Clear ELECTRA…
Krupp had successfully removed the main program from Electra's memory. Electra sank lower.
Just for a warm reboot, Wrench told herself, trying to ignore the clenching of her internal mechanisms.
Two strong iron arms kept the comatose engine on his wheels from behind while Krupp used both his gloved hands to prop up the majestic head, keeping the pantograph within his wig connected to the overhanging wires. The shockers in Electra's hands had been manually shut off to keep him from discharging electricity accidentally when he came back online.
Verify…
Wrench stood directly in front of Electra, and she watched the output from Krupp's component as if she were watching a film with subtitles. Krupp's call went through, sending a ping to the subroutines. When the armaments truck was satisfied, he jerked a nod at Wrench.
The repair truck slid her red hands across the bits of Electra's blue torso that were not covered by the normally illuminated red chest piece. She could feel the thumping of his electronic heart, powered by his battery even when shut down. She focused on it like a beacon in darkness to keep from entertaining the grim scenarios which flashed across her mind.
Electra will be fine, she told herself and gritted her teeth. Her own piece of the computer began to respond to Krupp's signal.
Go to ELECTRA…
Load...
The program responded without issue, but Wrench continued to hold her breath.
Behind her, Volta's cooler began to hum, now with a fearful intonation which Wrench could not remember ever hearing, but it was not enough to cover up the nervous pace of Joule's wheels against the rails. Neither woman offered much use in Electra's start-up, and their noises were not helping. Wrench did her best to tune them both out.
Purse shifted on Wrench's other side, and the money truck tightened his grip on Electra's arm as he took his turn in the booting process.
Enter ELECTRA…
Run ELECTRA…
The awakened system flashed a message meant for the small accountant.
Confirm, the money truck replied. Confirm. Enter.
The processors hummed and clicked. The cooling fans inside the locomotive's body began to whirl. Then Electra drew in a deep breath, eyes still closed.
Relief washed through Wrench — which promptly subsided as a pair of cold hands pushed their way between her and Krupp. Volta laid her manicured fingers against Electra's handsome face, and the engine leaned into her touch as if instinctively.
"Vee…" he murmured.
Wrench felt an instant flare of jealousy, but she fought against it.
Electra's eyes fluttered open. He blinked, disoriented, and his blue eyes focused first on the freezer, then drift to Krupp.
Suddenly, his gaze flicked straight to Wrench, and — her heart quickened — his hand came up to cover her own, which still rested on his chest. The blue mouth formed a tired smile, and he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. The gesture of gratitude was brief, but Wrench knew the sincerity of his touch.
Electra straightened himself, and the arms holding him from behind released their grip on his torso. Electra turned as best as he could amidst the hovering rolling stock, and he opened his mouth as if to thank the vehicle — and promptly froze when his blue eyes fell upon the dusty face staring back at him.
"What," he asked, disgust crinkling his red-and-blue features, "is that doing here?"
"You're welcome," Rusty answered. His arms gave a single backwards pump, distancing himself with an easy glide a few paces from the taller engine.
Wrench quickly grabbed Electra's arm.
"Rusty got you back to the electric track for us," she explained, stroking his biceps in a gentle massage. "The others couldn't get up the incline without his power."
"No thanks necessary," Rusty said, and his round eyes flicked to Wrench. He saluted her with two fingers. "See ya later."
He spun on his front wheels and headed down the track, his black smoke rising past the electric wires.
Electra turned away and visibly shuddered.
"How could you let it touch me?" he demanded, looking at Wrench with a betrayed expression. "I feel like I need a tetanus shot."
"You're perfectly safe, dearest," Wrench assured him — but she could not understand why she felt a sudden flare of annoyance toward her locomotive. "You should be thankful. He was very kind to you."
"That is a matter of opinion," the engine retorted as he stepped away from his trucks, dusting off his torso as if he thought there were rust streaks on his well-polished frame.
"I feel polluted," he declared as he sat down on the nearest structure, which was one of Wilton Yard's many latticed guard rails.
At his words, Joule promptly giggled, elbowing Volta.
