So.
This might be a bit controversial.
CUE THE THEME
...
It's time.
The pieces are almost all here. The board is nearly set. The game will be starting sooner than they realize. And it's up to me to guide them all into their correct places. Those little engines...despite what they may say and do and think...there is goodness in them.
Goodness that is under attack.
It is up to me.
Very well then. The battlelines have been drawn.
Your move, Malevolence.
...
The first thing that he remembered was that there was a tune in the background. Playing over and over again, like the record was permanently stuck on a loop. There were no lyrics, just a brief instrumental verse. It took him a while to work out what it was. The theme song to the Magic Roundabout. That somewhat innocent, yet also somehow demented song that perfectly matched the show that had accompanied it.
The second thing that he remembered was the smell. It was an odd smell, the kind of smell that suggested that the place had been cleaned a great deal. You could almost taste it as well. It had the feel of cleaning fluid and long hard nights making sure that the place was clean.
And the third thing that he remembered was opening his eyes and seeing a man pointing a gun at his head.
"Hello, Mr Carlin." said the man, reasonably. "Welcome back to the land of the living. It's only taken you three years."
The fourth thing he remembered was shouting aloud at the top of his lungs "MOTHERF*****!"
...
1997.
The engines were bored
So very, very, very bored.
Most of them had been dragged out of their sheds at the crack of dawn to trundle down to Knapford and listen to the Fat Controller give another one of his speeches. Since the events of Callan, most of the engines had shied away from any public activity outside of the Island itself. There were no music that was attempted, no attempts at chat shows and certainly not a single run for any political office was made. They were, to be bluntly honest, bushed. They stuck to doing their work, and arguing over a pint or two at The Sidings. To be bluntly honest, the fact that there had still be munitions under the rails even up to a few months ago had rather gave them a sober perspective on things.
Hatt stood there, in his proudest uniform, next to something that was covered by a tarpaulin. Just looking at it, it was a bit taller than him, though not as wide. His wife, grand-children, bodyguards, butler and most of the railway staff were scattered along the platforms. They all looked just as thrilled as the engines were, i.e. not very.
"It gives me great pleasure-"
"Well I'm glad you've got some!" hollered a voice that sounded like Oliver.
"-to announce the following exciting new developments to our railway!"
"YOU'RE RETIRING?!" shouted someone who sounded a bit like Gordon. A drunk Gordon.
Hatt paused, took pains to make sure no one noticed the slight throbbing of his temple and continued. "First off, we have another series coming up of the influential documentary series, and stop groaning, it totally is a documentary and not just footage re-narrated over by some Liverpudlian chap. Britt and David, though not as involved as they once were, are very excited to be doing this again."
Someone yawned.
"Secondly, I am also over the moon to announce that we are bringing a record number of newcomers to be helping out on our Island over the next year or so. Trust me, this is going to be very interesting, and I hope you're as excited as I am!"
Thomas snorted.
"And thirdly, if you will turn your attention to this behind me, I'd like to introduce you to the latest addition to our little railway, something that will make the hassle of having to work late nights a thing of the past for all you workers." Hatt reached out and tugged the tarpaulin away to reveal...
The engines stared in shock. No one was mocking now.
It was a very long, mechanical arm. At least, that was what it looked like. It was bolted to the floor, with thick and heavy bolts that seemed to be for the engines's sake. It was completely black, a dull black, the kind of black that indicated that it had been in use for some time. Dust seemed to streak it, and the hand...well, it was built like a human hand. Four fingers, a 'thumb' for lack of a better word and several joints that made it look like it could squeeze either softly or hard depending on the situation.
It made the engines uneasy.
"What...is it, sir?"
"That, Edward, is the future. Got these fresh from Japan. Industrial Robots. According to my, very limited, knowledge of technological terms, these are referred to typically as Factory Automation Infrastructure. They're a way of making sure that I don't have to fire anyone, but on the plus side, we actually get some work done around here."
"I don't trust them." remarked Henry, later, once all the humans had left. "They don't look right."
"They don't look that bad. I mean, it's less hassle, like he said, right?" Mavis said, cautiously.
"Ha! They'll be hassle all right." Toby said with a weary contempt. "Doesn't he know that he's asking for a lot, having things go right on this Island?"
