I'd like to thank everyone for their reviews, they were helpful and encouraging! Thanks for pointing out the difference between the Modernization and Beeching Cuts respectively, too! In case it doesn't come across as such in-story, the engines simply mix the two together a bit, and see the latter as an extension of the former.
Of note is the fact that this is my first attempt at using the proper geography of Sodor. I am using the map as done by Amos Wolf, so I apologize if you feel as though I am getting it mixed up or such. As the story is a mix of Railway Series and TV series, I am trying to fill in the gaps as best as I can, so please stick with me, even through my blunders in the field!
That night, things were somewhat quieter.
That is not to say, however, that the night was without incident.
At about one in the morning, BoCo's eyes snapped open. He looked around, confused as to what had caused him to rise from his slumber. Certainly there were no bad dreams as such. So logically, it must have been an outside influence.
Then he spotted it.
Penny was gone.
"Hello?" His voice echoed in the quiet night. He couldn't yet move, as his driver wasn't due for another four hours or so. He looked left and right, but there was no sign that the other diesel had even been here.
So, reluctantly, he settled down and tried to go back to sleep for the rest of the night.
...
Dawn broke slowly, with the ruby-red haze of the sun casting shadows along the ground and instilling all around it with a feeling of warmth.
Well, nearly all around it. As Thomas awoke to the sound of birds twittering and the sounds of shunting, he shivered and wished that the firelighter would hurry up. It was early, and the other engines were still fast asleep, but Thomas couldn't settle back down and wait. Not now that he was awake. He looked around, spotting Stanley and Charlie getting the trucks in order.
On a normal day, Thomas would have whistled to them. But as it was, he couldn't help feeling a little distracted. He was an early riser in the summer, he always felt as though he was wasting valuable time proving to the bigger engines that he was number one for a reason sitting in the sheds. And he couldn't help but recall the early morning conversations he had had with Sir Topham Hatt.
One in particular echoed around in his head.
"Remember, don't be impatient, Thomas. You can never be as strong or fast as Gordon, but you can be a really useful engine. Don't let the silly trucks tease you! There's a good engine."
As simple as it was, those words had stuck in Thomas's head. And he suddenly wished that the Fat Controller was here, even if it was just to give him some orders. He sighed, and looked at the other engines.
Were they as worried as he was?
...
Molly yawned, and stretched her wheels.
And then panicked, because stretching one's wheels when hanging in the middle of the air is...disconcerting, to say the last. Victor let out a shout of surprise, and then sheepishly lowered her closer to the rails. "I am so sorry, my friend! I...understand how it can feel, to not be on the rails."
"Oh...s-s-sorry Victor. Just...woke up and p-p-panicked."
"Quite all right."
"...How long do you think I'll be in here?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, for a week...at least."
"Oh." Molly looked downcast. She bit her lip, and looked around. It could be quite boring in the steamworks, on her own. Victor sensed her loneliness, and tutted sympathetically.
She had no idea that boring would be the last thing this day was going to be.
...
Middleton smiled to himself as he sat in the Fat Controller's chair, and gazed out of the window. It really was a lovely view. He took a moment to revel in the quiet and peace of the station, not yet filled to the brim with noise and smoke and bustle and all the other things that made one wish for the quiet and solemnity of the church. He cracked his fingers together.
Time to get to work.
He examined the timetable thoroughly. Number Five would be here shortly with the first passenger train of the day. Not the express, of course, that seemed primarily to be the train assigned to Number 4, and Number 3 should the former grow ill. Then, following on from that, Numbers 6, 8 and 11 would be departing the yards with a long train of trucks to varying destinations.
Middleton sank back, and pondered for a moment. There had to be a way to make things more economical around here. Aside from the obvious way, of course. But he didn't quite want to start off his trial week with that.
"HERE'S JAMES!" The loud whistle, and voice, indicated that Number 5 was here.
So much for quiet.
...
