta replied, not moving an inch. Wrench and she had been friends back on the Santa Fe; it had been the repair truck who had recommended Volta to Electra when he had needed a hairdresser, but Volta had no desire to see how far Wrench's loyalty stretched in light of everything which had happened already that night.
However, Wrench uttered a snort. "If he wanted to dismantle you, do you think I would be so obvious?" she asked in a low voice, shooting Nintendo a wary glance.
"Fair enough," she replied, and she quickly excused herself from her partner before following Wrench a short distance down the track - but only as far as the bridge.
"Nice digs," Wrench commented, glancing up at the overhanging wires above their heads with feigned interest. "How does his pantograph work on American catenary? Not as good as Electra's, right?"
Volta did not reply. She leaned against the truss guard rail, easily making herself look unconcerned as she gripped the cool metal - and on instinct her fingers ran along the bar, soon discovering the bolts that held the fixture together. If she could just loosen them...
"It's getting stronger, isn't it?" Wrench observed.
Volta stiffened and folded her arms, tucking her hands out of sight. "So, is this an ambush?" she asked coolly.
"A parley," Wrench replied.
Volta gave a dry snort. "Isn't that what he sends Purse for?"
"Not from Electra, you twit," the repair truck said, giving her a look. "To give to Electra. It's time to apologize, Vee."
Volta looked away. "He started it."
"He's Electra. It's what he does."
Volta clenched her fists.
At her silence Wrench shook her head. "It's not like he did anything you're not used to," she pointed out. "You knew before it all started that he likes coaches."
"And freight trucks and work trucks, and that one handcar," Volta drawled.
Wrench rolled her eyes. "He never promised your partnership would be exclusive."
Volta met her gaze. "Tonight it was supposed to be."
Just one night, she had asked him. Just one night where it was just her and him. He had agreed - had sworn on his collection of fabulous wigs that race night was their night - and she had been able to console herself with that promise whenever she would smell an unfamiliar perfume on him after he would come home in the middle of the night.
Then something had shifted one evening, just the week before, when Electra had heard a rattling inside her freezer compartment and had discovered the growing collection of metal - and Wrench had had to explain to him what that meant for freight vehicles. Electra had said little to Volta about it, showing neither approval or disapproval - so, it had come as a complete shock when, on the night of their race, he had made his grand entrance, declaring himself the new champion - and had then used his magnetism to draw some bimbo of an observation car toward him and had made a spectacle of showering her with his attention.
...So, when Greaseball, the reigning champion and diesel locomotive, had shown up mere moments later to steal the electric engine's thunder and his audience, it had been only too perfect for Volta to roll up to him and fawn over him like he was the only man in the world.
"It's not my fault Electra can't take what he dishes out," Volta said defiantly, shaking off the memory.
Wrench gave her a half-lidded look. "So, your grand revenge was to first humiliate him by flirting with Greaseball and then pairing up with a Japanese train? How cunning!"
"You flirted with Greaseball," Volta accused. The repair truck had run right ahead of her to get close to the diesel champion as he had flexed his rippling muscles for all the swooning women.
"I'm not Electra's coach," Wrench shot back, folding her silver arms. "He doesn't give a flying farad who I date." She exhaled an exasperated breath. "Look, if it helps - after you left with Nintendo, he told Purse to go get that Pearl kid to race with him."
"So I noticed."
"But," Wrench continued, ignoring her sarcasm, "he told Purse that if Pearl would not race with him, then Purse was fired."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
Wrench shook her head, incredulous. "Are you hearing what I'm saying, Vee?" she demanded. "He was willing to fire Purse - the man who handles his bank accounts - but he hasn't said a word about getting rid of you. He still wants you on his train. Even with your..." and here she glanced at the freezer's slim frame, "...growing collection."
Volta covered her abdomen. "How touching."
"So, will you go back to him?" Wrench pressed.
Volta pretended to inspect her manicured fingers. "I'll think about it."
Wrench gave her a cold look. "Then, as your mechanic, let me give you some facts," she said tightly. "Now, if I left Electra, I could find work anywhere. But if you left Electra, where would you go? Back home to the Santa Fe? Of course not. They got rid of their Reefer Dispatch five years ago. Everything is being done by flat cars carrying trailers. Maybe some other line? Hard to say. Most refrigerator services are going to those little semi-trucks on the highways. You're gonna need money very soon, and a woman in your condition needs to think, Vee." She pointed to the doors of the freezer's compartments. "Rattle, rattle."
Volta touched her abdomen again without meaning to. She could feel the pieces of scrap metal inside her, wrapped carefully in cloth to keep them from being scratched: her unwanted, but still growing, collection of any loose bolt or screw her hands could pry loose, compelled by a manufacturing impulse that only Electra could have awoken inside her. Until the cycle was over, the small pile would only grow bigger.
She drew in a deep breath. "What do I have to do?"
A wry smirk split the truck's painted face. "I'll make it sound like it was your idea, but suppose Electra were to 'make' you uncouple from the Shinkansen during the race? The Shinkansen would be disqualified for having no partner, and you would've helped Electra beat one of his opponents." She gave a shrug. "At least he'll start talking to you again."
Volta glanced down the track where she could see her race partner in the light of the lamppost. He seemed to be looking at what little bit of stars were visible. Nintendo was a nice man, but this was bigger than the both of them. She jerked a nod. "Fine."
She told Nintendo that she had business to tend to with her co-workers, but she would meet him at the starting line. The Shinkansen gave her a polite bow in farewell; he did not suspect a thing.
Wrench went ahead. Volta waited beneath a station light for what felt like an eternity before she saw the returning form of her friend. Relief was on the repair truck's white face, and Volta let out the breath she had been holding.
She followed the repair truck down the line where she spotted the other components: Purse the money truck, Krupp the armaments truck, and Joule the tank car (though she preferred to be called a dynamite truck due to the nitroglycerin she carried). They crowded together against the guard rail, keeping a respectful distance from the far end of the track where a glistening engine stood.
Handsome did not begin to describe Electra; he was gorgeous, and, of course, he knew it. Red and blue paint decorated deep-brown synthetic skin in expert strokes that drew attention to stunning electric blue eyes, complemented by a tasteful blue Mohawk that contained his pantograph - Volta's own design - and all coming together to show off the shimmering, splendid red and blue metal of his frame. He was the first of his kind: the engine of the future.
...And right next to him was Pearl: the shiny, sparkly, giggly little pimple of an observation car that would be all too easy to pop. Pink hair, pink lips, pink streaks down her tawny-brown cheeks. Dressed in gold and pearl-white paint. Just a little girl thinking she was a woman. And Electra looked at her with a hungry expression as he leaned down to whisper something in her ear, causing her to giggle yet again.
As Volta approached, Electra turned his magnificent head to give her one lingering glance.
Then a triumphant smirk crossed his blue lips, and Volta swallowed back the bile as his red hands slipped around Pearl's slim waist, pulling her closer.
However, she did not even rejoice when the gold coach left Electra for Greaseball - or when her engine was humiliated in front of a yard full of rolling stock who witnessed it.
