One of my favorite episodes ever here! I hope you enjoy this, and I plan to flesh Stepney out a lot more in the next two or three parts. He's...well, put it this way, he's got connections to the over-arching story. Not necessarily the ones you might think, though.
Cue the theme!
...
"It's a nice spot."
"Yes, it is" agreed Allcroft "It's a nice spot to get some...er, angles. Why are we here, David? Remind me, I may have passed out after hearing Angelis and Asquith argue again, and missed it all."
"We're here, Britt, because...the plot demanded it, I guess, I don't know! I just wanted to get a couple of shots of Rusty going round the corner so that I can pad out a couple of the episodes."
In springtime, Rusty the little diesel loves to visit a faraway place. Faraway in the sense that it was a few miles away from Crovan's Gate and wasn't really that far out, really. This was the Bluebell Railway. Or at least, part of it. In reality, the line was far bigger and greater than it's rather small presence on the Island indicated, but as Hatt had set up the Island as being a sort of preservation and haven for the steam engines of the world, it only made sense to maintain contacts with several of the other preserved railways as well. Lines from Talyllyn, the Great Western and the Bluebell Railway often overlapped on the stations closer to the edge of the borders of the Island, such as Vicarstown and Brendan. Thus, this was a place for where visiting engines could come and rest their weary heads without having to be loaned out to the Fat Controller's company.
This part, owned by the Bluebell Railway, was filled to the brim with daffodils. No, just kidding, it was filled from mountain to lake with bluebells. So many bluebells that you'd get sick of seeing them after a while. The air smelled sweet (A result, no doubt, of the extensive damage done to the enviroment so that only bluebells could grow here, something that Henry had become most offended by) and Rusty thinks there is no better place to be.
Apart from, you know, his actual home in Crovan's Gate. That suddenly slipped his mind for some reason. That home.
...
On that particular day, Allcroft and Mitton accompanied Rusty and the crew on his rounds. It was to be their last two days exclusively covering the Narrow Gauge Railway, as Sir Topham had specifically asked that they return to the main line because there were going to be some rather interesting events over the next few months. They had yet to pry anything out of him, save for a rather cryptic comment about 'royalty' and 'special trip'. Then he had begun to giggle maniacally and had accidentally knocked the drip from his hand to the ground, resulting in the nurses having to restrain him for what was not the first time.
Thomas puffed by with Annie and Clarabel. He had just delivered a few trucks, and would be heading off towards Elsbridge to pick up some passengers. "Peep peep! Good morning, Rusty! Your driver doesn't half look worried, I wonder why! ...No, I don't, actually, I'm just saying that to pass the time. Pretty boring day all things considered, bye!" This came out as a mumbled and random garble, from which Rusty could only pick out certain words.
"I...know?" remarked Rusty, venturing a guess as to what it was Thomas had exactly said, seeing as he hadn't bothered to slow down in any way, shape or form. "I wonder why? So...er, driver-"
"My name is Larry. We have been your crew for...for a long time, and you still don't know our names!"
"Be fair, mate." said the fireman, named for his ability to put out any fuel fires that might be caused by a diesel. "I don't even know your name."
"B-But you were there at my wedding!"
"Let me tell you, it was a nightmare trying to find the chapel when you have no idea what the groom's name is!"
"You were my best man!"
"Uh, can I interrupt here? I'm pretty sure we missed the line we were supposed to be turning on" Mitton got a muttered curse for his troubles as Rusty's driver backed the diesel up and clung to the cab roof so as not to trip over himself.
"So, is something wrong?"
"Yes indeed! My best man doesn't even have the first clue what my name is!"
"Okay then. What's my name?"
"...uh...um..."
"You don't even know my name. Let he who is without sin-"
"Manager says that we need another engine for this line, Rusty! Isn't that swell?!"
"Nice job changing the subject, Larry. That was subtle. A bluebell engine, eh? maybe I can help find one."
...
Arriving at Crovan's Gate, Rusty noticed that Douglas and Percy were taking a little rest from their usual work in the corner. Rusty plucked up the courage, and headed off towards the two of them. Along the way, he passed the engine sheds for the narrow gauge railway, now bedecked in bright, neon colors that looked as though an anthropomorphic personification of the seventies had somehow exploded all over it. Clearly Rheneas was still in that stage of being a 'rad dude' much to the discomfort of the other engines.
"-Aye, it went everywhere! Tha's the last time I'm going ta a party planned by Donald! Silly fool nearly killed us!"
"Yes, Thomas said that next time he'd consider just going with the most expensive option for any parties along similar themes as last night's. So, at least something's good come out of it- Oh! Hello, Rusty!"
