Snow was a mixed blessing for a switch engine. On the one wheel, someone had to push the snow-plow cars up and down the covered tracks — and someone had to salt the parking lot and other pathways for the human employees — and someone had to pull locomotives to the repair shop if the cold disagreed with their tanks — and someone had to pull the work trucks to inspect and repair the damaged tracks — and someone had to sort the loaded freight trucks on the slippery rails in the classification yard — and someone had to pull the repair trucks to the scene of an accident if a train derailed. On the other wheel, snow meant time to breathe, if trains were delayed or canceled. Snow meant an extra cup of coffee or twenty extra minutes with one's family. Snow meant taking a moment to pause and breathe in the crisp air and admire the way bare tree limbs were now covered in white. Snow meant tossing a few handfuls at one's coworkers and starting an impromptu snowball fight out of sight of Control's cameras.
One such switcher took advantage of the snow to hurry to the coach yard, once he was sure he would not be missed. Smoke puffed from the small chimney in his backwards cap. A smoke box door was on the chest of his yellow-and-gray striped overalls while his firebox door was on his back. He was a steamer — the only one among Control's switchers — and his name was Rusty: not because he was corroded, but because it was short for Ruston, which had been the name of one of the stops on his father's old journeys.
He followed the frosted tracks toward the coach yard, eager to see the beautiful observation car named Pearl. He knew her train, the long-haul Western Jewel, had pulled into the terminal that morning after a six-day journey, and he had finally found a free moment in his busy day of switcher duties to go see her. He silently pleaded to the Starlight Express to keep Control from assigning him any more chores before he had a chance to talk to his lovely friend.
As a brand new first-class coach, Pearl was kept in better condition than the chair cars, baggage cars and dormitory cars who slept in work mode on the tracks in the large coach yard. She had her own stall in the large shed, and she was regularly taken in for cleaning.
Rusty skated his way around the sleeping carriages covered in snow to her door, and he removed his cap long enough to fix his brown hair. Adjusting the collar of his red shirt, he took a deep breath to calm his artificial stomach and gave a cheerful rap.
Her sweet voice requested, "One moment!"
In the next second, the door opened to reveal a pristine carriage. Her copper hair was pulled up high to make a cascading ponytail, and her head was topped with a window shaped to look like a tiara. The word OBSERVATION ran across her bodice, and her waist was marked with metal stair treads. Her tutu-like skirt was predominantly blue, and the top was decorated with a desert scene with purple mountains — a stark contrast to the snow.
She smiled politely at Rusty, but the cheerful gleam in her blue eyes seemed to have dimmed slightly.
"Oh, Rusty. How are you?"
"Chugging on," he said. "I just came by to check on ya. Make sure you're not under the weather."
Pearl quirked an eyebrow. "Why would I be?"
"Didn't you hear?," Rusty returned. "Several of the Nationals' partners have pretty nasty colds: Canuck's girl, Maple the lumber truck; Caesar's cousin, Juanita; Nintendo's sister, Momoko. At this rate, nobody will have a partner but me and Greaseball."
"Huh," said Pearl.
"I hear Control's gonna allow cars to volunteer as relief partners, and they get the day off with pay. The Rockies already wanna sign up. Bet Ashley and Buffy will, too."
"Probably."
Rusty adjusted his backwards cap, shooting her a quick look. "Don't you catch no cold now, Pearl. Take care of yourself."
Pearl formed a half smile. "Brand-new girls don't catch colds, Rusty."
"Great!" he beamed. "I'd hate for something to happen to you, Pearl."
"Mmm-hmm."
Her eyes darted away, as if scanning the coach yard for a moment, and then seemed — seemed — to return reluctantly to him. She flashed him a quick smile, but it kinda looked like a customer-service smile — where a coach tried to look pleasant while dealing with a difficult or annoying patron.
Rusty rubbed the back of his neck. "You're excited about race night, right, Pearl?"
"Who wouldn't be excited about race night?" she returned mildly.
"And you're excited to be in the race, right?"
"Who wouldn't want to be in the race?" she replied, but she did not quite meet Rusty's eyes.
Rusty shuffled his skates a little. When he first asked Pearl to race with him, she had accepted pretty warmly (even if she had been insistent on it being a "just friends" date and that she would change partners if some other guy she liked asked her out). Recently, however, she had been hanging out with seasoned racers like Dinah the dining car, Ashley the smoking car, and Buffy the buffet car, and Rusty got the sinking suspicion that the coaches had been advising Pearl to switch partners.
He couldn't prove it, of course, but just in case, he wanted to show Pearl he was a lot better than everyone said.
"Hey, we haven't practiced together in a while, because of our conflicting schedules," he pointed out. "You free tonight?"
"Yeah," she said slowly.
"So am I," he grinned. "Poppa's taught me a few new techniques, and I've increased my speed a lot in a short time. You gotta see me move, Pearl."
"Well…" She glanced away, hesitating, then slowly nodded. "Sure, then we can see how well you really do in all this snow."
"Prepare to be amazed," Rusty told her, pumping his pistons playfully. He was sure once he showed Pearl his moves, it would banish any doubts the other coaches had sown in her mind. "Let's meet tonight at eight."
"Eight is good."