"What overgrown siding did you even find that thing, Wrench?" she said, looking toward the last traces of Rusty's smoke disappearing into the distance. "How does he even move?"
"Very well, actually," Wrench frowned without meaning to. "Certainly better than your German."
Joule's red mouth formed an amused O. "Look, she's actually sticking up for that junk pile!"
Beside her, Volta smirked, folding her arms.
"It seems like Wrench has a taste for vintage wines tonight," she observed.
Both women snickered, their electronic voices making them sound like computerized chipmunks. Wrench straightened her shoulders.
"He got Electra to the electric lines," she said coolly, fixing her dark eyes on the two. "Anyone who keeps my engine safe is okay in my book."
The smiles on both white faces vanished.
Electra snorted.
"Such a display of loyalty," he said dryly, shifting on his guardrail to face her. "Well, better late than never, right, Wrench?"
She lowered her gaze. Electra, however, made an impatient sound.
"Well?" he snapped. "Am I well enough to race?"
"A quick look at your log will tell for sure," she said hurriedly, rolling over to stand in front of him.
She laid a hand on each of his shoulders and activated the wireless connection between her computer piece and his C.P.U. Immediately, lines of data appeared before her eyes, and she navigated his database to the transaction log.
She scanned the log's record of actions leading up to the system's failure. She immediately saw the problem. In his effort to outshine the other rolling stock at the impromptu party, Electra had had too many programs running at once: dance_rap, witty_banter, charisma, and — Wrench frowned — flirtation were just a few among the list. The log also showed an increase in Electra's heartbeat as he had made physical contact with Pearl while his emotions had switched to a triumphant status when he had taken note of Volta's disapproval.
Wrench quickly moved to a different line of data. The time stamp from a few minutes before Pearl had left his side said Electra had opened diesel_taunt.
"What exactly did you say to Greaseball?" she asked.
Electra's face took on a disinterested expression, but Wrench felt him shift uncomfortably beneath her fingers.
"Just told him he needed a better pair of wheels than that Dinah," he drawled.
"And he certainly took your advice," Krupp scolded, and Wrench heard his wheels approach. "There was no need to antagonize him, Electra."
Electra snapped, "What are you? My father?"
Wrench tuned both men out, focusing on the records. Once Pearl left, she had activated Electra's little used rejection-coping subroutine, and that had been too much for his computerized mind.
There was a message noting that the programs had not been shut down properly and asked if they needed to be restored. Wrench glanced again at flirtation and quickly canceled. After a quick scan of his racing programs, she stepped back.
"Clean bill of health."
Electra jerked a satisfied nod. "Good. Remind me to delete the silly coach from my memory after the race."
"My pleasure," Wrench replied.
Meanwhile, at Electra's words, Purse rolled forward, bowing slightly. "Who will you go with now, Electra?"
"Good question," the engine said darkly.
Volta glided like a swan to stand beside her locomotive.
"I can go with you, my love," she purred, her blue lips forming an affectionate smile.
Electra's gaze flicked to her. "How can you? You have a headache."
Her white face fell.
"I can race, handsome," Joule interjected, maneuvering around the freezer. "You saw the work I did on the French guy's coach, didn't you?"
"Or I can go," Krupp spoke up. "I can punch harder than that observation car ever could."
"Or me," Purse offered, bowing his head. "As an armored car, I am well trained in self-defense, and you know that I hold you in the utmost regard, sir, and—"
"Enough," Electra cut him off, waving him back. His beautiful brow furrowed in thought.
Wrench ran her fingers through her flame-like hair.
"I... I can go with you, Electra," she offered. She knew it was a long shot, but who could resist the opportunity when Electra was right there in front of her in all his electric glory?
Naturally, she was correct about her chances. Electra immediately scoffed.
"And abandon your new boyfriend?" he mocked. "For shame, Wrench." His eyes then changed as if struck by a sudden idea. He turned to the money truck. "Purse, get me Dinah."
Volta folded her arms. "You seem to favor blondes tonight, my love."
"They tend to be prettier, don't they, my cell?" Electra sneered in return before he returned his attention to Purse. "Get Dinah. I'm sure she'll like a chance to get back at her erstwhile engine."
