The brunette kitchen car stared at the steamer and his shorter partner as they rolled up, nearly dropping the fresh sugar cookies which she had just pulled from the oven cavity of her metal torso. Rusty beamed at the yellow coach as he gestured to the repair truck, much like a child showing off his favorite birthday presents to a friend.
"Kitty, this is Wrench."
Kitty continued to stare, mouth hanging open like the oven door from which radiated heat on the newcomers. The kitchen car's brown eyes flicked up and down as she studied Wrench, as if taking in the flame-like hair, the white make-up with red streaks, and the blue leotard and silver legs all at once but not knowing what to make of them. A quick smile, however, soon crossed her fair face, and she set the cookies down, closing her oven and removing her oven mitts. She hurriedly gave her lacy apron a quick tug and adjusted the large chef hat which sat on her brown head like an ornate mushroom. Then she extended her dainty hand.
"How do you do?" she smiled. "I like your hair, Wrench."
"Thank you," Wrench replied and immediately placed an order for a black coffee with two sugars.
Kitty's mouth twitched once at the abrupt change of subject, but she gave a professional nod and turned to Rusty.
"Anything for you, sweetie?"
Rusty looked away. "Nah, I'm good."
The yellow coach shook her brown head, giving him a sympathetic look. "You know that racers get free drinks, right?"
The sooty face became sheepish. "Uh, just a Coke then."
The kitchen car smiled and prepared their drinks, soon handing Wrench a styrofoam cup with a plastic top. As she passed Rusty his paper cup and a wrapped straw, Kitty took a moment to look him up and down.
"I heard you're in the final, honey." She sounded amazed. "Guess you got the last laugh, huh?"
"Not 'til I win," Rusty replied cheerfully, "but I will."
The pink lips twitched again.
"Just don't get your hopes too high, sweetie," she cautioned. "Winning isn't everything, you know."
Wrench promptly took the steamer's arm.
"I have every faith in him," she said and could not resist adding, "Anyone with half a brain can see he's a winner."
The kitchen car immediately flushed.
"Well, uh, I gotta get these cookies put away," she said hurriedly and turned back to her still cooling tray.
Rusty guided Wrench pass the midway of food stands, which were staffed mostly by diners and buffet cars of both genders, but the repair truck spotted a milk car and an express freezer selling ice cream. As the pair of partners passed, several vehicles turned their heads toward them and nudged their neighbors, pointing and whispering.
"They just can't take their eyes off you," Wrench observed, giving the steamer a smile.
"I'm pretty hot stuff, aren't I?" he quipped back, rapping his firebox.
Wrench decided against the Joule-like reply she could have given then. The poor steamer's face would have probably been red for a week.
Rusty took a sip of soda, and a thoughtful expression crossed his dirty face. "Hmm, while stuff is still free, maybe I can pick up a few things for Poppa."
Wrench recalled the wrinkled green engine who had saved them from Greaseball. "Poppa" looked to have been pushing triple digits in his expanding age, the exact opposite of the youthful Rusty.
"Is he your father?" she asked.
Rusty snorted.
"I'm not that old, Wrench," he grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling. "He's my grandfather— well, step-grandfather," he corrected, "but he raised me after my parents were sold to another company. Those boxcars you saw are my cousins through him," he added.
"Good to have family," Wrench replied carefully. As a rusted relic neglected by his current owner, he probably did not have many relatives left in the world.
"You got folks?" he asked.
"Yeah. All of us are work trucks."
"Crane cars?"
"A few, mostly on my dad's side," she replied, recalling the towering crane helmet which had been her father's pride, his sun-damaged paint, and the scent of diesel that always accompanied him. "Haven't seen them much since I started working for Electra. They live in a different terminal," she explained with a shrug.
With the life that came with accompanying a busy superstar challenger, there had been little chance to sneak away for a weekend. Her parents, however, had been supportive of her helping Electra. Even though they did not fully understand the need for putting a computer piece inside her head, her family had been proud that one of their own would have a hand in ushering in the golden age for electricity — because if the electric lines excelled, then that meant the work trucks who maintained them would excel.
Meanwhile, Rusty grinned.
