Work Text:
For a locomotive, the day they were completed was a momentous event. When a steam engine had their fire lit for the first time and their eyes opened, it marked the beginning of their life. For most, the first sight they saw was the inside of the locomotive works where they were built. By their very nature, locomotive works were expansive, enormous spaces full of heavy machinery and constant activity. Here, an engine learned their first life lessons. Batch-mates would be there to talk with, sometimes an older locomotive in for repairs impart information and stories from outside the shop. And, after a few days of testing and practice, the engines would be sent out to the railway that had commissioned their building for work.
Things were a little different for engine number 0503. He was the last steam engine to roll out of a small locomotive builder’s shop, there were no batch mates to gossip with or older engines to give advice. The human builders at the shop had little time for the new engine, they were switching over to building diesels and the buyer of the small steam engine had backed out at the last minute. Leaving them with a steamer that was obsolete the second he was completed.
Engine 0503 was moved out to a siding behind the shop to clear the workbay, and received visitors about once a week to oil his drivetrain and light his fire so he could be run a little bit around the yard. Just to make sure the moving parts wouldn’t rust up in case a buyer was found.
Despite being put into semi-storage before even experiencing his first day of work, 0503 tried not to feel too down. Someday soon, a railroad would buy him and then he could show what he was really worth. Engines sometimes rolled by his siding, and if he was lucky they would have a chance to stop and chat. The diesels didn’t have time for a lowly little steamer, but sometimes there would be a steam engine passing the locomotive works. Large, impressive engines with their powerful drive wheels and pistons on display. They told 0503 stories of hauling passenger coaches in the sun on the mainline, and of the exhilarating races the engines sometimes had. Soon, they said, he would be purchased and have a chance to work. To earn a name besides his build number.
It turned out that they were right. After almost a year of sitting outside, 0503 was told he had a new owner. His destination was a small trainyard called Apollo Victoria, who was apparently in need of another engine for passenger service.
This was it. His day had finally come. 0503 grinned as his fire was stoked up and steam rose steadily in his boiler. He stopped at the old coal hopper in the yard and filled his tender, then another stop at the water tower before he was off.
The run to Apollo Victoria was not a long one, but for an engine who had never seen outside the small yard of their builder it was the journey of a lifetime. The little engine couldn’t help but gasp in amazement at the wonderous sights the mainline offered. In some places there were thick trees and forest, in others the track wound through human cities and industrial areas. 0503 rolled past freight trains in excess of 100 cars long, and was passed by fast-moving passenger engines that shook the very tracks with their speed.
0503 couldn’t wait to join the awe-inspiring passenger engines in their work. He had been told that coaches were the most lovely cars to work with, gentle and delicate unlike rude and brash freight cars. He tried to increase his speed to catch up to the fast engines, but his driver kept throttling him back.
“Easy, boy. Don’t want to break anything before you get to your new owners.”
The human was right, but that didn’t stop it from frustrating the young engine. He wanted a chance to really stretch his pistons and show off what he could really do!
Finally, 0503 reached his new home and rolled to a stop at a rickety looking water tower to refill his tender. The yard was fairly small and in places looked a bit run down, though that was probably influenced by the setting sun leaving long shadows across lines of quiet track. Creeping slowly along, 0503 settled by an old engine shed so that his crew could dump his fire and clean out his firebox. Then, the humans left and he was alone again.
Across the yard, an old steam engine finished shunting a line of freight cars into place along a siding. They had just completed a run from the old mine to the shipping docks, and were now returning empty to the yard for a good night’s sleep before the next day brought a new job.
“Thank you, Poppa,” the freight cars chorused as the elderly engine uncoupled and backed away from the train, intending to stop by the coal hopper and water tower before retiring for the evening.
“You’re welcome, boys,” He responded kindly. Though his real name wasn’t Poppa, everyone in the yard had taken to calling him that due to his age and experience. Poppa was the engine that cars and coaches went to when they needed advice or just a friendly ear willing to listen. He used to be the one engines went to as well, but it seemed that the newest set of young engines had better things to do than listen to an old steamer like him.
