Chapters Track Switch - Steel Dreams
Author's Note
For the true experience of this first chapter, I recommend this here on loop.
Euro Cargo
Track Switch - Steel Dreams
The Canterlot – Manehattan express thunders past, spewing a towering cloud of smoke and trailing a fine mist of ash and soot. Steam hisses from the cylinders. The rails sing in anticipation of its approach and hum its echo when it is gone.
Passengers may please refrain from opening the windows on the windward side, lest soot stain their well-groomed manes and fine attire.
The lush green countryside is baking in the summer heat and Celestia’s sun glints on streams and lakes. Sheep dot the meadows like small clouds on a green sky. Foals greet the train with happy waves at the crossings. Their parents hitched to their wooden carts splay back their ears in anticipation of the whistle that pierces the air a moment later.
Clearwater Junction, a lovely little village. Refreshments available, ice cream for the foals. Twenty minutes to stretch your legs while the train takes on coal and water.
A freight train on the Baltimare run has waited for the express to clear the line, the tank engine puffing yellow smoke in lazy intervals. Hot steel and three waggons with empty fish barrels, stinking like blazes. The firemare throws wood into the firebox and the puffs turn into an acrid cloud. The linepony pushes the track switch lever, the driver leans down and gives him a hoofbump and the train lumbers out onto the track.
The water crane swings away from the express train, the signalpony pulls the cables and the signal arm goes up.
“All aboard to Manehattan!”
The whistle goes.
***
Yeah, right. And good riddance.
I check the glowing displays one more time. All good.
The double red light in the murky darkness switches to green and yellow and I push the throttle with a smile. The lone guy in the signal tower looks up from his Sudoku and gives me a thumbs-up although he can’t see inside my cabin. I salute him back anyway and feed the sleepy engine.
No smoke billows, no steam hisses, no murderous heat or icy wind, no ash and grease in my coat and no smell of sulphur.
A soft hum, nothing more. Hell yeah.
It was glorious at times, but I don’t miss Tartarus on wheels.
My TRAXX F140 MS2 is champing at the bit. I love the look most humans give me when I use that expression. Just a little longer, girl. Metal groans and clinks as I pull out of the station and over the maze of track switches, all the waggons swaying softly. The last train before me has just cleared the block and the signal flashes green. Out onto the main line.
My locomotive hauls the fifty wagons full of car parts and consumer goods bound for Mannheim and Frankfurt out into the night. One kilometre of train, fifteen hundred tons of cargo, six hundred kilometres from Paris to the German Manehattan.
I give her a little pat on the console with a fore hoof. There you go. I smirk and work the controls, pouring more and more of what the twenty-five kilovolt overhead lines can deliver into her system. The engine goes from a hissing growl to a high-pitched whine to a delighted purr as we accelerate.
Sun and Moon, I love this.
After a little while, the light of the suburbs and commuter train stations fade into the distance and I am alone on the double track. Straight and flat. The landscape stretches out around me in my night vision, light grey all the way to the horizon. The triple headlights are a flaming torch, cutting through the darkness in a fiery halo of green and purple stripes.
I listen to the engine and pity my human colleagues who cannot hear her hidden songs as she tops out at a hundred and forty kilometres an hour. She whines and hums in a steady ebb and flow, a barely perceptible rhythm even to me. Her coils sing hymns of electric fire and tamed lightning. The rush of air, the rhythm of the rails, the thunder of the waggons and the scraping whisper of the pantograph on the overhead line.
A green signal marking the next block flashes in the dark and is gone again in an instant, leaving a brief orange smear on my retinas. I spread my wings and glide on the song of steel.
In the small hours of the morning, the engine sounds unsure of herself. A note is off. I sing to her in a voice that only she and I can hear. It reverberates around the cabin and paints a second picture of my surroundings in my conscious. I think she likes it, the way the circuits click and whisper back at me as the engine noise evens out. Trax is content and so am I.
We reach the border and cross the Saar River on old and rumbling steel beams and stop on the German side to switch systems. Just as myself, she speaks several languages and clicks a few times in recognition of the German fifteen kilovolt current. There is a short hum and we are ready to go.
The landscape turns hillier and the engine labours against repeated inclines as we make our way to our first destination. There are headlights on the other track and seconds later the sleek shape of the first ICE of the day to Paris streaks past us with barely a sound. A brief shudder from the bow shock of the white queen, and then she is gone. I assure Trax that I am loyal to her and pat the console with a wing. She hums.
An hour later my train crawls across the bridge over the mighty Rhine and every second signal is on halt or slow, we have low priority after all. Changing cars in Mannheim is efficient and soon I pick my way through the track-field on the north side of the freight terminal. The sun is creeping up over the horizon.
We are rid of the heavy car parts, the terrain is flat and we have little time left to clear the line for the day’s regional and IC trains. We do not have clearance for the high-speed tracks but the normal line to the east is well maintained, so regardless of terrain almost constant hundred and forty kilometres an hour it is once more.
Track switches flow into each other as we rush over the blurred railway sleepers and another track joins us from the right. The overhead lines become more complex and the number of signals increases, a widening river of light and steel.
Now that we are closer to the city, I once more see green and yellow signals telling me to slow down. A commuter train full of listless people overtakes us on its way to bring them to their places of work and study.
Five tracks now run in parallel as Frankfurt’s bank towers come into view, their eastern glass facades glowing in the cold morning light. My route branches off to the east before the approach to Frankfurt Central.
A few minutes later we cross the Main River into the industrial estate around Frankfurt’s east station and the container terminal.
It has been seven hours since I left Paris and my head feels heavy as I squint into the light of the daystar. The track switches guide us to a track fairly close to the terminal building. Alright. I park the train, climb out of the driver’s seat and rest my head on the console for a moment.
“Thank you for a fine night,” I say before I switch the engine off and retract the pantograph.
She whispers her agreement with a faint crackle as the metal bar detaches from the overhead line.
I put on my saddlebags, open the door and jump out, opening my wings instantly. It is a manoeuvre I have had to practice a lot. I turn while hovering in mid-air, careful not to drift upwards toward the overhead line. The outside air smells of hot brakes and warm grease. “Goodbye for now,” I tell her and softly close the door.
With a sigh, I turn and glide towards the platform, leaving my train to the shunting engines that will soon arrive. We will see each other again some other night, although I never know when. But I know she will always be happy to traverse the continent with me and so will I.
My hooves touch down on the cracked concrete with a soft clop. I stretch my legs and take the short trot to the rundown freight office to deliver the paperwork and sign off. I would prefer to fly, but I do not have permission to do so. I can accept that, I feel as if I have flown all night even though my stiff wing muscles do not agree.
It is a half hour walk to my apartment but I always take a detour to a little bakery close by that relies on tired railway workers such as me for their main source of income. Bakeries are one of the things where Germany beats all other countries I have visited. It was on the forefront of my mind when I was looking for accommodation here a few years back.
Karl himself is behind the counter today, so I guess one of the girls has quit. It isn’t easy, finding good staff in a good economy. Especially if you are not prepared to pay a decent wage.
That means I am going to go through the whole ‘Oh my god, we have a pony customer!’ routine next time I am back here. Followed by ‘You know that there’s ham in that sandwich?!’