The engines soon got used to the arms, which they called Pinchers, as time went on, but even so there was a great deal of tension going into 1998. Where one day, the new harbor was readied for work to begin in there. Brendam Docks was Knapford's superior in every way. More room, the best cranes (including the Big Mickey crane salvaged from the remains of the old place), slightly less smelly...so most of the engines, while not over the moon to work there, got on with it in comparison with Knapford, where it had just been Duck and Percy for the most part.
...
Now, Thomas and Percy enjoy working down by the docks (There's a catchy song title for you) probably the most out of all the engines. They like the sea air and the sound of the gulls. Why is beyond me. I just narrate this stuff.
But one day, the friends were feeling hot and bothered. No, they hadn't been looking at PlayEngine again, they had some standards. There was a crane that was causing trouble, and it was even harder than usual to deal with this crane because he had a face and actually talked. His name was Cranky, and, well, you can gather most of his character from his name, really. It was his first day at the docks, and he was a trial run for a new breed of crane that the Fat Controller had been considering transporting to the Island.
It was going to be a very experimental year.
"You're useless little bugs!"
"And a good morning to you, too!"
"I tell you, you little things are just idiots! It's frigging obvious that if you put the trucks on the inside line, then I wouldn't have to reach so far and then you wouldn't get your arses chewed off by an angry fat man! Do I have to think of everything for you fools!?"
"Rabbish!" said Thomas, and somewhere James screamed aloud, and had no idea why. "We've always done it this way, even back on the old harbor, and no crane has ever complained before!"
"Well, I am complaining now! SO THERE!" And Cranky banged his load down on the keyside (STOP SNIGGERING, I CAN SEE YOU BACK THERE) causing both engines to jump. Cranky got a sick amusement out of seeing them jump, so he continued on with his charming personality not changing an iota. "NOW LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO, YOU HORRIBLE LOT!"
"You ever get the sense that it's going to be one of those days?" remarked Thomas to Percy.
"Yep. All the frigging time."
"...Frigging?"
"It's what the cool kids are saying."
"Is it? Well they won't be cool for very long."
...
Later that day, Thomas and Percy met Gordon and James and began to complain about the crane. Both engines were doing their normal level of hard work at the dock, which was to say, not a lot.
"Cranes are airy-fairy things, they need a lot of attention, like me in fact." Gordon bragged. Thomas looked at Percy and mockingly gagged to show just what he thought of Gordon's stellar advice. Clearly the workmen had thought similar, as they had managed to bend his buffer somewhat during his speech.
James agreed, and added "You should see the situation from Cranky's point of view!"
"Yeah, but can anyone see a situation when you have your head stuck up your own arse, like he does?" Percy asked, innocently.
James snorted. "That's just the sort of low-brow humor I expect from you smaller engines. I think I shall like this Cranky. He's up in the air coping with wind, rain, baking sun and whatever nasty stuff the seagulls have plans, and then he has to look down and see you little engines darting around being smart arses and annoying everyone you meet. No wonder he calls you bugs! I shall meet this Cranky, and we shall compare notes!"
"Well, that achieved much." remarked Percy. "We've learnt that Gordon and James have a replacement for Henry should anything happen to him for mocking us, and that we are, in fact, stupid for thinking they'd give us any actual helpful advice."
"You're not wrong, Percy." Thomas sighed, and licked his lips. "God, what I wouldn't give for a ciggie right now."
When Cranky heard that the big engines agreed with him, his pride swelled to dangerous levels. He grew more and more bossy and demanding. "COME ON COME ON PUSH THOSE TRUCKS CLOSER YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE COCKROACH!"
Percy was more than a little put out by this. So upset was he that he ended up accidentally pushing the trucks a little too far. Now, this can be excused. What can't is Cranky slamming his hook down so fast that the box, filled with sneezing powder, smashed into Percy's face with brute force.
Poor Percy.
"YOU'LL- ATCHOO- PAY FOR- ATCHOO- THIS, YOU- ATCHOO- SODDING FOOL! ATCHOO!" He wailed as he puffed away to get his nose cleaned out. Then Thomas rolldu p to get a trick played on him.
"Move these trucks to the other line, you silly great berk! It'll be easier for me to load them up."
Thomas looked at the trucks, then at Cranky, then at the trucks again, before reluctantly heading over to the outside track. He knew he was being played, but as of yet, there was no witty comeback in his mind for what was going on.