"I can't believe them! They come out all this way, waste who knows how much money to do so, and for what? A protest that's never going to be acknowledged at all!" Gordon scoffed loudly. "Luddites! The lot of them! Where's the logic in that, I ask you?"
"Who said humans were logical?" muttered Henry, darkly. But he agreed with Gordon nonetheless. It did seem especially pointless, considering that there was no real grounds for support for these Tomorrow's Children lot on the Island. They looked a right silly bunch too, contrasting with the more traditional looking inhabitants of the Island fiercely. Clad in all black, with what appeared to be leather jackets and packards with slogans like 'YOU'VE HAD YOUR TIME' and 'NO SMOKE WITHOUT FIRE' on them, they were about as subtle as James.
Edward tried to ignore the feeling of dread as he passed through his station, where many of the protesters were camping down and shouting loudly at anyone and anything that would listen. He prayed that no one would start chucking anything, he really did not like the idea of a riot breaking out right now. He felt better as he exited the area, and headed off into the calm and beautiful countryside-
"STOP!"
Edward braked, hard, as the man with the red flag jumped up and down furiously. He skidded to a stop, and apologized profusely to both passengers and coaches for the bump. "What's going on?" He asked.
"You'll have to be careful coming through here! And from now on, I'd try finding another way through here."
"But we always come through Suddery!" argued Charlie Sand. Sidney Hever nodded furiously.
"That's as maybe. But I have my orders."
Edward looked around him and started in shock. The rails had been buckled and dented along several points, and the sleepers had been ripped up. He had been here only yesterday and the junction had been it's usual self! He started along the line towards the station of Suddery, unable to keep his mind from returning to the protesters. Could it be possible that they had something to do with this?
...
"Hooligans!" hissed James.
The track ahead was blocked by a large number of protesters, waving their placards and chanting some slogan or other that James couldn't hear properly. This track lead to Kirk Ronan. The passengers were getting more than a little worried. Delay usually came about because of engine trouble, or cows straying onto the line, or Acts of God that were out of their control.
This was something new.
"Perhaps-" muttered the driver "-if we wheesh steam at them, they might back off a little bit."
"...I don't have any better plans. So let's see..." After a moment's hesitation, the fireman stoked the fire a little bit more aggressively. James crept closer and closer, not quite daring to close his eyes just yet.
But this was a mistake. Moving forward had given the protesters a sudden surge of confidence, and rushing ahead, they pelted James with a variety of different things. The 'timid' threw fruit and vegetables, or something equally as squashy, while the more bold threw bricks and stones. James hissed in rage and fear, as the objects veered dangerously close to his face.
The sudden sound of his paintwork being scratched by a stray brick caused him to snap, and with a mighty roar that was almost completely unlike him, James whislted long and loud, steam whooshing out everywhere.
Even the most confident of the rabble realized that at the moment, they were like armorless knights facing down a very angry and very red dragon. They rushed up onto the banks surrounding the track, still jeering and throwing things, but with noticeable restraint. James took his chance, and ignoring the screechs of his coaches, he hurried along the track, desperate to get back to familiar ground.
...
At Kirk Ronan, the Scottish twins watched in disbelief as James limped in, his face fixed onto a permanent scowl. The coaches were in even worse shape. The windows were smashed in, the paintwork was scratched, and there was the sound of pained whimpers and sobs coming from directly in. The signalman at the junction phoned for an ambulance, which soon arrived to treat the injured passengers.
"James!" called Douglas, concerned for the red engine who had barely said a word up until this point. "What happened?"
"What happened, Douglas, is that those lunatics decided to attack me! And because of their stupid inability to think, my passengers have been badly hurt!" James was legitimately angry for once. They could tell it was serious, not once had he mentioned his paintwork. "The hooligans had me cornered! I couldn't speed up for fear of running them over, and if I went too slowly, I got pelted!" He swore under his breath...and then stopped as a rather thinner figure appeared in front of him.