"You can see them after the race is over," he suggested. "They'll be proud that you're the partner of a champion."
They had reached the end of the food tents, and beyond them were many low, smooth rock fixtures that lined the small area. They resembled quarter and half pipes and made the area look like a human skate park, which was exactly how some vehicles were using it. Someone had graffitied tracks upon the rocks, and some rolling stock rolled and flipped, performing complex stunts. Wrench noted that most of them were diesel switch engines, but a few freight trucks zipped around them, showing off their prowess.
One switcher sped up the slope and flipped, twisting as he spun so that when he landed, he was facing the opposite direction.
"Ever done anything like that?" she asked Rusty as the distant switcher's companions hooted and jeered.
Rusty gave the skaters a rueful glance. "Not since I was a kid."
A smirk tugged on her mouth.
"Was that before or after fossil fuels became fossils?" she could not resist saying.
His eyes shot to her, but she saw laughter inside his hazel-colored gaze.
"Hey, not every train can say they had a pet dinosaur," he replied with an exaggerated sniff.
Wrench felt her smile widen. Rusty had to be in his fifties (more than four decades older than herself, she noted), but it was like talking with a vehicle who still had his original warranty. She wondered again how he could stay so chipper even with his rust patches, but rather than sick fascination for a disaster in progress, now she felt admiration toward him for it.
Rusty pointed toward the railing that overlooked the nearby ditch.
"We can sit over there—" he started to say, but the steamer was cut off by a smug, malicious voice.
"Well, look what the animal truck dragged in."
Rusty whirled around, a look of panic on his face, and Wrench followed suit to see a diesel engine standing on the track they had just rolled down. He wore no helmet now, but Wrench recognized his paint design as belonging to one of the engines who had been with Greaseball earlier.
"How's Rusty the Slow Man doing?" smirked the engine in black paint. He was not as tall as the other diesels, but the brown-haired man had muscles, which he flexed threateningly as he rolled forward.
The steamer glowered at him, but he took a step back.
"I ain't looking for trouble, Gook," he said, and he touched Wrench's arm as if ready to yank her away.
The food-service coaches around them suddenly looked away, as if they had simultaneously noticed something much more absorbing in their respective stalls.
Wrench kept her face calm, but she fingered the lid of her coffee cup, ready to sling its hot contents into the engine's eyes if it became necessary. If only she had thought to bring her hammer with her instead of leaving her tool box on Electra's track...
Gook closed the distance between them with swaggering strides, and he reached over and plucked the Coke from Rusty's hands.
"Carbin' up before Greaseball mops the race track with you?" he asked. "My brother and I got a bet goin', Slow Man. Tank says you're gonna crash head first into a ditch, but I say you're gonna choke, crash head first into a ditch, and then blame your partner for it."
He gave a nasty laugh before he took a long, exaggerated quaff from Rusty's drink. Wrench nudged the steamer's arm.
"I don't think you'll want that back, Rusty," she said. "You don't know where he's been."
Gook looked sharply at her, and his oily face contorted into a leer. "Pretty big talk for a little lady."
"I can do more than just talk, sweetie," Wrench returned, adjusting her grip on the lid as her mind went over where the different pressure points for pain were on locomotives. She suddenly wished she had Electra's ability to shoot electricity at his enemies.
Gook gave a derisive snort. "You're gonna soon find out you picked a loser, toots."
He turned back to Rusty, and his leer widened.
"At the Christmas race you were slower than a snail in peanut butter, remember?" the diesel mocked. "You gonna choke again in the final, Slow Man?"
Rusty's jaw clenched.
"I did not choke," he said through his teeth.
Gook barked a laugh.
"Yeah, it's never your fault, is it, Slow Man? How did that song go?" he asked, tapping his chin as if he were pretending to remember, but his eyes never lost their malicious glitter. "Oh, yeah. Rusty the Slow Man couldn't hurry on his way. No, he couldn't run, 'cause he's no fun. Blamed for his truck for his delay—"
"At least he actually entered the race," Wrench interrupted with a drawl, not caring to hear Gook butcher an already annoying Christmas song. "I don't see you representing diesel. Why? Afraid to go up against Grampa Greaseball?"