Electra had only been there to please Pearl. He had been pulling the coach and his components down the track to get to the race course early when the pink-haired observation car had heard the sounds of three boxcars emceeing an impromptu party on the sidings, and she had begged him to make a quick detour because she had spotted her carriage friends among the celebrating rolling stock - coaches who were being pulled by Nintendo of all trains, Volta had noticed. The old steamer who had beaten Nintendo was even there, though Wrench had mentioned that he had had problems with his boiler, and some rusted engine would race in the final for him.
Volta had stood with the other components and had kept her icy silence behind a feigned smile while Electra and Pearl danced together to the boxcars' rap music - but then the diesel had claimed that any car in the yard would be proud to go into the race with him. To prove it, he had stretched his million-dollar smile and turned to Pearl, despite the wails of his dining car.
"You want to boil with the oil, or lose with fuse?" Greaseball had asked the observation car.
The insipid coach had disconnected from Electra without a backwards glance. "Pearl-lease, can I go with you?" the pink-haired pimple had simpered at the muscular engine, laying a pearly white glove on his well-toned arm. "I hear you knockin' - it's shockin'!"
Now, the new couple was speeding down the track together, and a few diesel engines were still snickering over Greaseball's victory - and Electra's shame.
Volta watched her engine. Electra had not said a word as Pearl rolled away from him, and he continued to stare blankly at her ever retreating back - and instinctively, Volta moved closer to him, daring to touch his arm. He did not respond.
The other trucks swarmed around him. "BSOD," Wrench cursed, giving him a little shake. "He can't crash his computer here! It's almost race time."
"Don't fall. Don't fall," Purse muttered under his breath, holding the engine's arm steady while Krupp grabbed the other elbow.
"Easy, easy," Joule soothed, giving his digital chest piece a gentle rub.
"We gotta snap him out of it," Wrench hissed. "Otherwise, we'll have to reboot him in front of everyone. He's too heavy to move when he's like this."
The other trucks began to poke and prod, trying to trigger a reaction. Wedged between Wrench and Krupp, Volta had a sudden idea. She nestled closer to her engine, gripping his shoulder compartment for support, and raised herself up on her front wheels. She brought her lips close to his face and blew a soft, icy breath on his ear - just the way he liked it.
The result was instantaneous. Electra's entire body jolted, and in one motion he turned to her. His blue eyes widened with interest as his arm wrapped around her slim waist. His free hand touched her face as he leaned down -
- And the humiliating metal inside her jostled as he pulled her near him.
Electra stiffened, and she saw a flicker of remembrance in his eyes. In that instant the hungry affection vanished, and a stony anger took its place. He stepped away from her, dusting himself off as if he had just touched garbage, and waved the rest to fall in behind him, keeping his glowering gaze fixed ahead. Volta took her place behind Purse, and Electra set off down the track.
"The race will start soon," Krupp pointed out after they disconnected from him. "Who will you take?"
Electra did not answer right away. His painted brow wrinkled in thought as he began to pace the track. "It would have to be someone experienced."
"I'll race with you, darling," Joule volunteered with a purr, rolling up to him. "You can count on me."
Electra shot her a withering glance. "And someone I can actually trust," he continued with a sneer. "Preferably someone who doesn't like diesel engines."
Volta stayed silent, watching him. He did not look at her, but she knew that barb was aimed at her just as much as at Joule.
Krupp stepped forward. "I can race with you if need be. I will leave your guns with Purse."
However, Electra shook his head. "No. Dinah. I want Dinah."
Joule scoffed. "But why?" she asked. "She's just Greaseball's leftovers."
"Because it will infuriate him," Electra replied with a tight smirk. "It will drive him mad to see his coach on another engine's couplers - even if he's already with a different woman." For the briefest moment his eyes shot to Volta - but then he turned to Purse. "Get me Dinah."
Purse gave a respectful bow and skated off.
It was then that the caboose called.
Purse did not wait long to voice his thoughts. "Should you trust that caboose, sir?" he asked the engine as soon as Electra stepped off to the side, keeping a sizable distance between him and the dining car who stood awkwardly down the track, ignored by his components.
Electra snorted, turning to his money truck. "The truck promised to wipe out Greaseball - at least someone is on my side," he said nastily.
Purse shook his head. "What if Red Caboose has other plans? Or what if he accuses you of conspiring to help him if he gets caught?"
"How could he prove it?" Electra countered. "I have all of you for witnesses, don't I?"
The shorter man bit his painted lip. "I suppose," he said reluctantly. He glanced over his shoulder at the blue dining car. "And..." He paused.
Electra narrowed his eyes. "Do you have something to say?" he demanded. "Come! Speak freely! I won't fire you. This time." He folded his arms. "Though I ought to have done so since you're so fond of that diesel."
The money truck looked insulted. "I told you. I was only examining the competition earlier, sir. My family - " However, he seemed to catch himself then and cleared his throat, looking down at his wheels.
"What do you have to say then, Purse?" the engine drawled.
The money truck hesitated. "Dinah is experienced," he said slowly, "but she's never raced with you before. You've trained too long and hard to lose because of her, sir. Take the one that knows you better. Who wants you." He drew in a deep breath, flinching. "That's all I have to say."
Electra gave a bitter laugh. "Sure, she wants me," he sneered. "So much that she sped to two different racers the second I turned my back."
"Well," Purse said uncertainly, "she is... collecting, sir. My sister went through mood swings when she collected. Not that it excuses Volta's behavior," he added quickly at Electra's glare, "but I know if she hadn't been... triggered into this state, she would've never thought to leave your side."
"Well, we'll never know, will we?" Electra retorted, turning away.
He knew Purse was only trying to help, and the money truck had a point: Volta had been his partner for a good chunk of his short life. He did not even care that she was a freight vehicle or that she needed diesel to power her cooling fans. She had a natural flare and grace despite her simple upbringing, and though calm and collected, she could become ruthless when any opponent dared to attack her engine. She looked good next to him, and she made him look good with the spectacular hairstyles and paint schemes she designed for him. The other electric engines had naturally questioned him for preferring an oil-burning truck when he, as the engine of the future, had been crafted to represent them on the diesel-dominated railroads. They had even petitioned for him to get rid of her; he had responded by making her a component, installing pieces of his own computer which could not be removed easily. He had been determined that no one would tell him who he could take as a partner - or a lover.
Without meaning to, he glanced at her. She stood among the other three trucks, silently observing their conversation - and even as a computerized component, she was beautiful. When he had met her, she had been a natural beauty who chose to wear little make-up, except for what showed off her beautician skills. However, she had swapped that for his style and preference, electing to paint her face white with blue streaks to match the other components. She had had a life before him, yet she had taken the upgrades and had committed herself to his train, choosing him over all others. Even knowing that she would eventually have to share him with other cars.
