As I am uploading this on Christmas, HAPPY HOLIDAYS! To all those reading after the holidays...hi, I guess. Thomas and the Rumors everyone.
REVIEW TIME.
Hughie99: You are not alone. Shed 17 is freaky. Really freaky. Watching the Flying Kipper is somewhat harder than it used to be now. I'm glad you're liking 98462, hopefully you'll like what I did with him this time. I'd be very interested to see if your guess is right. I'm sort of toying with keeping his identity a secret for a bit longer after Magic Railroad, if he stays around for that long. But who knows!
Game-Watch: Funny you say that, that's the entire plot of the HIT Seasons...see, even I don't know if I'm joking!
AaronCottrell97: Glad you enjoyed!
TrainManiac: Thank you very much! I can't wait for Spencer to come around. Arrogant characters are the best to write! And I have the perfect plan for him. At least I hope it'll be perfect.
Radical sandwiches: Ha! I'm so mature. Thank you, I'm glad that you like Carlin. Him taking a more serious role was always a bit of a risk, but I wanted to do something different with him.
UGX7: Technically they are! And a bit of both on Gordon's part.
Reality Rejection Service: Percy really doesn't learn. The thing with the trucks was one of the things that I really wanted to work into the Godred chapters, but so much was happening already that I couldn't really do it. I honestly thought that Gordon and Spencer being cousins was canon! Basically, the idea was that because Nigel Gresley worked on Scotsman and on the Class A4's, there's a really complicated family tree in there somewhere.
MattPrice01: Sarcastic Thomas is best Thomas. I know a lot of people think that Season 5 is where Thomas starts to get a little bland, but personally, I love the idea of Thomas just slowly developing into Edward. Able to see just how much bullshit goes on in this Island. Also, wait and see...Mwahaha.
Bronze Shield: The thing about Season 5 is that it's actually the closest thing to my fic in the show. It's got these wonderfully offbeat moments, that come out of nowhere and disappear in similar fashion, like James and the fire. So, getting to write lines like that is really fun.
CUE THE THEME.
Thomas the Tank Engine loves his branchline. In other news, the sky is blue, the sea is wet and politicians lie a lot.
"Why is there so much HAY!?"
"There are some questions you are not meant to answer, Thomas."
As he puffed along the branchline with Annie and Clarabel one again giving him no small amount of grief, he wondered vaguely why it was that he felt a tad uneasy. Something was in the air, and it wasn't smelly old Henry, that was for sure.
Or maybe that was just the slight panicky feeling that he often got when he approached Callan. Since the Bikegate incident, he had become aware that he was a bit of a pariah there. He'd managed to get out of making stops there for the most part, but now he was unable to avoid it. But to his surprise, as he came to a stop, he noticed that the children gathered there looked rather glum. And not, strangely enough, at him!
"They've closed our playground and our favorite sand pit down!"
"Hello to you too!"
"Teacher says the sand is too soiled and dirty to play in!"
"Why are you so happy about that? Were you the one who soiled it?"
"Please help us Thomas!" they cried.
Thomas grimaced, gnashed his teeth together and looked around in the vain hope that someone else by the name of Thomas had showed up. He liked kids, and for the most part, they tended to like him, And though this was clearly a job that was better suited to the Mayor or to the local MP, he couldn't refuse them. "I'll try." He muttered under his breath, and tried not to feel guilty at the gleeful expressions on the kids faces.
He had hoped they had been exaggerating somewhat, but as he passed it, he saw a sign that read 'PLAYGROUND CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. THIS MEANS YOU, YOU LITTLE TROGLODYTES'.
"Kids were right." grimaced Thomas. "Now, how does one go about saving a playground?"
"That age old question?"
"Shut it, Annie, no one asked you."
"No one ever does anymore."
He puffed into the sheds, and was about to tell the other engines about the playground (Though why, he wasn't sure) when Percy ran in screaming bloody murder. "BLOODY MURDER!" He screamed.
"You look troubled little Percy, what's up?" Gordon remarked, in a patronizing sort of way.