"Number Five." said Mr Middleton, his mouth pursed in disapproval. "I am surprised at you."
"ME?!" James paused, and then realized his mistake. "Sir?"
"According to the passengers, you slowed down when you saw these...hooligans, as you put it, and tried to 'wheesh' steam at them?" Middleton shook his head in reprimand. "That may have carried weight when Sir Topham was and will be in charge, but while I have power over this railway, you shall obey the direct regulations and, in future, return to the previous station as you should do!"
"But...but it was our idea!" protested the driver. The fireman nodded, but Middleton ignored him.
"Thanks to you, our passengers have been injured, and valuable North Western Railway property has been damaged! I believe a traditional punishment is in order...go to your shed, and stay there."
"But...but sir-"
"Now."
James was shocked into silence. The twins had watched all this with jaws hanging, unable to rally up much of an argument against such cold indifference! As the red engine departed with an expression like thunder on his face, they headed off to tell the others.
...
But as it turned out, the others had known already. Many reports had come in from across the Island. On the Narrow Gauge railway, Peter Sam and Sir Handel had had to deal with a few very angry young men, who were waving about crowbars and sledgehammers with great enthusiasm. It was only by luck that no one had gotten hurt.
Less lucky was the Arlesburgh line. Captain Joe had been attacked and wounded by a few of the more rowdier members of the group. Some of the older people had been seen calling them off, looking on in shock as a few volunteers pulled the Captain on board, and headed off to the hospital in Skiff. He was all right, not too badly injured, but it had shaken up Skiff, Ryan and Daisy quite a bit.
The Little Western, the Small Railway, Edward's Branchline, even on the Tramway, there was to be found Tomorrow's Children raising up a fuss about everything. The heads of the railways were being summoned to meet together with Mr Middleton to discuss matters personally. Peregine Percival and Robert Duncan looked at each other, and nodded, before shaking hands with Mr Middleton for the first time.
What they discussed would not be known for some time to come.
...
"DISGRACEFUL!" spluttered Gordon.
"Disgusting!" snapped Emily.
"Despicable!" growled Henry.
James didn't say anything. He wasn't sulking, but it was clear that the events of the day had taken his toll on him. The big engines had all arrived at Tidmouth for an impromptu indignation meeting, all to complain both about James's treatment and the antics of the protesters.
"Is there nothing we can do?" Hank protested loudly, as he was want to do. "I mean, there must be some way to keep those yahoos from causing any more ruckus along the line!"
Spencer scoffed. "The Prime Minister hasn't been able to quell fears at all. The Beeching Cuts couldn't have come at a worse time in my opinion! It was bad enough when all that modernization malarky was taking place, but now even the safe areas are becoming few and far between. If he can't calm his own cabinet down enough to keep us safe, then how in all that is good and pure is he supposed to keep these...yahoos, as you so put it, from wrecking everything?"
There was a long silence as each engine considered this. Spencer's words, though somewhat harsh in nature, were not incorrect. Not for the first time, the engines felt a keen sense of powerlessness.
"All right." Edward said at last. "So we can't stop the rioters. That's not to say that we can't keep an eye out for them. Mr Middleton clearly thinks that we should exercise caution when dealing with them. I dislike his way of showing it, but that is not, on it's own, a bad idea. We check with the stationmasters if it is all right to leave the station if we know they are active, or try any alternative routes that will take them away from us."
James looked up, anger clear in his eyes. "All of this is very well!" he hissed, sarcastically. "But I don't think Middleton cares for us at all! The way he spoke to me!" He looked as though he wished to say something stronger at the moment, but bit back the curse words he knew would not help the situation. "It's an insult, this is what it is!"
"I agree, I agree." Edward said, soothingly. James scoffed and looked away. "No, seriously James, I do. So here's what i'm going to do. Tomorrow, I have the 9:45 to Lower Suddery. The Fat Controller should hopefully be on that train. I'll try and talk him into explaining to Middleton our point of view, and that should sort things out." Edward looked around at the skeptical faces, and gave a tight smile. "I know. Not the best solution."