Rusty nodded, then rolled his shoulders. "And maybe afterwards we could grab some dinner—"
But before he could finish, a speaker suddenly exploded with the youthful voice of Control, their employer: "Repair team to Track Forty! Repair team to Track Forty!"
Pearl looked up, concerned. "Repair team?"
"Somebody must've derailed," Rusty deduced, spinning around. He started toward the direction of the track in question. Although he wasn't pulling the repair trucks today, he accurately guessed he would be involved.
Within moments, Control called, "Rusty to Track Forty! Cargo transportation required!"
Still propelling down the icy track, Rusty spun, skating backwards, and yelled, "So, see ya tonight. Pearl?"
"Yeah!" she called back, then added, "I guess!"
Rusty winced as he came close to the sad scene. Near the diesel fueling station, off track, a team of repair trucks were carefully digging around a dented engine half buried in the snow. At first Rusty thought he was an electric because a battered pantograph topped his head, but then he spotted the trail of diesel leading to the nearby pumps.
"An electro-diesel," Rusty told himself. He had only met a few before, but he knew they could act as both diesels and electrics. Many were shunned by both train groups for being "traitors," or they were ostracized as freaks.
Rusty was glad the poor guy was breathing. The repair trucks were attempting to lift him onto a flat car who was in work mode to take him to the shop. Meanwhile, a caboose in the recognizable white paint of the railroad police was taking a statement from a muscular male truck with a headlight on his hat. He must have transported weapons for a living because ARMED was written in yellow letters on his left leg, and he had the air of a security guard. He was dressed all in silver except for accents of yellow and black.
Rusty was so used to seeing colorful trains made to look as human as possible in order to appeal to clients that he could not help staring for a moment at the robotic-looking vehicle. With the snowy background, there was something especially cold, even alien about his minimal appearance, but he did not look poor. If anything, he looked like he could have worked for some railroad baron, judging by how maintained he seemed.
"Hey, Rusty!" called Smuts, the switcher assisting the repair trucks. "Those trucks need you to transport something. Hop to it!"
Rusty quickly saluted, noticing then that there were four more trucks besides the armaments truck, one male, three female. Like their comrade, they wore nearly identical livery of metallic gray with accents of yellow, each with a large yellow E on their belts, but there were subtle differences, seemingly pertaining to their functions.
The skinny guy had what looked like a vault door on his chest, and VAULT and DEPOSIT painted on his left leg. ("Must be from a money train," Rusty said to himself, remembering pictures he had seen of subway trains which collected fares from different stations.) Another truck, a slim woman, looked like a freezer, but she curiously had a tank of nitrous oxide on her hip, and there was a hose climbing up to her shoulder, around her head, and ending in a device, like she was supposed to connect to some engine and make him go faster. ("The electro-diesel, maybe?" Rusty guessed.) A second lady had a strange hairdo, a bun made out of wires with the ends sprouting from the top like some sea anemone. (Rusty shuffled uncomfortably when he saw DANGER written on her chest and TNT on her left thigh.)
The last, obviously a mechanic, had REPAIR written on her left thigh and EMERGENCY on her lower right leg. She wore a black driving hat with yellow stripes in a V shape, and one hand, gloved in yellow, protectively rested on a strange-looking box, which looked like something from an old sci-fi film. The box was strapped to a flat car in work mode, who was already half-buried in the falling snow.
Rusty quickly skated forward, waving to the sour-looking rolling stock.
"Hey, I'm Rusty. Where can I take ya?"
The four trucks turned in unison — almost robotically — and stared at him. For a moment, none of them spoke, though the freezer and the TNT truck both wrinkled their pale noses. Rusty kept his smile in place. maintaining his professionalism, though he felt a familiar flare of annoyance.
"You guys do need help, right?" he pressed.
The money truck glanced at the repair truck questioningly, but the mechanic's gaze rested on Rusty. She wore a stoic expression, yet as she tilted her head, she had a glint of curiosity in her brown eyes.
At last she said, "You're a switcher here?"
"Yeah, Doctor," Rusty returned, hoping that addressing her by a title might make a good impression. "How can I help you?"
Before she could reply, the TNT truck grabbed her arm, hissing, "We're not seriously going to use him, are we? He'll get soot on us!"
"He looks clean to me, Joule," the repair truck replied, continuing to study at Rusty.
The money truck spoke next. "Maybe we should ask Control to send a" — his gray eyes darted to Rusty— "younger switcher? Preferably of an electric persuasion?"
Rusty tried not to bristle. The repair truck, meanwhile, touched her chin.
"You're not very old, are you, Steamer?" Her eyes grew interested. "You're a homebuilt model."
"Yeah," Rusty nodded.
"Fascinating," she murmured. "After factories stopped producing steamers, families began to build their own from scratch. Many of the children could only find work as switchers. I read about them in mechanics school, but I had never—"
"You're drooling, dear," the freezer drawled.
The repair truck shot her a glare but quickly adopted a business-like demeanor. Straightening her shoulders, she said, "Anyway, we need to get Pancake here up to our hotel."
She gave the silent flat car a nudge with her metallic skate.
Rusty nodded. "Got it."