"The Fat Controller told driver that he's cutting back on potential accidents by using Harold to show a special visitor around the Island. Instead of us!"
"Another special visito- Is this going to be a trend?!" remarked Edward.
"DESPICABLE!" said Gordon, always one to blow things far out of proportion.
"DISGUSTING!" Henry paused. "We, er, skipped, didn't we? Gordon, you usually say-"
"TO HELL WITH WHAT I USUALLY SAY! I AM NOT TAKING THAT LYING DOWN!"
"Does anyone here think we're overreacting just a tiny bit?" Edward asked. But his voice was soon drowned out by the enraged and mortified squawks of James, so he decided to cut his losses and head for the quarry.
"Engines are meant to take visitors round the Island! Not that stuck up, egotistical, show-off whirlybird thing!" No one commented that this was pretty much the Pot calling the Kettle Red coming from James's mouth. So furious were they that they swore that they would kill Harold the next chance they got.
A little bit of an overreaction, one might say.
...
The nights grew colder. Benn and Carlin had taken to walking the Island alone for a bit, just to see if maybe the portal had somehow appeared on another area they didn't know about, to no avail. As they did so, however, they noticed several things.
Firstly, Lady seemed agitated for some reason. As they assisted the three kids in making sure she was spick and span, they saw the Old One's eyes turn to the overcast sky. They assumed that it was something to do with the blitz and the Luftwaffe, but soon it became clear that she was aware of something else.
Secondly, every time they walked by the railway, they saw the engines working harder and faster, carrying munitions and vehicles and anything else military related. This wasn't abnormal in and of itself, as Carlin's knowledge of history was enough that he knew D-Day was soon. No, what made it odd was the strange looks they kept giving each other. Soon they'd learn that this was because the Flying Scotsman had delivered personal news to Gordon that one of his cousins, Sir Ralph Wedgwood, had been killed in a bombing accident. While this had taken place two years ago, communication was such that it had taken this long to get the news out. Gordon was silent, and none of the engines quite knew how to deal with this.
Thirdly, Carlin's military uniform was starting to draw notice. So as the night of the infamous bombing approached, Carlin had partnered up with Privates Sand and Heaver to meet up with the local Home Guard and survey the area.
"You can't."
Carlin paused as he finished tying up his last button, and turned to face a weary looking Benn. "Can't want?"
"Stop them."
"Stop?"
"...Oh. You haven't heard. Or remembered?"
"What?" Carlin looked nervous. "What, is...is this bombing raid bad then?"
"Carlin...you were there for the mayoral race?"
"Rather. It was a bloody nightmare, a disaster. So many people dropped off during that, it was a wonder we had any watchers and supporters left. Still say that Thomas should have won it. Ah well, at least Drampf didn't. Can you imagine an asshole like him being the leader of an actual country?"
"Carlin, focus. I believe one of Drampf's tricks was to...release footage from this night."
Carlin didn't get it. And then he did. "Oh god...the...the Nazi's try and invade, don't they?! And they kill four of Edward's friends, right in front of him! I have to-"
"NO!" Benn grabbed hold of him. "Listen to me-"
"Damn it all, you know how this messes him up!?" Carlin struggled. "Let me go! I have to warn them! They can divert Edward and the others back onto the loop line! It'll get them to Knapford, out of the way, and then no one will have to worry about a damn thing! I can save them"
"You can't!"
"Oh why!? Why!? Because you, the all mighty Mr Benn says so?!"
"You can't, because it won't do any good." Benn looked glumly around. "Trust me. I've tried. So many times I've tried to change it all. I went back once and convinced a hunter to give up his extermination of one of the rarest jungles of the world. I introduced a small kingdom on the other side of the planet that no one has even discovered yet to the concept of diplomacy by making peace between a king and a goddamn dragon of all things. So I went a little further. I went back and started saving people. Nobodies. The Titanic, the Hidenburg, the destruction of so many cities and villages by the Romans and the Saxons and the Nazis and all of them, and even some of the things that are coming. Oh god, Carlin, you can not even begin to imagine how much your world is going to suffer once the twenty first century comes around. But I couldn't do it. No matter how many people I saved, no matter how hard I tried...history wants to happen."