It gets old after a while. Nowadays I just bare my fangs in response - that never fails to make Karl laugh at their confusion. I would appreciate it if he would cut back on the vampire jokes though.
“Morning Nightline, where’ve you been?”
“Hiya. Back and forth between Paris and Bayonne a few times.”
“And, weather over there any good?” He assembles my usual supply package. With two cheese and ham sandwiches. That does not make me a carnivore. Numpties.
“Yeah.” He does not accept cards but I cannot be bothered to try to count cash this late. Besides, there is another customer behind me who most likely is in a hurry. I doubt that he thinks a pony trying to sort coins with her mouth is endearing right now. I toss Karl my purse instead. I trust him.
There is a note from my landlord under my door, asking me again if I please could keep the staircase and entrance clean and tidy in the weeks when it’s my turn. There have been complaints. She will have to increase my rent if she has to get somebody to do it for me.
I have tried to tell her that I am not here all the time and that we need a proper schedule. Also that I am nocturnal as far as possible and that her other tenants will not be happy if I start cleaning around midnight. The doors are not exactly soundproof. I should know.
Maybe I could make a bargain with her. I get the damn door to my flat repaired myself and she pays a cleaner. Maybe try the ‘look at the adorable pony with the fluffy ears and be a good person’ approach? Probably not. You go to Earth to work; you have to keep your standards.
I am this close to bucking the door in when the lock yields at the fifth try.
Finally. It is just one small room and a bathroom but it is mine, and thank Lady Luna I tidied up before I left last time. Nice and clean.
Right. Food. Bath. Bed.
I look at the knackered blue batpony in the mirror and give her a nod and a little smile.
I stretch out on my bed for a good day’s sleep. I think I deserve that.
Track Switch - Steel Dreams
Track Switch - Steel Dreams
The sun is setting when I wake up, still tired but restless. After opening the blinds, I watch the darkening sky behind the trees before shaking my head and turning away. The last sandwich makes for a stale and unsatisfying breakfast. I chuck it after a few bites.
I notice there is mail for me on the carpet by the floor. Advertising, advertising, advertising and an actual envelope. Royal Canterlot Post Office seal on a commemorative first contact stamp. Huh. I thought my parents had given up on me but maybe not yet entirely. Sending mail over here is quite expensive.
I turn the envelope over and look at the sender. It is from him . Too bad Trax does not have a firebox.
I need to get out.
Holding my saddlebags upside-down produces my assorted Velcro straps and accompanying rail-related tools and styluses, followed by the heavy clunk of both my water bottle and my thermos. At the bottom is a hoofful of garbage and the leather pouch that is my purse. Last comes the small shoulder bag I can hang around my neck when I cannot be bothered to put on the saddlebags themselves.
Somehow attached to the bottom of that bag is my French LCL VISA-card I thought I had lost in Bayonne. After I locked it, it took me ages to explain to the woman on the helpline that, yes, my name is Nightline. No surname. So now, I am of course Ms Night Line on the new card. My Commerzbank debit-card says Nightline Pony. Humans - bank clerks in particular.
I slip the bag over my head and mess up my mane in the process. Oh well.
The evening is still pleasantly warm here in late spring as I step outside, at least when you have a coat. I take a deep breath and stretch my wings before cantering down the path to the car park. My wing muscles complain when I lift off.
I should go flying more often. Real flying at a serious altitude. If only I would not have to carry a ton of equipment to do so. Transponder, position light, the works. But of course I comply. I have no desire to be shredded in a jet engine the way it almost happened to some featherbrain close to Paris-Charles de Gaulle international.
At night, I can at least fly at roof height or lower without a big risk of startling drivers and endangering traffic. Dodging branches, chimneys and power lines with echolocation is fun. Sometimes I snatch a bug buzzing around a streetlight – it is disgusting when you stop and think about it, but it somehow feels right. They are also crunchy.
I fly up to the flat roof of my residential block and land on the roofing cardboard which gives a soft grinding sound underhoof as I touch down. Technically, I am not allowed to do that, but the sign at the top of the staircase has a human icon on it. I therefore reason that a pony has permission to watch the sunset from her perch if she so chooses.
The sun sinks beneath the roofs and chimneys, a great flaming ball of orange that flickers at the edges. I am hungry and in a bad mood, and I could really go for a breakfast beer. I launch myself from the roof with a long jump and swoop low over the lawn and up again just over tree height.
I glide on the warm air rising from the roofs and roads, and cross over a department store, then over the tracks of the eastbound mainline. The bands of steel glint in the last light. I have never gone in that direction. Maybe I should sign up for some voluntary work when they are short of drivers next time.
Fluttering down to the pavement, I startle a young guy who was fixated on his phone and didn’t see me coming. He almost jumps out into the street, but recovers quickly. I guess he remembers he can tweet my picture. I trot the last hundred metres down to the main road and tram station.
Line 11 is going to bring me to the city centre, or at least closer to it.
It is a mixed blessing that I do not look as fluffy or familiar to humans as other ponies, what with the little fangs and my leathery wings. People tend to give me more space on public transport and I do not receive a lot of unsolicited contact. On the other hoof, sometimes it would be nice not having to break the ice myself.
I am not overly good at that.
The whine of the electric engine has no personality. It’s a dead train, only an animated metal box. I look out at the container terminal gliding past a hundred meters to the north and I already miss her. Two days and then I can be back on the rails.
“Uhm… excuse me?” A child’s voice.
“Yes?” I say and look over my shoulder. A little black boy is standing there, looking as if it is taking every ounce of bravery he possesses to give me a nervous smile. I cannot help but return it.
“Are you a bat pony?”
Extra points for stating the obvious. “Yes,” I reply. I think I like him. He also smells nice. His father is a metre behind him, looking a little nervous as well.
The kid takes a deep breath. “Bat ponies are so cool! I’ve never seen one up close!”
“Why, thank-“
“Wow, you really have slit eyes. Can you see in the dark like cats? Do you use echo? What’s that fur on your ears good for? I bet you can hear a mouse all the way down the street!” He takes a deep breath. “And, and, uhm… do you drink blood?”
I hold up a hoof and lean back a little. “Woah, easy there,” I say and chuckle. “No, no blood. I prefer beer. Honest. And the pony’s name is Nightline.”
The eleven stops pass much faster than they normally do and I admit it does feel good to be petted. Before I get off the tram, I shake hoof with the boy’s dad and give the little one a hug. I also envelop the boy in my wings for a few moments while doing so. Judging by his expression, Christmas just came early this year. Lots of pictures on his dad’s phone to show his classmates tomorrow.
I hop out into the noisy street and head north. Now, that evening could have begun on a worse note and my mood has improved quite a bit. Maybe I will check YouTube later tonight; half a dozen people were filming the encounter. Which could be fun. With any luck, somebody will be offended on my behalf. Grade A entertainment.
It is only five minutes to my destination, an Irish Pub called ‘Four Corners’, right next to a big intersection. It is not yet warm enough to have the tables out front. I hope that next time it is. There is a new sign on the front door though: ‘Four Corners welcomes four hooves!’ I chuckle and push the door open with my forehead.