With his supply of coal and water replenished, Poppa couldn’t help but sigh as he made his way back to his old shed. In days past, there had been such refueling stations all across the railway, serving traffic of steam engines large and small. But now they all stood empty and falling apart from neglect. Poppa was now the only steamer left in the Apollo Victoria yard, and he only ever did shunting duties or short freight runs.
So caught up in his memories of glorious years long gone by was he that Poppa didn’t notice the newcomer sitting next to his shed until he was almost on top of him. Poppa stopped in shock at the sight of another steam engine, looking over the smaller steamer with curiosity.
He was clearly very young, despite the coat of black paint that was showing weathering at the edges, with an innocent face unmarred by years of hard work and loss. Though small, he seemed to be meant for passenger service, with a 4-6-2 arrangement that prioritized speed over pulling power.
Poppa didn’t particularly want to wake the young engine, but the sound of the older engine’s chuffing smoke and turning wheels cause the newcomer to open his eyes sleepily.
“Hello, young one. Welcome to the Apollo Victoria train yard.” Poppa said it gently, not giving away how excited he was to have another steam engine in the yard once more.
“Oh!” The young engine was instantly awake, regarding Poppa with wide eyes. “Hello! What’s your name?”
“I’m McCoy, but most around these parts just call me Poppa. And what’s your name?”
“Oh, I don’t have a name yet. I’m number 0503.” He bit his lip and looked at the tracks beneath his wheels. “At the works, though. Sometimes they called me Rusty. But, I don’t really think I’m rusty. Am I?”
Poppa looked the young engine over, and could now see the hints of red at the edges of his weathered paint. What kind of neglect must he have gone through to have started rusting at such a young age? “Of course not. Have you come from a locomotive builder? I had thought that everyone around here was done with steam.”
“I was completed last year, but my buyer backed out and I sat behind the works until they found a new one.” 0503 couldn’t help but be drawn back to the older engine, looking over his well-worn body with fascination. “How old are you? Do you pull passenger trains? I’ve always wanted to pull passenger trains. Are you very fast?”
Poppa chuckled at the questions, burying the pity he felt. To have sat behind a locomotive works for a year without use, no wonder the young engine was already starting to rust. “I’m well older than anyone else at this yard. I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, and if you’re willing to sit a while I might tell you about some of them. In my day, I was very fast. The fastest passenger engine on my line, I won all kinds of races and contests. But those days are long gone, I mostly pull freight now.”
“Oh.” 0503 was disappointed for a brief moment before he swung right back to excitement. “What is racing like? I’ve heard it’s very exciting. Do you think I might get to race some day?”
“Maybe someday.” Deciding sleep would be a lost cause that night, Poppa instead settled in to tell stories of the old days to his new student.
The next morning, the owner of the railway came down to look over his latest purchase. 0503 stood stock still as he was examined by the man known to the rolling stock only as “Control.”
The man hmmed and haw’d as he examined every inch of the locomotive, taking careful stock of the rust beginning to form on joints and exposed rivets. He had already taken a risk purchasing a steam locomotive, and it was clear this one was not in the “like-new” condition he had been promised.
They had just received a group of diesel locomotives, which would cover freight and passenger service adequately. Control didn’t want this new steam engine to venture too far from the rail yard, the railway had removed most of its steam infrastructure and if the engine broke down far from home repairs would be difficult.
However, the yard could use another shunting engine. Control nodded and stepped back from the engine, “Welcome to Apollo Victoria, 0503. You will be working in the yard as my new shunting engine. Poppa will show you what to do.”
As the human left, 0503 blinked and looked around the yard. “Shunting? I thought I was here for passenger trains.”
Poppa sighed, feeling bad for the poor young engine. “The railway switched over to using diesel for trains several years ago, passenger and freight. There used to be coal hoppers and water towers all along the mainline, but none of them hold coal or water anymore.”
“And that means that you and I can’t run passenger trains on the mainline.” 0503 was young, but quick on the uptake. Without coal and water, a steam engine was useless.
“Someday, they’ll realize that diesel is inferior and steam will make a comeback,” Poppa asserted, voice full of hope. “You’ll see, the Starlight Express won’t let us down.”