Gook's smirk became a scowl, and fire entered his eyes.
"I can't wait to see what Greaseball does to you two. He's already talked about a few ideas with us."
"We're shaking," Wrench retorted, glad that her electronic voice gave her tone an edge.
The diesel's eyes flicked back to Rusty, and he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "He also has some ideas of what he wants to do to Pearl later tonight."
He winked at the steamer.
Wrench was immediately obliged to grab Rusty's arm, sloshing droplets of coffee as the steamer nearly flew at the diesel engine.
"Take it— Take it back—!" he choked, his face becoming red.
Gook sneered and flexed his fists.
"Wanna have a go, Slow Man?" he menaced, drawing himself up to his full height.
Wrench's thumb went to the lid of her cup.
Before either man could do anything, however, a feminine voice rang out, "Gook Oilson, there you are!"
The diesel engine froze, and Wrench looked around him to see Kitty the kitchen car skating toward them. Her feminine eyebrows were arched in an unhappy look, and she held her slim yellow arms akimbo as she rolled. The brunette coach braked beside the diesel locomotive with a pout.
"I am so mad at you right now," she said as she latched onto his dusty arm. "I wore these old rags especially for you, darling, and you haven't given me one glance all evening."
She patted her mushroom-like chef's hat for emphasis.
Gook stared blankly at the kitchen car, as if he had never expected to receive attention from such a pretty, lacy carriage, but then a satisfied smirk appeared. He ran his fingers through his messy hair.
"You look real cute, Kitty Cat."
Her fake pout deepened in a way that most men probably thought was appealing, and she gave him a tug.
"Then come over here and talk to me instead of some steam train, honey boy. You're making me feel neglected."
Gook's chest seemed to swell as he stepped after the kitchen car. Kitty shot Wrench and Rusty a sympathetic look over her shoulder before she headed arm-in-arm with the swaggering diesel, guiding him over to where the switchers and freight trucks were stunt skating.
As Gook left, still holding Rusty's Coke, Wrench heard him hum, "Thumpity thump thump. Thumpity thump thump. Rusty couldn't go..."
Wrench saw the food-service coaches in the stalls had gone back to their tasks, but the murmurs around them were awkwardly hushed. She remembered again the stories from the electric engines about diesel behavior, and she wondered how common these tense scenes were in this world-famous yard.
Wrench nudged Rusty, nodding after Kitty's yellow back as the kitchen car cuddled close to Gook.
"I'd like to see you solve your problems that way."
Rusty shrugged her off.
"Knock it off, Wrench." His face was still flushed, and he stared after Gook with a baleful heat; no doubt he was still thinking about the diesel engine's insinuations against Pearl's virtue.
For some reason, that annoyed Wrench. She touched his arm.
"Are you okay?"
The bubbling in his boiler increased as he spat out, "Fine. Just fine."
He turned and headed for the nearest guardrail, and his smoke turned a darker shade of black. "We can sit over here."
She started to roll after him but stopped, struck by a sudden idea. She glided to one of the food stands and asked the male kitchen car, whose name tag read Kappa, for another Coke to replace the one Gook had taken. The brown-haired coach handed her the cup but did not even meet her eye, seemingly too interested in the plastic tablecloth that covered his stand.
With a cup in each hand, Wrench rejoined Rusty, who had already sank onto the red-and-yellow striped fixture.
"Don't let that jerk get to you," she told him as she braked. "You made it to the final. He didn't even enter the race."
Rusty exhaled through his teeth as he accepted the cup.
"Try telling that to everyone else," he said bitterly as he hit his straw against his leg to remove it from the paper wrapper. "All they think I can do is mess up."
"Forget them," Wrench insisted as she sat beside him. "What do any of them know about mechanics?"
Rusty just made a face.
"Don't stop them, do it?" he asked before he took a long sip, as if that were his way of dropping the subject.
Wrench opened the lid of her cup, swirling the dark coffee a little even though the sugar had no doubt mixed by now.
"What's the Christmas race?" she asked. "I don't think I ever saw that on T.V."