He positioned himself behind Pancake and the strange box. The armaments truck finished speaking with the cop-boose and rejoined his companions. Despite his stoicism, his eyebrows shot up when he spotted Rusty, and his eyes followed the curlicues of smoke streaming from his chimney. He turned toward the others, clearly annoyed.
"Our illustrious repair truck has found a new friend, Krupp," the money truck said dryly.
Rusty cleared his throat and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Hitch on, guys."
"Should we really hitch up behind a steamer?" Joule muttered. "You-know-who won't like it when he finds out."
"He'll be livid," shuddered the money truck. "He might fire someone."
"So don't tell him, Purse," the repair truck said, briefly rolling her eyes
"I just did my makeup," the freezer said. "Smoke will make my eyes water, and then my mascara will run."
"Then you're welcome to hang back here," the repair truck drawled. "You might like the cold, Volta, but I prefer not to have to treat everyone for hypothermia tonight."
She strode forward and deliberately took Rusty's couplings. Rusty decided she wasn't too bad.
"What's your hotel?" he asked.
"Drumhead Palace."
Rusty whistled. "Fancy-smancy."
"Indeed," she replied. She looked over her shoulder at her coworkers. "Well?"
The two women glanced at each other. Krupp, however, skated forward.
"Where Electra goes, I go."
A shift occurred in the others at his words. Volta started forward first, with Joule linking behind her as she moved, and Purse took up the rear.
Rusty grinned at the repair truck. "Are you Electra?"
"Hardly," she replied. "I'm Wrench."
"Nice to—" Rusty started to offer his hand, but Krupp cut in.
"Is the hotel close by?" he frowned.
Rusty cleared his throat, blushing slightly. "Uh, yeah. Just hang on, folks."
Reaching into his pocket for an extra coal piece, he tossed it into the air, bending forward and opening his firebox door in time to catch it.
"Prodigious," said Wrench, like a scientist observing an experiment going favorably.
"Can't she wait until she's off the clock to flirt?" Joule muttered.
"Look who's talking," said Purse mildly.
Rusty felt his flame leap up from more than just the added coal. "Uh, here we go!"
He looked straight ahead, shoving the box up the hill toward the wealthier area of the yard.
The Drumhead Palace was two converted roundhouses facing each other with two turntables in between; it was know for catering to the elite among trains, rich rolling stock who had managed to gain independence from humans. Many did not work unless it amused them, and with race night approaching, several of these special few had already started filing into the yard. As Rusty and his strange consist neared the hotel, several were linking up behind a ski train for a day of frolicking in the mountains, while hotel staff — baggage cars and first-class diners — carried cups of gourmet cocoa or decadent trays to rooms.
Purse, who seemed to be handling the secretarial affairs, uncoupled from the back and skated over to the office. After a few minutes, he returned with a number of card keys.
"First thing's first," he said, gesturing toward the box.
The train unlinked, and Rusty had to use both turntables to get Pancake and his cargo to Suite A6. He used the key which Purse had handed him and pushed Pancake inside. He waited for the other trucks to make their way over, not wanting to fiddle with the box without their okay, and he took a moment to glance around the suite, savoring the rare chance to see how the other side of the tracks lived.
"I don't think even Princey stays in a suite like this," Rusty said under his breath, taking in the large television set, the expensive paintings, the bowl of gilded pears, the king-sized bed with more pillows than Rusty had ever seen in one place, and the couch — an actual couch, with real upholstery. Most rolling stock stacked together crates or used old bumper stops if they wanted furniture.
Amazed, Rusty reached out to touch the sofa but stopped, remembering his sooty hands. The money for the upholstery alone could have bought ten baby trains from the factory, and Rusty's switcher salary would not have been able to repair any damages.
But if I win the race, then I'll be able to get a better job, and I could buy a nice, inexpensive couch for Poppa to watch T.V. on.
Rusty grinned at the thought.
Wrench and Krupp reached the room just then, shortly followed by Volta and Joule, then Purse. Within moments, the box was unloaded, and Pancake resumed his racing-mode form; he was similarly dressed to his coworkers, wearing gray with yellow pieces on his shoulders, but he seemed a little more humanoid than them.
"About time," he muttered. "I'm getting coffee."
Purse passed him a key card, and Pancake stepped out the door and skated toward the stall which the hotel had converted into a cafe.
Joule plucked her key card next and followed after the flat car. "Wait for me, Cakey!"
Purse grimaced slightly. "I should probably keep an eye on her."
He started for the door, but Wrench snapped her fingers.
"Tip the switcher, Purse."
Purse's eyes shot toward Rusty, and he opened the vault door on his chest. He pulled out a roll of green tickets — legal tender which trains used that equated to specific values — and his skilled fingers unrolled two, which he passed to Rusty.
"Electra thanks you," he said briefly, before he continued after Joule and Pancake.
Rusty glanced at the tickets and did a double take, nearly dropping them. With that kind of cash, he could take Poppa to the repair shop for an overdue overhaul.
Whoever this Electra is, they must be well off.
The remaining trucks were tending to the box, moving it into a corner. When it was settled, Volta knelt beside it, resting her arms against it like it was a present from her sweetheart. Krupp reached for the television remote, picking a station with a news report on the upcoming race. Wrench typed something on a keypad in her arm, glancing between the screen and the box.
Rusty stepped toward the door, giving a little salute. "You guys need anything else while I'm here…?"