Purse bowed his head, but a grimace crossed his pale face. "Your will shall be done, sir."
As the money truck retreated, Electra shot Volta a gloating look and waved a hand to dismiss the other components, who immediately obeyed.
Wrench maneuvered around Joule and Krupp, but she had not gone far when she heard Electra call after her: "Be sure to give my regards to your scrap pile, Wrench."
Joule and Volta tittered somewhere behind her.
Wrench took a track, not caring where it led.
Electra would get the last laugh once he crossed the finish line with Greaseball's abandoned carriage. The press would talk about it for months until the erstwhile diesel champion was the laughingstock across the entire globe. While yet another blonde clung to Electra's designer couplings during the upcoming race, Wrench could do her part to hail in that bright future by riding behind a rusted steamer.
Even if Electra did not yet appreciate her efforts.
She had not gone far when she heard an electronic voice call out her name, and she turned to see Krupp rolling toward her, his strong legs moving with agitated purpose. Wrench could feel the signal from his computer piece pulsating like a throbbing wound. Krupp skidded to a halt in front of her.
"What was that back there?" he demanded.
She narrowed her eyes. "What was what?"
His deep electronic voice became decidedly more feminine.
"'My steamer is better than your German, Joule,'" he mimicked. "Do you know how you sounded?"
"Clearly, you don't," she replied briskly. "My voice is nowhere near that high."
His gray frown deepened, and she was sure his concealed eyes were glaring daggers behind his sunglasses.
"You know," he said tightly, holding his muscular arms akimbo, "I think you've forgotten the whole point of why you're racing with that steam engine."
Wrench stepped around him, continuing on her way. "Don't be ridiculous."
He grabbed her arm.
"I'm ridiculous?" he retorted. "It looked like you were doing more than just a routine inspection on that steamer earlier. Then to speak like that about him in front of Electra—"
Wrench coolly grabbed his thumb and yanked her arm free.
"I just think Electra should show some gratitude to a model minority," she sniffed, moving away. "It's good for his publicity — I want everyone to know he's amazing both on and off the track. Unlike some engines," she added, and a brief flash of Greaseball's famous face crossed her mind. "Electra'll certainly need it now that his partner dumped him for the competition."
Krupp did not look convinced.
"I'm glad you're so thoughtful," he said dryly. "It would be a shame if you forgot where you would be without Electra's generosity to a diesel truck. Few other electrics would allow you to touch them."
Wrench looked at him sharply.
"How could I ever forget?" she said tightly, glaring at the dark lenses. How dare he try to play that card on her.
His gray lips pursed now.
"You know, I was there when Electra first opened his eyes," he said, flexing his fingers into fists, "and I was there when he was able to stand on his wheels by himself. I haven't been with that train these past three years for some truck to sabotage his chances for a man she just met."
Wrench drew herself up. "I think you're making a lot of assumptions, Krupp."
"Am I?"
It was then Krupp did something he rarely ever did. He lowered his sunglasses. Wrench stared back at the piercing green eyes that met her — and she almost looked away.
"Suppose," the armaments truck said slowly, his exposed eyes narrowed like slits, "your steamer is about to cross the finish line in front of Electra—"
"It won't come to that," she snapped.
"I hope not. For your sake, my friend," he replied, and he pushed his shades back onto his nose. "Just remember that the next time you dance cheek-to-cheek with a steam train."
He spun on his wheels then, heading down an eastward track. Wrench watched his retreating back, shaking with anger.
That substandard excuse for a passenger car had no clue what he was talking about, Wrench told herself as she stormed down the track. The oil within her tank boiled, sending up fumes.
This whole plot had been Krupp's idea, and who was he to question her tactics for getting into the final? Despite his willingness to sabotage Nintendo, Krupp could not have boasted the devotion which Wrench had displayed — who else would have touched the rusted chassis or endure the ridicule for riding behind a steam-powered switcher, just for Electra's sake?
Exactly.
We'll see who's loyal once Electra is across the finish line, Wrench thought darkly. And if she could do some damage to Greaseball and that little gold-haired observation car along the way, Electra might reward her. That male coach would be eating his words within the hour.