As he watched her, he saw her hands fiddle with the rivets on her own arms - she was probably not even aware she was doing it. The sight made him tense. Not for the first time, his thoughts flicked to the collection of odd pieces of metal inside his freezer - and his chest tightened as he imagined the rubbish sitting within her cooler compartment like a parasite. He had wanted her to leave that pile of junk behind - it was not like either of them planned to put it to use - but Wrench had explained it would have only made her more frenzied to be parted from it before her collecting period ended. A joke played on them by the manufacturers.
Yet even so, Volta had that collection because of him - and had a piece of his computer inside her head - and she had promised to disqualify the Shinkansen for him, even knowing he would be with another carriage for the rest of the night.
...But he still could not shake one image from his mind: his freezer on Greaseball's arm, staring at the diesel with longing in her brown eyes that was not entirely feigned while Electra could only watch impotently on the side, the need to preserve his dignity the only thing that kept him from snatching her away.
Purse was speaking again. "Sir, if you would just reconsider - "
"No," he said through his teeth. "A lesson needs to be learned here."
Purse uttered a defeated sigh. "So be it, sir."
Volta was surprised to see a smoking car and a buffet car waving good-bye to Nintendo as she neared the starting line. She recognized them as the two carriages who had shown up with Dinah to meet Electra. They had also been race partners for two of the National champions in the second heat - both of whom had not made it to the final.
Nintendo gave Volta a polite, if distracted, bow as she rolled up to him.
"I thought you said you were boring," Volta said tightly, not bothering with pleasantries.
He gave an embarrassed shrug. "They wanted to talk. So we talked."
"Are you sure that's not all they wanted?" Volta retorted. She knew she was being testy due to the collecting period messing with her brain mechanisms, but she also had no desire to be one-upped by yet another carriage that night. Besides, she needed to be with Nintendo now if she was going to stay in Electra's favor. "You're a very handsome man, Nintendo-san."
Nintendo looked like this was the last conversation he wanted to have with anyone. "Let us get going, yes?" He cleared his throat, turning to offer his holdings as he strapped on his large yellow helmet.
"Sure you don't want to race with those coach girls instead?" she asked dryly.
He looked at her in surprise through the gaps in his pilot face guard. "No, I said I would race with you, and I keep my word," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Come, please."
Aren't you the rare man? Volta thought, but she complied. It was really a shame that she had to disqualify him.
Nintendo kicked off, heading toward the tunnel to the uphill course. Volta could barely hear the rattle inside her now, thanks to the extra pieces of cloth Wrench had found for her.
Greaseball was ahead of them in the place of honor with Pearl; he had his muscular arm wrapped around the little wart, laughing and flirting, but Volta saw that he kept shooting subtle dark looks at the electric engine behind him who stood with the blue carriage - just as Electra had predicted. Electra barely paid attention to either carriage but seemed focused on inspecting his well-polished chassis.
As Nintendo rolled to a stop behind Dinah, Electra's eyes flicked to Volta - and he gave her the barest hint of a nod. Volta returned it before she slipped on her face guard.
The steam train waited behind everyone with the caboose - who smiled sweetly and was the only one besides Pearl who did not complain about the smell of smoke coming from the rusted locomotive.
Nintendo charged toward a curve between the rock faces. Volta heard him swear something in Japanese as he strained to catch up to the rusted steamer who streaked ahead of the group - but maybe that was because Volta had applied her brakes, ever so slightly. If the caboose could do it, why not she?
She was completely calm now even though her mechanical heart pounded hard with artificial adrenaline. She only had to wait just a little longer, and life would go back to normal once she stepped off the race track. Electra would win. Dinah would leave his side, and he would welcome her back - as long as her part looked convincing.
The wind rushed past her, thundering in her ears. Through the hole of her face guard, Volta could see a metal frog in the track that split the rails like a fork. The rusted steamer followed it to the left, heading up the hill. Greaseball was just behind him.
Then Volta heard the sound of electric sparks and the familiar wheels behind her, drawing close.
She did not have to wait long.
Within moments she felt a yank on her couplers - just hard enough to look convincing. Volta gave an exaggerated lurch, releasing Nintendo. The Shinkansen jolted at her sudden loss. He let out a yelp as he plowed forward, unable to brake. He stumbled over the rail frog and zoomed down the wrong track.
Volta let out a convincing shriek, taking advantage of the lingering momentum, and easily stepped over the frog and followed him for a ways down the incline. She saw Nintendo zip over a rock, and his great speed sent him flipping head-over-heels into a ravine.
Volta quickly applied her brakes.
...And tried again.
And again.
She could not stop.
Panic shot through her. Her arms flung out for the looming rock fixtures, but her nails scratched in vain for a hold. She let out another shriek - this one tinged with real terror - and within moments she zoomed into the ravine.
"Pilot, be careful with that Japanese train," a voice said in the darkness.
"Easy, Chainlink, easy," another said.
"Ma'am, can you hear me?" a woman asked, and Volta felt a hand remove her face guard.
Why did her head ache so much?
The voices continued to speak, and bit by bit Volta became aware that she was on her back, and something was shining on her closed eyes. The hand checked for vital signs on her neck.
She opened her eyes - and had to squint.
"Smuts, turn your light off," one of the male voices scolded. The beams switched off, and Volta could now see two repair trucks and a switch engine crouched around her. The light had come from the switcher's helmet.
The female truck - a blue bespectacled inspection car with short red hair - waved a hand in front of Volta's face, shining a small flashlight into the freezer's eyes. "Focus on my fingers," she instructed. Volta obeyed, and in moments the truck gave a satisfied nod. "Looks like she's just stunned," she told her colleagues before she turned back to the freezer. "Ma'am, can you sit up?"
Volta shifted her weight to roll onto one elbow - it hurt her side to move - and both trucks grabbed her arms, helping her into a sitting position.
Something tumbled inside her, and she heard the clanking of loose metal pieces.
Volta's hands flew to her doors, panic flooding her. "Are they okay?!" she shrieked, her electronic voice breaking as she struggled with the latch. "They can't get dented! They just can't!"
Both repair trucks grabbed her shoulders. "Calm down, calm down," the male truck soothed as Volta struggled.
"Ma'am, are you collecting?" the inspection car asked.
All at once sense returned to Volta. She went still and looked down at her scuffed legs. She cringed, mentally kicking herself for her outburst. It was only lifeless metal. Nothing important.
"Are you collecting?" the woman repeated.
Volta hesitated - and jerked her head, thinning her lips.
She heard the switcher make a strangled sound.
"We'll just take you to the repair shop for observation," the woman said in a kind voice. "We can replace any bits of your collection that's been damaged - you'll get the best pick."
Volta did not meet any of their eyes as both trucks helped her to her feet. The woman guided her onto the switch engine's couplers and hitched up behind her, holding her in place as the switcher started off at slow pace toward the yard's shop.
Behind her Volta heard the male repair truck utter a soft swear. "What's a collecting woman doing in a race?" he muttered under his breath.
The best pick turned out to be a small box filled with spare wheels and rivets. The orderlies left her alone with it as they went to check on the British train down the hall, and by the time a repair truck stuck her head in to check on Volta, a good chunk of the spare parts had been tucked safely inside her insulated cooler.