Krupp and Volta shook their heads without looking at him. Wrench, however, turned.
"Sure, would you take me over to the repair shop? I need to check on Duality and to restock on a few supplies."
Rusty dutifully went back onto the snowy track, letting her hitch behind him. Using the two turntables, they made their way toward the line which led to the repair shop. Snow was still falling, and the white mounds looked taller than they had on the way to the hotel. Rusty made a note to refuel before he met Pearl for practice later, hoping the water tower hadn't frozen over again. At one diamond, Rusty and Wrench had to wait for a switcher girl named Ballast to push a plow car in a fur coat through the ice to clear their track.
"Hope it clears up for the race," Rusty commented.
"Same," said Wrench.
Feeling his flame diminishing, Rusty reached into his pocket and held up a coal. "Doc, would you…?"
"My pleasure." She took the piece and popped it into his back.
Rusty chugged in place, glad for the boost.
"Such a simple set up," Wrench remarked, interest seeping into her voice again, "and yet… there's something artistic, isn't it?"
"The sight of a mighty steam engine is something terrific," Rusty grinned, looking over his shoulder.
Wrench raised an eyebrow. "Know any?"
"Ouch," Rusty winced, jabbing two fingers toward his heart like a knife.
Something almost playful appeared on her lips. "Only joking."
"Sure, you were," Rusty cracked, but he could tell she wasn't trying to insult him. He glanced toward Ballast and the snow plow, noticing the size of the snow banks, and he remembered the electro-diesel who had been injured. With his path clear again, he started forward.
"So," he said, "what happened earlier, if I can ask?"
Wrench exhaled. "Some diesel thugs went after Duality, our ride, while he was fueling."
Rusty's stomach dropped.
"Thugs?" he repeated, with a sinking suspicion.
"Correct," she replied. "They attacked him without warning, saying he was stealing fuel from 'true' diesels. Duality didn't get a clear look at their train numbers, but Krupp thinks their liveries are from a local line."
You don't know how local, Rusty winced to himself. He had no doubt it was Tank or any of his crew of diesels who caused trouble in the yard, but he had no way to prove it.
"Well, the repair shops are great here," he assured her, silently adding, If you can afford it. "He'll be out in no time."
"That's good," answered Wrench, a little flatly. "He is our only way home."
"Where you guys from?"
"Northeast," she said. "From electric lines."
Rusty whistled. "Whooo, that's a long way. Only electrics who live here are ones Control bought from fallen flags, and sometimes we get a few National champions, like Nintendo the bullet train."
"Quite." There was a noise, almost like a chuckle, but Rusty wasn't sure if he had imagined it. "But that might change someday."
"So, you guys came out West for the race?"
"Indeed."
Rusty had an uncomfortable feeling in his mechanical stomach. "Was, uh, Duality supposed to enter?"
Wrench snorted. "Not at all. Duality is just Electra's temporary chauffeur."
"Who's Electra, anyway?" asked Rusty.
"Wait and see," she answered mysteriously.
Later that night, he picked up Pearl from the coach yard and transported her over to the little used wooded tracks where Poppa usually trained him. It used to be part of the scenic rail, where tourists booked special trips up in the mountains, but now the line needed repairs in a few places, but Rusty liked that it offered him enough resistance to build up his strength and develop his agility.
Rusty insisted they do a few stretches, and as he pulled his arm back over his shoulder, he noticed a glint of light. The nearby lamp post reflected off a silver figure skating toward them.
Rusty found himself smiling. "Hey, that's Wrench!"
"Who?"
"She's staying up at Drumhead Palace," Rusty explained. "She works for some stuffy train who wants to keep their presence here hush-hush. Their chauffeur's in the repair shop right now."
"How sad," said Pearl. Then she touched his shoulder. "Wait, an actual chauffeur?"
"I know, right?" Rusty returned, secretly relishing her touch.
Pearl touched her face, amazed. "Wow, the employer must be super rich."
Even though Pearl was a first-class carriage, there was a difference between serving the rich and being rich. Only a few trains were able to maintain a private business, and even less became millionaires.
"Wanna meet her?" Rusty asked, nodding toward Wrench. "She seems pretty nice."
Pearl's dreamy eyes suddenly flicked back to reality. She glanced at Rusty, then at Wrench, then back.
"Sure, I guess."
Rusty pulled her over toward the watching truck, kicking up balls of snow as his blades sliced along the rails.
"What do you think, Doc?" Rusty called as he approached. He and Pearl braked, spraying ice on the snow bank. "Pretty slick moves, right?"
"It's intriguing to find a steamer out in the wild," Wrench replied. "To think herds used to roam these hills. A simpler time."
Rusty chuckled and introduced Pearl. The women nodded politely, giving the other a sweeping glance.
"How's Duality?" asked Rusty.
"Needs a few parts replaced," said Wrench. "Sent for them this morning."
"Tell him I hope he feels better."
Wrench jerked a nod before she tilted her head, studying him. "I meant to ask earlier, but you're called a Columbia, right?"
A grin split Rusty's face. "You know your steamers."
"A little bit," she said, gazing up at Rusty. "It's been years since I've studied them, but I still remember some of the Whyte notation and associated colloquial names."