Yet the more she moved away from Electra, the more Wrench mentally kicked herself. Once again, she had gotten carried away that night — and this time for some dumb steam engine she had just met.
What had even possessed her to dance with a vehicle who was only a few rust patches shy of a one-way ticket to the junkyard? He wasn't even that physically appealing. Wrench had encountered many handsome men who had paled in comparison with Electra, and Rusty was no nowhere near her top ten. Yet a little muscle and a pair of hazel eyes had made her as disoriented as a subway car trying out solar power.
And he's not going to win anyway, she told herself.
Rusty might be fast, but Krupp was wrong even to suggest he could get ahead of Electra. All Wrench needed that steamer for was to make sure the real competition, Greaseball and Bobo the record-holding TGV, did not steal the spot which rightfully belonged to Electra. If for some reason Rusty did come in danger of claiming the victory, Wrench was more than happy to do what was necessary — no matter how inviting the steamer's warm embrace had been, or how sweet he was to help Electra.
It was then — as if the universe had decided it would have more fun yanking her proverbial chain instead of dealing with the rest of the world's problems — that she was suddenly pulled from her dark thoughts by a very familiar whistle ringing out behind her. Wrench gritted her teeth and turned to see Rusty approaching.
Just perfect.
The steamer zipped in front of her, bringing with him the smell of smoke, and he twisted his body to brake with a tomahawk.
"Is Electra okay?" he asked, concern in his hazel eyes.
"Flawless as ever," she said stiffly, stepping around him. "I'll see you at the starting gate, steam train."
She would still race with the switcher out of loyalty to Electra, she told herself, but she would not give Krupp another chance to accuse her of misplaced alliances.
Rusty did not seem to get the hint. The steamer followed after her, pumping his arms to propel himself ahead to meet her eyes.
"Hey," he said, still with that unaccountable concern in his young voice, "do you need me to swing you by the repair shop to get Electra anything?"
That made Wrench slow, and she raised a rivet-lined eyebrow as she turned to face him.
"What do you care?" she asked, scanning his seemingly guileless features. Electra had stolen the steamer's coach and was vying for first place against him. Rusty ought to be celebrating his rival's ailments.
Rusty, however, rolled his shoulders, grimacing.
"Well, I'm not gonna pretend that he's on my Christmas card list," he admitted, and Wrench could hear a hint of flatness in his tone, "but it wouldn't be fair if Electra has to race when he's sick or something."
Wrench stared at him. He was serious.
"Electra's fine," she said dumbly. "His computer is programmed to protect itself when it crashes, so turning him off and on again fixed him."
Rusty jerked a nod, looking satisfied.
"That's good. Don't know much about computers myself, but..." He glanced at her, and an odd expression crossed his face before he looked away quickly in embarrassment.
"What?" she asked.
He rolled his tarnished shoulders. "Can I ask a personal question?"
"Depends what it is."
"Fair enough." He gave a sheepish smile and gestured to his own throat. "Why do you and the other trucks talk like that?"
The question did not surprise her; if anything, Wrench wondered why it had taken him so long to ask.
"One of the many perks of my upgrade," she replied, starting up her pace again.
Rusty raised an eyebrow, easily matching her pace. "Upgrade?"
"For the Superstar Project," she answered, spinning around with expert ease to skate backwards. For some reason she was actually curious about his reaction.
"The other electrics poured a lot of money into making the fastest engine in the world. Electra's whole life has been set up to win this race since before he was even a blueprint," she bragged, the pride in her electronic voice matching the ease in her reverse movements.
Rusty's arms momentarily stopped pumping as he stared at her in disbelief. "They built a guy just for racing?"
"No, they built a guy for what would happen after he raced," Wrench replied, folding her arms as her wheels blindly followed the path the rails provided. "Once Electra dethrones Greaseball, the railroad companies will see that electricity is the better source. This country will be like Europe: electric lines from one coast to the other."
Rusty looked doubtful. "You think so?"
"Railroads want money first and foremost," Wrench answered matter-of-factly. "Once we prove that electric trains can make more than the diesel trains, they'll change."