0503 had heard stories of the mystical train, the Starlight Express, the night before and it was enough to put a shy smile back on his face. If Poppa said it was true, than it was. Until steam had its second coming, maybe switching in the yard wouldn’t be so bad.
Several months later, the young engine discovered that switching in the yard was actually that bad. Worse, even. Apparently, the mainline diesels thought being a shunter automatically made an engine their slave and worked the steamer ragged fetching coaches, freight cars, and whatever else they needed at the time.
To add insult to injury, the diesels had also somehow found out about his embarrassing nickname and thought it was hilarious. The yard was full of calls of, “Rusty get my coaches” and
Rusty, take these cars away” until even Poppa had to admit that the young engine would simply have to accept the name.
“I’m not that rusty, am I?” He sniffed one night, tired out from spending all day running back and forth organizing trains.
“Don’t let them get to you, Rusty.” Poppa felt a bit of guilt chill his firebox as the younger engine cringed at the name. But an engine couldn’t pick their name, and it wasn’t always a pleasant one. Sleeping outside wasn’t having a kind effect on Rusty, and the red spots were spreading slowly across his frame. Poppa suspected that he had been built out of inferior metals and spare parts more susceptible to rust, a poor attempt at keeping down the cost of his manufacture. And now, of course, the railroad wouldn’t spend the money to try and eradicate the corrosion unless it interfered with his duties. “Those diesels don’t have any respect for anything that isn’t a diesel like them. Now that you have your name, you take it and own it.”
“Like Greaseball?” Rusty commented somewhat bitterly. The yellow EMD E6 was the worst of all, acting like the lord of the railway as the other diesels worshipped the rails he rolled on. Rusty had thought the diesel’s name hilarious, and still secretly did, but had quickly learned not to laugh at it to Greaseball’s face.
“Greaseball is only a few years older than you, but he grew up in a different world.” Poppa didn’t know too much about the diesel’s story, as he had transferred from Union Pacific about two years before, but some of it was pretty clear. “Back then, steam engines still filled the rails. And I’m sorry to admit, Rusty, that we weren’t too nice to diesels back then. I imagine some steamers gave Greaseball his name as an insult, but since then most steamers have been scrapped and replaced by diesels. That doesn’t do great things for an engine’s ego.”
“You mean that Greaseball thinks he’s better than everyone else because steam engines were all scrapped and his kind are still around.” Rusty grumbled. He sighed when a distant voice was heard calling ‘Where’s that Rusty?!’ and moved away from the shed. “Sounds like the evening passenger train is back. I’ll see you later, Poppa.”
If there was one nice thing about shunting, it was getting to see the coaches. They were all so nice and pleasant, most of them treating Rusty like a cute kid brother. Not that “kid brother” was necessarily the relationship he wanted to have with the coaches, but it was better than “switching slave.”
“Hello, Rusty.” Dinah the dining car, despite it being well known she was close with Greaseball, always had a smile and a kind word for the young steamer. “How’re you?”
“I’m okay.” Rusty said unconvincingly, pushing the line of coaches over towards their shed. “What’s the news from the mainline?”
“We’re getting a new coach.” Buffy, a buffet car, butted in with excitement. “An observation car. I hear she’s very well appointed.”
An observation car? They were normally reserved for high end passenger service on important, long distance trains, and word was they were actually being phased out on most of the big name railways. What would such a fancy coach be doing on their little railroad?
A few weeks later, Rusty came to shunt the daily passenger train back to their shed only to find a new coach coupled to the end of the train. A broad spread of windows and a shapely rounded tail marked her as an observation car, with beautiful pearlescent paint and interior upholstery in shades of pink. Rusty felt his firebox flare and his face turn a bit red. She was the loveliest coach he’d ever seen.
“H-Hi. You must be the new observation car.” Rusty gently nudged up against the coach and gave the train a push. “I’m Rusty.” From an adjacent track a freight car muttered ‘you sure are’ with a laugh, which Rusty steadfastly ignored.
“My name is Pearl.” The observation car said with a smile, looking over this new engine with interest. “I’ve never seen an engine like you before.”