"You wouldn't," Rusty answered flatly. "It's this race that Control does every year to determine who in our yard pulls 'Santa' from station to station. It's not as glamorous as the world race, so I guess Control doesn't see it as that big a deal to pull out cameras, but anyone can come watch. Greaseball did last year — unfortunately," he added darkly.
Wrench saw his eyes trail over to the stunt skaters. Gook had joined them, now showing off for the kitchen car who watched him with a fake smile, as if mentally counting the minutes until she could drop the act and bolt.
Wrench gazed at his contorted features.
"What happened?" she asked.
"I was robbed."
He paused a moment, and his grip tightened on his paper cup, causing the ice to protest as it shifted inside.
"I had this friend — at least, I thought he was my friend," he said bitterly. "He was a caboose. Named C.B."
"Catchy," she replied. "He raced with you?"
Rusty jerked a nod.
"We were all going uphill, me and the diesels," he explained. "We were supposed to get onto the mechanical bridge — that big one that moves, you know? It was supposed to take us to the upper level, if we got there in time."
"Because that is completely safe," Wrench interjected dryly, studying the once sweet hazel eyes which had gone dark. She inched a little closer to him. "I'm guessing something went wrong."
Rusty swirled the ice in his cup, and his smoke came out in larger puffs.
"I tried to go faster, but no matter what I did, I couldn't move myself forward enough," he grumbled, his voice tightening, "and the gate to the bridge closed before I could get there. Tank, Gook, and all the diesels finished, and I didn't." He exhaled a long breath. "Then I found out C.B. had put his brake on and slowed me down on purpose."
"Did you tell anybody?" she asked although she already guessed the answer.
He threw up his hands, nearly spilling soda. "Nobody would believe me! C.B. was friends with everybody in the yard, so they all started to say I just choked."
Wrench frowned. Cabooses were generally trusted as supervisors for freight trucks, since they carried the conductors. Due to their multifaceted functions as living quarters, conductor's office, and kitchen, railroads held them to a higher standard of integrity and were harsher with disciplining those vans who broke regulations. Therefore, it made sense for rolling stock to be dubious of Rusty's accusations against a caboose.
Wrench recalled how Krupp had chanced a scandal by releasing Nintendo, but what did an upright caboose have to gain by picking on a steamer when discovery could mean dismissal or even the scrap pile?
"Why would he risk getting caught doing that to you?" she asked aloud.
His pistons hissed as his fingers tightened their grip on the now crinkled cup.
"I think he was promised something," he said softly. "Control had been selling off his cabooses to replace them with those end-of-the-train devices — does your line got those?"
"On a few trains," she admitted, "but our cabooses have a good union."
The so-called revolutionary devices were a third-rail topic among rolling stock since their invention in the 1980s, nearly two decades ago. The EOT device could be hung on the last freight truck on a train, and it would do a caboose's job of monitoring the other trucks. However, it came at the cost of many cabooses being dismissed from the companies for which they had spent their whole lives working.
"I take it Control treats his cabooses as well as his steamers," Wrench observed.
Rusty made a scoffing sound.
"Still don't make what C.B. did right," he growled. "After the race, C.B. went off to a museum to retire, and my cousin, Rocky Three, found out that Greaseball had put in a recommendation for him."
"That would do it," Wrench agreed, shaking her head. Was tormenting this man just some sick sport to the reigning diesel champion?
She shifted a little closer to him. Despite his youthful appearance, she could see the etches on his skin from where work in all weathers had left its mark, painted over by some hasty hand. Within a few months his face could be refurbished by an expert museum mechanic — if he could just make second place in the final.
"You know," she said, as soothingly as her electronic voice would allow her, "if Greaseball went through all that trouble to disqualify you, he's probably afraid of what you can do."
"Or he's just a jerk," Rusty retorted flatly.
Wrench shook her head.
"Look at me," she said. "The electric engines said I wouldn't be much of a mechanic because of my diesel tank. They still don't think that I should be here with the superstar challenger whom they all look up to, but if I had listened to them, I'd still be fixing tracks on some branch line in the hot sun all day." And I wouldn't be here to help you. "So, when I say you have potential, you have potential," she finished.