"But it's the only one we've got." grunted Murdoch.
Emily grimaced. "One last thing. Is it just me, or have certain sections of the line been closed off to ye all?"
"As a matter of fact, they have." Edward looked thoughtfully. "Suddery Junction is usually a far quicker way to the various stations, but it was shut down by a foreman when I headed that way earlier. Driver said it was something to do with the ground being unsafe. At least, that's what management told him." Edward looked to the others. "Why, have there been any other parts of the Island closed down?"
"Aye." spoke up Douglas. "Before I headed to yon Kirk Ronan, I happened ta take a few trucks past Castle Loch. We crossed over the causeway, but the rest of the area was completely shut off. There were no tourists taking photographs or anything, not even bairns trying to have a quick dip in there!"
Emily clicked her tongue. "Odd. Same happened ta me when I tried to take the coaches along the Norramby line. Arthur had no idea what was happening either. Seemed to think that there were faults in the system."
"Faults? Pah!" Henry snorted. "Arthur's so clean that I'm surprised the rails don't gleam whenever the sun shines on them!"
"...Well that's terrific. Another conspiracy to think about." Edward yawned. "Well, how about we all head off home for the night? I, for one, am tuckered out!"
...
Thomas had one last delivery to drop off before he headed back to Ffarquhar sheds for the night. He imagined that Toby and Percy were already fast asleep, warm and comfortable. Right now he would have given anything to be nestled there with them, free from the stresses and worries of the past day. He had been lucky in avoiding the worst of the protesters, bar a few who just stood on the road above Elsbridge and had their shouts carried away by the wind. But even so, it had rattled him just as much as it had the big engines.
At the moment, he had set off from Brendam towards the Dieselworks, with a train of trucks containing spare parts for the diesels. The weather had changed, and a wind that would not have been out of place in winter time now whistled and gently buffeted him. He shivered, and tried to keep his mind focused on what lay ahead.
As he pulled in, Thomas couldn't help but overhear an argument. From the sound of it, it sounded as if Diesel and BoCo were very angry at each other.
"Why-" oiled Diesel, sounding more than a little angry "-should I have to be the one to help those silly steamers?! If they think they're so good, they should handle it themselves!"
"Diesel, you're not thinking straight! Have you seen what those protesters did on accident to those poor people?! Now, imagine what they could do if they decided that that was the way to get results!" BoCo sounded frustrated. "And as for those 'steamers' as you so eloquently refer to them as, they can't get through the thick skulls that these people seem to have! But I think they'll listen to us."
"Probably. We are revo-"
"Revolutionary, I know, yes! But there are some kinds of revolution that would be bad for all involved." BoCo glanced over, and started. "Oh. Thomas, didn't see you there!"
"Sorry, I'll just leave the trucks and head off."
"You do that!" snarled Diesel. And off he sulked to his shed.
Thomas left the trucks inside the dieselworks for Den and Dart to take care of. And he was just about to set off when BoCo coughed. "Sorry about just now, Thomas. The day's been a rough one. Listen, I've been attempting to find you, because there was something I've been trying to tell you about." BoCo quickly explained about Penny to Thomas, who greeted the news with some puzzlement. "So, if you see her-"
"Thank you, BoCo. Any idea where she might have gone?"
BoCo thought for a moment. "Well...considering that I saw her last in Wellsworth, it's entirely possible she might have tried to head back there to grab a bit of sleep. Perhaps she could still be there."
"I see...thanks. Have a good night."
...
Sir Topham Hatt sighed and stretched out as best he could. The armchair was a retirement gift from Lowham. He had made sure to take it all apart before using it in any capacity, just on chance that it contained some form of practical joke, He had, so far, found three rubber chickens, a whoopee cushion and a mechanism that sent the back of the chair careening backwards when the owner least suspected it.
Other than that, it was remarkably comfortable.