Since it is not that late, the place is not yet packed. The barman grins, gives me a nod and walks over. He crouches down and gives me a hoofbump. “Hiya Night! How’ve you been?”
I count Ben as a friend. “Hiya yourself! Pretty good actually, except my ex keeps reminding me of his existence every time I’ve managed to forget about him.”
“Heh. Good thing there’s a whole dimensional jump between the two of you then.”
“Yep. Trax thinks he’s an idiot, too,” I say with a smirk.
He shakes his head with an over the top eye-roll. “Seriously? Your obsession with that engine is unhealthy. What do you want for breakfast?”
“Says the addicted role-player who pretends to be a sexy unicorn mare online. A pint of Kilkenny and a double Grouse. And the veggie burger with chips. With extra chips. Is my spot still free?”
“Touché,” he says and smirks as well. “And it is. We’ve actually made some improvements to that corner. Go have a look; I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Don’t rush it.”
“Nah.”
The table is still the same battered dark brown it has always been, but it looks a little lower now. A second table has undergone the same transformation next to it. The bench along the windows is lower and broader than I remember. The upholstery has also changed and is now made of artificial leather that should not have a problem with things like hooves.
There are normal chairs on the opposite side but some beanbags are stacked against the wall. I think space for a dozen ponies or so is overly optimistic, but you never know. Maybe there will be a pony invasion. In any case, I approve.
When I hop onto the bench, I notice the two washbowls with polished steel lids set into the tabletop on both ends in a way that they are almost flush with the surface. There is a sticker on them saying ‘for hooves only’ and a crossed out pictogram of a dog.
“So, what do you think?” Ben smiles at me as he puts my drinks in front of me and fills one of the washbowls with lukewarm soapy water from a plastic carafe. “Towels are behind you on the sill.”
I am a happy pony on a comfy bench with clean fore hooves. “This is perfect! You weren’t joking on your new sign.” My hooves do not leave dirty smudges in the condensation on my beer glass. The Kilkenny is expertly poured. Bliss.
“So, no fish and chips today?”
“I already had cheese and ham today, don’t want to overdo it.” And two moths, but I’m not going to tell him that.
“You’ll be eating Shepherd’s Pie next, mark my words.”
I lean forward and bare my fangs at him. “Why stop there?”
“Oh-kaaay.” He grins and leaves me alone. There was that tiny flicker in his eyes though, just for a second. Heh.
***
I am halfway through my meal when my ears perk up at the sound of horseshoes on the wooden floor. What I do not expect is that the sound originates from the leather boots of the lanky guy coming around the corner. His gait is a bit wonky, like a pony who has just had her hooves done by the farrier.
That throws me off so much that I do not even notice the pale pink unicorn following right behind him at first. I realise it has been a very long time since I last met someone of my own species.
She is wearing some weird orange and blue hoofshoes and a Deutsche Bahn work vest. Her mane is a deep purple. That mare could not have chosen worse colours for herself if she tried and her choice of employer is not much better. I am not really one to talk in respect to the last point.
I lift my muzzle from my plate and greet the two with a little wave. “Hi there! Care to join me? It’s pretty neat here.”
Both of them smile and nod. “Sure,” the mare says and lights her horn to remove her vest and toss it into a corner. Her field lets go of the vest and envelops one of the beanbags instead and she drags it to the spot opposite to where I sit.
She walks around the table to give me a greeting nuzzle. Not how I would greet a stranger back in Equestria but things are different here on Earth. I hurriedly use the napkin to avoid smearing burger sauce into her mane as I return the gesture.
That… feels wonderful. She is kind and she smells of railway. What more could I want? I sigh into her mane as I nuzzle her in turn.
She seems to think the same. Guess even a bath can’t remove Trax’ scent entirely.
“Do you work for DB?”
“Euro Cargo Rail,” I reply. “Came in from Paris this morning.”
She nods. “Ohh, a driver! I’m Penny and that’s Jan. We’re colleagues at Frankfurt Central. Not as glamorous as you though,” she adds with a smirk. “Just maintenance.”
I definitively like her. “I’m Nightline. And what’s with the horseshoes, uhm, Jan?”
“Are you a batpony?”
I blink. “Uh, yeah?”
“He lost a bet,” Penny cuts in. “If I could find running shoes he’d have his boots shoed. Finally did it yesterday. It only took him half a year.”
Jan blushes. “Yeah, sorry. I’m going to break a leg I think. And hi, by the way.” He stretches his hand over the table to give me a hoofbump. Fistbump. Whatever, he just earned a plus in my book for that. Handshakes, or rather fetlock shakes, are so awkward.
As they sit down I notice Penny’s cutiemark and it is not like anything I would have expected. A manager’s toy? Sweet Luna, do not go down that track, brain. Okay, I have no idea and it is none of my business anyway. I take a long sip of my beer.
***
Penny has just finished telling me about her hoofshoes when we are interrupted by a third arrival. A stocky, middle-aged man with kind eyes, a nice smile, a three-day beard and a ponytail. Also with a DB vest.
Penny turns her head. “Hey Irek, jak się masz?”
“Ah Penny, beautiful you say my name!” he says in return and both of them laugh. “And I’m fine!” Then he spots me. “And who would this magnificent creature be?”
Uhm. I blush. I am so not used to this, but Penny rescues me.
“That’s Nightline, she’s a driver for Euro Cargo Rail. We have a railway table with extra pony tonight! Nightline, that’s Irek and he’s our resident lightning wrangler.” The direct translation of the Equestrian word for electrician sounds decidedly weird.
Irek comes around the table. “May I?”
I scoot over a little and try to ignore the smell of cheap tobacco when he sits down next to me.
“Thanks! In case you’re wondering, I love this new arrangement. They’ve finally changed the setup for the vertically challenged like me. Broad and low, just how I like it.”
Well, he is not wrong, and it looks as if his German is actually a lot better than his first impression “I guess that makes you an honorary pony,” I say and smile. “Where are you guys from then?”
“Gdańsk in Poland,” Irek replies. “Left when it was a real rubbish place to be back in the day. And you?”
“Baltimare, but I haven’t lived there for a long time, even before I decided to give Earth a try.” I sigh. Yep, it has been a long, long time.
“Isn’t that down the east coast south of Manehattan?” Irek asks.
“Ohh, I’m impressed,” Penny says. “You even got the pronunciation not completely wrong this time. Well done.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh quiet you. This is more Equestrian geographic knowledge than you’ll find in 95% of Frankfurt. Probably the whole of Germany for that matter! Cut me some slack, will you? Equestrian is bloody hard when you’re not a horse.”
“No problem, my dear ape.”
I look back and forth between the two of them and smile. “You two always so kind to each other?”
“Yep. That posh Canterlot girl needs to learn some respect!”
Penny scowls at him but then lifts her muzzle high. “And you should remember your place, peasant.”
Irek waggles a finger at her, but before he can retort anything, their drinks arrive. It is a pint of Guinness for every one of them, with a nice little Shamrock drawn into the foam. Ben is getting better at this. Jan has also ordered a whisky to go with his beer.
“Jan? Is that a Jameson 10?” I ask.