"I'm Emma," the M.O.W. truck greeted as she pushed back the curtain. She had brown hair and yellow paint. "How are we feeling?"
Volta turned from the sink she had used to fix her dusty appearance. "Who won?" she asked.
"No one," Emma replied, seeming surprised at the freezer's electronic voice. "There was a crash, and Control scheduled a rerun."
Volta looked at her in alarm. "A crash?"
Emma rolled her gray eyes, looking exasperated. "It was Rusty - he's a switch engine that works here in the yard," she explained. "Not the brightest bulb to be racing. But I heard he wasn't the only one who crashed tonight." She gave Volta a reproachful look.
Volta shrugged, keeping her face emotionless as she sat down on the nearby chair. "It happens."
The repair truck shook her head. "Wasn't a good idea to be out while you're collecting. A truck's body changes when their collecting instincts are triggered. The mood swings can really impair your judgment." The M.O.W rolled her eyes again. "Not the best features to put in your trucks," she added dryly. "I get that the railroads had wanted us to build more rolling stock for them to meet demands for labor, but talk about a design flaw!"
Volta did not say a word.
The repair truck sat down opposite her. "When's the big day?" she asked in a cheery voice. "Have you and your partner decided when you're going to start building?"
Volta looked at her hands.
"Do you want to build a boy or a girl?" Emma continued. "Are you going with a truck? Or is your partner an engine? Engine fathers always want the first child to be a locomotive just like them." She chuckled. "Truck fathers are the same. When I built my kids, my husband wanted a fleet of all boys, but I had to argue that we needed girls in the house too. Now, they're Daddy's little princesses."
"We're not building," Volta said quietly.
Emma's upbeat smile remained in place. "Oh, that's alright. Lots of trucks just ride out the collecting period and then store the metal in a safe place until they're ready to have kids. It's just annoying when you're on the cycle, and you're trying to unscrew every bolt you see."
Volta felt her throat tighten. "He doesn't want them."
The brunette truck gave a shrug. "A lot of men are jittery about becoming fathers at first," Emma assured her. "But once you turn your child on, and Daddy sees them open their eyes, it's instant love."
Volta gave a bitter laugh. "You don't know him like I do."
Emma tilted her head, studying her. "Do you want a child?"
Volta looked away. "I don't know. Maybe with him - but it doesn't matter," she said tightly. "A child would complicate things."
Emma gave her a sympathetic look. "Things change," she said. "Who knows what the future holds?"
The future...
She had heard that phrase so often in the past few years. Electra was the engine of the future. He was built to change the future for all electric engines, who had been pushed to the side to make room for the diesel engines on the American rails. The future was Electra. Soon the whole country would be populated with engines like him, once he won the race.
Yet somehow in the past four years Volta had never really imagined the future for herself. She had left the Santa Fe because Electra could pay her far better than her private hairdresser business had. She had become his race partner because he had preferred her to that sleeping car the electrics had wanted him to pull. She had allowed a piece of his computer to be installed inside her because she could not bear to be apart from him. Yet she had never really allowed herself to think about what would happen after race night and what kind of life she would have with him once he had achieved his dream. She had his computer, but he did not want to get married or raise a family. What was left after he won?
Emma shifted, drawing Volta out of her thoughts. "Hey, if you ever want to talk - " but she was interrupted by someone clearing their electronic throat.
Volta looked up to see Wrench standing beside the open curtain. "I'm her primary mechanic," the crane car said in a monotone. "I'll take it from here."
The M.O.W. truck seemed surprised to hear the electronic voice coming from such an outlandish truck, but she gave a reluctant nod. "I'll have the orderlies bring over discharge papers then, and you can take her home." Emma gave Volta one last empathetic glance before she rolled out.
Wrench double-checked Volta's joints before they set off down the track. The freezer still felt stiff, but Wrench said she would be able to walk it off.
"All things considered, it's not the worst thing to have happened to you," the repair truck pointed out. "Remember when we went to New Mexico?"
"I usually try to forget that weekend," Volta replied flatly as she hitched on behind her, leaning on the short truck's shoulders for support.
"Crybaby," Wrench returned before she kicked off.
It was not long before they reached the closed-off track. Volta saw the other components look up as Wrench pulled her closer, and they started toward her - and Volta caught sight of the tall engine behind them.
...And the blonde dining car beside him. "Oh, my Pullman! Is she okay?" Dinah cried, stepping toward the freezer, but Wrench waved for the four cars to back up.
"She'll live," the crane car replied briskly, silencing them all, and motioned for them to part so that she could head to the bumper at the end of the track. Wrench pointed for Volta to sit, but the freezer straightened her shoulders and sidestepped around her, rolling stiffly to the guardrail that overlooked the scenic ravine. She would not look weak in front of her replacement.
She clutched the rail, staring over the dark treetops at the hills beyond - and she heard the sound of heavy wheels behind her. The smell of cologne reached her - the one she had given him for his birthday - but she did not turn her head. He came to a stop just behind her. She sensed him lean down, and his breath warmed her ear. "Are you okay?"
She gave a small nod, keeping her eyes fixed on the tree line. She did not trust herself to speak - but a small shiver ran through her as his hand touched her side. Right where it belonged. Her heartbeat increased, setting her cooling fans whirling. For a long moment she did not dare breathe, not wishing to break the spell - but finally she risked turning her head and met his blue eyes.
He really was beautiful, she thought as she scanned his well-crafted face, which now contained no trace of fury - just concern for her. If she had been braver, she might have raised herself up to give his blue mouth a kiss.
He remained silent, watching her. His hand shifted against her metal, but he did not remove it. "And... your collection?" he asked quietly.
It took a moment to find her voice. "Unharmed."
He nodded. His face was straight, cool as ever - and yet he could not quite conceal the strange look she saw flicker behind his stunning eyes. For a moment he looked like he wanted to say something - but then he drew back and turned away, straightening his shoulders. "See what happens when you race with other engines?" he said coldly.
Her heart sank.
Without another word Electra kicked off and headed back down the track, right past the dining car - who shot him a dirty glare.
Volta hung at the back of the train behind Wrench as Electra pulled the consist toward the downhill course. He coasted down an incline, using a wide loop to stop. Dinah quickly unhitched and stepped off to the side while the trucks swarmed around him.
"Just keep your eyes ahead, but your ears open," Wrench instructed him, touching his arm to help the younger engine stay psyched. "He won't try to do much damage with Dinah behind you, but he can still find a way to slow you down."
"Diesel is finished," Purse said on his other side. "This is the year of electricity. This is the future."
"Knock 'im dead, Electra," Joule purred.
"Literally if you have to," Krupp said.
Volta did not dare touch him, but she still forced a smile for her engine, swallowing back her bitterness as he broke away from them to collect Dinah. Soon enough it would all be over. Electra would be the victor. Electricity would beat diesel. What would be would be.
Suddenly, she felt Wrench nudge her. She glanced at the repair truck, and Wrench jerked her head toward the race partners. Volta turned to see Electra and Dinah arguing.