"I can't accept that!"
"You have to. I had to. It was the only way I could live with myself. Do you realize what's happened because of me? The Clangers have been driven to near extinction when I went up to the moon to try and save them. The last remnants of their race are in that sci-fi show and in Hargreaves's own museum. I'm responsible for the destruction of Mars in the year 2068 and the ensuing war held by it's inhabitants and our own! You can't do anything!"
"...I can try."
And so saying, Carlin left. The mist was coming down, and soon Benn could no longer see him.
...
Gordon was the first to see Harold that day. As he puffed along with the express, Harold swerved over his boiler, offering a cheeky "Sorry chap!" as an apology before he took off once again.
Gordon was not impressed. But when was he ever? "He thinks he can go faster than me!? I'll show that tosspot!"
Henry was the next one to let his fears get the best of him- I mean, see Harold. "Ha! So, Fatty chose Harold because he thought he was more important than me?! HA! I LAUGH AT HIM! HE'S NOT! HE CAN'T FLY THROUGH TUNNELS!"
Henry was halfway through the tunnel when he realized that this was not a viable reason for choosing flight over rails. In fact if anything, it was an actual positive. He then proceeded to sulk silently until he got back to the sheds.
Percy was the next to spot Quicksilver Harold, as all of the engines had taken to calling him due to his ability to seemingly teleport, near a field. The little green tank engine stopped by a field on his branch line. Well, actually it was Thomas's branch-line, but Percy had gone slightly power mad due to most of the jobs moving Thomas back onto the main line for the time being. There were some sheep grazing in the field, baaing away at each other and discussing the mysterious disappearance of the ram that had eaten Hatt's hat.
It was the talk of the sheep world.
Harold hovered for a while, then buzzed away, after staring at the sheep intently for a good few minutes.
"I KNOW WHAT IT IS!" said Percy, reaching James levels of noise. "HE'S COUNTING SHEEP! Oh I am a genius!"
"You're something, all right." muttered Alec. The little green idiot puffed off along the line, feeling far more cheerful and happy to be alive in this world. When he arrived back at the sheds, a indignation meeting was in full effect.
"He blew grass in my face!" shouted Oliver.
"He dinnae show nout care for me and Douggie's paintwork being ruined!" snapped Donald. Douglas, oddly enough, didn't seem that bothered.
"He gave me a lewd wink!" James wailed.
"...That sly dog! I'd have never guessed he was that way inclined!" Edward paused. "How do you know it was directed at you?"
"He looked at me, smiled, and then...Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite as lewd as I made it out to be!"
"In fact, one could argue that he was in fact doing something normal like...I don't know, off the top of my head, blinking?" Edward's tone was drenched in deadpan. He puffed off, calling back a moment later for the three Little Westerners to "Get a move on!" which they reluctantly did.
"Harold-" said Gordon, sounding more and more like a Joseph McCartney in engine form more and more "-wants tp cull us! Murder us all in our berths! You can see it in the way that he smirks like he has no other face!"
"And he doesn't need tunnels!"
"Shut up, Henry."
"He's not trying to kill us!"
"You see! Thank you, Percy! Someone smart, and sensitive, and thoughtful-"
"He's just counting sheep!"
"I give up." Toby hurried off, while Gordon turned red and spluttered even louder than usual.
"PAH! HE IS COUNTING HOW MANY LITTLE ENGINES HE CAN PICK OFF AND SKIN ALIVE! TOMORROW I'LL SHOW HIM!" WE MUST BE ON OUR GUARD!"
"But why!? Our guards have never done anything to us!/"
"GO FU-"
As the fight continued, Thomas wondered idly if it was worth bringing up the playground. But solving the mystery of Harold, the special visitor and just what was in the water that was making all of his fellow engines so much more angrier was more important.
...