"I guess," Rusty mumbled, but he continued to glower down at his cup as if he were trying to nuke it with the heat of his glare. "But if I can't even defend myself against a bunch of cheaters, how could I have thought I'd protect—"
He stopped short. Wrench felt a flicker of annoyance.
"Pearl?" she guessed.
He took another sip of soda in response. Wrench scowled, feeling her oil suddenly grumble inside her.
"It was better that you didn't race with her, you know."
His jaw clenched.
"I know," he answered quietly. "At least she's... safer with Greaseball," he finished with obvious difficulty as if the words choked him.
Why did he still care about that gilded flake? On a sudden impulse she laid her hand on his arm, giving him a look.
"Good thing you found a woman who can take care of herself — and you," she added, letting her fingers glide against the untarnished metal between his rust patches.
He stiffened as a flush crept over his weathered face. The bubbling within his boiler increased.
"Wrench, I—"
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed across the hills, mixed with a female shriek, which caused both of them to jolt and whirl around.
The first thing Wrench saw was Kitty's chef hat dropping with its owner, and the kitchen car was on her knees beside a mass of black metal sprawled on the ground.
In an instant Rusty started forward, and Wrench barely managed to grab his couplings in time. Within seconds, they were standing over the moaning diesel engine, who laid on his side.
"Gook, are you okay?" Rusty cried, dropping to one knee beside Kitty.
"You tell me, steam train," the diesel engine snarled, sucking in air through his teeth. He clutched his wrist, which was sticking out at an odd angle, as did his left foot. The rest of his metal body was covered in dents.
Despite her dislike for the diesel brute, Wrench's professionalism clicked on, and she looked around at the rolling stock who were creeping forward.
"Everybody, back up!" Wrench barked, taking charge of the situation, before she sank next to Gook on the other side.
"He lost his balance," Kitty cried as Wrench prodded the dented frame. Her fair face had turned white.
Wrench looked at Gook. "Can you stand on your good foot?"
The locomotive gritted his teeth. "Maybe."
He prompted himself up onto his elbow, grunting, and Rusty grabbed his other arm. Within moments both engines were on their wheels, and Rusty slung the diesel's arm over his shoulders.
"The repair shop's not far, Gook," Rusty told him, as if the diesel had not just tormented him moments before. He started forward as carefully as he could with his groaning cargo.
"Show's over, people," Wrench told the murmuring crowd before she followed after the two engines.
Gook could not move too fast without his injured appendages protesting, and he could not put too much weight on Rusty's corroded body without the steamer sucking air through his teeth. So, between the two engines, they made a slow trek to the repair shop, even with Wrench helping to prop up Gook on his other side. When the brick structure of the repair shop at last came into view as they emerged from a tunnel, the crane car detected obvious relief in both men.
Within moments they reached the door, and soon a team of repair trucks escorted Gook inside. The diesel engine did not even give the steamer a look of thanks as the doors closed behind him. One repair truck, a male tool car with blond hair, stopped to talk to Wrench to find out what had happened.
When Wrench finished detailing the accident, the tool car said, "It was a good thing a repair truck was on the scene."
Wrench's dark eyes slid to the steamer beside her.
"It was a good thing I had my engine with me," she said, allowing a hint of unprofessional warmth to seep into her electronic voice.
The tool car turned his head and blinked at the steamer as if seeing him for the first time. "Hey, you're that Crusty, right?"
"Uh, Rusty," the brown-haired man corrected, looking down at his corroded feet which had clearly not been inspected by one of Control's mechanics in many a moon.
The blond truck gave him a sweeping glance.
"Good luck in the race," the tool car said, with a note of doubt. He turned on his front wheel to enter the building.
As the door shut, the two partners rolled away from the brick building, heading toward the tunnel they had taken. Wrench checked her computer clock. Less than twenty minutes to race time.
"We should probably head to the starting gate soon," she advised.
"And quick," Rusty agreed, looking around in sudden concern. "If I know Control, he probably saw us on the security cameras and then told Gook's brother—"
He was promptly cut off by the thundering of several sets of wheels echoing in the distance. The two partners stepped to the side in time as the illuminated helmets of several black-colored diesel engines appeared along with the figures of a taller yellow locomotive and a gold-colored coach. The pack of vehicles charged for the repair shop, but one of the taller, dirtier locomotives charged ahead of the group.
