Fall, 1998.
He was careful not to look it, but Pioneer was clinging to the stem of his martini glass like a lifeline. 999 had slipped off his arm almost as soon as they walked in the door, which was typical, but she’d gone off threatening to introduce him to someone. Now he was standing alone in a corner at this party, both desperate for and dreading her return.
Engines he was not familiar with smiled and waved at him as they passed. Pioneer was quick to return the greetings with the practiced ease that always awed Silver Pilot when they went out and someone recognized him.
“You just have that movie star quality,” Pilot had said once. “You make it look easy.” Coming from anyone else the statement might be interpreted as mocking, but Pilot was sincere practically to a fault.
“You’ve been in more films than I have by now,” Pioneer had replied.
“I was just set dressing,” Pilot said. “Your movie was actually about you.”
Pioneer remembered smiling indulgently. He thought Pilot made quite fine set dressing. “It will come more naturally with time and practice.”
“Guess I’ll just have to fake it ‘til then,” Pilot had said with his charming self-deprecating laugh.
The memory made Pioneer smile to himself. Pilot didn’t know how charismatic he really was, how his humility and good humor set others at ease. It was a quality Pioneer wished he himself possessed now. He was The Pioneer Zephyr , the first of the streamlined passenger diesel-electrics. He was by no means the most famous engine here, but the distinction and his gleaming silver countenance made him one of the Must-Sees at the event. His arrival always prompted a chorus of whispers and pointed fingers which lingered long after he’d already turned away. He found that he was, to his slight dismay, a celebrity still.
So alone he stood, propping up the marble-top island, abrading the glass stem between his gloved fingers, and scanning the crowd for his date.
He spied her finally, gliding through the crowd as though she were born to it, one black-gloved hand towing behind her an older engine dressed in elegant forest green whom Pioneer recognized immediately. Steeling his nerves, he downed the last of his martini and fixed his posture, lifting his head so his silhouette was the picture of every Zephyr promotional poster, striking and stoic and proud.
“This way–” tittered 999 as she neared Pioneer’s little island. “I’ve just been dying to properly introduce you two.” Her momentum was such that it carried her without looking into Pioneer’s arms where, in one practiced movement, she pressed her cheek against his and another drink into his hands.
“Mwah, thank you for waiting, darling.” She pulled back and gave him the coyest of her smiles. The handsome engine she’d been guiding through the crowd looked between the two of them with curiosity as she slipped out of Pioneer’s grasp as effortlessly as she’d entered it.
“Frankly, I think it’s a crime you two aren’t the best of friends already, so–” she placed a supportive touch on Pioneer’s arm. “Pioneer, this is the City of Truro. Truro, this is–”
Truro laughed, a hearty thing, and extended a hand. “–An engine who needs no introduction. You must be the Pioneer Zephyr. It’s a pleasure to finally speak with you.”
Pioneer graciously accepted the offered handshake, “Thank you, it’s an honor to make your acquaintance as well. I think we were introduced at some inauguration, but I’m sure I made a fool of myself back then.”
“Not at all,” Truro replied. When he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled and Pioneer wondered for a moment if his own did the same, and if the effect looked as winsome on him as it did on Truro.
“Marvelous!” 999’s voice pulled Pioneer back to the present, where he realized Truro’s hand was still in his own. He broke contact just in time to catch another kiss on the cheek from 999.
“Now, if you boys will excuse me, I have to go find Stephenson’s Rocket, I’m sure he’ll want to know how his half-brother is doing. I’ll send for you when I’m ready to retire, darling. Ta!” And with that, she flitted out of Pioneer’s reach once more and back into the throng.
“Still a hot firebox on that one,” Truro mused after a moment, watching as she departed.
“Mm,” Pioneer agreed. “All the streamlining in the world and she still outpaces me at every turn.”
“You know, Mallard always talked about giving a Best Dressed Engine award at one of these things,” Truro said, eyes still on 999’s retreating form. “Encourage a little creativity in the wardrobe department.”
“No good,” Pioneer chuckled, lifting his glass to drink. “She’d steal that away every time.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” Truro said, turning to look at Pioneer appraisingly. Pioneer took rather a larger sip than he’d intended.
“You know,” Pioneer recovered, “When 999 said she wanted to introduce me to another engine, I never imagined it would be one of earliest record holders.”
Truro waved a casual hand as though clearing the air of smoke. “Hardly. I only barely qualify as a member.”
“You went one-hundred miles an hour.” Pioneer raised a brow.
“Unofficially,” Truro said. “And not even the first to claim to do so. In that regard, 999 has me beat. No, I serve by the invitation and at the pleasure of the Flying Scotsman. Who,” he gestured, palm up, to the wider room, “could not attend due to scheduling conflicts. Again.” His smile was wry, but there was good humor in it.