“I’m a steam engine. I guess my kind aren’t too common anymore, but it used to be that we ran these rails.” Rusty stated proudly. Poppa had been making sure that the young steamer knew the grand history of steam rail travel, to make up for the fact that he had never gotten to see it himself.
“Wow, a steam engine.” Pearl was only days out of the factory, and had only seen the local diesel engines. This new engine with his exposed pistons and chuffing steam was very exciting. “Do you ever pull passenger trains?”
“Well, uh. Not right now. I could if I wanted to, I mean.” Now more than ever, Rusty wished that Control would let him pull trains outside the yard. “I was built for pulling passengers, but Control doesn’t like it when I leave the yard so I mostly shunt right now.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Pearl seemed genuinely disappointed. “Maybe someday you’ll get to pull a train. I would love to have you as my engine sometime.”
The other coaches twittered with amusement, but didn’t say anything even as Rusty turned bright red and steam hissed from his valve gear. But then the moment, cute as it was, was interrupted by the loud blat of an air horn echoing across the yard.
“Hey Rustbucket, got my coaches gathered?”
“It’s Greaseball!” The older coaches all giggled as the big, strong, modern diesel engine rolled into the yard. Rusty was instantly forgotten about as Greaseball moved around to the front of the train to be coupled up.
“Hey ladies.” Greaseball winked at the coaches, causing another round of excited giggles. “Dinah, babe, you ready for race practice tonight?”
“Of course, Greaseball.” The dining coach was well known to be the diesel’s race partner, and together the two of them were the reigning champions of the railroad racing world.
As the diesel left with his train, Rusty sighed and went back to the shed. Poppa had insisted a few times that he sleep in the structure, but Rusty simply couldn’t make the older engine sleep outside. Instead, the young steamer settled on a siding to rest his pistons. He couldn’t stop thinking about the new coach, Pearl. She had been so nice to him, and not in the ‘older coach indulging a little brother’ kind of way. Rusty couldn’t help but be enamored.
A little while later, Poppa rolled over to the shed for a rest. He had just finished arranging a freight train for one of the younger diesels and was looking forward to relaxing for a little bit. That was, of course, before he saw the dreamy expression on his protégé’s face.
“Well, well, Rusty.” Poppa chuckled. “And what has you looking so happy this afternoon?”
“Oh, Poppa. I met a coach,” Rusty felt his fire flare brighter just thinking about it, “Her name is Pearl, she’s the new observation car. She’s so nice, and pretty.”
Of course, the one thing that could make a young engine turn into a lovestruck puppy. A pretty car on the railroad.
“Do you think she likes me back, Poppa?”
“I don’t know how she couldn’t, Rusty.” His protégé was a sweet, kind young engine, if a bit hot-headed at times. Any car would be lucky to have him as their engine.
Despite the encouragement of Poppa, Rusty couldn’t help but be a bit nervous. After all, the coaches fawned over the diesel engines, not steamers covered in rust. However, Pearl never seemed to mind the corrosion. She always had a nice word for him, and became especially excited to see him after she heard his whistle one day.
“Was that your horn?” Pearl asked with wonder as Rusty pulled into the shed to retrieve the coaches for Greaseball’s morning train.
“Horn?” Rusty was confused for a moment before realizing what she probably meant, “Oh, you mean my whistle?” He blew it again for emphasis, dipping the pitch briefly before bringing it up to full blast. He was quite proud of his whistle, an elegant six-chime arrangement so unlike Poppa’s single-note “hooter” or the loud blare of the diesel’s horns. Poppa had promised that, with practice, Rusty would be able to play his whistles like an instrument and find a sound of his very own.
“A whistle?” Pearl was enamored. “It doesn’t sound anything like the horns the diesel engines have.”
“Well, like Poppa says. ‘Nobody can do it like a steam train.’” It was one of the older engine’s favorite phrases, right behind ‘trust in the Starlight Express.’
Pearl laughed like that was the greatest thing she’d ever heard, and Rusty felt his pressure gauge climb. Rusty sure hoped Poppa was right and that a lovely observation car like her could love a lowly steam switcher like him, because he didn’t know what he would do if she ever left.