"Yer working with yon Rheneas, aren't ye?"
"Working? Rheneas?"
The three shared a laugh, though Douglas was a little suspicious, as he often was regarding diesels. Rusty didn't blame him. He hadn't come right out and told them to clear off like other engines who were somewhat wary of the oil guzzling replacements for steam. "Hey, so this might seem like a really weird topic, but do you know where you can get a engine from?"
"Well, when a mother engine and a father engine love each other verra much-"
"Hardy har. No, I'm talking finding another engine for my line. You know, engines who don't really have a home, engines who are looking for work, that sort of thing. Can you help me find one? I have one place specifically in mind."
"Where?"
"Where you found Oliver."
Douglas coughed as his drink went down the wrong way. "Ye mean-" he spluttered "-on yon Other Railway? Losh sakes man, be careful with ye words!"
"Yes, that's the place I'm talking of. I've been there before for a bit of time, but I'm really looking for a Bluebell Engine. If you'd give me a buffer getting me back over there, talk to a few of my contacts-"
"I'd like to help, really, I would. But these days, the Railway has been getting stricter and stricter. These days, it's only the diesels that go there. No steam engines allowed anywhere near it."
Rusty decided then and there. "So, that's where I'm going! Thanks lads!" And they backed away, leaving Percy and Douglas looking at each other baffled.
"Take care, ye daft beggar!" called Douglas, somewhat aimlessly.
"Well that escalated rather quickly." Percy remarked.
"Aye."
"...You don't think they'll get in any trouble?"
"...Put it this way, Percy. I believe it should be advisable that we prepare, just in case we need to, er, act the cavalry!" Douglas glanced over, and saw Gordon pulling a long line of box vans "Aye! Gordon! Yer're heading towards the Other Railway, aren't ye?"
"Not going inside! You wouldn't get me in there if I was armed to the teeth."
"Yon diesel thinks he's Steve McQueen. Ye and Henry keep a eye out, all the same, okay?"
"Fine. But you're paying my bar tab."
Douglas grit his teeth, and nodded. Percy was in awe. A Caledonian, paying for someone else's drink? The mind boggled.
...
Rusty told the four in his cab his plan as he dozed in the afternoon sun. Allcroft and Mitton, always one to seize a oppurtunity, were eager for it. The driver was more cautious, but still rather interested in the idea. The fireman was the lone holdout, insisting that they talked to the manager about it first. Despite many cries of "Buzzkill!" they eventually agreed.
That night, the driver returned to the little diesel. "Manager says, among other things, that if you can find a Bluebell engine, he's willing to make a home here and with the actual Bluebell railway. IF you can find one."
"Righty-ho!" said Rusty, not daunted in the slightest "Shall we start tomorrow?"
...
The Other Railway was busy that night. The labyrinthine structure of the place made it very hard for people who didn't have massive maps on them to get around it, and even then, having that map meant that you were only slightly more qualified to walk amongst it. Certainly, no fool would walk along the Railway alone. If they did, you could be sure that you'd never see them alive again.
"Get off home, quickly" remarked one of the replacements. He shuddered as the very empty eyes of the diesels eyed him up. He gestured to his mates to hurry up and take up their positions in the control room, as the cameras were tilted to focus exclusively on Stepney. The previous guards hurried off to their barracks. You worked on the Other Railway, you did so in the complete and utter knowledge that you were abandoning any potential life 'out there' in civilization.
Ah yes. The diesels.
Those with long memories will recall that, from a period between 1991 and 1992, a secret Project was underway referred to only by the name 'Project Facade' on the Other Railway. And while the main scientist on that project had long since passed away (Not, it must be noted, peacefully), many, many diesels had been duplicated in a similar fashion. Alongside D1 (Diesel), D3 (BoCo) and D4 (Mavis), they had finally managed to get Daisy's duplicate (D2) working at long last. They had no personality aside from a pathological hatred for all steam engines, and a undying loyalty to the Fat Director. They sat there on the sidings, watching, waiting, anything. Stepney wasn't too close to them. They would have torn him apart.
Another diesel, a Class 40 type, was there as well. Though he wasn't a Facade, he too was die hard loyal to the cause. His number was D6 and he was a rather snooty diesel, even by Other Railway standards. He was the kind of diesel you could easily imagine running a very corrupt church somewhere that looked down upon poor people and insisted that God didn't give a shit about you until you repented his sins and followed the doctrine of the church with your every breath. But now he was silent. And still.
No one moved. No one breathed. Later, the guards would tell themselves that it almost felt as though there was something possessing the diesels.