Nine was left to his own business inside the shed. He was glad of the peace and quiet. But he was not left alone for long, as the Beetle soon joined him. With little preamble, the larger steam engine spoke grimly. "You're not supposed to be here, you little-"
"Damn it, Nine, just shut up and listen to me!" Davidson appeared to be sweating, if such a thing was possible. "My driver's gone off the radar! Says that he's done working with me, and that I shouldn't come after him if I know what's good for me! Oh, and worse?! I got a visit from your pal Gordon's bigger and meaner brother. He and these two thugs in gleaming paint have cut me off from the Ministry all together!"
"Huh. So no more extra rations for me then?"
"ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!?"
"Despite my best efforts, yes." Nine growled, baring his sharp teeth to the little electric engine. "Listen to me, Beetle. I really don't care about you or your problems. So what? I can't save you. None of us can save anyone. The best thing you can do is hide away like the little-"
He paused. For a shadow had drawn across him. He looked up at the massive armored train, and calmly responded. "Davidson, go. I shall hold him here."
Davidson didn't need telling twice. He had seen the files. He knew what the armored train was.
But as he scurried away, he did notice something rather surprising. Cracks in the armor, sections where clearly an engine did reside. But that was all he saw fit to remember, as he hurried away, he made a note to himself to use the old quarry as a way to hide under the radar.
Nine was left alone with the massive creature. His bravado cracked the second that the Beetle was gone. "W-w-what do you want!? I'll give you anything! Extra chocolate rations! Vera Lynn's autograph! One of the seven veils from the Dance of the Seven Veils!"
"Water. Now." The voice was distinctively Russian. Nine had a deep distrust of the Soviets, but even so, he was not so stupid as to believe that he could take even teh very injured mastodon in a fight. So he backed aside. The engine huffed forward, steam leaking from it's boiler, billowing into thick black clouds of dust that covered the shed. Groaning and snarling, the water drickled down...and then spurted out of his boiler, from which cracks were starting to show.
"What are you?"
"Джаггернаут."
Nine didn't know much Russian, but he knew what that word meant.
"J-Juggernaut?"
The Juggernaut nodded. Suddenly Nine saw that it was wounded. Badly. A long and jagged scar reached from the tip of the cab to the smokebox. The internal workings of the engine were exposed for all to see, a mass of metal and strange grey flesh that leaked something not quite blood, but something very much like it. Nine moved closer. Clearly this engine had some power, but it was mostly due to the armor.
The armor.
"You are thinking how is it that I am in this position?" growled the Juggernaut, his eyes fading. "It is stupid plane. Stupid bomb cut through the armor." He wheezed, and for a moment Nine got sight of the face of the killer. Much to his surprise, it looked almost like him. In fact, the more he looked, the more he realized that this was an engine of a similar class to his.
"Ah. I see. How...unfortunate."
"Do not offer pity. I am glad that I shall die, for the Motherland. But this armor...it is a curse. The experiments that need to be done to me..." The Juggernaut looked up, into the eyes of Nine, and saw that none of what he was saying was sinking in. He shrugged. "Best do it quickly."
Eight arrived a few minutes later to a horrifying scene. Nine grinding his wheels into the face of another engine of a similar class as themselves. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" He roared, starting forward, but Nine let out a command to stop. Despite his best efforts, Eight did so, and watched as the life in the old Russian's eyes faded away.
"Now-" said Nine, a glimmer in his eyes "-if your crew can gather the armor...I think it's time we left this hellhole."
And so they did. That night, as the docks burned and people died and their co-workers were tortured and murdered, the two engines headed over the Vicarstown Bridge towards the Other Railway, where they were greeted by a certain someone who was very interested in the armor.
What happened next?
Well as they say, that's a story for next time.
...
Back to the light stuff!
The next day, Gordon was travelling to collect his next train, for some reason. Then he saw Harold. That was a red flag to a very, very, very angry metal blue bull. But to be fair to the blue twit, it wasn't just him who was seeing red.
"We'll show that whirlybird upperclass twonk how fast you can go!" snarled the driver, who had also partaken in whatever the hell was in the water. The fireman was alarmed, and jumped clear. Wisely too, for neither engine nor driver was paying much attention to the rails, and Gordon headed down a different siding. He was travelling towards trouble, terribly terrific trouble at that too! Ahead was a tunnel under repairs.