It seemed that Race Fever had officially infected the train yard. Though the international races were a few months away yet, they were all anyone could talk about. Rumors were rampant about who would be attending and what countries would be represented. The one thing everyone was sure about, though, was that Greaseball would take the championship. He was, after all, the current title holder and reigning champion of the racing world. Something that he never failed to remind everyone of.
As the diesel swaggered through the trainyard, Rusty simply had to grit his teeth to keep from blurting out anything that would end with him getting beaten up. He was so sick and tired of hearing about the superiority of diesel, with plenty of unsubtle jabs about how steam was obsolete whenever Rusty was within hearing range.
“I wish I could get out there and show that diesel and thing or two.” Rusty complained to Poppa one evening at the shed. “I’ve always wanted to race, I know I could do it.”
“Well then, you should enter the race.” Poppa had secretly been hoping that Rusty would compete. It had been too long since steam had been properly represented in the international races. “No rule that says you can’t.”
“I. Really?” That hadn’t occurred to Rusty. To actually enter the race. “I’d need a coach to go with me.”
“Pearl seems pretty taken with you.” Poppa also wasn’t above a little match making. “I bet if you ask that girl she’ll say yes.”
“Great idea, Poppa! I’ll go ask her right now!” Rusty was still young enough to somehow possess boundless enthusiasm, and Poppa couldn’t help but chuckle as the smaller steam engine rushed off in quite a hurry. “Gosh, we’ll need to find a place and time to practice. I wonder if Control will let us use part of the mainline. I’ll have to see how far I can get without refueling- “ His voice trailed off as he headed for the coach shed.
The reaction from the other denizens of the train yard was about as expected. Greaseball had laughed uproariously at the idea of Rusty racing against him, the gang members that often followed the yellow diesel around finding it equally amusing. The freight cars, who were all very fond of the two steamers that worked in the yard, were mostly supportive. Except, of course, for the brick truck Flat Top. He had apparently been working on getting into Greaseball’s gang, and that meant swearing absolutely fealty to oil and renouncing all things steam.
And the coaches, well, they all wanted to be supportive of Rusty, but they all seemed convinced that the young steamer would hurt himself if he tried to race. Several of them seemed to think that if Rusty got up to speed he’d just fall apart into bits.
“The rust isn’t THAT bad,” Rusty muttered, knowing it was a moot point. They all knew his rust was mostly cosmetic, affecting his exterior plating and not his running gear, but worrying about their ‘little brother’ is what the coaches did.
Pearl, at least, thought that racing was a brilliant idea. It sounded terribly exciting, and all the coaches talked about which engines they hoped to partner with for the race. Pearl didn’t know any of the international visitors, and Greaseball already had a partner, so if she wanted to race Rusty was her only choice.
Practice was a little harder to come by. With no coal or water towers still functional on the mainline, Rusty could only go so far before being forced to return to the yard. The other option was running out of coal on the line and having to be shunted home by one of the diesels, and Rusty would rather be scrapped then endure that embarrassment.
It was nice to finally have a chance to exercise his pistons, at least. In the yard, Rusty was restricted to fairly low speeds as he navigated around the many sets of points while shunting cars and coaches around. Even if he didn’t have the race to look forward to, Rusty would relish having the time to get up to his rated running speed.
Of course, his rated running speed was probably nothing to Pearl, who regularly accompanied Greaseball’s daily passenger train. Even when not racing the diesel ran fast and hard. Much harder than Rusty could safely run without burning through his coal supply and stranding himself out on the mainline. Pearl never said anything if she was bored, but Rusty couldn’t help but be a bit worried.
Poppa, of course, didn’t think he had anything to worry about. The elderly steamer was enjoying regaling his student with tales of the old days, when he had been a racing champion.
“There is nothing a diesel can do that a steamer can’t do better.” Poppa maintained. “You go out there and show them what a steamer can do. Believe in the Starlight Express and he will help you through.”