"I bet you don't even have a heart!" Dinah suddenly screeched, loud enough for them to hear. "You're nothing but a racing helmet and wheels!"
"A lot of coaches would say otherwise," Electra retorted smugly.
"You self-absorbed, over-painted such-and-such!" the blonde woman shot back. "Well, if you can't be nice to me, then I'm gonna disconnect you!" With a strength that was surprising for a frilly coach, her blue arms gave him a rough shove.
Electra stumbled back, staring at the carriage in shock as she turned on her wheels and flounced off.
Instinctively, Volta stepped forward. "Electra..."
He turned his head toward her, eyes wide. For a moment he hesitated, obviously considering her - but then his jaw visibly tightened. Electra whirled around. "Red Caboose!" he screamed, gesturing frantically toward the red figure passing up on the hill. "Get over here! You gotta help me in the final session!"
The red truck immediately turned and rolled down the slope. Caboose soon hitched up behind Electra with a salute. "Don't worry, pal. I got yer back," he promised.
Control's voice erupted over the speakers then, warning racer and spectator alike that the race would be starting soon, but Volta barely comprehended the words. Numbly she hitched up behind the others, but her mind followed after the electric engine and his replacement partner - an old wooden caboose. A caboose who had caused his last partner to crash. That was who Electra had taken into the championship. Instead of her.
Something shifted inside her. She gritted her teeth.
Even when it mattered most, his wounded pride meant more to him than her.
The first thing Electra noticed as he regained consciousness was that every inch of him was in pain.
The second thing he noticed was that Caboose and Greaseball laid next to him, looking every bit as busted up as he felt. They were all on their backs. Above them was a stretching rock face of a mountain. It was strangely familiar.
Electra furrowed his brow. His cooling fans whirled inside his head as his computer strained to open up his memory files. Without being connected to the overhanging wires, he had to rely on his battery to power it.
...Yes, he had been in the race. Dinah had disconnected. So he had taken the caboose. And then he had heard Greaseball uncouple Pearl behind him. Greaseball had tried to take the caboose from him. The caboose had gone with him, but Electra had grabbed him back. The engines had fought over the truck, who kept switching sides. And then they could not brake. They zoomed straight through a tunnel to the other side. And then Electra had seen the mountain coming right at them. And then everything had gone black...
"We crashed," he said aloud.
"No duh, spark plug," Greaseball grumbled - and then groaned loudly. "Caboose, I'm gonna kill you once the ground stops moving."
"I think I'd welcome death at this point," Caboose murmured, wiggling between them to get to his dented elbows - and collapsed again.
Electra raised his head off the mound of rock and dirt and, blinking, looked down the track. Where were his components?
"We gotta get help," Greaseball coughed, rolling onto his side. "The repair trucks are probably too hung up on getting Rusty's autograph to notice us. C'mon, buddy," he urged the caboose, pulling the truck up by the shoulders. Even damaged, the locomotive was still strong, and Caboose rose with the engine's arms, lifting Electra right along with him.
Electra groaned as his dented metal made a loud protest, but he was too disoriented to hate either of them right then. Like an obedient child he got to his knees.
It was tough work, but somehow the three of them managed to coordinate their limbs enough to stand up on shaky wheels. Greaseball pointed toward the tunnel they had come through and the station lights beyond. He said something which Electra could not hear, but the caboose stepped in that direction, mimicking the diesel's movements. Electra shuffled after them, clutching the other two for support.
He twisted his head side to side as much as he could, gazing up and down the dark tracks. Where was Wrench? Why wasn't she rushing to help him?
For that matter, where was Krupp? Purse? Joule?
Volta?
Greaseball guided them through the dark tunnel and kept leading them toward the light. Electra numbly followed, focusing his mind on not collapsing in the middle of the track. His wheels squeaked, not turning well, but he could move his feet like a human, using his toe stop to push him forward. Right leg. Left leg. Right leg. Left leg. Mind the caboose's elbow. Grip Greaseball's arm. Left leg. Right leg. Left leg.
...I could have died.
The thought chilled him to the core. Electra raised his head, staring down the track with a strange kind of panic that pierced through his mental fog.
Where were the repair trucks? Where was his repair truck? Why wasn't anyone coming to help him? Where was Krupp? Where was Purse?
Where was Volta?
Why would she be here? something in his A.I. murmured back. You took the caboose, not her.
Because she adores me, he argued. She should be here.
Right leg. Left leg. The caboose was slipping. He propped him up. Right leg. Left leg.
Into the ring of station lights. He could hear murmuring around him.
"Hey, look!" a voice called.
Electra raised his head to see a group of rolling stock gathered on the rails, gaping at the three wrecked men. No one approached. He spotted his components among the rolling stock, but none of them took even a step toward him. His gaze fell upon Volta.
She stared back coldly, arms akimbo.
Electra looked down - and saw just how dented he was. Shame filled him.
Snickers erupted among the gang of diesel locomotives. Some of them pointed at Greaseball, but the former champion did not seem to notice. The three wrecked rolling stock made it just four more steps before they collapsed together, the engines' metal frames clanking against the rails. Caboose let out a miserable moan.
No one came to help them.
"Control! Control!" the childish voice exploded above his head from the many speakers. "Rusty to return immediately, or lap of honor will be cancelled! Lap of honor will be cancelled!"
"Where's Rusty gone?" a deep, older voice demanded in the distance. Electra saw a steam engine roll down the nearby hill into the middle of the group: the same locomotive who had beaten Nintendo in the second heat.
"Looking for Pearl," replied the hopper who had raced with Rusty mere moments ago.
The steamer's frown deepened. "What happened to Pearl?"
"What happened to Pearl?" the other rolling stock demanded. Electra saw two coaches, a smoker and a buffet car, look around in panic for the observation carriage.
Electra pushed himself up, struggling to regain his wheels. Caboose and Greaseball followed his example.
Suddenly, the older steamer whirled around and shot a cold glare toward Greaseball. He strode over and yanked the diesel's shoulder, righting the man. He was strong for his age - but, then again, he had beaten a record-holding Shinkansen, Electra remembered. "Well, boy?" he demanded, forcing the diesel to meet his eyes. "Wasn't she with you the last I heard?"
Greaseball gave a helpless shrug.
"You'll show us if it takes you all night!" the older steam engine barked, shoving Greaseball forward, right into Caboose - and right into Electra. The electric engine did not have the strength to resist.
Pearl was clinging to that rusted relic as the long train of engines and cars rolled toward the new champion. There was no thought of either Electra or Greaseball within those sparkling eyes now.
Good riddance, Electra thought as the rolling stock came to a halt around the victor and his pink-haired sweetheart - the same rolling stock who had mocked the corroded engine just an hour before. Fickle frontrunner fans, Electra brooded, using all his strength to keep from collapsing again.
Greaseball was not so lucky. The diesel staggered, trying to brake, but he landed on his rump. None of his gang moved to aid him.
A cry came from the side. Electra turned his head to see a familiar blue carriage charge down a hill toward the fallen engine. "Greaseball, you're hurt!" she wailed. Dinah dropped to her knees and burst into tears. Greaseball tried to console her, but Electra did not listen to what he said. His eyes drifted to Volta.