He looks up in surprise. “Uhm, yes. How’d you know that?”
I tap my nostrils with a hoof and flutter my wings a little. “Bat,” I say with a smile. “And good choice, goes well with it. Anyway, where are you from then?”
“Ah, just from ‘round here. Boring place, boring life. Until Penny showed up.” He pats the unicorn on the shoulder and smiles in adoration. “Everything is better with a pony.”
Before she can reply, Irek lifts his glass. “I’ll drink to that. Cheers!”
It has been so long since I have been drinking beer in good company that both my beer and whisky are empty in no time. Careful there, Nightline. I have just gotten out of bed and I am almost drunk already.
Looking around at my three new acquaintances, I reach a decision: who cares? I have two nights off and who knows when an opportunity like this will come again. I order another Kilkenny.
Jan puts his empty glass down with a content sigh. “Does any of you know where Justin is?”
“Ah right, “Irek says. “The lion couldn’t find anyone to look after his cub today so I guess he’s home, shame really. He would’ve loved to meet you Night and try out his Equestrian. I swear Penny’s put a spell on him and he’s turning into an equine.”
Penny gives a derisive little snort. “He’s a teacher and unlike somebody else here he actually knows how to go about learning things.”
“Whatever you say, dearest Pendulum Ball . Hold on, I’ve got a message from him I think.” He gives his phone a look, grins, and looks at me. “Well, seems you’ve met him. Look at this everybody!”
There is a picture of me hugging the little boy. I facehoof. “Oh right, I already forgot that.”
“Hah, you’re alright Nightline. Made his day I’ll bet.” Irek puts his hand on my shoulder and gives me a little squeeze and a shove. I do not know if it is the beer, but that feels nice. I lean into his hand and smile.
“Thanks, Irek.”
He looks at me with comically wide eyes and gasps before pointing at me with two fingers. “Penny! You heard that? She said it!”
What?
Penny does a double facehoof and looks at me between her fetlocks. “Now you’ll be stuck with him like I am. You pronounced his name right. That’s about the same with him as if you gave a changeling a kiss.”
Jan giggles and almost chokes on his beer, spilling half of what is left in his glass over the table. It does not get far before it is enveloped in a pink glow though and crawls back into the glass. I smile at Penny. That is a neat trick.
I point in the direction of the bar. “Did you see the sign at the bar? They’re hiring and,” I airquote, “Number of legs unimportant.” There was also a drawing of a unicorn on the advertisement. “I can guarantee you that Ben is a good colleague.”
Penny puts a hoof to her chin. “Hmmmm…”
“Speaking of jobs,” Irek says with a sideways look at Penny, “How did you end up here, Night?”
Ugh. I look at my beer and bite the inside of my cheek, of course that had to come up at one point.
“Uhm, Night? You okay?” He has his hand on my shoulder again.
“Not really,” I say.
He looks honestly concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say with a sigh, grip my beer and drain it in one go.
“I can see that,” he says. “Nothing says I’m fine like downing a half pint Kilkenny and hiding behind your mane while staring at your hooves. It’s okay, you know? Just forget it. As long as you don’t fly up into the rafters and wrap yourself in your wings upside down to sulk it’s all good.”
That stupid git. I do not want to laugh now. Luna’s ruts. “Okay, okay, okay. Okay. But I want another beer.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Penny floating a pen out of her vest and levitating a beermat from another table over to herself. The pen writes ‘one emergency beer for Nightline’ on the mat and the mat speeds off to the bar, dodging surprised patrons on the way.
It only takes a few minutes for Ben to arrive with a beer that has not been especially well tapped. “Jeez Penny, what’s the matter? And if that thing had gone up in flames in my face I think I’d killed you!”
“Pishposh, I’ve gotten a lot better at this,” Penny replies and gives Ben the sweetest smile together with what are likely the absolute biggest eyes she can muster.
He closes his eyes and drags his hands down his face. “You’re impossible.”
When he is gone again, Penny gently sets the beer down in front of me and gives me an encouraging smile.
I really should not be doing this. “I wanted to do a bachelor in railway engineering on Earth because I have all that experience from driving steam engines, including all the theoretical stuff. And I thought I’d be cool and said I wanted to go to Europe because there were so few that had done that back then.”
I take a sip of my not so perfect beer. “I’m quite certain that helped with getting a visa despite me not totally acing the Ready for Earth test. Should have been a hint.
“It turned out to be both way more difficult than I’d thought and also tedious and lonely. Learning French was hard as well, their teachers weren’t as experienced with ponies as the Americans. Neither me nor the university were all that well prepared for this.
“I was about to give up when I saw an advert that Deutsche Bahn was looking for potential drivers. They couldn’t get enough staff, not by a long shot. As long as you knew the front and back part of a locomotive apart, you were in. More or less.
“Long story short: they said yes and helped me change my student visa to a work visa. Training wasn’t that bad actually, they really put an effort in. Arranged a proper language course as well. My instructors loved me for being a steam engine pro.
"Half a year later, I was working on a shunting yard in Cologne with makeshift controls in old diesel engines and always during daylight hours. It was awful.”
“Couldn’t you have gone back to Equestria and back to your old job?” Jan asks. “Stuff sometimes doesn’t work out. No biggy.”
“Heh.” I take a deep breath. “My parents were livid that I’d give up my career for ‘some interdimensional fantasy’ after they’d supported me so much in everything I did. Even after I'd refused to enlist in the Night Guard like my mother.” I have a bitter taste in my mouth, and it is not the beer.
“There was no getting through to them that I wasn’t giving up my career! I could get a much better job when I got back and I was going to show them. Superintendent, head of engineering or development, maybe even a seat on the ERB or diplomatic liaison in industry matters!”
There is a lump in my throat and it does not go away from drinking. “I had a full-blown fallout with them about that. Can’t take back words, no? I haven’t heard from them since that day.”
“ERB?” Jan says.
“Equestrian Railway Board. My resume would be special because my degree would be from a great university and it would be from a great European university because that would make me cool and desirable. And I’d do it all on my own just because I could. Because I was such a damn good engineer.
“And by Celestia’s royal rump, I’d fucking show them !”
Our table has turned into a small bubble of uncomfortable silence in the happy atmosphere of the noisy pub.
“And then I went and blew it all,” I croak and put my head in my hooves.
“Damn,” Penny says under her breath.
I can feel Irek trying to find something to say but after two tries he just scoots closer and puts his arm around my shoulders instead. “Hey,” he murmurs. I realise I have not had any contact like this for a very long time and I suddenly crave it more than anything.
I lean against him, put my tail around him and a stretch a wing over his back.
“Uhm, Nightline?” He says, sounding unsure all of a sudden.
I am not letting go now, and I am not done yet. You break it, you own it.
“I had a fiancé from Manehattan and he wouldn’t just let me go either. Started talking about buying a house and having foals, and how me going to Earth for two years would derail everything he’d hoped for.” I grit my teeth.
“Two weeks before I was due to leave he said that I could forget all about marrying him if I went through with it and that I needn’t come back. Asked me why Earth was more important than him and said that I was selfish. That I was being unfaithful!”