Rusty tried, he really did, but believing in the Starlight Express didn’t help him feel any better when Pearl dumped him. A brand new, flashy electric engine had shown up as a last-minute entry to the races with an entourage of mysterious components and had immediately drawn everyone to him as though by some irresistible magnetism.
Pearl had expressed her doubts then, worried that Rusty would only hurt himself trying to go up against such a flashy, modern engine. But then that irksome money truck Purse had shown up, begging Pearl to come race with his master, and Rusty knew he had lost her.
“I guess I’m not flashy enough. Not . . . not shiny enough,” For the first time in a long while, Rusty truly hated his appearance. The corrosion had spread across his frame until he had almost more rust than black paint, making him appear much older than he was. Made him look even more obsolete and useless, because what kind of useful, fast engine was slowly falling apart at the rivets?
“It’s no use, Poppa,” Rusty said sadly as he came into the freight yard. “I lost the coach I thought I had.”
Poppa looked up at the younger engine with surprise and sadness in his eyes, “Don’t tell me Pearl left you?”
“She’s gone to race with that new electric engine that just arrived. Electra.” Rusty said bitterly, still upset. “And no one else will race with me.”
“We’ll find someone else willing to race with you, I’m sure we will.” Poppa looked around at the freight cars that surrounded them. Races were almost always run with coaches, but there was nothing in the rules prohibiting a freight car from going. “Maybe one of the boys here would go?”
“No, Poppa. I can’t-“ Rusty just couldn’t imagine racing with someone besides Pearl. And even if he did find another partner, he would still have to bear the sight of Pearl coupled up behind that new electric engine. No, he’d rather just not race at all.
It became clear that no matter what Poppa did, the young engine was sticking to his decision. If Rusty didn’t race, then someone else would need to prove just what steam could do. Which is why Poppa stepped up and joined the second heat with the first freight truck that would go with him. Dustin the aggregate hopper was heavy and had never raced before, but he was a kind soul and had come forward when the Rocky boxcars had refused.
When Poppa pulled off a miracle and actually won the heat, Rusty almost couldn’t believe his eyes. To see the older, larger engine in full racing stride was awe inspiring. Connecting rods and pistons were just a blur as Poppa sped down the race course, smoke and steam billowing out behind him. Rusty only hoped that some day he could do the same.
However, the moment wasn’t meant to last. Poppa was simply too old to race like that, especially pulling a heavy aggregate hopper like Dustin. Out of coal and water, pistons aching, Poppa rolled to a pained stop just past the finish line and could go no further.
“Poppa!” Rusty couldn’t contain his worry for the elder steamer. Though he had made a few friends on the railway, Poppa was like a father to him. He couldn’t imagine life without the older steam engine.
“I’ll be okay, Rusty.” Poppa certainly didn’t sound okay, coughing the way he was, but he still managed to look at the young engine with pride in his eyes, “I won steam a place in the finals. I told you, the Starlight Express would never let steam down. But I can’t run in the finals, my time is done. You have to take my place.”
“Me?” Rusty almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Poppa wanted him to take his spot in the final heat? Was that even allowed in the rulebook? And besides that, Pearl was still coupled up with that flashy electric engine. If Rusty did agree to race in the final, he would be up against Pearl and Electra, not to mention that jerk Greaseball.
Unfortunately, just thinking the name ‘Greaseball’ was enough to summon the arrogant diesel himself. And, just Rusty’s luck, Electra wasn’t too far behind with his entourage of components plus Pearl. The two big shot racers reacted completely predictably to seeing a pair of down-on-their-luck steam engines and immediately started mocking them both. Rusty’s pressure rose to dangerous levels as his anger grew. How dare they sit there and mock Poppa, who just given his all in the race. And won! When had the two champions ever put that much passion into something?
“Fine, I’ll do it!” Rusty finally cried, unable to take it anymore, “I’ll take Poppa’s place in the final race!”
The others laughed uproariously before leaving, and soon Rusty was left alone. It was strange, he had once been so excited about racing. To show everyone just what he was made of. But now he just felt kind of numb. Had he really just challenged Greaseball and Electra to a race? In the finals of the World Championships? He didn’t even have a coach!