The sun never really shone on the Other Railway. The only sense of time passing was the faint little hue of navy blue that decorated the sky over the railway.
...
It had taken Rusty a great deal of the day to travel to the Other Railway. Not least because every so often the fireman had to get out and rush to the toilet.
"Trust him to get a stomach bug on this day of all days!" snapped the driver, who looked at his watch, looked ahead towards the viaduct and decided 'sod it'. "Mitton, you had a crash course in being a engineer, right? Well, you're my new fireman for the day. All you have to do is stand around looking pompous and important and, if anything catches on fire, put that blanket over it. I'd say it's so simple a complete idiot could do it, but a complete idiot has been doing it for the past few years! Onwards, Rusty!"
As they crossed the viaduct, the rather bemused fireman ran after them, before eventually giving up and catching a bus home.
At last, as the sun was beginning to set, they reached the outskirts of the Island, near Vicarstown. Gordon and Henry were both waiting there, shunting around, looking anxiously at the clock. They whistled as Rusty approached.
"Good luck!"
"Have fun!"
Rusty honked back, and charged forward. Both engines looked at each other.
"They're doomed."
"Definitely."
...
Darkness fell, as Rusty and his makeshift crew of three crossed over one of the bridges that overlooked the Inn and several houses where the workers could rest between shifts. A cold wind blew and whistled through the mostly silent railway. It was like a high rise building, completely cut off from the rest of civilization and all things normal and natural. The moon was a full one, and Mitton quickly used a new type of camera, developed by Scuttlebutt Pete, that flew across to get a good shot of Rusty's shadow against the moon.
At last, the little diesel came off the bridge, and passed a variety of sleeping diesels, before at last rounding a corner underneath a very large signal gantry, that also contained a control room full of sleeping guards.
There was a odd sound that echoed across the nearly silent area. "What's that?" murmured Rusty, Britt, David and Larry all at once. But it was only the sounds of the lonely scrapyard.
Only, you'll note, is perhaps a bit of a understatement.
The diesels were there. Rusty had chosen the worst possible place to stop. They were all there. Silent. Still. Lined up on guard.
"WHO"
"ARE"
"YOU"
The voice from them...it was no normal voice. It was many voices, all talking in tandem somehow, all clashing, all with different accents and lilts and tones and such, but at the same time, all the same as well. It was...odd. It was as though a million people were speaking, and yet only one.
They sounded as though the concept of language was something that had never been invented.
Rusty felt as though they had just stepped into the domain of the Elder Gods, and that they were some silly little mortal about to be driven absolutely bloody round the bend. But he plucked up courage. "I'm a...shed and sidings inspection diesel, er, sent round here to check out the sheds and sidings. To make sure they are efficient. Have you...any engines in your sheds?"
The answer came back pretty damn sharpish.
"NO"
"NONE"
Rusty was on the verge of panicking, and felt very much as though this plan of theirs had been rumbled. Britt whispered something, and the little diesel rallied. "Then, er, um, what about the si-sidings?"
There was a pause for a moment. A very long pause. A pause that felt as though it lasted for centuries, when in reality it was ten seconds at most.
"ONE"
"WE"
"HAVE"
"ONE"
Rusty grew braver still "Then, er, I shall just go and inspect them, shall I?" They started off, and for a moment, a brief moment, the driver felt as though they had overplayed their hand. But the diesels, and whatever it was that controlled them, let them pass through. No alarms sounded. No one screamed. No one even so much as really looked at them in a odd manner.
So they moved on.
...
They moved past the row of scrap, everyone shuddering as they saw the carcasses of steam engines cut up and hung about like twisted trophies from some demented safari hunter, until at last, they reached the area where a second control room viewed the action.
A small engine, with a tall funnel that was somewhat damaged, stood sad and alone in the middle of a siding. His driver was huddled in his cab, keeping him company and trying to keep warm by wrapping a feather boa around his neck. The Hulk Hogan look did not suit him, it must be said, but points must be given for oriigniality.
Rusty drew near, all the while keeping a close eye on the control room. The guards were looking back at the little diesel, perhaps aware that whoever this little one was, they were clearly not one of their own. There was a spark in this one's eyes, a sense of vitality and life. They were the ones who had been commenting on how grim the idea of hanging steam engine's corpses around the little yellow engine was. They had yet to be ground down by the life of the Other Railway workman.
So, defiantly, they switched the cameras off, and began to make their way towards the outside world.
Rusty turned the attention back to the other. "Excuse me-" they said "-this may seem like a random question, but do you like bluebells?"