Why did she stand so far away from him?
Part of him wanted to swallow his dignity and step beside her and feel her slim form against his. It was not right that the steamer and Greaseball should be in the arms of their simpering lovers while he got the cold shoulder from his freezer. She was still his coach after all, despite her repeated betrayal.
You could've raced with her, that annoying piece of his system reminded him. She wouldn't have disconnected like the caboose did. She would've finished the diesel if he had grabbed her.
Electra made a mental note to have that part of his computer uninstalled in the near future.
He turned in time to see Dinah lean toward Greaseball for a kiss. The electric engine had to fight down the sudden pang of envy that shot through him - Greaseball had caused the crash, and now he was being rewarded. There was no justice in the world.
It was then that the old steamer rolled forward. "You don't have to go back to the Union Pacific a defeated man, son," he said. "You could be converted, you know."
Greaseball shot him a strange look. "What do you mean?"
The steamer gave the younger engine a light punch on the shoulder. "Rebuilt with a new and better form of power."
An engine conversion? Electra blinked. Maybe it was because he was still disoriented, but his mechanical brain tried to conjure up an image of diesel engines switching to boilers and fireboxes and chimneys. "You think I could be converted to steam?" he asked before he could stop himself. The idea was too strange to fathom.
The old man seemed to misinterpret his surprise. "Sure could!" he smiled, giving Electra a compassionate look. "And with steam you'd be under your own control."
"Control?" a few rolling stock muttered, pulling closer.
The old man looked around at his new audience. "Think about it," he boomed. "How much do the railroads control every bit of your lives? You diesels need oil, but you can't dig it up yourselves. You need the railroad to give it to you. And you electrics," he added, turning to Electra, "your wires make you fast, sure, but you can't leave them without becoming as weak as handcars. It's just wrong what the manufacturers have done to all the innocent souls they push out of their factories - and to the ones who don't come out of the factories."
He then gestured a weathered hand to the nearby freight cars. "When we was at war, freight trucks and repair trucks were made to collect metal for the war effort. Then peace came, but the railroads refused to buy no truck that didn't collect. Fifty years later, and trucks are still made to find metal so that they can build babies for their companies, only for their children to be put to work at other depots or sold off to the highest bidder, never to be seen again."
Electra's eyes shot to Volta. She stared at the steamer as if transfixed.
"But steam has got the power that will pull us along," the old man continued, looking at the gathered rolling stock as if they were lost children he was welcoming in for supper. "With the Starlight's help, the rails can be great again. And it'll be with steam. Because steamers don't need no oil or electricity. This steamer," he said, jabbing a thumb at his own chest, "beat a Japanese bullet train using a cold boiler with the Starlight's help, and that steamer," he added, stepping over to Rusty, who gave an embarrassed grin as the older man lifted his corroded hand in the air, "won tonight, even though Control has abandoned him to his rust. If he was a diesel engine, he would've been in the scrapyard ages ago. There's no way anybody would've given him the oil, but he don't need no oil. Just something to burn in his firebox, and he's still working on the rails."
"As a switch engine," one diesel engine mocked, but the rest of his companions shushed him, suddenly interested in the steamer's words.
Volta drew closer to the old man, a curious expression on her white face. Even with the approving, excited murmurs of the crowd, Electra was sure he heard the jangle inside her as she moved.
The components went on ahead to the hotel. Only Wrench stayed with Electra as he made his stiff way down the tracks, but she seemed more distant than normal. Electra did not comment on it. He would have been ashamed of himself too if he was in her position.
He turned his head as he heard the sound of happy voices. A train of freight trucks were gathered around the old steamer from earlier, laughing and talking.
"Hang on," Electra said to Wrench and changed tracks, prompted by an impulse he could not fully explain.
The old man and the three boxcars paused as the engine rolled up to them.
"A word, steam train?" he asked.
The steamer blinked but gave Electra a kind smile. "Of course, son," he said companionably.
Electra's mouth twitched at the familiarity, but he did not comment on it as the steamer stepped away from the trucks, who shot Electra suspicious looks.
Electra moved a little ways, staggering, and drew himself up, summoning every last shred of dignity. "I just had a question, Mister...?"
"Ramblin' McCoy," the old steamer said. "But folks 'round these parts just call me Poppa."
"I will never call you that," Electra replied - but he quickly changed his tone. "Do you really believe all that? About steam being the best."
"Kinda have to," McCoy smiled.
Electra leaned back, studying him. He had seen the steamer race; McCoy had been in the same heat as Volta and Nintendo, so of course Electra had witnessed his stunning victory - not that he had thought of it as stunning at the time, but now that he could replay the memory, it was amazing to think that an old timer pulling a heavy hopper could beat a bullet train while using a cold boiler. "If steam was the best," he said slowly, "how could diesel replace it for so long? Steam had its chance to prove its worth decades ago."
McCoy shook his head. "It was a dark time back then," he said. "The diesels coming out of the factories could get places faster. So, railroads hired them. Steamers were out of work, so many just tried to focus on putting fuel on the table. A lot took switcher jobs, like Rusty did." He heaved a sigh. "Electricity and oil might be better if the only important thing about an engine was making money for humans," McCoy continued, "but fuel ain't gonna last forever." He gestured to the catenary which Electra had just disconnected from. "Your electricity comes from burning coal, right? Coal's gonna run out someday."
"You burn coal," Electra pointed out.
McCoy rapped the side of his firebox. "Sure - and a whole lotta other things if I can't get it. All I gotta do is make my water boil, and then I can go anywhere." He gave an easy shrug. "Maybe it's not as fancy as electricity, but we have to think about the future, and the kind of world we want our children and grandchildren to live in."
Electra twitched. "How would steam work for a child?" he asked before he could stop himself. He quickly changed his tone, trying to sound disinterested. "If I were to have a child. Hypothetically."
McCoy gave him a kind look. "Your child would be a lot freer. Could go on any track he or she wanted, not just ones with wires. Just have to light a fire and - whoosh!" His old hand zoomed across the air. "They'd be under their own control. Wouldn't have to be limited by anyone."
Electra snorted. "Well, you have to admit it's a life-changing decision."
"Steam or children?"
Electra stiffened. "Steam, of course," he snapped.
McCoy shrugged again. "Well, I'll admit it ain't a decision you can just sleep on," he said, "but I've lived long enough to know that the things that are worth doing have risk."
Electra spun away. "Good luck with your little steam revolution, Mr. McCoy."
"Take care, son," McCoy called after him.
He rejoined Wrench, and he went ahead of her, though she did not couple onto him, which he was grateful for in his state.
They had not gone far when Wrench finally spoke: "You're an idiot, you know."
Electra turned his head. "Am I?"
"You cost a lot of money to build," she said, her electronic voice cool. "You could've won. You could've taken one of us with you. Even Purse would have been better than that caboose."