None of the gang looked at Rusty and Wrench as they braked beside the building, but the engine in front barely slowed, heading straight for the door. He was at last obliged to come to a screeching halt as a pair of repair trucks emerged.
"Where is he?" Tank demanded. He tore off his black helmet to reveal a dirty, angry face. "Where's Gook?"
One of the mechanics, a female inspection car with red hair and spectacles, stepped in front of him. "Easy, Tank, easy!"
"Let me through!" Tank snarled, trying to maneuver around her, but the repair truck did not budge.
"Your brother's with the mechanics," she assured the frantic locomotive in a calm, but authoritative, voice. "We have a place for families to wait. Just calm down."
The inspection car held up her hands, showing Tank could not pass until he had obeyed the instructions.
The other repair truck, a male detector car with brown hair, turned to the other engines and the blonde coach. "The rest of you will have to wait outside."
Wrench touched Rusty's shoulder, and he nodded. There was no point sticking around with a bunch of bored, baleful brutes.
The steamer started off, but even though he made an effort to silent his chugging, Pearl turned from Greaseball's black couplings. The gold coach looked from the steamer to the repair truck, and her pretty cream-like face took on an expression that bordered between surprise and guilt. Pearl shot Rusty an empathetic look despite the engine being focused on the track ahead, but it made Wrench instantly tighten her grip on the rusted holdings, pulling herself closer to the steamer.
My engine is gonna beat yours, Goldilocks.
Unfortunately, Pearl's disconnection caught her diesel engine's attention, and Greaseball turned his well-groomed head.
Wrench expected the locomotive to sick his gang on the departing pair, but the diesel celebrity did not seem ready to antagonize them in front of a repair shop filled with witnesses. That, however, did not stop the smirk that crossed his smug face.
"See you in the race, Rusty. Toots," Greaseball called after them.
Rusty quickly picked up his speed. Wrench faced forward, ignoring both the diesel and the urge to do something less than classy with her fingers.
They had only gone a little ways from the repair shop when Wrench finally broke the silence. "That was something you did back there for Gook."
Rusty shrugged between pumps of his pistons, still facing forward. "It's basic decency."
Basic decency doesn't include not gloating over your enemies, Wrench thought as she watched the puffs of smoke from his cap ascend into the air. How often had he been tormented by Gook because of that chimney? And yet, she had seen genuine concern in his warm hazel eyes when he had knelt beside Gook back at the scene of the wreck.
"If I weren't a repair truck, I don't think I would have helped him so quickly in your place," she admitted.
Rusty looked over his shoulder, and she saw him roll his eyes.
"Well... Poppa would've done it," he exhaled. "He always says to do the right thing, even if you get nothing for it." He shook his brown head. "Not my favorite of his sayings though."
"You're a better train than me, Gunga Dinn."
As they rounded a corner, Rusty shot a dark look toward the repair shop.
"Bet none of them will remember it in the morning," he grumbled.
"Forget them," she said, touching his corroded arm. "You're the one who is going to cross the finish line ahead of Greaseball — and then you'll finally get that rust treated." I'll make sure of it, she added silently.
To Wrench's surprise, Rusty suddenly slowed. She released his couplings as the steamer turned toward her with an uncomfortable expression.
"Wrench, I don't want to give you the wrong idea about me or nothing," he said, rubbing his neck.
She raised a decorative eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
He looked away. That familiar flush started to creep along his face.
"I mean, I like you as a friend, but Pearl... With her..." He swallowed and rolled his shoulders. "...I can touch the starlight."
Wrench's jaw tightened.
Rusty gave a little pump of his arm though he remained in place.
"I'm awful grateful for what you've done for me," he continued, "but I don't want you to think that I— that you and me are—"
Wrench held up her hand, cutting him short. "Simmer down there, engine. I think you're making a lot of assumptions."
His head snapped toward her in surprise, and for a moment he looked like a fish with a hook in his mouth. He cleared his throat.
"I just mean—"
Wrench maneuvered around him.
"What gave you the idea that you're even my type?" she asked coldly. "See you at the starting gate, steam train."
