Track Switch - Steel Dreams

by Celefin


Crossing Borders

Track Switch - Steel Dreams
by Celefin

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.