Pearl's pretty brow furrowed, and she glanced uneasily between the two vehicles. "What's a Columbia?"
"It's what I am," Rusty explained. "My wheel arrangement, that is."
"Two leading wheels" — Wrench gestured toward the wheels on Rusty's elbows — "four driving wheels" — toward the bigger wheels on his hips and calves — "and two trailing wheels" — toward his feet. "By Whyte's notation, Rusty is a Two-Four-Two steamer, commonly called a Columbia, after the historical Columbia, a lady steamer who was showcased in the 1893 World's Columbia's Exposition. Built by Baldwin, I believe, but the first steamer to use the arrangement was British."
Rusty nodded, amazed. Outside of Poppa, he had rarely met anyone who knew such exact details about steam history.
"Bet you got an A+ on that exam," he beamed.
Wrench adjusted her cap, looking proud of herself. "Graduated fifth in my class."
"Wow."
Pearl fiddled with her fingers. "Know anything about steam whistles?"
"A bit." Wrench glanced at Rusty. "Would you mind giving a demonstration?"
"Not at all," Rusty returned. He had always wanted an excuse to whistle at Pearl outside of work, but he had never had the guts to try. Clearing his throat, he made a motion of tugging his pull cord. "Whoo-whoo-whoooooooo…"
"Not half bad." Wrench touched his chin, tilting his head back to study his neck. "If you cleaned it out, it might sound half-good."
"Hey!" Rusty frowned.
"Only joking," said Wrench, and her eyes actually glittered a little.
Pearl took a step closer to Rusty. "I think he sounds alright."
"Really?" Rusty's head snapped to her hopefully.
Yet just as he started to entertain certain blissful thoughts, Wrench rubbed her arms, and Rusty noticed then her teeth chattering, though she was clearly trying to suppress it.
"You cold?" he asked.
"Frigid."
Rusty motioned her closer. "C'mon, get warm. I got enough heat for us all."
"Much obliged," she said. Under her breath, she added, "I don't know how Electra stands pulling Volta everywhere, much less dating her."
She climbed over the fence and glided closer, moving to Rusty's left side while Pearl remained on his right.
"Anybody got marshmallows?" Rusty joked.
Pearl smiled, but it did not fully reach her eyes. She looked at Wrench, then moved closer to Rusty.
"Brrrr." She made a show of shivering. Rusty found it pretty cute.
Wrench, meanwhile, moved her hands closer to the firebox door on Rusty's back. "Do you have any more coal?"
"Never leave home without it," Rusty quipped, passing her a piece. Their fingers touched briefly, and Wrench's eyes met his, looking thoughtful, before she took hold of the coal and tossed it into his torso.
"How long does it take you to boil your water?" she asked mildly.
"Not too long," he said, tilting his head side to side. With a look at Pearl, he added, "Once my boiler's going, I'm like lightning."
"Lightning, huh?" Rusty thought she might have snorted.
He turned, facing her with a feigned challenging look. "Wanna see, Doc?"
Wrench actually smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."
With a quick refueling, Rusty sprinted off down the icy track. Wrench had a firm grip on his holdings, and she rode well despite the condition of the rails.
"Chugga-chugga, chugga-chugga," Rusty murmured in time with his pistons.
"Interesting," Wrench kept saying. "Very interesting."
He pulled her over the frozen creek and through a tunnel, climbing up the steep grade. Rusty was especially good at inclines; as a switcher, he often handled freight cars in the hump yards, pushing them up mounds to let them coast down the other side to form new consists. It gave him a workout and developed his muscles. Greaseball bragged about how, through his body building, he had trained himself to generate 2700 hp, far higher than his original factory conditions. Rusty figured his own switching work had, ironically, allowed him to handle steep hills better than any mainline locomotive — which was good because he knew for a fact that this year, the final race was going to be on the uphill track.
Bet Greaseball will be surprised when he sees me zoom past while he's struggling to put all that horsepower to good use, Rusty grinned to himself.
They reached the top of the grade, and Rusty paused, letting Wrench enjoy a glimpse of the snowy vista.
"Beautiful, huh?"
"Very," she said, but she was looking at his pistons. She touched his arm. "How fast can you go?"
"How fast can you handle?"
Wrench raised her head and smirked. "Yeah, right."
"Okay. You asked for it," he grinned. He whirled them about face. "Hang on."
The cold wind whistled around their faces. Delightful butterflies erupted in Rusty's stomach at the steep grade, and he let out a whoop which reverberated over the mountain peaks.
Too soon, they reached leveled ground, and they zoomed past Pearl. Rusty gave her a playful toot of his whistle before he guided Wrench down the line, on and on, toward a tunnel — then at the last second, he swerved right, pulling her off track.
"Watch this!" he shouted over the wind.
"This ought to be good!" she called back.
Rusty sprinted over the snowscape, his blades kicking up powder and making streaks that showed the brown grass hidden beneath. That was another one of his talents; with all the times he had to escape diesels who had it out for him, Rusty had developed a knack for speeding off track, leaving his tormentors struggling behind.
He made a few serpentine moves, following the curve of the hills and dips. He felt himself beginning to slow, and he reached into his pocket and held a few pieces of coal over his shoulder.
"Gotta refuel," he called back to Wrench.
