Cue the theme!
...
There is a generalization of the various railways that aren't the Island of Sodor. The engines are all guilty of making this mistake, as in all honesty the quite justifiable fears of being scrapped have therefore led them to think in terms of 'Them' and 'Us'. This generalization took the form of the term 'The Other Railway', which was applied to those lines that had...less than satisfactory practices with the treatment of steam engines. Mostly it involved the engines not getting confused over which railway had been cutting open their fellow steam engines.
Not recently, however.
With the steam engines now becoming more and more valuable and therefore becoming more and more protected, the term was applied to one singular railway. No one could quite describe where it was. It was definitely in England, and it could be reached via the Island. People definitely traveled on it, though when asked they had some surprisingly sketchy details about it. But aside from that, casting a actual place was...well, it was nigh impossible.
This then, was the true Other Railway.
Edward and Toby wondered vaguely what they were even doing there.
But before we tell their story...let's tell you another.
...
At night, when the other engines are tucked away in their sheds and are fast asleep-
"ACH! WILL YE NOT SHUT UP A MOMENT AND LET US GET TO SLEEP?!"
"Yes! I have to look beautiful tomorrow and it's very hard when you're talking so loud for me to get my sleep!"
-Yeesh, fine!
Ahem.
But even when everyone is in bed and sleeping the sleep of engines, you can still hear the faraway call of a engine's whistle and the clickety clack of train wheels hitting track. Sometimes the ducks at the watermill leap in fright at the strange nocturnal green bear that lumbers out and gets to work, and other times the people near the coast vaguely wonder why the arrogant blue tank engine arrives there. Surely it's not to sell more of his gaudy merchandise?
But this, is the sound of the Post Train.
One train is pulled by Thomas and the other by Percy. They're actually thinking of just putting all the work load on Percy so they get less whining from Thomas whenever he has to pull a heavy load of coaches up from the valley.
The loads, at the moment, are too heavy for one engine to do alone. Besides, Thomas didn't want to suffer on his lonesome.
The post is loaded into the coaches at both harbors, and the two engines pull the train through the silent stations delivering their precious cargo's. It's also where Thomas and Percy try to one up each other on the scaring tactics.
It hasn't worked yet, in case you couldn't tell.
On a clear night, a big bright and shining moon guides their way. This leads to both of them singing 'Button Moon' off pitch just to annoy the supposed Man on the Moon. This leads the moon to retreat and sulk for a bit until Hatt puts both engines on truck duty to appease it.
But often, the two trouble tossers can't see even the stars. This makes things...difficult.
"OW! Who put that there?!"
"That's a wall, Thomas."
But whatever the weather, lamps along the track always light their way. Unless they forget to leave the lamps out, in which case the post is screwed.
One night, Percy was waiting at the harbor junction. The main line train was late and he was freezing his buffers off. Already he had begun to very calmly wonder about whether or not eskimos had this kind of trouble. He suspected not.
At last, Henry arrived, pulling a makeshift train consisting of the Flying Kipper and a large van full of mail. He came to a bumpy stop and gave a weary glance over to Percy. "Sorry Percy. The mailboat from the mainland appeared to be delayed for whatever reason. Apparently pirates."
"Come on Percy!" said Carlin, who was no more happy to be out here than Percy was. "Let's make up for lost time!"
Percy left Henry to slowly crawl home back to Tidmouth while he raced ahead. He puffed through Knapford with little to no trouble, dropping off the mail needed there before heading on. He puffed along the line as quick as he could, occasionally stopping to let off mail (In one case, Carlin cursed the air blue as he waded into the canal to rescue a errant letter for the idiot on the Sodor Maid) but with the sun rising Percy rapidly felt more and more tired.
His last stop was at Dryaw, and he was now exhausted with his final piece of work done. Never mind, he thought, it's nice to be up and about at the start of the new day when no one else is allowed...especially no-
"Hello chaps!"
"GOD DAMN IT HAROLD! You...You...DIZZY THING!" It was not the grandest insult that Percy had come up with, but we will give him the benefit of the doubt and say he was just tired.
As opposed to be a goddamn prat.
Which is more likely, let's not lie.
"I always said that railways were out of date! But you're so slow with the post, you should give everyone their stamps back." Harold grinned. Percy knew that there was a terrible pun coming along. He just didn't know what. "Post haste."