“Ahh, well,” Pioneer said. “I sympathize. We are all at the whims of our keepers, and him especially I would imagine.”
“Scotsman could pluck the moon from the sky if he wished,” Truro said. “But he also understands the responsibility of his position and I cannot fault him for his commitment to duty. It’s one of his most admirable qualities. He is capable of service and so he serves. It is his legacy.”
“Which is why you’re here tonight, I expect,” Pioneer said, suddenly putting two and two together. Truro rewarded him with a wink.
“What would a meeting of record-breaking engines be without the City of Truro?” he said dryly into his neat glass of gin.
Pioneer laughed despite himself. “No, I feel the same way. I…”
He glanced around the room, decorated from floorboard to rafter in glowing gold and filled to the brim with stunning young engines, most stronger and faster and far more famous than he ever was even in his prime. The thought he’d begun nearly died in his throat, but when he looked back Truro was watching him again, eyes crinkled at the corners.
“I’ve attended many publicity events and enjoyed vanishingly few of them,” Pioneer said. “It’s service. I am grateful to still be in service, but it is service… This–” He looked around again, though he was sure Truro’s eyes never left his face. “Even when I’m here, I’m still the Pioneer Zephyr, and it’s good for the museum that I come. 999 was made for this sort of thing, she’s been doing it since before I was even thought of, but me…” He trailed off. “I’m just the first of many. But because I was the first—”
“—It is your legacy,” Truro finished, smiling.
Pioneer bowed his head. It wasn’t the whole truth, but Burlington had never been in the business of telling the whole truth.
“Forgive an old engine for rambling,” he mumbled into his glass.
“Not at all. We are of the same mind, you and I,” Truro said, stepping closer. And it was then that Pioneer realized just how noisy the room had gotten and how close they now stood just to hear one another. Put a crowd of engines in one room and it’s bound to get loud, Pioneer thought as he lifted his gaze enough to see that Truro was still looking at him. He found now, with the aid of the two drinks he’d had, that it didn’t make him as nervous as before.
“I must say though, your comment about not enjoying these things surprises me a little,” Truro said. “You don’t seem out-of-place at all. All metropolitan, streamline-moderne, and with that radio voice–”
“Please,” Pioneer laughed. “I was built in Philadelphia, I just worked in Chicago. I’m practically a hayseed. Now you on the other hand: a true British steam engine, classically built, sophisticated–”
It was Truro’s turn to laugh now. Swatting Pioneer’s arm lightly, he took a moment to collect himself. Pioneer’s chest hummed with warmth and he took the opportunity to incline his head in a way he knew showed off his profile.
“I can see why they have to keep you locked away underground. You’re a menace, Pioneer Zephyr.”
Pioneer grinned.
“But no,” Truro said after he’d finally recovered. “I’m just as ‘hayseed’ as you are, I’m afraid. The Great Western region is not one known for sophistication or class. I’ve often felt as though the GWR’s commitment to maintaining its sterling safety reputation was partially to make up for us being so rural. They developed the Great Western Way as recompense, to make up for the fact of what we were.”
“Could have fooled me,” Pioneer said. “I’ve always found steam to be remarkably refined.” He paused, wondering if he should go on, but when Truro tilted his head to give Pioneer another appraising look, he decided to throw caution to the wind.
“It’s just,” Pioneer cast around for the right thing to say, the alcohol slowing him up, making it hard to put his feelings into words. “You went one hundred miles an hour.” Truro opened his mouth to argue but Pioneer held up a hand.
“You won’t convince me otherwise,” Pioneer reassured. Truro lifted a free hand in surrender, allowing him to continue.
“My top speed was one hundred and twelve, thirty years after you. And the amount of work they had to do to make that possible–” He gestured to himself. “This streamline-moderne look comes at a cost. I was so low to the ground they had to keep the line clear of cars and cows for the safety of myself and my crew when I broke the record. I was only as heavy as I needed to be to keep from blowing away. Of course, saving money on materials was just an added bonus…” He was rambling again. “Point is, a two-stroke diesel like me? I was fast, sure. But you were fast and powerful. That’s the beauty of steam.”
“I was just pulling the mail,” Truro’s response was good-natured, though he sounded a little awed all the same. “You were pulling an entire rake full of passengers.”
“You pulled the mail?” Pioneer couldn’t help himself. “That was one of my primary functions! The train itself was for high speed passenger rail travel, of course, but I also carried an RPO on board. ”
“You enjoyed taking the mail?” Truro said, “That’s unusual. Most thought it a chore.”
“Oh, no. Never!” Pioneer said with a wistful sigh. He hesitated again, looking to Truro who, having finished his drink, set aside his empty glass and leaned against the tabletop. He fixed Pioneer with a deliberate, attentive look and laced his fingers together, inviting him to continue.