“Starlight Express help me.” Rusty whispered before returning to the freight yard to pull himself together before the final heat.
At least Rusty wasn’t the only one having trouble finding a partner. Greaseball and Dinah, the power couple of the train yard, had actually split up. The diesel took no time in luring Pearl over to his side, while Dinah joined the electrics.
Meanwhile, Rusty had found a partner in an oddly enthusiastic CB. The little red caboose was somewhat of an anomaly in the yard. Considered one of the freight cars despite the fact that he never actually carried anything but human crew members, CB had the ability to somehow pop up right when you needed him. Rusty didn’t interact with him too often outside of his switching duties. Though CB had never been anything but perfectly friendly, the steam engine couldn’t help but think something was a bit off about the caboose. Maybe it was the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and stretched a little too wide.
Unfortunately for Rusty, he was right in his suspicions. On a tight turn, CB suddenly released his brakes and managed to send Rusty off the rails and into the ditch beside the tracks. As Rusty lay there waiting for the repair team to come and help him, CB laughed from his place up on the tracks. The caboose had been in cahoots with Electra and Greaseball all along. It wasn’t enough to beat the steam engine, they had to make sure he never raced again.
Well, it wasn’t going to work. Being betrayed by someone he had thought was on his side hurt, but Rusty wasn’t going to let that stop him. The race had been postponed due to the crash, and would be rerun as soon as Rusty had been given a few minutes to recover.
Getting harassed and beaten up by Greaseball’s gang only added insult to injury, and as Rusty sat there humiliated he remembered what Poppa had always said. “Starlight Express,” He whispered, “Please help me. I need you.”
Rusty had prayed to the deity many times in his life, but never before had there been an answer. Until now.
A deep, somehow familiar voice resonated around him. Rusty wasn’t quite sure if he was hearing or feeling the voice, which sung to him a song of hope and inspiration that made his fire flare brighter.
“You are the Starlight.” The voice told him, “You have the ability to do anything. The power within you is strong enough to achieve whatever you put your mind to.”
It sounded like the sort of stuff Poppa used to tell him when he was younger, but Rusty could actually feel a strange power creeping into his pistons and valve gear. A sudden surge of warmth filled his boiler, steam building until it pressed at his safety valve. Just then, Rusty felt like he could actually take on Greaseball and Electra. And beat them both.
A cough drew Rusty’s attention, and he caught sight of Dustin the big hopper sitting on a siding. The freight truck had been napping after his harrowing race with Poppa, but appeared wide awake now.
“Dustin. Did – did you hear that? The Starlight Express?” Rusty moved over to the hopper, that strange feeling of power pushing his pistons almost effortlessly.
“I did. My eyes were closed, but I saw the Starlight.” Dustin still seemed to be in awe from the experience.
Well, at least Rusty knew he wasn’t crazy. Plus, it seemed the problem of his lack of a partner had been solved. Sure, Dustin was heavy and inexperienced, but he had held his own fairly well when racing with Poppa. And besides, the final was a downhill course so maybe the freight car’s weight would be an advantage.
“Come on, Dustin. Let’s go show those fancy engines what steam can do.” Rusty coupled up to Dustin and headed off for the starting line.
If the other racers were surprised to see him, they didn’t show it. Everyone was purely focused on the race, a single-minded determination that left no room for petty taunts. Though, Rusty did have a moment of surprise when he saw a lithe red caboose coupled up behind Electra instead of Dinah. The dining car must have dumped the electric engine, forcing him to find a last minute partner.
CB caught Rusty’s gaze and gave him a dark smirk before returning his focus to the electric engine in front of him. Rusty shuddered, recalling the wild laughter the caboose had let out after crashing him on the previous run, and tried to put his mind back on the race. With CB in the run, alongside the cheating likes of Electra and Greaseball, anything could happen.
There wasn’t time to be worried, or to think about what-ifs, when the checkered flag dropped. The three competitors exploded out of the starting gate, Electra’s lightweight electric design letting him gain an early lead but diesel and steam weren’t far behind.