I slam my right hoof on the table. “By the Moon! I wanted to do this for us ! For our future! I bucked him in the flank right then and there and threw him out. How dare he?!”
“Shhh,” Irek says, patting my back.
I realise I must have gotten quite loud. I am also crying. I hate this. I hate myself. I hate everything. I want to go home. I want to fly away. I want this stranger that stinks of cigarettes to hold me. I want to be alone. I want out onto the rails with Trax. More than anything I want to be alone with her right now and listen to her songs.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
Irek gives me the longest hug I have ever gotten.
It takes a while before I trust my voice again. “Thanks.” I feel I should say something more but my head feels empty.
Irek scratches me between my ears. “All good, but I guess we’re done here for tonight.”
The others give their quiet consent. This evening is well and truly over.
Irek takes my face into his hands to look me in the eyes and I let him. “Hey Night. You want me to follow you home?”
I briefly close my eyes and nod.
Track Switch - Steel Dreams
Track Switch - Steel Dreams
This time I give up on the door after the second try, but only because Irek shoves me aside with gentle force. To my shame, I have drooled on the key yet he does not comment on it and merely wipes his hand on his trousers after he has coaxed the lock open.
“Hey, that’s a nice little place you got here,” he lies.
I appreciate it nonetheless as I stumble over to the sink beside my stove. The water coming out the spigot is icy cold and almost hurts when I stick my head under it. I am so killing my circadian rhythm right now and all I got for it was a crisis.
When I have most of my senses back and shut off the water, Irek stands by my side with a towel that he throws over my head. The darkness is nice and I do not even bother with trying to dry myself off. He is doing that for me and it feels good.
“Thanks,” I murmur and head to the bathroom. Human toilets are stupid, but I did not even try to get my landlord to install a fitting one. Some things you just have to live with.
With great care, I manage not to slip on the beer crates I have stacked around it and do not even get my tail wet despite being drunk. Well done, Nightline. At least I have avoided that embarrassment.
When I’m done, Irek is standing by the door and looks ready to leave. “Are you okay then?”
Of course he hasn’t got the day off tomorrow and I feel bad. I look away and hang my head, but I already hate myself so I might as well. “Can… Can you stay a little longer? Please?” I am so pathetic.
To my surprise, he gives a quiet chuckle and takes off his vest. “Anytime, for a friend.”
This is not how things are supposed to work around here. “But we’ve only just met?”
[“Do be pony way not? Learn Pendulum.”]
His pronunciation is dreadful and barely intelligible, but I still gape at him. I did not expect that. I give him a mute nod and dammit, I am close to crying again. Pull yourself together, Night.
“Shut your mouth or you’ll catch a moth or something,” he says with a grin and a second later pinches the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh. “Sorry, forgot who I’m talking to. Please don’t take this the wrong way.”
“Actually, I caught two on my way to the pub.” I cannot believe I just said that.
He bursts out laughing and damn if it isn’t infectious. Now I am crying a little bit, but it is the good kind of crying.
“Come here, you,” he says and goes down on one knee, holding his arms open.
Irek’s embrace is wonderful and as I nuzzle him on the side of his head, I can feel him grin. A minute later he looks down on the floor beside him and releases me. “Hey, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those before.”
My mood sours instantly when I see what he means.
He has picked up the letter from Equestria. “You know how much handcrafted paper of this quality costs here? And the stamp is amazing. Can I have the envelope? I’ve got a friend who collects stamps and I think he’d kill for this one, stamped or not.”
“Yeah, you can have it and burn it if you want,” I bite out and regret my tone a moment later when I see how he stiffens. I sigh. “Sorry, not your fault.”
He turns his head and looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Your ex?”
“Yeah, and don’t try to tell me I should at least give him a chance. I want nothing to do with that pile of horseapples anymore. I don’t want to know what he wants to say to me. I’m done !” I realise I have taken a step back and raised my voice again.
Irek holds up his hands, palms out. “Hey, hold the horse and calm down. I know exactly how you feel, I’ve been there.” He gives a deep sigh. “Just be glad you didn’t have kids. I had to let go of the two of mine.” Another sigh. “Well, I got over it eventually, even if it still hurts sometimes. Penny helped me a lot.”
As quickly as I got angry I deflate again. “Sorry. It’s just…” I hold up my hooves and let them drop to the floor. There is that old feeling once more, that I was somehow cheated. I get up with a sigh and walk over to my bed. I feel a headache coming on.
I hop onto the bed and look over the shoulder. “Join me?”
Irek looks down at himself. “In my work clothes? Not sure you want that on your bedlinen.”
I shrug my wings. “Don’t care as long as you take off your shoes, you got an advantage there.”
“You know,” he says as he walks over, “I’m not sure if I’m creeped out by your membrane wings or if they are super adorable on you.”
I can be sweet, or so I have been told. So I tilt my head a little and look up to him with ears pointed forward. “Why don’t you come here and have a closer look then?” I say and bare my fangs.
“Uhm.”
I cannot keep that expression for more than a few seconds before I have to laugh and pat the spot beside me.
“Tell me about yourself,” he says after he has made himself comfortable. “Like, how did a bat become an engineer?”
Suddenly my head is full of images and memories I had buried a long time ago and I have to smile. The light of the moon glinting on the rails down the coast from Baltimare. My exasperated master in the smithy binding my wings because I was too exited to keep them folded and risked burning holes in them.
Nighttime on the Red Wing of Manehattan, a glowing arrow cutting through the darkness on the plains. The red-hot heartbeat of the steel beast pounding in my chest, the thousand hisses and whispers of the valves and cylinders. The dreams and souls of engineers.
I lean against Irek as a tear runs down my cheek and he puts his arm over my back.
It takes some effort to return to the real world. “Okay, but only if you do what you did in the pub.”
“Hmm? Oh.” He chuckles and puts his hand on my head, scratching between my ears.
Oh sweet Princess of Dreams, I am not sure if I can form a coherent sentence under these conditions. Staying upright is definitively not an option, so I stretch out on my bed and put my head in his lap. I assume he is okay with that, at least he does not object. Good enough.
“Don’t stop,” I murmur. He smells of power tools, train station and pub.
“As if I could,” he says in a soft voice and then scratches me behind an ear. “I see you like that,” he says at my undignified groan and chuckles. “But it’s late. Story time!” Having my back petted is not nearly as good, but I doubt I could tell him much otherwise. It is still nice though.
***
I feel bad for Irek when we walk up the street to Frankfurt Central in the early morning. I am tired, but that is because it is nearing my usual bedtime. He is tired because he has only slept about three hours or so because of me.
Now he has a full day of work before him but he is having none of my apologies. “Okay, okay. So where are we going?”
He yawns. “Starbucks, right across from the station. We meet up there once a week for breakfast.” He smiles. “Or dinner, in your case.”
When we enter the shop, I spot Penny at a table in the far corner. Jan is with her, as well as a dark-skinned man who seems vaguely familiar. They wave us over.
Irek grins as we reach them, turns to Penny and clears his throat. [“Hey Pendulum Ball, how are you?”]
Penny’s field flickers and dies, the floating muffin she was nibbling at dropping onto the table. Other than that, she does not miss a beat though. “Ah Irek, beautiful you say my name!”