Opposite him, Lady Hatt was knitting away, and listening to the radio. The grandchildren had headed off to bed not too long after Listen to Mother had finished, clearly recognizing that the grownups had had a stressful day.
Topham paused for a moment, trying to think of something to say. He took a deep breath, and dived in. "Is everything all right, dear?"
"..."
"I, erm, that is to say, you haven't said much...has something happened?"
Lady Hatt lay down her knitting and turned to face him. Her lips trembled, but she took a deep breath, and kept her composure as calm as she could. "My friends are in hospital at the moment."
"What?" Hatt stood up and walked over to her, kneeling by her side. "You didn't say anything! Oh my, I'm sorry, Mary. ...It was the Kirk Ronan train, wasn't it? Giles phoned me up and said that there was some problem today. Didn't think anything of it with so many protests going on." He paused, and patted her leg awkwardly. "How are they?"
"Most of them are fine. It's nerves, more than anything, it's really shaken them up. Priscilla's...one of the bricks hit her knee, so they're making sure that there isn't a fracture or something." Mary stood up, and took a deep breath. She leaned over and turned the radio off. "It's not your fault, you know. I should have brought it up before the children got here, but I'm still trying to get to grips with it."
Topham nodded, unable to think of anything to say. "Listen, if it's all right with you, I just want to check Trainspotting for a moment. And then we can see if Dr Finlay's Casebook is on."
"Are you sure you'd rather not see Crossroads?"
"Pah!" Hatt paused, and then sighed. "I've really been spending too long with Gordon. I'm starting to pick up some of his habits." As Mary laughed, he changed the channel, just in time to see Nigel and Stan sitting at their desks, stone-faced.
"Good evening. The main headline today is, of course, the violent protests that have taken place on the Island of Sodor today. We have recieved word that though there are no casualties, and most of those injured have been dealt with quickly, this is more a miracle than anything. Stan, when violence such as this comes to a usually peaceful area, how does one even start to comprehend it?"
"I'm not sure many of us do at the moment, Nigel. Not for lack of trying mind, I have approached and attempted to communicate with the temporary director of the railway, but sources tell me that he is tied up deeply with the other members of the railway board trying to think of a solution. I expect a more accurate response in the morning. I have, however, received a statement from Sir Robert Norramby, Earl of Sodor."
The screen cut to grainy footage of Sir Robert, resting near Stephen and Millie at Ulfstead Castle, looking grimly at the camera. "If any of those idiots come marching up here in their jackboots, I'll give them what for! This is not the act of righteous protesters, but of bullies and cowards! I would advise them, should any of them be watching this, to grow up and rethink their lives before it's too late!"
Back to the studio now. "Oh! Harsh words from Sir Robert there, Stan. But not undeserved ones. We have, at this time, reached out for comment to the leader of Tomorrow's Children, David Cruft. However, we have been informed that for whatever reason, he will not be responding to us until the following morning. If you're feeling hot at the moment, just know that it's not just your blood boiling. The Prime Minister has sent out a message offering his sympathies and prayers to those who have been attacked, and has made the promise that there will be consequences for the group."
...
"Ridiculous!"
The leader of Tomorrow's Children was a man named David Cruft. He was a fit man, National Service and a daily workout regiment helped his naturally good looking body along. About thirty, his blonde hair was cropped neatly, as was his mustache, and his blue eyes could be quite a powerful tool in creating an image of a charismatic and cheerful leader.
Now though, they were boring into the sorry lot in front of him, all of whom appeared to find the floor fascinating.
"You are all ridiculous! You...You could not have screwed this up more if you had tried...and believe me, with some of you, I do wonder! Let me explain something to you...simpletons! The great British public? We actually sort of need them to like us in order for the message to get across. We do not need you over-enthusiastic yobbos to go around knocking them out and sending them to the hospital!" Cruft looked at each one individually, and then grimaced. "Oh, and to top it all off? Some of you are now in jail. This is a great day indeed!"