Cranky left the loads besides the trucks. Thomas's expression, a cross one that showed just how tired he was of this, didn't change a bit.
"You must have known my arm can't reach you there!"
This mix up caused confusion and delay. As did the fact that Thomas attempted to throw Cranky back into the depths of the sea where he belonged. His words, not mine.
The Fat Controller was most upset, as Thomas and Percy headed over to see him with faces like thunder and attitudes to match.
"Thomas and Percy-"
"Those are our names."
"-this crane has an important job to do. I have heard that you, shock of all shocks, haven't been making it easier for him. You will go to your sheds and consider how you can improve your attitudes and help him out, tomorrow!"
Neither engine argued back. They just wanted to get the day over with.
...
Duck was busy shunting coaches ready for Oliver's next train down to the beach. He looked around, sighed, and had his driver pour a quick sip of something that was most certainly not water into his tank.
It had been three long years of waiting, and once again there had been little to no contact. He had briefly encountered City of Truro one evening, as he had passed by on his way to a railway enthusiasts club somewhere, but the most he had gotten out of him was a congratulations for a job well done and an assurance that there was some sort of problem with communications on their end.
The same excuse they had given him several times over whenever driver or fireman went to ask.
As the last coach slid into place, Duck glanced back and let out a cry of surprise he was unable to stifle.
"Montague."
"PUG! The bloody hell are you even-" Duck paused, took several deep breaths and led Pug down a rather secluded area of the docks. "Listen to me. I understand that the nature of our work isn't exactly the kind that you can shout out about, but at least do me the common courtesy of giving my crew a ring first! You did that last time as well."
"Montague, shut up, and listen." Pug was breathing heavily, and for the first time, Duck noticed something approaching fear in his eyes. "There's...there's been an accident. There was a convoy heading towards the Island, not to stop, you understand, but just to refuel and then head off again. And, well, there's been an attack and...it's best if I show you."
And so Pug lead Duck back towards the very edge of the Island. Through the skeletal Vicarstown Station, in construction and already looking far bigger than Knapford, and across the bridge to a rather sandy section of the track, similar to Bluff's Cove.
"God in heaven!"
The scene was one of carnage. Complete and utter chaos. There were fires, small ones, that were being put out by tense looking firefighters. The line itself was buckled, as if the heat had affected it. There were scattered bits of metal here and there, but the most disturbing thing was that, on the outside track, lay an engine. The fire had almost blackened his paint so much that it would have been impossible to see what color it had been. But there was just a hint of green that could be seen. Duck puffed further up to get a glimpse at the front.
"You recognize him?"
"Recognize him, why would I-"
And then Duck knew why he would have.
The smoke deflectors were twisted, one hung off loosely, on the verge of just falling down, while the other had shattered into smaller pieces. And the face was no better. The fire had completely stripped it of most of it's grey skin, leaving only a horrid mixture of black, scorched tissue, ash and burnt bones. But Duck recognized that face nonetheless, just in the way that it seemed to settle.
It was St Eustace.
"What happened?" he asked, trying to contain the trembling.
"We were on our way-" said Jinty, as she puffed up "-on a mission that only St Eustace knew about. I was at the back, making sure no one could take him out from there. We were diverted onto this section of track by some sort of problem on the bridge. We slowed down, and then-" She sighed. "Something happened. I don't know. I blacked out. There was an explosion, I remember that, and I think it might have been from behind. So I shielded him from the blast."
"What about the others?"
"Dead, I'm afraid."
"You all right, love?" asked Pug.
"I shall be. I get the sense that St Eustace wasn't just killed. Usually attacks like these target the boiler and the more sensitive areas. But according to what the experts tell us, they went for his wheels, cut off his means of escaping." Jinty looked around. "Judging by the fact that there are more than three other bodies here, I'd say that he fought them off as best he could. Then they tried to get at him for information."
"Think he told them anything?"
"Not a chance, Pug. Look at the way they took out his face. That's not pragmatically executing someone once you've finished with them, that's straight up fury at a lack of information given."
Duck was silent. He had never liked St Eustace, but he suddenly felt a great deal more respect for the big engine. He had given his life without telling his attacker a single word. "What about his crew?"