Irek does a fist-pump and they give each other a high-hoof. The others give a round of applause.
Penny levitates a chair from another table over for Irek to sit on while I have to dodge a broad cushion meant for me.
Some tourists at the counter briefly forget what they were doing and stare at the unicorn until the bored staff bring them back to reality. Starbucks has moved with the times though. The customers have the option of rainbow sprinkles on their cappuccinos.
“So, how have you two been?” Penny asks as we sit down. She narrows her eyes at Irek and looks him up and down. “Just like I thought, combine an electrician and the driver of an electric locomotive and you get a charged atmosphere.”
Did she just…?
Irek blinks. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“This.” She grins and plucks one of my mane hairs from his thigh. “Or do you know any other females with natural blue hair?”
“Now listen here!” Irek begins.
“Don’t blow a fu-use,” she counters in a sweet sing-song.
“Goddammit Penny, you’re impossible! Get your mind out of the gutter; it was nothing of the sort!”
She pouts and lifts her hooves. “I’m just jealous,” she says and turns to me. “Ear-scritches?”
I feel my face heat up. “Uh, w-well.” I begin and look away before adding a quiet, “A few?”
Penny grins. “Great! You definitively look much better today. But we’re forgetting something here.” She points across the table. “Meet Justin, the missing member of our dream-team. Justin, meet Nightline.
I look at the man and smile and try to remember why I have the impression I should recognize him. Then my brain catches up to recent events. “Wait, aren’t you the father of that boy in the tram yesterday?”
He flashes me a brilliant smile. [“You gave him the best gift, Miss Nightline. Thank you.”]
Other than from official translators I have never heard so well pronounced Equestrian from a human. [“You are very good at this, Justin. Say hi to your boy from me.”] This man is only a cleaner? Human society is weird at times.
Penny interrupts us. “Ponies are not pets! Simply assuming they will consent to petting or pony rides is insulting and speciecist! Equestrians are naturally kind and will often say it’s okay when it isn’t!” Penny says with the tone of rightful indignation and adds, “Hashtag interspecies-respect, hashtag speciecism, hashtag ponyproblems.”
She clears her throat in the ensuing silence. “What? I just checked YouTube and my tumblr. The video of you is really sweet, even with the creative editing.”
“Seriously? I need to look at this later!” I shake my head with a grin. “Hashtag Ponytroll.”
“Can I have your contact?” Jan asks. “I want to help you!”
There is a chorus of agreement and I can feel myself blushing again, I am not used to this kind of attention. But it feels good. “Are you adopting me?” I ask, and I want it to sound funny but it sounds feeble instead.
“It sure looks like it!” Penny says. “Welcome to the team! Give us a shoutout next time you come to Frankfurt.”
Suddenly there is a pang of guilt and a second later I also feel incredibly stupid, but I have to say it. “I, uh, I can’t neglect my girl too much though.”
“Your girl?” Irek asks, he looks and sounds… disappointed?
“I know it’s stupid, but, well.” I look at the table and draw a circle with the tip of my hoof. “I call her Trax, and I love her,” I say and smile. “She’s-“
Irek frowns and interrupts me. “Is that an Equestrian name?”
Justin shakes his head while Penny just looks at me with raised eyebrows.
“Stop it; it’s not what you think,” I say and have to giggle.
But before I can elaborate, Jan pre-empts me by laughing out loud and slapping the table several times with his right hand. He gasps for air and gives me a calculating look when he has calmed down. “Is Trax ’ surname E one-hundred and eighty-six?”
I gape at him.
If Jan’s grin gets any wider, his head is going to fall off. “Oh man, Guys. Trax’ full name is Trax F140 MS2 class E one-hundred and eighty-six and she’s an electric locomotive from Bombardier. Eighty-five tons, one-hundred and forty kilometres an hour top speed, three-hundred kilo-newtons tractive force and 7500 horsepower. Right?”
How on Earth? I nod, dumbfounded.
He fist-pumps. “Am I good or what?!”
Penny gives him a long look. “The fuck?”
“Hey, I love trains!” Jan says, appearing extremely pleased with himself.
“I guess you learn something new every day,” Penny says. She turns to Irek with half-lidded eyes and drawls, “I’m so sorry my friend, but size obviously matters to your girl.”
If Irek’s gaze could kill, she would be a small pile of smouldering ash. “I hate you so much right now.”
Meanwhile, I just want to crawl under the table and die.
Track Switch - Steel Dreams
Track Switch - Steel Dreams
The sun is setting as I walk up the stairs to Frankfurt Central. For the first time in years, I wish that I had one more day off. It is a strange feeling, not wanting to get back on the tracks as soon as possible. Only yesterday, I was pining for it.
How things can change when you discover friendship. I will not cheat on my girl or neglect my duties though, never that.
Irek is waiting at the kiosk closest to the entrance. “Hi Night, how’s it going? You look good.”
“Thanks! You look awful,” I give back. It’s nothing but the truth and I feel bad for it. “Sorry.”
“Hey, it was for a good cause and I managed not to have any accidents today despite sleep deprivation. Was wondering if we should take my car to Frankfurt East? Then I can go straight home afterwards and collapse on my bed.”
Traffic is awful as usual at this time of day and by the time we arrive at the terminal, my back hurts. Car seats are not compatible with pony anatomy and the EU seatbelt law is a real problem. I hope they come up with a solution for pony passengers in the near future.
When I climb out of the vehicle, I stretch my legs and wings and several joints pop in protest. Ouch. “You want to come along?” I ask Irek and hope he says yes.
“Sure, I’ve never seen a freight terminal from inside the fence.”
I need to pick up the paperwork and ask for permission to take Irek with me into the loading area. Like most people around here, the guy at the desk knows me and only gives Irek a cursory glance and is satisfied with the DB logo on his clothes and my explanation.
“So, where are you going tonight?” Irek asks as we walk down the platform.
“France. Lyon to be precise, with a lot of mixed freight for the chemical industry down there. Liquids, machinery, some construction stuff, pharmaceutical components and equipment, the works. Should take between eight and nine hours if I get to use the main line all the way. Some speed restrictions because of dangerous cargo.”
“You going to have a date with your girl tonight then?” Irek says with a little smile.
“Doubt it; I rarely get to drive her two times in a row. They can’t just let her sit there for two days costing money.”
There is a murky twilight now and the floodlights come on with a series of humming clanks. The two yellow gantry cranes stand out in stark contrast against the blue and purple sky. The last tired diesel shunting-engine drives down the middle sorting track. Their shift is over and they are going to get their well-deserved rest.
I am not used to feeling melancholic at the sight of the cranes lifting the final containers onto my train. “I’ve still got two hours until departure for checks and stuff. If they can keep the schedule that is. My freight isn’t on a time limit to reach a port or something. As long as it gets there tomorrow before noon, it’ll be fine.”
My skin under the saddlebag feels itchy. I squirm and swish my tail.
“What’s wrong?” Irek asks.
“Don’t know really, I feel weird.”
“Just promise me you’re not going to start crying again if it isn’t your engine.”
I squint down the platform. “I’m not usually that sensitive, yesterday was a bad day.”