Percy then proceeded to tell Harold exactly what he was going to do with his rotor blades if he carried on insulting him like that. It was graphic. Harold would have merely blinked and ignored him, but he still hadn't got the ability to blink yet.
Percy was too tired to care at this point, and so grumpily headed off to the sheds.
...
"Good morning Percy! You're up early!"
"Nope! You're wrong! I'm back late!" Percy said drowsily. He backed down into his shed and fell asleep almost before his buffers had touched the bar. Duck laughed and waited for his own driver to come.
Odd, he thought, that Edward and Toby aren't back yet.
...
Later that night. Percy felt better, and his driver decided that they would set off extra early to afford them some extra nap times. Also, it meant that he would be able to snag a few last minute drinks at the Refreshment stand.
Thomas was waiting at the first station. He looked concerned, and Percy frowned. "Hello? What's wrong?"
"Oh! Thank god I've seen you! Need a chance to talk, the driver says that the man in charge of the Post Train's only gone and done a prat move. He's complained to the Fat Man about the delay last night!"
"But that wasn't my fault! There ought to be a law against such a douche existing!"
"I know that! You know that! And even the Fat Controller knows it, maybe it's because the postmaster once got angry at the sun for staying in a awkward spot? I don't know mate, but the post person wouldn't even give him the time of the day!" Thomas was seething, and for a moment both engines united as one in anger against the 'Man'
"Now what?"
"Tonight, we'll have to be quicker than ever before!" Thomas was already to go, and Percy wasn't far behind when they heard a familar sound. "Oh BLOODY typical!" snarled Thomas. "Trust us to have to start at Dryaw! Why couldn't we go to Wellsworth!? Or anywhere that doesn't have...him there!"
"Hello Chaps! There's news flying about!"
"Oh give me a second Harold." Thomas said sweetly. "And I'll make sure that news goes right up your-"
"Ahem! Didn't let me finish, old duffer! All over the place, they're saying that the post train's scrapped and I'm doing it instead! Wings work wonders you know! Always!"
As he flew off, both engines swallowed down a desire to see him taken out by a low hanging branch.
"Rubbish." Thomas muttered, and both trains set off, working as fast as they could. Everything ran like clockwork that night, albeit a clock that was so fast that it was almost impossible to see what the hell was going on.
Thomas and Percy steamed through every station and made good time wherever they went. And every so often, they'd stop to drop off some mail as well! They'd sometimes forget to do this as they rushed to get the job done.
But it's not like it was in the job descrip- Oh wait.
Thomas rushed along the coastal paths, along the lines usually reserved for Edward or the other big engines to drop off more and more mail. Even so, he was growing steadily tired. Elsewhere, Percy was practically rushed off his wheels as he dashed back and forth the harbor to gain more and more bags of post to be delivered.
At one of the last stations, Thomas noticed a man who was sitting on a bench. He looked cold, cross and grumpy. He explained to his driver, who was a bit of a Good Samaritan, that he had missed his train home for whatever reason.
"We can give you a ride- Hang on, aren't you Jeremiah Jobling?"
"Uh." Jobling looked shiftily. "No."
Silence.
"Okay then. It'll be rather uncomfortable, and it may take a fair bit."
"Thank you!" said Jobling gratefully. "Anything's better than sitting here!"
...
The next afternoon, once they had both had a good sleep, Percy passed Dryaw Airfield and smiled at Harold. Harold was not smiling and looked as though he would rather crawl under a massive helicopter shaped rock than be there right now.
"Hello lazy wings! Too tired to fly today? Or too fat?"
"The wind is too strong! I've been grounded!" grumbled Harold. "For the next TWO WEEKS!"
"Ah well." Percy smiled. "You need rails. Work wonders, doncha know. Always."
"OH VERY CLEVER!"
...
That night, the two engines were shown a letter by the Fat Controller. It was from Jobling, who had gotten home and had a rather long and awkward explanation for his wife.
"He thinks both of you are splendid. Everyone says the post train is the pride of the line!"
Both engines paused. "Is that it?"
"Yes, now get back out there!"
Both engines groaned.
"I'm sure wherever Edward is, he's having a better time than us!"
...
"Thank you for coming with me, Toby."
"Anything for my old chum." Toby glanced around. "What are we doing here?"