"Fireman was killed instantly. We're assuming that the attacker used some sort of detonation device hidden in Eustace's fire. The driver, if he's extremely lucky and that is a big if indeed, will have to have imnmuerable skin grafts, broken legs...he was thrown from the train shortly after the blast and the loss of wheels."
"Who are we talking about for the murder?"
Jinty and Pug looked at each other before the latter answered. "We don't know. We will by tonight. Will you be-"
"I'll be at the new docks, with the three tender engines, but I can get away at some point, probably. I'll see you there?"
"Same."
Duck looked at Eustace's smoldering remains. "Poor sod." he muttered, and left.
...
That night, a big storm raged across the Island of Sodor. Wind buffered everything it could find, several engines had to duck into sheds just to avoid getting swept away, rain sprayed into the faces on anyone hapless enough to stay out...it was chaos. The weather had never been so bad before, not even the storm that had wrecked Henry's Forest.
That's it. That's it. Let us make sure that our enemies get no chances this time.
At the docks, Duck, Gordon, Henry and James shivered greatly as they took shelter in one of the makeshift and slightly ramshackle sheds at the end of the line. James let out a rather loud shriek as one of the lamp-posts blew it's bulbs.
"Calm down!" snapped Henry, trying to make himself heard over the storm.
"Look at Cranky! Look at how calm and dignified he is!" agreed Gordon.
"OOOH ER I DON'T LIKE IT!" wailed Cranky.
"We're sure to be safe in this shed." argued Duck. He was wrong. Very wrong. They had no idea that they were about to be put in great danger by an old tramp steamer. This ship was old, and it's crew were drunk off their arses watching Eastenders. They had come from the Other Railway, supposedly, on a mission to bring supplies to the Smelters Yard.
Clearly, it was hard to get the staff nowadays. It was out of control, and as it ran aground, it smashed through one of the piers with great force, heading towards the sheds.
"OH BLOODY HELL!" Henry shouted.
"MOTHER!" Gordon screeched.
"SAVE US!" James wailed.
"Oh, well this is a right pickle." said Duck.
It slammed into the sheds with such force that the load bearing pillars swayed and lurched for a moment, rocking the roof back and forth, and even as the ship continued on it's way, it forced the shed against Cranky's leg. And as the shed crumpled in around the engines, Cranky let out a terrified "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGGGHHH!" and toppled to the ground with a tremendous crash.
It took the engines a few seconds to make sure that they were, in fact, still alive. "HELP!" they cried.
"I can't!" wailed Cranky, pathetically. "Ah! It hurts! Someone kiss my boo-boos!"
When the storm was over, the Fat Controller rushed to the scene of destruction alongside Butch the breakdown lorry, to examine what had happened. "Great Godfrey's Bell! Why does this stuff always happen? We'll get Thomas and Percy to help you, and then you can help the other engines!"
"Or, you know, the other way around!" asked Henry, hopefully.
"Tell them to hurry! And if it sweetens the deal, tell them I'm sorry I was a jerk to them." Cranky paused, realizing halfway through his mistake.
"SO IT WAS YOU!" bellowed the Fat Controller. He groaned. "And now I owe them an apology. That's...going to be embarrassing."
...
"So, what's six down, do you reckon? Five letters. spiritual explanation for cause and effect, comes from sanskrit?"
The shed door opened rapidly, and their crews climbed aboard. "Come on lads! Cranky's fallen over, and he needs our help!"
"Karma, Percy. That's called karma."
As they arrived, relatively quickly, neither engine could resist themselves and began to mock the ever-loving tar out of the fallen crane. The Fat Controller made a rather grovelling apology, as insisted by Thomas, and then upped their pay somewhat. It wasn't too long before Cranky was upright and clearing away the wreckage, tossing the top of the shed away so as to free the four grumpy, and by now very cold, engines.
"Thank you." said Gordon through a bleeding lip. "What would I have done without you?"
"Oh, do we not exist, Gordon!?" snarled James and Henry. Duck slipped away, hoping to meet with Jinty and Pug.
"Well, I had to be rescued before I help you, but I suppose your thanks will suffice. But I'd never thought it'd be by a couple of bu-bu-" Cranky was on the verge of putting his one massive foot in it once again and calling the small engines bugs again, but quickly recovered "-er, small engines. Ta. I'll never be rude again-" and here Cranky crossed his hook behind his back "-but you two mites are in the way, so if you could just scoot aside?"