She accepted the pieces and slipped them into his back. The coal pieces soon caught fire, and Rusty let out a whistle, grinning as a burst of energy propelled him forward.
Behind him, he thought he might have heard Wrench give something almost like a laugh.
As they glided down a series of slopes much like stairs, Wrench suddenly asked, "How long have you been working without a coal car?"
Rusty's eyes widened, and his limbs stopped, leaving him to coast forward for a second. Then he shrugged.
"About five years now," he called back emotionlessly.
"That's quite a long time," observed Wrench. "You were built together, right?"
"Yeah."
"Brother or sister?"
"Sister," Rusty answered, staring straight ahead at the frosted hills and trees. "Her name was Colette."
"You must have gone exceedingly far when you had her to feed you coal."
Rusty cleared his throat. "Daddy built us to be long-haul passenger vehicles."
Obviously, it had not worked out that way.
"I see." Wrench gently touched his back. "All things considered, you seem to have done well for yourself, if you've kept a job for five years. Not many steamers could do that."
"You gotta make do," Rusty shrugged. "Poppa — my grandfather — lost my great-uncle ages ago, but he's still skating."
"I might like to meet him," Wrench said as Rusty slowed to handle a sharp turn. "If he's anything like you, he ought to be interesting."
Rusty found himself clearing his throat. He told himself it must have been the cold air.
"Ah, well, you can meet him on race night if you want," Rusty replied, slowing down enough to look back at her safely. "He'll be there to cheer on me and Pearl."
Wrench started slightly. "Run that by me again?"
"Race night," said Rusty, grinning. "Come watch me and Pearl win!"
"You?"
"Spent all year training for it. Poppa used to be a champ, and he says I got a shot. He says I can beat Greaseball — and I can," Rusty added vehemently.
Wrench grew quiet. Her thumbs gently slid along his couplings.
"Beat Greaseball, huh?" she said.
"Fair and square," Rusty insisted. "I'm gonna show them all a clean pair of wheels."
"What about the other racers?" Wrench asked. "The bullet train, the TGV, the Settebello. Electric power isn't something to be taken lightly."
Rusty was about to snap that he could do it, thinking she was belittling him, but then he suddenly remembered she came from electric lines. Some of her own family might have been electric locos.
He softened his tone. "I can do it, Wrench. You'll see."
"There might even be a late entry," she said quietly, "some special train who's traveled a far distance to make his international debut. He could be super fast. And willing to do anything to take out the competition."
"Let him try," Rusty scoffed. "If he has to cheat to win, he ain't no better than Greaseball."
Wrench's thumbs slid against Rusty's couplings again. She was quiet for the rest of the demonstration.
Rusty gave both ladies lifts to their respective stops, Pearl to the coach yard, Wrench to the hotel. When he dropped off Pearl, the coach did not release his couplings right away.
"Do you wanna practice tomorrow night, Rusty?" she asked quietly.
Rusty turned, grinning. "Sure!"
Pearl smiled shyly, then she nodded to Wrench. "Nice meeting you."
She hurried off to her shed, trying to escape the cold, but she paused at the door to wave at them. She looked so beautiful like that, with the snow falling on her soft hair and with the yard lights reflecting off her metal and windows so that she flowed like an angel.
Guess she really does wanna race with me, Rusty cheered to himself, discreetly pumping his fists so that Wrench wouldn't see.
He charged toward Drumhead Palace feeling ten times lighter. He actually had plans with Pearl that she had asked him to do with her! She must have been impressed with his moves, and he would have the chance to show her more. Maybe afterwards he could ask her to dinner, and they'd go some place with live music, and he might ask her to dance, and she'd say—
"Rusty, look out!"
Rusty's head snapped up in time to see he had actually taken a line that led to a dead end, and a bumper stop was waiting at the end, on the ledge of a ravine. He tried to brake, but his skates screeched on the icy rails, causing him to fishtail. Wrench released his couplings in time to save herself, and Rusty crashed into the bumper stop. He desperately tried to grab hold of something, but he flipped into the ditch, his coal tumbling inside him like clothes in a dryer, and he landed on his stomach with a mouthful of snow. A few lumps got into his firebox, causing the coals to hiss.
"That's gonna leave a mark," Rusty wheezed out. And right after I made plans with Pearl, too.
Wrench staggered through the snow and slid into the ravine, dropping beside him. She started to check his neck and limbs for damage.
"How do you feel?"
Rusty rubbed his head, wincing. "Eh, I've lived through worse."
He pushed himself up and rolled into a sitting position. Wrench pulled out a flashlight and checked his eyes.
"No concussion," she said. "That's good."
Rusty grinned weakly, wishing he could hit the rewind button to get back to a few minutes ago. "Us steamers are even tougher than we look."
Wrench thinned her lips, which Rusty suddenly noticed were a glossy, bronze color, kinda pretty. For a moment she looked like she wanted to scold him but thought better of it. Instead, she helped him stand, and she skated around him, spinning his driving wheels on his legs to make sure they still worked and taking note of the fresh dents.
"Give it to me straight, Doc," said Rusty, pretending to be serious. "Will I ever play the piano again?"
"You might be able to race, if you keep your head out of the clouds." She drew back, putting her hands on her hips. "If you're gonna race with an observation car, you have to avoid breaking her windows."