The steamer rolled his shoulders. He still did not look convinced, but he was obviously trying to stay polite.
"And the voices?"
Wrench shrugged. "Electra has the most advanced computer known to man or train. So advanced that it could not be contained in one machine. So, the components of his computer were divided between him and us trucks."
She ran her fingertips through the black portion of her multi-colored hair. Beneath the new wig she could still feel the mark in the metal where her head had been opened for the computer piece.
"The silly voices are just a side effect."
Rusty gaped at her. "You went through all that?"
She shrugged. "You do crazy things for the things you care most about."
"Huh." He grimaced a little. "After all that money they spent, what happens if Electra loses?"
"He won't," she said sharply before she could stop herself. She spun around to face front, quickening her strides.
Rusty rolled up alongside her, easily keeping pace, and Wrench glanced at him to see him gazing up at the sky, seeming to study what little stars were visible.
After a moment, he said, "You know, I kinda feel sorry for the guy."
Wrench snorted. "He wouldn't want your pity."
"What I mean is…" He paused as if searching for the right words. "Well, I'm stuck in this yard because it's the only place with coal and a water tower for miles. Electra can't go anywhere that don't got wires. He's like me. He just wants to do the stuff he was built for."
A strange feeling came over Wrench as she studied him.
"I suppose," she said softly.
Rusty shook his head.
"Shame we both can't win," he said as if half to himself.
Why do you have so much compassion for someone who wouldn't lift a finger to help you if the roles were reversed?
That thought pulled Wrench up short. Where had that come from?
Well, wherever it had, it could go and bury itself. Wrench turned away.
"You know I'm starting to feel a bit tired," she said, taking a step to distance herself from the steamer.
"Yeah, it is kinda late," Rusty agreed, giving her that infuriatingly empathetic grin. "Never did understand why Control has the race at night, but what can you do?" he said with a good-natured shrug.
Wrench did not reply. She just kicked off, following the rails wherever they led. Rusty started after her, keeping a casual pace as he chugged along, but she did not look at him. She kept her eyes straight ahead and allowed a scowl to cross her face.
I owe him nothing, she told herself.
Electra held all her allegiance; he had given her a chance when all the other electrics snubbed her. The only reason she stood now with Rusty was because she had foolishly left Electra's side to gawk at his sworn diesel enemy. She did not need to dig a deeper grave for herself by entertaining mutinous notions about some out-of-date switch engine who had fallen on hard times. She would do anything to regain Electra's approval, even crash that stupid steamer if she had to.
...Even if that stupid steamer was ten times more decent than most of the trains she had ever met.
Yet even as these troubling thoughts raced through her mind, another idea surfaced: why did helping Rusty have to be mutually exclusive from helping Electra?
Wrench paused, allowing her wheels to coast, and she felt an immediate spark of inspiration.
That solved everything, didn't it? Her superstar would win (she had no doubt), but Rusty did not have to come in first to make a better life for himself. If he could just place second, he could apply to a museum that specialized in steam-locomotive refurbishment. Wrench could even contact her old professors for recommendations of where to start looking. The triumph of electricity did not equate to the utter annihilation of heritage railroads, and Rusty could fulfill his original purpose by pulling human tourists up and down a scenic route.
All Wrench had to do now was make sure that neither Bobo nor Greaseball stole that spot in second from their much more deserving rival.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not immediately register that Rusty had asked her a question. She quickly shook herself.
"Huh? What?"
He flashed her that boyish — and kinda cute — grin.
"I asked if you wanted something to drink," he laughed. "Guess you could go for a coffee, huh?"
Wrench felt a smile of her own form in return.
"It's a date, steam train," she said, grabbing his couplings — and she did not mind the corroded patches so much now.
A/N: Yeah, remember how this show was originally written in the 80s when computers were a lot bigger and having a train with a computer divided between 6 vehicles sounded futuristic? If the show was written today, Electra's computer could probably be contained in just his arm or something.
Speaking of which, a great big special thanks to my dad for helping me out with the computer scene. (He's the kind of guy that designs computer programs.)