Percy growled. "PAH! He's back to bugging us, the little son of a gun!" And he jerked back.
"DON'TMOVEYOU'RESTILLATTACHEDTOCRANKY!" said Thomas, panicked beyond words.
As per usual, it was too late.
"Ow." moaned Cranky.
"I'll...get the breakdown train." muttered Percy. Cranky still looks down on other engines, but he never calls them bugs or mites because he knows they might bite back. Also, because Thomas can be very scary when he wants to be.
...
"We've found out who it is." Jinty gave a slight inclination of his head, and the driver handed a surprisingly clear photograph. Duck blinked twice in shock. The engine was almost impossible to make out. It's entire body was armored extensively, with thick, grey metal. It was as long as Gordon, and it was clear from what little could be seen of the wheels that the armor was certainly very wide.
"It puts one in mind of the James Bond film, Goldeneye, when I look at it." remarked Pug.
"Who is he? Or she? Or they?"
"We don't know. For simplicity's sake we'll call it a him. He goes by a simple name. The Juggernaut. That armor is specially modified from an old Russian armored train, just given a far thicker feel, somehow. It's impervious to bullets from what we can tell, and there are arguments about what it is actually made from."
"But who is he?"
"As we say, all we really have is his name. There are rumors, apparently, that he was formerly a rather tough engine in his own right, but he turned on his own kind when the orders started coming through for scrapping. And so, to catch runaway engines, they vastly upgraded him, as you can see. He has guns attached to him, somewhere, like the armored trains, and we're thinking that's how he managed to cripple St Eustace."
"Bloody hell."
"Indeed."
"So, what's the plan?"
"We believe he's preparing to attack the Island. And when he does, we spring into action."
Duck groaned. "More waiting around for something to happen?!"
"Yep."
"Oh terrific."
...
"THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
Carlin stared at the man in the doorway, his mind already trying to calculate how fast he could grab the gun and threaten his way out of this place. Even if he did appear to lack any actual underwear, his dignity was slightly less important than the fact that he was about to be shot. The man stormed forward, slapped the man standing by the door, walked up to the man with the gun and slapped him too.
"OW!"
"You're damn right, ow! Is this any way to react to- Mr Carlin, allow me to apologize!" He glared at the two men, who appeared cowed despite his somewhat plump body and his affable attitude. "Are you feeling well?"
"Apart from having a gun thrust in my face, sure. How long has it been?"
"Three years."
"Oh, I se- THREE YEARS?!"
"Listen, if you feel better, head outside, there's some fresh clothes waiting, and once I've finished giving these two a shakedown, I'll come out and explain everything." He kept smiling encouragingly as Carlin walked out, somewhat nervously. As he closed the door, he could hear the man shouting furiously at the men, who responded by muttering meekly.
Carlin quickly put on a rather snazzy looking outfit, reminding him of his old Conductor uniform from a few years back, and sat down in the 'office' of sorts. He was rather impressed. It seemed to be a tribute to British animation as a whole. On the walls were signed autographs from the creators of shows like Roobarb and Custard, Huxley Pig, Postman Pat, Magic Roundabout, the Herbs, Fireman Sam...
But something else caught his attention. Something that made him get up and examine it more closely.
It was a map. But not an ordinary map. It seemed to be a map of a fictional area. For example, in the place where Carlin knew existed the Bermuda Triangle, on three points were lands labelled 'Misterland', 'Timbuktoo' and 'Merrytwit'. He knew that these were places from other British TV Shows that he had seen, but why were they on the map? He looked to the section of the map discussing the UK. There were all the familiar places, but also were more fictional areas. Trumptonshire, consisting of Trumpton, Camberwick Green and Chigley, Nutwood Forest, Silverhatch, Greendale, Pontypandy, Pogles Hill...
"Ah, you've found it then."
Carlin looked to see the man who had come to his...rescue? He wasn't sure yet. "Er, yeah. It's a bit...odd, isn't it?"
"The map? I suppose it is, in a way. But I've always had this great affinity for the old cartoons, you know. The old ways of doing things. They're dying out a lot, aren't they?"