Reddening, Rusty coughed into his hand. "Eh, right…"
He dusted off more snow, avoiding her gaze. She gathered up the loose coal pieces that had fallen out of his pocket and stuck them inside his firebox, using a broken tree branch to stoke the flames. Then she pulled out a stethoscope from her tool compartment and listened to his boiler, sliding the resonator along his chest.
"Nothing to cause concern," she remarked.
"If I had to crash, at least I had a top-notch mechanic close by," Rusty grinned.
"I'll send you my bill in the morning." She took his face in her hands and made him bow his head so that she could glimpse into his chimney. When she was satisfied, she lifted his head again, scanning his face.
Casually, she said, "Your parents gave you really nice eyes."
"Mama always wanted to be a stylist in a repair shop," Rusty replied. "Building me and my sister was the closest she got to her dream."
"She did a great job," said Wrench approvingly. "Some factory-born trainlings don't look so good."
"She would have liked to hear you say that." He gave her an appreciative look — until he realized she was still holding onto his face, and he was standing awfully close to her. He straightened, moving back, and she released him. He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Ah, uh, let's get you back to the hotel — and this time we won't take the scenic route," he joked.
Rusty pulled her up to her door, and he waited as she fished around her compartment for her key card, wanting to make sure she got inside safely.
"I meant to say thanks," he said, "for helping back there with the crash."
"I couldn't leave you wrecked, now could I?" Wrench looked up from her compartment. "I am curious to see you race. Either you're delusional, or you must have some skills. I am hoping for the latter. Should be a great show."
"You are such a sweet talker," Rusty cracked.
Wrench did not laugh. Her brown eyes grew serious.
"Speaking as a repair truck," she said slowly, "may I ask just why you are racing? Is it just for fun, or to get your name in the paper…?"
Rusty rubbed the back of his head. "Can you keep a secret?"
"I'd be sued for breaking mechanic-patient confidentiality if I couldn't."
"Right." He gave a shy chuckle. "Well, ah, to tell you the truth, I wanna get converted."
"To…?"
"To a better kind of steamer," he clarified. He turned, gesturing toward his firebox. "When my sister was alive, we used to get a lot more assignments outside the yard, hauling maintenance trucks and inspection crew. We got paid by the mileage."
Wrench nodded slowly. "Without a coal car, you're limited to a smaller radius around your fuel supply."
"Exactly." Rusty sighed, kicking a bit of snow with his toe. "And I could handle that if it was just me, but I got Poppa to think about. He was a champion racer back in his day. He was rich and famous, but now he's spending his old age in a tiny, drafty shed that leaks. That ain't right. He deserves better."
"And you're hoping a conversion will get you into a higher tax bracket."
"Yep, I've seen some steamers wear these tender backpacks." He patted his back for emphasis. "And they got their firebox doors on their chests, and their smokebox doors on their hats. They fuel themselves, no coal car required. I wanna be like that."
Wrench furrowed her brow. "A conversion that big would cost more than you got."
"Sure, now," said Rusty, "but if I win, I can convince Control to modify me. Then I can start getting better jobs, which means more money so that I can take care of Poppa."
Wrench crooked her forefinger against her chin. "Assuming you can go fast enough to impress Control."
"I will. Then we can move to a new shed, buy our own wood to burn instead of relying only on the coal Control gives us. It'll be like the old days, before dieselization."
"Dieselization, huh?" An ironic smile appeared on her face. "You know, electric lines were hit pretty bad when the diesels came on the scene."
Rusty felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
She folded her arms, gazing toward the catenary lines that strung across this portion of the yard. Snow lined them like frosting.
"My dad lost his job to diesels," she said.
"He's an electric loco?"
She nodded. "He couldn't find work, except as a switch engine."
"Like me," Rusty said softly.
"Like you." She drummed her fingers. "He worked extra shifts to put me through mechanics school. Some weeks I didn't even see him because of how busy he was, and when I did, he was too tired to remember my name. Far cry from the freight engine he used to be."
"You honored his sacrifice though," Rusty pointed out. "Being fifth in your class ain't nothing to sneeze at."
"Indeed." She exhaled. "Which is why I sincerely hope an electric engine wins this year. No offense."
"None taken," Rusty answered kindly.
"Even so, I am curious to see you race," she continued, "even if I can't root for you to win."
Rusty grinned. "Can you at least root for me not to embarrass myself?"
"I can," she nodded.
"Then that's good enough for me."
Wrench gave him a sweeping glance. "But as for embarrassment, Columbia engines — May I?"
She gestured to his elbow, and Rusty extended it. She took his arm in her hands, rolling the wheel that formed his joint. Her touch was gentle.
"Columbia engines could not go particularly fast because of their two leading wheels," Wrench said. "That's why many had to add an extra set of leading wheels, making them Four-Four-Twos. Unless you got an extra pair, you won't be able to keep up with Elec— with the racers."
"You can't judge a homebuilt train by factory standards, Wrench," Rusty said firmly. "I got a few surprises."
Her head snapped up. Her eyes widened.
"Yessss," she murmured. "That could help… I mean, why not? People who build their own computers are able to make them do things that pre-assembled computers can't. A homebuilt machine… Why not?" — brightening — "Yes, why not?"