Gordon did not give a single shit. ...His driver's reaction was somewhat delayed, at first merely pointing to it in excitement! He rarely got to go through tunnels any more. Then he noticed the warning signs and braked hard.
There was a very loud crash and hullabaloo as Gordon rammed straight into the scaffholding inside the tunnel. And also onto the gunpowder which was, for some reason, stored in there. With an all mighty boom, sand shot out of the tunnel for no reason.
"Why do we keep storing gunpowder in places engines can easily hit?!" asked one workmen to another. His friend shrugged. He had no reasonable answer for this.
Later, when Sir Topham Hatt arrived in Harold and found a very sandy and bewildered Gordon sitting near the breakdown train, he stared and shook his head. "You know, every morning when I get up, I think...this will be the day. The one accident free day! The first of it's kind! ...And you continue to disappoint. Well, I suppose you're not actually to blame for this one. OI! KEITH! GET YOUR FAT ARSE OVER HERE SO I CAN SHOVE A PINK SLIP UP IT!"
"Oh heck." muttered the driver, who was aware of the severe talking too he was in for later.
"Will Gordon be scrapped, sir?!" asked Thomas, trying and failing to sound upset.
"Why would I do that?!" said the Fat Controller, having reached Maximum Yorkshireness in his speech.
Thomas decided that 'in for a penny, in for a pound' and ignored Gordon's death glare. "Because the idiots think that the special visitor is trying to get Harold to replace us for whatever reason because again, idiots. And when I'm saying that, you know that there must be a problem."
The Fat Controller laughed. "HO HO HO, THE ENGINES ARE WRONG."
"No need to be so blunt, Santa."
"This gentleman who definitely isn't Jeremiah Jobling's long lost brother is looking to make a new playground for the children! It was easier to find a suitable site from up in the air!"
"Oh hey, so that all came full circle. Also, I'm pretty sure that there were several easier ways that could have avoided the whole 'steam engines are out to be replaced' mentality that was spreading amongst your workforce. You know, while you were off being an aviator and completely ignoring what gets pretty much all of the essential supplies on this Island around. And also ignoring a potential revolution. Were the bullets that Henry shot at Harold not a good enough sign?"
"Shut up, Thomas."
"And-" said the inspector, seeing that a full blown argument was about to break out "-that tunnel sand will be perfect for small children to play in! Found by accident and rumor, you might say!"
"Well, we might say it, if it made any sense whatsoever."
"Yeah Jobling 2.0, what the hell does that have to do with anything?"
"Can I go home now?" asked a very tired Gordon.
...
The Fat Controller still uses Harold to fly above the Island. Because he's rich, and like Scrooge McDuck, he takes advantage of that every chance he gets. All the engines know that Harold isn't spying on them, but being in his own way very useful.
Now as for spying on sheep though, that is another story for another time.
Yay for more obscure references! Originally I had a scene planned where Benn took Carlin to the moon and they ended up meeting Clangers. I cut these scene for the reason that I really don't think anything justifies it. Plus, it allows me to expand on the differences in Benn's character compared to the TV series, which I felt could be interesting for someone to actually explore. And the Mars mention? That's Captain Scarlet, from the creator of Thunderbirds. And while i have no idea how to fit this into the fic proper, I kind of have this theory that the sentient cars and trains end up causing the tech revolution of Gerry Anderson's work. I'm a nerd, is what I'm saying.
The idea of 98462 and 87546, being connected to the Juggernaut and working for the Other Railway was a fun one for me. Primarily because I figured they were characters with whom I could do a lot with. Funnily enough, that's actually why I didn't kill them off back in Passengers and Polish. Bet you were wondering why I just ignored them. Well, even if you didn't, boom, there you are.
Next time, we catch up with Gotch, we see Edward's worst day happen, Carlin meets up with yet another classic British TV character and oh something about our favorite dumb Great Westerner stumbling into a weird house.