"Well-" Edward hesitated, then whispered. "Sir Topham Hatt came to me earlier this week and told me that there were rumors that the Other Railway was housing a number of refugees from scrap."
Toby shuddered. "Okay, why are you here?"
"He wanted me to check out because he believed that Marklin may be involved." Edward sighed. "Still haven't seen him in such a long time, and Duck tells me that Diesel is back on the Island temporarily until the next boat arrives. Therefore, it occurred to Hatt that Marklin may be awaiting a new vessel to come along so he can return to the Island and wreak havoc."
"ATTENTION!"
The massive loudspeaker crackled into life, in the dismal and dark area yard. It was the middle of the afternoon and yet if you were going simply by the sky, you'd have sworn it was midnight. And that wasn't the worst of it. The worst was that all around, there were others. Engines with faces disguised by strange and unnatural contraptions. They looked like armored engines, a special branch that had been used in the war that Edward recalled. And then there were the diesels. Silent and still, lined up as if on guard. At the sound of the voice, every eye was directed towards the voice.
"THE HONORABLE FAT DIRECTOR WISHES TO ADDRESS YOU. THOUGH HE CANNOT BE HERE TONIGHT, HE WISHES ME TO COMMUNICATE FOR HIM! WE ARE CLOSE, MY BROTHERS! WE ARE SO CLOSE! PRODUCTIVITY IS UP TWENTY PERCENT!" A roar of approval. "WORK RATES HAVE BEEN TRIPLED!" Another roar, this one louder. "AND ALL YOU HAVE TO DO TO BECOME A PART OF THE GLORIOUS REVOLUTION IS TO...JOIN US! WILL YOU JOIN US?!"
The roar was deafening. The steam engines, those who were there anyway, were frantically foaming at the mouth. Edward felt sickened.
"Edward." he heard Toby say with dawning horror. "Look." He turned his face and felt his boiler chill with shock.
For there was at least twenty engines, all steam, with the words 'SCRAP' written all over their bodies. They were shivering, and looked terrified. And behind them, gearing up were massive claws that looked as though they could rip apart the shell of a tank.
"AND ALL THOSE WHO HAVE NOT UNDERSTOOD THIS OPPORTUNITY...THIS REVOLUTIONARY OPPORTUNITY... THEY WILL BE CONSIGNED LIKE THE REST OF THEIR PATHETIC KIND TO THE SCRAPHEAP!" The voice was almost hysterical in how furious he was at the steam engines.
"I-" Toby started. "We can't just-"
"CRUSH THEM! MANGLE THEM! SCRAP THEM!" came the cry from the assembled trains, trains without any mercy whatsoever.
"Edward!" shouted Toby.
That was when Edward blew his whistle long and loud, and the crowd seemed to panic somewhat. The scrap engines looked in shock, before Toby let out a shout. "RUN!" He roared, and they did. Some scattered towards the direction of the Island, others headed backwards towards the outskirts of the Other Railway.
By now the crowd were ready to riot, and Edward and Toby slipped away.
"By...by god Toby!" Edward gasped as they crossed the bridge back into Sodor. "What the hell!?"
"I have a idea." Toby said grimly. "You recall that Marklin noted that the reason that he was...ghost like, we'll call it, was because of a botched conversion into a diesel? My guess is that they've managed to perfect the technique since then. It's been so long, hasn't it?"
"And those steam engines, if I can call them that?"
"Again, I'm guessing but..." Toby shook his head. "Diesels aren't all bad. Steam Engines aren't all good. What I think this 'Fat Director' has found is the very desperate. The arrogant. The violent. The self-preservers. Those who'll do anything to stay alive, including selling out their own kind! It's...barbaric!"
"It is." Edward groaned. "God in heaven I hope I gave those poor sods a chance to escape."
"It's a better chance than they would have had." Toby looked at Edward. "We tell those living at Tidmouth. We tell Sir Topham. We tell no one else. In all honesty Edward, I'd rather forget this night, if you don't mind."
"You and me both old chum. Enough playing spy for me."
...
Elsewhere, as the Fat Director's engines fanned out, one lone train sat, hidden in a siding.
"Mr Oliver!"
"Toad, I can't move-"
"What do you mean!?"
"That last burst cost me the last of my coal! We're stuck here! What do we do now?!"
"We'll have to hope. And wait."