Rusty grit his teeth as Greaseball began to pull ahead, his diesel engine rumbling loudly as he thundered after Electra. The young steamer wasn’t even really seen as competition. Not necessarily a bad thing, hopefully Greaseball and Electra would be so busy trying to take out each other they’d forget all about Rusty.
Of course, that wouldn’t do Rusty much good if he fell so far behind he couldn’t catch up. The words the Starlight had said to him came back to mind, that he had the power to do anything he set his mind to, and extra force pushed his pistons harder. His firebox flared so brightly Rusty was surprised the others couldn’t see it through his plating. There was, however, a small cry of alarm from Dustin as he felt the heat coming from his racing partner. Even then the hopper still didn’t let go, aware that without a partner Rusty would be disqualified.
They were actually gaining on the race leaders when there was a high pitched scream. Pearl had been damaged in the fight between the two engines and Greaseball had uncoupled her while moving at speed to keep her from slowing him down. The observation car was now out of control and in danger of coming off the rails.
“Pearl!” Race forgotten, Rusty slammed on his brakes. As he came up behind Pearl, he had dumped most of his momentum and was able to gently buffer up and bring her to a stop.
“Rusty?” Pearl couldn’t believe she was still in one piece, she had fully expected to derail and crash. “Rusty! The race!”
“Are you alright, Pearl?” He should have been concerned about the race, but he only had eyes for Pearl.
“I’m fine. But the race!” Pearl pushed Rusty away from her.
“I- the race!” Assured that Pearl would survive, Rusty nudged her to a safe siding and poured on the steam to try and catch up to the other racers.
It seemed that Greaseball had belatedly realized that without a partner, he would be disqualified, and now he and Electra were fighting over CB. The bickering slowed down the two fast engines enough for Rusty to catch up as the final tunnel loomed ahead. The tunnel meant close quarters, and Rusty certainly didn’t want to be alongside a pair of fighting engines when they went inside.
Straining hard, Rusty just managed to pull ahead when they entered the stark blackness of the tunnel. There was a sudden squeal of brakes on the rails, a sign that the other racers weren’t so lucky. Greaseball, Electra, and CB had been so consumed with their infighting that they had forgotten about the curve of the track in the tunnel. Too late to brake, the three came off the rails with a scream of twisting metal and landed in a tangled heap.
Rusty exploded out the other end of the tunnel just ahead of the wreck and flew across the finish line. The voice of Control echoed across the trainyard “RUSTY WINS, RUSTY WINS THE CHAMPIONSHIP” but the steam engine barely heard it. He had to go back for Pearl.
Pausing just long enough to uncouple Dustin, Rusty raced off down the mainline heading back for the siding he had left Pearl on. The audience that came down to the finish line to celebrate could only look around in confusion as the winner left instead of taking the customary victory lap.
In the end, Rusty supposed everything had worked out. The actions of him and Poppa had proved to Control that steam still had a use on the railway; both had been overjoyed when the announcement was made that the coal hoppers and water towers on the mainline would be restored. Greaseball had not magically become a friend, but he had stopped antagonizing the two steam engines and seemed to be genuinely trying to make things right with Dinah. He had been banned from passenger duties for a year in punishment for his cheating, which meant that Rusty was taking over his daily passenger train. Even this had only earned a half-hearted grumble from the yellow diesel, who understood that he could’ve easily been stuck with switching duties for the rest of his life and that only a year was a relatively light punishment.
Electra had stormed off in a buzz of electricity after his loss, trailing his components behind him, and hadn’t been seen since. CB, however, had remained at the yard. He had also been banned from trains for the next year, and was usually seen sitting on a siding sulking. All of his communications equipment had been damaged in the crash, and since he wasn’t actively working Control hadn’t deemed it important enough to fix. Rusty mostly avoided the caboose, still bitter about having been deliberately crashed during the races.
The steamer was being kept busy with his new duties anyway, and reveled the opportunity to spend large amounts of time with Pearl. The other coaches were around, of course, like irritating chaperones, but sometimes after a long run Rusty would go into the shed and “borrow” Pearl for some night time stargazing. Sitting there with her, on a siding under the night sky, everything finally seemed like it would turn out alright.