“Sorry, Night. Didn’t mean that.” He puts his hand on top of my head and tousles my mane. “So, there we are!”
We are indeed, and it is Trax! I give a little whinny of joy that makes Irek laugh. For a moment, I had forgotten he was even there and I blush. It is not enough to make me stop grinning though.
“You know,” Irek begins and chuckles, “I always tease Penny about being a dumb horse. Now you make a horsey sound and it feels really strange.” He scratches his head. “You guys are weird.”
“Says the hairless ape,” I reply and grin. Then I turn my attention to Trax. Something is off, but I cannot put a hoof on it as I walk down her side and back.
“Hey, isn’t that your buttmark?”
What? I trot to the front of the engine again and sure enough, there it is. Right on the door, with a note taped beneath it.
“Night? It says happy birthday ‘from the cargo boys’.”
I sit down on my rump and shake my head. I forgot my own birthday. I need to get a grip on my life. But that doesn’t matter now! I jump into the air and make Irek duck with a yelp to get a better look as I hover on the same height at the small paint job. A perfect match.
When I land again I give a little sniff. “Can I cry at least a bit?”
Irek shakes his head with a soft laugh. “Should have told me, you silly pony! Happy birthday!” He crouches down to give me a hug. “And you can always have my shoulder to cry on.”
“Thank you Irek.” I sigh and extricate myself from his arms again. I think I owe the kind people in the office at least one crate of beer. “I’ve got work to do.” I turn around and fly up to the door. After opening it with teeth and hooves, I fly a few metres back again, loop around and beat my wings twice.
A metre before the door I close my wings and let the momentum carry me inside where I skid to a halt against the driver’s seat. I stick my head out again and look down at a wide-eyed Irek. “I’m really bad at ladders,” I say and laugh at his expression. “Want to have a look inside? Just let me get the lights on.”
A flick of a button and the pantograph rises with the sound of stretching springs and metallic scraping. There is a brief glint of light against a nearby mast as the metal bar touches the overhead line and produces a blueish spark.
Trax wakes up. I smile at the familiar hum as the displays come to live and the engine room LEDs light up. I run my hoof over the main console. “Hi there,” I whisper.
Irek climbing up the ladder and stepping inside breaks my short reverie. “Oh, wow. That’s some serious high-tech.”
I smile. “Yep, five million Euros apiece. Irek, this is Trax. Trax, this is Irek, a good friend.”
“She really is your girl, isn’t she?” he says and smiles. “Well, nice to meet you Trax, I’ve heard a lot about you.” He gives the high voltage sign on the maintenance access to the engine a friendly pat and chuckles.
I swear there is a minuscule change in the tone of the idle motor. It makes my left ear flick.
The values on the screen detailing the status of the electric brake systems all look nominal and the manometer of the airbrake looks fine, too. Protocol demands I physically check all the couplings though and I would never not do so.
“Okay, I‘ve got to do a brake test and general inspection before I leave and I’m not allowed to let anyone stay inside while I do that.”
“No automated check for that?”
“Nope. And even if there was, I wouldn’t trust it. Don’t think any of us drivers would.”
“Is there a story there?” Irek asks and tilts his head with an expectant expression.
I wince at the memory as I nod. “I’ve seen what happens when the emergency brakes fail, and it’s not pretty. You’ve seen a picture of Canterlot?”
“Yeah, kinda sits on the side of that mountain like an overgrown goat.”
I glare at him but decide to let that slide. “There’s a long way down when your train goes downhill too fast on the serpentines on that slope and derails in a bend.”
He winces.
“Luckily it was only a small freight train and both driver and firemare were pegasuses who jumped just in time. The engine took out a whole section of track a hundred metres further down though. On top of that, it was only a few days before hearth’s warming when all of Equestria wants to go up there.
“So I’m checking every single one of those brakes!”
I know Trax does not like that, but that is how it is. I pull the brake lever. There is a grumpy hiss and groan as I engage the pneumatic system and the compressors spring to life.
I have Irek lock the door for me and put the key back into the small inspection bag. Being able to fly from coupling to coupling speeds up the process quite a bit. Night vision helps as well, since I do not need to fiddle around with a flashlight in the dark space between wagons.
The train has fewer wagons than the last one, but checking wheels, airbrakes and couplings on eight-hundred metres of train still takes quite a while.
***
When I come back, Irek is sitting on the ground with his back against a cable distribution cabinet, smoking a cigarette and looking thoughtful. He extinguishes it the moment he sees me and gives me a little wave.
I return the little wave before I flutter to the ground beside him. “Alright, everything looks fine. And for a change it seems as if I’m going to leave on time.”
“Hm. Too bad,” he says and smirks and rubs his left hand over the bridge of my muzzle.
I snort and go cross-eyed for a second while my ears splay back. “Hey!”
“Sorry, was that a faux-pas? Guess I still have more to learn about you ponies.”
His dejected expression makes me feel bad in an instant. I make sure my ears are pointing forward and put a hoof to his shoulder. “No problem, I was just surprised. Maybe it’s me not being used to be around nice people.” Why am I nervous?
“Hm, that actually makes sense you know. Being nocturnal can’t always be easy around here. Doesn’t that get lonely?”
I put a hoof to my chin. “I guess it has its drawbacks, but I’ve never really thought about it that way.” I look at the clock hanging on the girder mast above us. Fifteen minutes to go. “Maybe it’s just who I am and I like that it helps some other drivers who hate night shifts? Also pays better.”
Another look at the clock. Thirteen minutes. “Hey, could you help me get ready?” I point to Trax with my left wing.
Irek pulls himself up with a hand on the mast. “Sure, what do you need?”
“Just come inside.” I do my fly-dive-skid routine and pick up my saddlebags as soon as I come to a stop. I have already put them on the driver’s seat and removed my lunch and coffee when Irek comes up the ladder.
“Could you help me put these on?” I say and point at my tools with my muzzle. “It’s a lot faster with hands and I’m afraid I’ve wasted too much time chatting with you.” That sounded decidedly wrong.
“These are cool, you know?” he says as he fastens the Velcro-straps around my hooves. He clips on my pair of styluses and a small spanner for the rotary switches on my right hoof and my mobile phone on my left. He puts the last stylus in place on my left wingtip and shakes his head. “You know, I was wondering how you work all these buttons and stuff.”
I give him a wink. “A good engineer can find a solution to every problem.”
“Mhm.”
There are three minutes to go and there is an awkward silence between us as I busy myself with checking the displays again. Trax sounds strangely quiet as well. Nothing wrong with the systems though, that much is certain.
“I was wondering,” Irek begins and scratches the back of his head, “I was wondering if you maybe want to give me a call when you’re back here again and, uhm, go for a beer with me?”
I blink a few times and look up at him.
“If it’s a weekend, I think I could even manage to do that when it’s your dinnertime.” He gives an unconvincing smirk. He also smells of anxiety, even through the tobacco stench.
I have no idea what to say to this and I have only two minutes to come up with an answer. “I- uhm, I… guess?” Great. Very eloquent, Nightline.
He gives me a small, sad smile. “See you again then.” He says and holds out his fist.
“Yeah. And, uhm, thank you. For everything,” I reply and bump his fist with my hoof. I also manage to poke his hand with a stylus in the process.