"Aye, well, you'll not see the likes that we got when we were kids again. But...what's going on?"
The man sat at his desk. "Truthfully? I'm not entirely sure. My agency and I have been looking into it since you got shot. From what we can gather, you angered some people from a rather nasty side of the tracks. They sent an assassin to kill you. He failed. You were fished out of the water quickly, or else you'd be dead. As you lacked any actual family, and you were pretty far away from Sodor at the time, we ended up taking you in and making sure that you were looked after. Those two goons that I hesitate to call employees of mine just thought you could help us with information, and that you would be more likely to co-operate if they had a gun to your head."
"Information?"
"Mmm. The men who want you dead, see, are...well, not to put too fine a point on it, dangerous. They have information on certain high ranking members of government's across the world. No one can touch them, really. Save for us. We're so secret even the secret service barely know we exist. Oh, my name is Hargreaves, by the way, do excuse me."
Carlin looked around, baffled. "Er, fine, just...can I go?"
"Of course. But I would like to put an idea to you, if I may."
"...Okay."
Hargreaves steepled his fingers together. "What were you to say if I told you that every 'fictional' place on that map exists?"
Carlin's smile froze. He had the feeling that this was usually where most people's lives either went on as normal, or ended up finishing. He chose his next words very carefully. "I'd say you were out of your f**king mind, but I get the sense that you're about to to tell me that it does, right?"
"The Island of Sodor, Carlin, to most people, is a fictional place. That's the image presented by the TV show. The same goes for the Bigg City Port. But you know, and I know, that it's a real place. Why not the others? Postman Pat, Fireman Sam, Camberwick Green, it's all happened somewhere. And the reason I tell you this is because...well, we have a problem." Hargreaves reached into his desk and pulled out a photo. "Do you know what this is?"
Carlin peered. "It's that portal thingy that happened last...I mean, in 95, right? The one that sent Thomas and Gordon from the past into the present?"
"Wrong. It's the portal thingy in Liverpool. And this one's in Yorkshire. And this one in London. Cardiff, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Swansea, Dublin, these are popping up all over the place. Nothing has come out of them yet, but I believe that it is only a matter of...well, pardon the pun, time. There is a disturbance somewhere in history that is causing these mistakes to happen, and I need someone brave enough to venture forth, no matter how far back it takes, until he finds the fault and corrects it so time can go on as usual."
Carlin looked around, hoping to find some sort of other man who was hidden away. He didn't find one. "Me?"
"You."
"But I'm a drunk! I'm a foul mouthed idiot! I'm a yank!"
"And you're also a Conductor. I found out a couple of things, about you. You're not the real George Carlin, are you?"
"No."
"Of course not."
Carlin walked back and forth for a moment. "So, let me get this straight. You want me- ME -to go into a big swirly time portal, go back in time, go through all the history, find a problem that I have no idea how to handle, solve said problem and save the world."
"You'll also have to fight the causer of said fault, make sure you don't adversely affect the timeline in anyway possible and also make it back in time before you effectively get wiped out of history."
Carlin paused for a moment. Then he walked over, took a large bottle of scotch, and drank it all in one gulp. "All right. I'll do it. What do I do first?"
Hargreaves considered for a moment. "Have you ever heard of Mr Benn?"
So, um...yeah.
Let's start off with the obvious question. Why? Well, for the record, I've actually been seeding this revelation about this world having connections to most British cartoons for quite a while now. Postman Pat, the Trumpton Trilogy, Roary the Racing Car, Joshua Jones, Fireman Sam, Jimbo and the Jet Set...I've referenced and included most of these primarily because I've been leading up to this moment. And if you can accept the fact that Tugs and Theodore Tugboat were set in the same universe, then hopefully you can accept the fact that in this weird world I've created, some of the weirdest characters from British Children's TV inhabit it as well. Trust me, once he starts going back in time, you'll start to see why I've done this. Most of this stuff will only appear in this season. Think of it as a tribute to British Animation as a whole. Considering that this is the last season in the twentieth century, I felt it was only fair to include a little tribute to what I feel has passed on.
St Eustace's death was always planned. He was literally included so that I didn't kill off a random character and write in a connection that hadn't been hinted at. The Juggernaut is my own creation...well, sort of, it's hard to explain now, but you'll see.
Hopefully I haven't turned you off the story.