He picked up speed - difficult as it was. "You all went to gawk at Greaseball," he growled, biting his cheek against the pain. "Even Krupp and Purse. Why should I race with disloyal trucks?"
Wrench scoffed. "Are we supposed to be loyal to you?"
"Naturally."
"Why?" she asked.
He gritted his teeth. "That's why you have my computer, isn't it?"
"Is it?"
Electra braked to look at her. "What do I pay you for?" he demanded.
Wrench folded her arms, her expression growing sterner. "Electra, when you were just a blueprint four years ago, why did I volunteer to house a piece of your computer?" she asked. "Do you even know?"
He paused. "Because you agreed that electricity should be the dominant power in this country," he said. Didn't she praise electric lines just as much as the others?
Wrench's painted face took on a look of feigned shock. "Moi?" she returned, touching the white cross symbol on her chest. "A diesel truck from the Santa Fe with cousins and uncles and an aunt who are diesel engines? You think I'm here tonight because I want you to put them out of work?"
Electra frowned, studying her. "Then why are you here?" he asked carefully.
"Because I'm a repair truck," she replied matter-of-factly. "I fix what's broken. Many electric families were broken up when the railroads converted to diesel. I had the chance to change that, so I agreed to be part of you." She began to count on her fingers. "Purse - the man you almost fired tonight - is here because his nephews were electric engines who had been scrapped to make room for diesels. Krupp is here because his wife took away his kid and left him for another man back in Germany, and he wanted to work through his pain by investing in something bigger than himself. Joule is here because - well, she's Joule," Wrench added thoughtfully, "but she still believed in the future you represented enough to have her head drilled into."
Electra folded his arms. "What are you saying?"
Wrench held his gaze. "None of us are here because you are such a great man - because trust me, darling, you're not. We're here in spite of that. Because you represent something we believed in. And like a child having a tantrum, you threw that all away because your girlfriend did to you what you do to her every weekend."
Electra looked away.
"You're finished, you know," Wrench said quietly. There was no malice in her voice. "You're not the only prototype the electrics built. Next year they'll probably send Amber and his components, and he'll make his bid for electricity. No one will remember you."
He glanced up at the stars, gritting his teeth. "Where do I go from here?"
"Anywhere you like."
He shot her a dark look. "You're a real help."
"I do what I can," Wrench replied, stepping around him and starting again down the track. "Joule will probably want to get her piece of the computer removed now that you're done for," she said. "Purse'll probably head back to help Amber: try to get some justice for his family. Krupp might stay with you, but he'll want his piece removed as well." She swept her arm out, gesturing to their surroundings. "I might hang around here. A race track this high tech will want all the repair trucks it can get. Control might hire you," she added suddenly, "once you get fixed up. He seems impressed with you, and he has electric lines here. Or you can convert to steam with the rest. I'll even help you make the switch if you want."
"I'm touched," he said dryly as he followed her.
She sniffed a little in a way that sounded like a soft laugh. "Can't right say what Volta will do," she added. "Might stay if she has a reason to."
He scowled. "You mean the child?"
"Who said anything about the child?" she returned and picked up speed.
Electra shook his head, glaring at her. No. He would not consider it. He had only just turned four a few months ago; he had his whole life ahead of him. He did not need or want a child - or a wife for that matter. It would ruin everything he had spent his life working for.
But if you had died, what would have happened to everything you worked for?
He stopped in the middle of the track. Wrench paused, turning her head to look at him. Electra stiffly started off again, but even as he shuffled along, his computer started to analyse that new thought.
What would have happened? He tried to conjure up that image. He supposed the components would have collected his pieces and sent his body back to his manufacturers. The factory would have no doubt melted him down and recycled him and then tried to build a new and better engine. He would have just been written off as a failed prototype, an insignificant blemish on the history of railroading.
His components would have probably gone back to whatever lives they had lived before. Purse and Joule had come from a New England line. Krupp probably would have gone back to Germany. Wrench had been from the Santa Fe; Volta would not have been able to return with her, but she was smart and creative. She could have re-opened the hair salon she had operated out of her shed back before Electra had hired her as his private beautician. She would have survived. She probably would have found some other locomotive - maybe even a diesel - and collected for children with him. Probably would have forgotten Electra altogether after awhile.
He clenched his hands at that thought - even though that action infuriated him. She's just a truck, he told himself. Just a mass-produced piece of rolling stock that could be replaced with the next new bit of technology. He was under no obligation to tie himself to her.
Yet Volta had tied herself to him, that other part of his computer countered. Had been assimilated into his computer. Had taken the electronic voice and stayed on his train when the other electrics had wanted to send her away. She had sacrificed so much to be with him. Not for his riches. Not for his fame. Not for his beauty. Not for his magnetism.
Just simply because she loved him.
But I don't love her, he told himself. It was a weak, outdated emotion instilled by the manufacturers to make sure their trains got married instead of creating scandals on the rails. There was no place for monogamy among modern thinkers.
Then a memory flashed across his mind: the fury he had felt at seeing her swoon over Greaseball. How it had been hard even to breathe as he watched her fawn over him, showering the diesel with affection that ought to have belonged exclusively to her electric. Then he thought of the bitter rage that had coursed through him when she had been on Nintendo's couplers during the second heat - and the horror after the uphill final when he had learned she had been taken to the repair shop by his own hand - and the flood of relief to see her all right.
Then he began to think of other things: the way she greeted him in the morning. The vibrant look in her eyes when she sat with a sketchbook, designing those magnificent hairstyles to make him shine in his next public appearance. How she moved behind him during a race. The sudden smell of her perfume when she rolled past. The way her head fitted against his shoulder like a puzzle piece. The forbidden taste of diesel when he kissed her.
Electra drew in a breath, steeling himself. He knew what he had to do.
In his room at the old roundhouse which had been converted to a hotel, Wrench gave Electra one last inspection. When she finished, he asked to see Volta.
"You're in no condition for visitors. Wait until morning," Wrench replied briskly.
Again he asked to see Volta.
"She's already collecting for one child," Wrench said. "How many more do you need?"
He reminded her that he could fire her. She reminded him that she had his painkillers.
He asked nicely. That surprised her.
Finally, she sent Volta in.
The freezer closed the door and folded her arms, not moving an inch closer into the brick room.
He patted the corner of the bed.
Volta did not move.
He met her stony eyes. "Please."
That seemed to surprise her. Stiffly, she rolled forward and lowered herself onto the mattress but kept her distance. Electra moved closer.
"I've had a thought," he began carefully, watching her face. "One that involves you. And me."
She said nothing but continued to stare straight ahead at the door.
He reached over and took her slim hand in his. Her arm stiffened, but she did not pull away. He inched closer until their shoulders touched, and he stroked the back of her fingers. Let her see that he meant this. "You've been with me for most of my life," he said softly. "That's the longest I've ever been with anyone." He licked his well-crafted lips, which her hands had painted that morning. "Maybe," he said, ignoring the clenching of his stomach, "it would not be an entirely bad idea if something more permanent would happen between us."
She got to her wheels, yanking herself free. "Good night, Electra," she said coldly.