“Ouch.” He shakes his head with a soft amused snort and climbs out, closing the door behind him.
The radio crackles to life. “You’re clear to go in a minute. Say hello to any French mares you meet!”
“Horseapples!”
“What?”
“Not you! I mean roger that!”
“You okay there?
“Yes! I’m fine!”
The signal switches from double red to yellow green.
I hop into the driver’s seat, take a deep breath and push the throttle.
Irek is standing on the platform a few metres further down and gives me a thumbs-up. I manage to give him a quick wave and then he is out of sight.
I have the best social skills.
***
As we pull out of Frankfurt East, I look up at the bank towers of downtown Frankfurt and wonder when I will be back here. The trackfield stretches out before me and I should feel elated, but I do not. The master signal flashes green. Out onto the mainline.
We reach the complicated braid of tracks that is the southern approach to Frankfurt Central. Metal clinks and the steel wheels rattle over track switch after track switch. The overhead lines appear like snakes slithering against each other in a complex pattern.
The last intercity to Munich overtakes us, the grey train with its red stripe down the length of the wagons slides past us at an unhurried pace. Most of the travellers appear half-asleep in the warm lighting of the carriage. Here and there is a little bright spot of a reading lamp.
It is only a few hours after I got out of bed but I feel tired and listless. Out on the main line south of Frankfurt I adjust the GPS display to a smaller scale. When I use the stylus on my wingtip, I remember how it felt when Irek put it on.
The engine sounds muted when I increase the flow of power in measured increments but Trax obediently accelerates down the line to Mannheim. I look at my hooves and sigh, then remember I have a track to watch.
No stop in Mannheim this time, all the freight is bound for Lyon. The track turns to the west and crosses the Rhine, the horizon still a light greenish blue from the day’s last afterglow.
I look away from the headlights of an oncoming train, thousands of tons of heavy bulk freight behind double traction locomotives, probably for the Rhine harbour in Mannheim. It thunders past us, dark wagon after wagon in a near endless procession.
There is no click or hum from Trax. I realise what has been bothering me for the last fifty kilometres. She does not sing. Just the smooth engine sound of a perfectly maintained machine. It reminds me of the tram in Frankfurt. I stare into the halo of the headlights’ glistening cone.
Switching voltage systems at the French border on a lonely passing loop. There are still at least five hours to Lyon and I am bored. “Trax?” There is a minuscule flicker of the brake control screen, but nothing else. I try to pat her on the console, but there is nothing there.
It is way past midnight as we pass Metz and the landscape is as grey as my mood.
‘Being nocturnal can’t always be easy around here. Doesn’t that get lonely?’
“It wasn’t, until you said it.” I have no one to talk to, so I might as well talk to myself. “I like it. I like being alone out here with Trax. Right, girl?”
Nothing.
I close my eyes for a second and lower my forehead to the console. There are two sharp clicks from the engine room. Startled, I look up just in time to see a green and yellow ‘slow’ signal up ahead. I cut half the power and use the electric brakes, the train shuddering from the hasty commands.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “And sorry for my rubbish driving, it’s not your fault I’m out of it.”
Nothing.
There is a red light up ahead, and this time I do not react like an amateur. I bring us to a soft halt and take a slow breath. We are in the middle of nowhere between Metz and Nancy. The landscape is infuriating in its empty greyness.
The operator tells me that the overhead line in the next block is down because some drunk idiot drove his truck into a streetlamp and tipped it onto the track. I hope he was roasted.
“It’s nothing major, but it’s going to take at least an hour,” the voice on the radio says.
I am good at French, but his accent is so thick that I have to ask twice to make sure I have understood him.
Time to stretch at least, so I hop down from the seat and spread my wings. I catch sight of the high voltage sign Irek patted back in Frankfurt and give a deep sigh. What am I supposed to do now? I am not prepared to lose my new friends.
But would that happen if I turn him down? Did he even mean it that way? Is there something to turn down or am I wishing that there is? He probably just wants a beer in nice company anyway. But what if it is more than that? What do I want? Am I overthinking this?
I put my forehead against the engine maintenance access and sigh. He is also a human. Life does not work like this! I bang a hoof against the steel floor. “It can’t work!” I declare to no one in particular.
Nothing.
“Talk to me!” Great. I am scolding a machine for refusing to have a serious conversation about a hypothetical inter-species relationship with me. By Luna, what is wrong with me?
Nothing.
“Arrgh!” Why are these incompetent linesmen not fixing that fucking overhead line?
The signal remains stoic in the face of my anger. And red.
Also, still nothing.
“You know what? I’ll call him tomorrow.”
Nothing.
“I can’t call him now; it’s two in the morning!”
Nothing.
“Okay. Okay.” Deep breath. “I’ll call him now.”
A very, very soft hum from the console. Just about audible, even for me. I am going crazy, no doubt about that. And I am so going to regret this.
I need three tries because a stylus strapped to a shaking hoof is not the most accurate of utensils. The phone rings forever. I also have next to no signal out here.
Just as I am about to give up, the speaker crackles to life. “Yeah?”
“Uhm.”
“Look, it’s two in the morning, who the fuck are you?”
This is the point where you should say something. “N- Nightline.”
Silence.
“Irek?”
“Nightline?! What on Earth do you want? I have to work tomorrow. You know that, right?”
“About,” I begin and falter. Deep breath. “About that beer?” It is really more of a squeak. I am so pathetic.
Silence.
“I- Irek?”
Silence.
“Irek? Are you there? Say something please!”
There is a very deep sigh on the other end of the line, more of a drawn out hiss due to the bad connection. “What are you even doing calling me? Don’t you have a train to drive?” His voice carries a smile, even if the question does not.
“Overhead line is down. Bloody French don’t repair it.”
“That might have something to do with the time of day, you know? Like, you can’t have everybody on call all the time during the night. The stand-by team probably needs an hour to even get there.”
Oh. Right. Not everyone is nocturnal.
There is a lot of static when the radio comes back on. “Good to go in about five minutes.”
Why do they have to be so efficient now, of all times?
“Irek, repair is done in about five minutes! I-” Oh come on. “I’d love to go on- eh- go for a beer with you!”
“Night?” Irek’s voice is soft. “Thanks. You going to give me a call when you know when you’ll be here next time?”
The block signal flashes green.
“Horseapples!”
“What?”
“Not you! Line’s clear. I have to go! I’ll call you!”
I think I can hear him chuckle before he ends the call. Maybe it is also the engine sound.
There is a distinct hum as I increase the flow of power. The screens flicker and glow a little bit brighter for a moment. It might just be interference.
I pass the flashing signal and it leaves an orange smear on my retinas. The rhythm of the rails speeds up.
The triple headlights burn down the tracks before me and I see the SNCF repair team vehicles up ahead. The linesmen in their high-vis overalls are packing up their gear and one of them gives me a thumbs-up. I blow the horn in response as we speed past them.
***
The full moon is up ahead and I am alone on the tracks toward Lyon.
The rails flow like a silver river under the ghostly overhead lines.
Trax purrs and sings her quiet songs.
I spread my wings and glide through our dream of steel.