Rusty found himself grinning. Poppa was always encouraging him, but hearing an actual mechanic give a vote of confidence made his heart feel a little lighter.
"You keep an eye on me on race night, Wrench," he winked, forming a gun with his hand. "You'll see what I can do."
Wrench smiled, and she looked a little pretty. "I'm looking forward to it."
Wrench followed Rusty with her eyes and did not turn until the last whisper of his smoke faded into the snowy air.
"He's a rare find," she said to herself. "I just hope…"
But she stopped herself from entertaining that dangerous thought. She had traveled from the Northeast into the American West — over two thousand miles — to bring Electra to Control's yard, and Electra had to win.
Any other outcome was out of the question.
Wiping her face of emotion, she put her keycard back into her compartment and skated over the ice to the neighboring door, knocking. Purse let her in, and she knocked off the snow from her blades. The television showed a report on Greaseball, displaying his statistics and past victories.
"And how is the patient?" she asked mildly.
"Bored out of his mind and starving," drawled the yellow engine on the couch. "Purse, what's taking that room service so long?"
"The hotel caters to a lot of rich trains with expensive tastes," Purse reminded him. "Quality takes time."
"That sounds like an excuse rather than a solution," Electra clipped.
Purse touched the brim of his cap. "I'll go to the kitchen and ask."
He hurried past Wrench into the flurries. Wrench closed the door after him, dusting off the last of the snow from her hat.
"Be nice to Purse, Lex," Wrench advised. "He knows all your bank information."
"He wouldn't dare," Electra scoffed.
Electra was allowed by his manufacturers to enjoy downtime as long as he did not step outside the hotel room before race night. Volta sat beside him, giving him a manicure, while Joule stood behind him to massage his shoulders. Krupp had gone out earlier to take pictures of the race track for Electra to study, and he had not returned.
"Two thousand miles in that cramped box, baby," Joule cooed, digging her thumbs into his yellow shoulders. "No wonder you're so tense."
"Since I was switched off inside that thing, I hardly noticed," Electra returned dryly. While he liked being made a fuss of, he didn't like appearing weak, especially in front of those on his payroll.
"Well, I'm glad you're out," Volta purred. "I missed you."
Electra favored her with an approving smile before returning his attention back to the television.
Wrench stepped over to him, opening the keypad on her arm to run a quick diagnostic on his computer, but as she stopped beside him, Electra's nose wrinkled.
"Why do you smell like coal?" he grimaced.
Before Wrench could reply, Joule broke into a titter.
"Ohhh, Wrenchy must have been playing with her new buddy. Girl, you're highballing it, aren't ya?"
"Wrench apparently has a thing for homebuilt steamers," Volta said to Electra.
"Grow up, you two," Wrench drawled. "I'm a mechanic."
Electra curled his lip. "Who works for me. What you do off the clock is your business, but try not to smell like your dates in my presence."
That's rich coming from you, Wrench wanted to say, eyeing Volta. Electra had noticeably started wearing a lot more cologne after he began racing with the diesel-powered truck, and he did not take kindly to the other electrics sneering at her fumes.
Wrench, however, fell back on her trademark neutral expression. "Then I'll wash up, but first, allow me to run my analysis. Your manufacturers expect a report within the next fifteen minutes."
Electra reluctantly complied, waving Volta and Joule away. Wrench typed on the keypad, checking his data at speeds to rival Electra's wheels.
"So, Wrench," smirked Joule, "are you gonna ask your steamer on a date for race night?"
"He already has a partner," Wrench said briskly.
"Wait, that kettle is racing?" Volta asked.
"Electra will mop the floor with him!" Joule laughed. "Guess you can patch him up afterwards."
Electra grimaced. "Don't they have any standards for the race?"
"They do," said Wrench casually, though her heart quickened. "Evidently, Rusty met them."
Electra snorted. "Of course he'd have a name like Rusty. Do I need to worry about tetanus on top of everything else?"
"Unlikely," Wrench said. "He looks in excellent shape. He may have a few surprises."
"None which a superstar has to worry about," Electra scoffed, but his mouth warped slightly. He looked up at Wrench. "What kind of steamer is he?"
"A homebuilt Columbia. I'd tell you about factory standards, but you simply can't judge him by them. There could be all sorts of modifications his family may have made." Wrench grinned to herself. "It'd be intriguing to partner with him in the race."
Electra looked appalled. "Have you lost all sense of taste?"
"I was speaking from a scientific standpoint, Lex," Wrench returned mildly.
"Suuuure, you were," said Joule.
THE END
In the ice show, Electra makes his entrance by emerging from a box which is brought into the ice. The idea came to me of Rusty helping the components to their hotel without knowing he was transporting Electra.
Duality and Pancake — Frank Krenz said Pearl's skirt is supposed to be "a vista of the American West," which kinda goes with my headcanon that Control's yard in a real-train AU would be near the Rocky Mountains, buuuuuuuut how would the components transport Electra in a box from the nearest electric lines to this area? They would need to put his box on a flat car and have another locomotive, one with diesel capabilities, to get him there, hence these OCs. (I don't picture either of them as components, as the components are implied to carry a piece of Electra's computer. Rather, Duality and Pancake just work for him.)