The engine looked startled "Yes...I do. I think bluebells are beautiful, but why-"
"Because you're about to see a lot of them. We're getting you out of here!" Rusty grinned at Stepney, who stared back, completely stunned and, it must be said, a little suspiciously. But then he caught sight of Britt, and his eyes widened.
"You're Britt Allcroft!"
"You...know me?"
"What engine doesn't?! Come on then!"
Everyone began to work fast. It was difficult to light Stepney's fire, but the driver's managed to get it glowing hot, and made sure that the Bluebell engine was full and ready to steam. His fireman had long since abandoned him to the wolves, so his driver admitted to needing a fireman.
"I'll do it!" said Mitton, bravely. He lept from Rusty's cab and hurried over.
And then off they went.
Well, first they had to find a way to turn themselves around first, which gave them time to introduce themselves.
"I'm Rusty. I used to work here, not by choice, I tell you."
"I believe it. I'm Stepney. I used to work on the Bluebell Railway, funny enough. Silly thing is, this isn't even my first time fighting the scrapheap and the monsters who control it."
"Really? But-"
"I know. I should have known better. See, I was heading off from this little promotional tour I'd done back in 1991. You know how it is, people come up asking for you to tell them stories, you rub elbows with a few dukes and duchesses, and so on."
"Of course" lied Rusty, whose closest association with a duke was the very smelly and half senile engine of that name.
"Anyway, I'm coming back up the line on my own, when all of a sudden, I'm surrounded on all corners by diesels! I'd faced off with those types of attack dogs before, but even so, I could tell these were...different. They weren't acting like normal diesel engines. They were acting more like...animals. And then they went for me. I fought as hard as I could, but of course, it didn't help that my fireman had run off like a chump, and my driver had to hide in case the crew on the diesels tore him to shreds. They took me back to that siding, and for the first couple of months, they sort of tugged me about a bit. Gave me a couple of knocks, and then they...went a bit stronger. Passed out, and when I woke up, I'd only skipped a good year or so of my life! It's amazing how long engines can sleep for!"
"So, why you?"
"They seem to imagine, though I have no idea why, that I have knowledge of some secret weapon that the Island of Sodor has. I suggested to them rather forcefully when the diesels came back to try again that perhaps their greatest weapon was having personality. That earned me this." He tried to make a gesture to a rather puffy eye, but couldn't. "And then I was left alone. Save for driver, of course. Dear driver. Came back time after time with a sympathetic crew, kept me ready, just in case. But I'd never have managed it without you."
"We're not out yet."
Now they had turned around, and they were now heading back.
Back past the bleak and brooding line of diesels-
"WHERE"
"IS"
"HE"
"GOING"
The hiss clearly had a rather negative effect on Stepney, who halted temporarily, but Rusty was having none of it. "Just down the line!" he responded with a great deal of blitheness. Mitton stoked the fire, and Stepney staggered onwards, past the diesels, who were only now beginning to suspect that something was really wrong. They sounded their horns, as Rusty lead the old engine onwards onto a siding where both standard and narrow gauge tracks ran side by side. As the control room went into chaos up above, men falling over each other to try and alert the other, the two of them focused hard on getting past them. The diesels were in such a hurry that they were rushing past the two escapees, until at last, they reached back onto the main line towards the gates.
And they chuffered quickly away!
"STEAMER! STEAMER!" came the howl, but by this point, the two of them had already reached the bridge, and like ET, they triumphantly rushed ahead, silhouetted against the bright and silvery moon.
"We've done it! We're over the border and back on our own railway! Mission accomplished!" Rusty crowed in absolute delight. In their cabs, Mitton, Allcroft, Larry and Stepney's driver were whooping, more to relieve themselves of the tension and terror they had felt during their escape than anything. And Stepney? Stepney merely smiled a weary smile, as he felt the familiar grooves that indicated that he was finally on his way home.
...
"YOU LET THEM GO TO THE OTHER RAILWAY!?"
Percy looked to Douglas for help, but the latter appeared to be very consciously trying to put as much distance between the very angry Skarloey and himself as could be possibly put. "We didn't think he was that serious-"
"And you didn't go with him!?"
"Douglas!"
"Ach, I tried to warn him, I really did, but Percy here-"
"I did not!"
There was a rather familiar honk, which drew all three engines's eyes to the opposite end of the line, where Rusty and Stepney limped in, to a rousing welcome from engines, coaches and workmen alike. Stepney wearily grinned, and Rusty awkwardly batted off the praise, before at last, the manager managed to bat his way through the throng of fans. He said something about mending him and sending him back on his way to the railway, before his delighted driver interrupted.
"You lucky old engine! You've been saved by the Bluebell Railway! Again! What are the odds of that happening?!"