She heard him start after her, his pistons chugging as best as they could with the rust — which only fifteen minutes ago she had been prepared to help him cure.
"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, Wrench," he insisted. "And you don't have to go with me into the final if you don't want to. I can always ask one of the Rockies if they'll go. Poppa'll convince them."
"No, I'll race with you," she sniffed. She knew she was acting childishly, but if Rusty could still want that six-month-old Barbie doll after all her two-timing and three-timing... Wrench looked over her shoulder and gave him a bitter smirk. "Unlike Pearl, I actually keep my promises."
He frowned.
"Now, that's not fair—" he started to say, but a deep, electronic voice cut him off.
"Electra requires your presence, repair truck."
Rusty started. Wrench turned front to see Krupp a few feet away from her, frowning; however, she was glad for the interruption. She quickly rolled beside him.
"Is his computer okay?"
Krupp's mouth twisted. "It's best to go see what he wants instead of wasting time with questions."
"I agree," she said loftily, stepping around him. Without a parting look toward the steamer, she started down the track in the lead, and Krupp took her couplings.
Purse and Volta stood together at the end of the track as Wrench and Krupp rolled up. The freezer's blue lips formed a tight smile at the sight of the approaching pair.
"It might be prudent to announce your presence, Wrench," Volta said. "Wouldn't want to intrude on anything."
Purse scoffed. "I don't think he'll be that absorbed. That dining car has been fishing for compliments since she got here, and you know how he feels about the clingy ones."
"She probably hopes he'll toot his horn at her," the freezer answered with a cold laugh, moving back to allow Wrench access to the track. Volta pulled out a compact, boredly checking her elegant black-and-white hair, but Wrench saw her shoot a withering glare down the line toward her unseen lover.
Wrench kept her expression neutral as she rolled down the rails by herself, but her heart quickened. Now that she was alone, she realized she did not know what kind of mood Electra would be in. He would not have called her all the way here just because he was furious with her — would he?
Within moments she spotted the shining superstar, who had his back to her as he stood overlooking the view offered from the stretching mountainous region. Beside him, obviously trying to get a look from him, was his new partner and Greaseball's erstwhile girlfriend, Dinah the dining car.
Wrench knew Dinah from the race footage she had analyzed with Electra, and the blue coach always looked like a living dining table on wheels. Some kind of ruffled coffee filter had been made into a tiara to crown the petite coach's blonde curls. Dinah wore a checkered tablecloth that was arranged into an over skirt with a lacy underskirt peeking out beneath its riveted hem. Folded napkins were arranged around her chest, and a frilly, white place mat tucked into her black-and-silver belt that gave the impression of an apron.
The dining car played with a curl, staring at her new partner with imploring green eyes.
"It's such a nice night, Electra," she said, her voice thick with a Tennessean accent. "Don't you want to see the sights?"
"If there were any to see, I would," the electric engine replied dryly.
The coach's blonde eyebrows arched, and she seemed like she wanted to say something, but Wrench decided that now was a good time to interrupt. She came to a halt twenty feet away from the couple and cleared her throat, making a broken electronic sound.
Electra turned his head. His painted features betrayed nothing, whether positive or negative. He waved a red hand at his fair-haired partner.
"Give us a moment," he told the blue dining car in a tone that made it clear it was not a request.
Dinah gave him an unhappy look, but she nodded and skated down the track, smoothing down her checkered half-skirt. Alone now, Electra made a slow turn, facing the shorter crane car.
"I've been hearing quite a lot about you since you left, Wrench." He pushed himself forward in a regal glide.
Wrench tensed, half expecting him to send her a shock of electricity. To her surprise, his blue lips spread into a smile that revealed his perfect, white teeth.
"Krupp told me your plan for racing with the steamer."
Wrench straightened her shoulders. "Did he now?"
From the look of Electra's beam, Krupp had actually backed her up instead of throwing her to the wolves. She silently thanked the male coach, but those thoughts happily evaporated as Electra's blue eyes sparkled at her in that way which could always melt her heart.
"I value loyalty on my train, Wrench," the engine said as he closed the gap between them with a movement as smooth as silk. He brought with him the aroma of that wonderful cologne. "You have pleased me."