It ached to move, but he pushed himself to his feet, stumbling after her as she made for the door. "Volta - Vee, wait," he pleaded. "Just listen."
She whirled around. "No, you listen, engine," she snarled, her icy eyes flashing. "Whatever you're hoping to happen tonight is not going to happen. Not ever again. I'm through with you. I've already asked Wrench to remove the computer component."
He stared at her, his heart sinking. "You can't."
She barked a bitter laugh. "Just erase me from your memory like your other failed dalliances. You'll sleep much easier."
"I don't want to forget you, Volta," he said quietly. He took a deep breath. "...Or our child."
Her brown eyes flashed. "Don't bring him into this," she snapped. "Maybe I don't want to build your children anymore. Maybe I'll just wait until the collecting finishes and dump all this metal into the nearest lake. Or find a real engine to build with."
"Don't do that." How could he make himself sound sincere? "Volta, you can't leave. I... I value you. More than anyone else."
"You value me," she repeated, incredulous. "You can't even fake it and say you love me?" She took a step toward him, her fists shaking. "I left my family and moved across the country to stay with you, Electra," she cried. "Even with all the cars you flaunt in front of me, I didn't leave. I had hardware put inside my head. I don't just love you - I adore you." Her electronic voice broke. She looked away, squeezing her eyes shut. "Why aren't I enough for you?"
He watched her as she struggled to remain in control. A few days ago he would have sneered at her outburst. Maybe even have grabbed two coaches to taunt her with - just to prove that he belonged to no one. He had long known she did not like sharing, but he had always told himself that Volta was too smart to buy into that monogamy mumbo jumbo.
Then he had seen her with Greaseball - and Nintendo - and now he could not stand the thought of losing her forever.
"Fine," he said quietly. "It'll be just you now." He took a few more steps, closing the distance between them. "No more trucks. No more coaches. Just you."
She raised her head. "Talk is cheap."
"I know." He leaned forward. "But when I want something bad enough, I'm good at doing what it takes to get it."
She allowed him to take her hand then, but she would not stay much longer. She headed for Wrench and Joule's room, leaving him alone for the night. At least he would see her in the morning.
Under Poppa McCoy and Rusty's leadership the rolling stock of the yard organized a strike to negotiate new contracts. Control held out for a while, but eventually he gave into their demands. The diesels began to convert to steam soon afterwards, and Greaseball left the Union Pacific to be closer to Dinah. Word came from overseas that several of the Nationals, including the newly repaired Nintendo, were also considering conversion. Rusty's corroded chassis was refurbished until he was hardly recognizable. The new champion was given his own train to pull, and Pearl always went with him on runs, hanging in her place of honor at the back.
By that time Volta had forgiven Electra.
He sold off his mansion back on his native electric lines and bought a holding shed large enough for his train on a secluded corner of Control's yard. The mountain air was good for children, or so he had been told.
Poppa McCoy stopped by once a week to ask how Electra's conversion to steam was going. Electra found he had an unexpected respect for the old man - anyone who could beat a bullet train with a cold boiler and organize a strike was worth listening to, and he did not mind letting the steam engine see the blueprints which Wrench had designed for his alterations.
"Based on a Swiss design," Electra explained one day, gesturing to how his pantograph would be hooked up to the new boiler which he had ordered from overseas. "Very efficient."
The wrinkled brow knitted as Poppa scanned the crane car's neat drawing. "Are you sure you want to be an electric-steamer, son?" he asked skeptically.
Electra shrugged, unconcerned. "Baby steps."
Poppa would also ask how the little unformed figure safely stored in Wrench's shop was coming along, and he would offer advice on how to train the new life to get used to his pistons - and how to be a helpful father now that Volta's collecting period had been re-triggered. "Just remember two words: 'yes, dear,'" he said sagely as he showed Electra a black-and-white photograph of Rusty's late mother.
Finally, the day came to turn on their newborn son.
"Leave him alone, Vee," Electra admonished as the freezer fussed over the lifeless child. "At this rate it'll be Christmas before we turn him on."
"Hope you can get a refund on the caterer," Wrench cracked from the side, nodding to the door which emitted the muffled murmurs of the rolling stock waiting to meet the new child. She was there to supervise the proceedings but kept a respectful distance as the expecting parents gave their son one last inspection.
The boy laid on the work table with his hands folded over the smokebox door on his chest, looking as if he were asleep. Volta had christened him Thundersnow after the rare phenomenon when ice and lightning worked together. She had taken great pains to make him look gorgeous, choosing the best paint for his frame and carefully stenciling blue lightening bolts on each side of his brown face to match the rest of his father's train, but her greatest contribution was the wig she had crafted for him: a blue Mohawk on a base of black hair with a black ponytail consisting of tiny braids made to resemble wires.
"Will he like it?" Volta murmured, fidgeting with the blue strands. "Maybe I should have gone with a different color."
"If he's anything like his mother, he'll find a way to let us know what he wants," Electra returned.
"Hopefully, he won't run away each time he wants a makeover," Wrench said.
Electra touched his freezer's side, drawing her from the work table, and Volta followed him to the switch on the wall.
Volta met his gaze. "One flip, and we're parents," she said, a nervous, but happy, smile on her flesh-colored face.
Electra glanced at the little engine on the table: an electric-steamer like his father until both locomotives would be ready to take the step for a full conversion. A year ago he would have sprinted for the hills if he had known this was in his future, but now a strange feeling came over his mechanical heart.
He turned back to Volta. Wordlessly, he laid his hand on hers - right over the ring he had placed there - and together they pulled the switch.
The child shuddered once as the electricity coursed through him, and then he drew in a deep breath.
Volta was instantly by his side. "Thundersnow?" she whispered, laying a hand on the boy's dark hair.
Thundersnow flinched at the unfamiliar touch, but he relaxed as his mother began to stroke his head. As Electra moved to the other side of the table, he could hear the water in the boy's boiler begin to bubble, and it was then that their son opened his eyes - electric blue, just like his father's.
It was the most beautiful thing Electra had ever seen.
THE END
A/N:
This was inspired by the Las Vegas production. More specifically it was inspired by the fact that one of the actresses who played Volta became pregnant and decided to keep working until she began to show. As such I tried to keep it as close as possible to the 1993 version (such as Reva Rice's pink wig, Volta's face guard, and the male components joining in "Pumping Iron"). This was also partly inspired by that one episode of Futurama when Bender has a kid.
* Plot against Nintendo - in a video from the closing night of the Vegas show, Electra tugs Volta's couplers during the Uphill Final, causing Nintendo to crash. I liked the idea of them working together on that. Technically, Volta rejoins Electra for "Laughing Stock" (before Rusty sings "Starlight Express") instead of going off with Nintendo after Heat Two. However, I felt her being with Nintendo worked better for the purposes of the plot. (And technically Caboose doesn't get to sing "Wide Smile", but I still included that bit about Volta using her brakes - because I can.)
* And Volta snapping Electra out of his BSOD mode is based on a similar occurrence from the canon - except it was from the London show. (She is his coach in the canon, you know.)