"Well, technically, my friend Rusty did. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Rusty."
Rusty blushed.
"So-" remarked Douglas "-we, er, all forgiven for the wee mix up?"
...
Once Skarloey had stopped attempting to murder Douglas and Percy for letting one of his friends go off into what seemed like certain doom and such, they were often witness to the little engine working happily up and down the Bluebell Line. His name is Stepney (As has been mentioned once or twice before, so we just hoped you hadn't noticed that) but everyone calls him the Bluebell Engine.
They're all really unoriginal like that.
...
Boomer and Zero looked at each other, for once, in complete agreement about something.
They were both utterly and completely terrified of what was about to happen.
The Fat Director had just returned from a business trip overseas, he hadn't even looked at the morning paper, which was filled to the brim with various stories regarding Stepney's return and freedom from scrap. And now someone had just been sent in with the news. Someone small, someone insignificant, someone whom would not be missed if he was killed.
But both men were very much aware that they had never seen the Fat Director react to a complete and utter loss like this. Every other loss, every failed attempt, had had at least something good to fall back on. But this? This was a complete and utter balls up. There was nothing good for the Other Railway here. As one, they turned and started walking very quickly to the door.
They didn't make it five steps before the door to the Fat Director's office swung open so fast that it fell right off it's hinges straight away, and the body of the unfortunate messenger sailed out, striking the wall with such force that it actually left a imprint there, and the Fat Director walked swiftly out.
His face was slowly turning a very deep red, almost purple with rage. His fists were clenched together, so hard that the Captain thought that his hands might actually start bleeding. His eyes looked like they were about to burn a whole lot of holes in someone's face. He was disheveled, and when he spoke, it was with a slight tremor, at first.
"Why-" he hissed, a terrible hiss that sounded like it had been bathed in molten magma and had a warhead stuck to it's front "-why am I surrounded with such INCOMPETENTS?!" It was the first time that either man could recall the Fat Director raising his voice for anything. It was disconcerting, like seeing a favorite teacher lose their cool completely. He advanced forward, and both Boomer and Zero began immediately backing away towards the door to the outside world. "I have worked so hard over the years, making sure that everything, EVERYTHING is in order, everything that can possibly go wrong had a counter-measure. But do you know what?"
"What?" The Captain's mouth was suddenly very, very dry.
"I didn't plan for the bunglers that work on this railway. I didn't plan for bleeding hearts to be amongst my work-staff! I entrusted you with that responsibility, Captain Zero, and not only that, you gave me some of the most incompetent and idiotic men to have ever worked for anyone! How else do you explain the very simple fact that we keep seeming to lose easy targets for the scrapheap?! And now, now they have taken away Stepney! A bargaining chip, a potential sacrifice, someone who can give us valuable information, all of that gone in one fell swoop!"
Zero swallowed "it- It was Boomer who hired them-"
"You little liar-"
"SILENCE!" The roar turned both of the men, whom considered themselves to be extremely cool and calm under pressure, into jelly, and they instantly shut up. "The two of you are going to begin to fix this mess. You will make sure that no one gets in or out of this railway without the express permission of myself. You will lock down the gates, you will eradicate every member of staff who under-preforms in any sense of the word, you will make sure that anyone who does manage to enter this is executed publicly. And whilst doing that, you will continue to search for Lady and the Magic Railroad. You will do both of these tasks and you will not complain to me. Or else-"
He turned to a open window. The other two looked outside.
There, on one of the sidings, several members of the control room that had been atop the gantry were backed up against each other. Surrounding them on all sides were the fake diesels, snarling, growling, baying, like demonic hounds. The men were terrified, they made no effort to hide this in any way, and this in turn seemed to be exciting the diesels more and more so. Or rather, whatever strange force was in control of them.
And then one of the men made the worst, and last, mistake of his life.
He tried to run.
To say what happened next is too horrible, even by this book's standards. So it shall perhaps be simpler to say that one of the diesels, D2, caught the man with her mouth, and...there was a great deal of crunching, and screaming, and then simply the workman had ceased to exist.
And now the other diesels, inflamed by the smell of blood, rushed forward too, the control men trying in a mad scramble to get over each other or out of the circle, or in vain tried to protect each other.
Boomer and Zero watched in horror at it. It was like watching a car crash, if the cars had teeth and ate the victims alive, in that they couldn't look away.
"Or that." remarked the Fat Director. "That will happen to you. I make myself clear?"
Both Zero and Boomer nodded dully.
"Very good." The Fat Director turned and walked away, without another word.
The two men couldn't get out of the room fast enough.