She recovered her voice as she tilted her head back to meet his stunning eyes. "I'd do anything for you, Electra."
"I know," he said with that warmth he had given her so often during routine inspections in her workshop. "A momentary slip-up shouldn't eclipse years of loyalty."
With that he laid a red hand against her white cheek.
Her breath hitched, and her heart increased as if she had just finished a race. Her legs felt like jelly, but she somehow kept her balance, absorbed in studying his wonderful face that had a look of affection just for her. It might not be anything like what he gave Volta, but it was enough to make her want to risk everything by giving him a kiss.
His thumb stroked her cheek, gentle as a butterfly.
"My own Wrench," he murmured. "Always there, even when I misuse you. Don't think I've never noticed. After I am crowned King of the Track, you will be rewarded greatly, my friend."
She leaned into his touch.
"I don't need a reward," she said softly.
"But you will get it," he promised, still letting his digit glide along her skin in mesmerizing caresses. "You just need to do one little thing for me, my faithful truck."
"Anything," she breathed.
His hand lowered. She felt a rush of disappointment, but she tried to hide it as Electra's smile widened.
"It's about your plan to take out the competition."
Wrench straightened her shoulders.
"I can take them both out," she affirmed. "Greaseball and Bobo won't be crossing the finish line at all — or Pearl," she ventured to add.
To her surprise, Electra suddenly scoffed. "Bobo is nothing. His wooden coach is weak and will probably splinter before the first bend. As for Greaseball and Pearl — I have my own plans for them." His blue eyes suddenly flashed, but he quickly recovered his smile.
"Then what should I do?"
Electra tilted his magnificent head, looking down at her with all the grace, beauty, and magnetism that came to him so naturally. "I want you to disqualify the steamer."
Her heart stopped. She looked him dead in the eye, briefly hoping her ears had been damaged, even though she knew she was in prime condition.
"Disqualify?" she repeated.
Electra jerked a nod, causing his headpiece to shake.
"You saw how he was able to slip around the others," he reminded her. "What would it look like if that piece of rubbish got ahead of me, even for a second?" He shook his head, and his painted lip curled into a sneer. "Imagine if he crossed the finish line first. I would never be able to show my face on any railroad again."
"He's no one, Electra," she said quickly.
"Of course, he's no one," Electra replied, and his grin became shark-like, "and yet you're defending him in deliberate defiance toward me."
She shook her head, trying to appear calm and reasonable even though her stomach knotted.
"Not defiance. Never. But if I'm caught sabotaging my partner, then that will create a scandal for you."
"Then see that you don't get caught."
Suddenly, his eyes softened, and his hand touched her arm with the same affection he had shown her when he had taken her to the city for her birthday.
"I know it is risky, Wrench, but I reward loyalty. Once I win, the rails will become an electric empire."
She tried again. "I don't care about riches, Electra. I just—"
The warmth disappeared once more. "Does your little crush on the steamer mean more to you than me?"
Wrench looked at him sharply. "Of course not."
Rusty meant nothing to her. Even if she did help him — even if he was refurbished by her own hand — he would just run into the arms of Pearl the second the observation car gave him a glance. What loyalty could she have to a man so pathetically lovesick for some blonde bimbo?
She straightened her shoulders. "I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy, Electra."
"That's my girl."
Then he did something he had never done before — he leaned down and kissed her cheek. The touch was firm and longer than what he would have normally done, sending an electrifying thrill through the crane car, and she had to keep herself from grabbing him for support.
Finally, he drew back. "Now, go find your steamer."
Breathlessly, she nodded and spun on her wheels, ready to conquer the world for her beloved.
However, he called after her. "Oh — and, Wrench?"
She slowed and looked over her shoulder. "Yes, Electra?"
He formed a cold smile. "If you fail, don't bother coming back."
A/N:
Yes, Kitty has seen Gone with the Wind. Why do you ask?
Since CB doesn't appear in the London revamp, I came up with my own explanation for his disappearance. The choreography Rusty describes (with CB keeping him from reaching the mechanical bridge) is actually based on how CB sabotages him in the original London show.