He stormed out, catching his white jacket on the door as he slammed it. Cursing, he pulled it free and lit up a cigarette to try and calm his nerves down a bit.
Harold Wilson, he thought. Mr Prime Minister.
Not caring about the burning sensation, he crushed the cigarette in his hands and threw it over his shoulder. He strode off, towards the yard that was located not too far from there. In the olden days, he had seen steam engines making sure that trains were ready, that inspectors were impressed by their hard work, and all the rest of it. All finished now, of course. The Modernization, and the Beeching Cuts, had left this place empty and silent.
Well, it had been.
Six months ago, he had been summoned to a meeting by some university toff. They had got to talking a bit about what annoyed them most about the world, and by chance, Cruft had slipped up in admitting that steam engines drove him up the wall.
"It's not-" he remarked, sloshing his beer around and deciding to throw caution to the wind "-as if people protested about the horse and carriage being replaced! New models of cars come out every year to replace the old one, and no one so much as bats an eyelid! Planes, boats, agricultural equipment, housing...everything changes and no one gives a damn. But-" More sloshing, as he tried to stand up "-you take a steam engine, all right? And you give it a cute little face. And suddenly, everyone...EVERYONE decides that it's wrong to move on. Diesels are the future!"
"I quite agree." said his companion, smoothly. "Which is why I've asked you here."
"Oh?" He sat back down, legs deciding that no, standing up was not a good idea.
"You know of the Island of Sodor, yeah? I worked there for a bit when I was younger. Trust me, it would be hell for someone like you." As David laughed and clinked glasses, he continued. "When I left, I was about to head off for parts unknown, when these two tank engines came up to me. At first I just dismissed them. Then they told me an idea that I just had to try out."
David listened to the idea. And grinned. "I want in."
And now here he was. In a yard that was supposed to be empty, but wasn't. There were a few cameras, operated by capable men, and there were some diesels right at the back. They looked grimy and messy, but that was mostly down to the makeup. They looked grizzled, but that was down to the weather that they had been filming in, all year long.
They looked scared.
That was very, very real.
...
"Well now, shall we head for home?" Thomas asked his driver. But he was surprised to find himself in a far more curious mood than he had reckoned. True, the thought of his nice and cozy shed was still a very appealing one indeed, but this new mystery was quite enticing.
His driver thought so too. "Yes, of course...let's take a detour through Wellsworth though, just in case." The fireman tutted, and the driver rounded upon him. "Oh come on! Where's the adventure in your life? We try and follow the rules every other day, it's not as if we're breaking the law. Besides, what if it's important?"
"Or what if it's a trick to get lynched?" But the fireman did as he was bade, and Thomas headed off in the direction of Wellsworth. As he moved along, Thomas whistled to Percy, who was puffing by with the mail train.
Even with all the chaos and uncertainty, he's still there, thought Thomas with the surety of youth.
At last, he puffed in. The driver and fireman stopped him near the platform, and then got out to buy something to eat and drink on the ride back to Tidmouth. As they ventured inside the station, Thomas settled comfortably, and looked around. The sheds were empty, bar a few carriages and the sleeping form of Judy and Jerome, the breakdown train.
He sighed, and was about to close his eyes for a second...when he heard a voice he had never heard before speak.
"Um...e-e-excuse me? Are you...Thomas?"
The tank engine opened his eyes and peered about. Slowly, as he got used to the dark, he noticed someone around the signalbox. It was an engine, though much more he could not tell. "Hello? Yes, I'm Thomas! I've heard you've been looking for me."
"Yes...yes! Yes, I have." The voice sounded unsure, a little shaken...certainly emotional. Thomas had just enough steam for him to move slightly forward of his own accord. It had been a while since the incident with the stationmaster's house, and he was a lot more careful as he slowly moved forward. He came to a stop just shy of the platform.
"Oh...they told me you were a di-"
And then everything went black.