“The point of us Zephyrs was to make passenger rail preferable to automobiles for long distance travel. Everyone wanted to go further, to see more places and each other. So I was made to be faster than their cars and more comfortable, but that made me a luxury. A ride on my train was not within everyone’s reach. But a letter? Nearly everyone could afford to send a letter.”
Pioneer hesitated. This was usually the point at which both engines and people started to lose interest, but Truro was not only nodding along, but looking at him expectantly. It was all the encouragement Pioneer needed to continue.
“Distance means a lot less these days, and no engine appreciates that more than I do, believe me.” He thought of Pilot, and was surprised by the note of fondness in his own voice. “The mail ties all of us together even over great distances. Not unlike railroad tracks. They’ve always been linked, rail and mail. My work with the mail was just a small part of that, but I think it was some of the most important work I ever did.”
“More important than delivering iron lungs to polio patients?” Truro asked, smirking a little.
Pioneer flushed. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been talking, and the question seemed a gentle but pointed joke at his expense.
“Oh. That was only for the film… I didn’t really do that. One of my brothers did, but only after the film came out. The iron lung was for one of a set of twins, and there were two Denver Zephyrs. The opportunity was too good to pass up.”
“Ah, my apologies,” Truro said, all traces of that playful smirk gone, replaced by an apologetic smile. “I’ve embarrassed you. That wasn’t my intent.”
“Not at all,” Pioneer lied, the sting from Truro’s words immediately soothed.
“I’m a little surprised I haven’t heard any of these stories before. You’ve had quite the service life, Pioneer Zephyr.”
“Please, call me Pioneer.”
“Alright. Do you dance, Pioneer?”
The question left him off-balance. Was Truro really asking him to dance?
“Foxtrot, rumba, and waltz,” He said after a moment, flashing a grin and hoping his affected cheek would stand up to scrutiny. “They taught me the Lindy Hop as well, but I expect that was more for marketability than practicality.”
Truro’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I would be very interested to see that.”
“I don’t know that I could do it now. My bearings aren’t what they used to be.”
“I’ll settle for a simple box step, if you’d like to join me?”
Pioneer afforded himself the luxury of appearing to consider. Now that he’d had time to sit with it, the idea was quite appealing, but the truth of the matter was they’d only just met. Now Truro wanted– what, a dance? And after that…?
Pioneer wished he could control the hammering in his chest. Slow down, slow down. He felt like he was being rushed through another event itinerary that he’d not been involved in planning. But Truro was still looking at him expectantly. Pioneer was never much good at doing anything but what was expected of him.
“It would be my pleasure.”
Truro beamed.
The way to the dance floor was crowded and Truro’s presence seemed to make navigation even more difficult. Twice they were stopped: once by the engine Pioneer recognized as the most recent inductee to the club who wanted to take a selfie with Truro then again by a well-meaning diesel who wanted to talk shop with him about British rail operations.
Truro smiled through the interactions, though it was not the smile that had been captivating Pioneer all evening. It was the smile he himself shared with strangers who recognized him on the street, the one Pilot wanted so badly to emulate. Pioneer felt the brief uncanniness of seeing oneself from another perspective. He wondered if Truro had ever been told he had a ‘movie star quality’. He probably had.
“You seem lovely,” Truro said to the diesel. “But if you’ll forgive me, I’m afraid I’ve made other promises this evening which I intend to keep. You can contact me or Scotsman after the event via email if you check the website. Good night,” and a little tug on his hand pulled him back into the crowd. Pioneer hadn’t even noticed when Truro had coupled their hands together. As they moved closer to the floor, Truro slowed so he was no longer in front. He fell into stop comfortably at Pioneer’s side, shoulders brushing as they walked, hands still intertwined.
“E-mail?” Pioneer asked, unable to suppress the smirk.
“It lacks the romance of the post,” Truro conceded. “But surely even you must admit it’s convenient.”
“I suppose,” Pioneer said. “It’s the Burlington Way to look to the future.” He realized what he’d said only a moment too late. “That is to say–” There he went, toeing the company line again. Nevermind that it was for a company that had no future and, indeed, hadn’t for the last fifty years.
“Old habits, eh?” Truro said, and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as they approached the floor. “Would you prefer to lead or shall I?”
“You asked me to dance,” Pioneer said, surprised.
“And now I’m asking if you would like to lead.” Truro smiled. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
It almost bothered Pioneer how Truro seemed to know exactly what he needed. His patience, his magnanimity, his ability to turn Pioneer’s missteps into graceful turns all seemed engineered to bend the evening to his comfort.
“Let me lead then.”
Truro did not need persuading. His left hand alighted on his arm in an instant as he slid into Pioneer’s arms. Pioneer had moments to decide whether he was going to put his right hand on Truro’s upper or lower back, instinct and practicality winning out over his initial hesitation. Truro hummed at the touch and took it as an invitation to move closer, which Pioneer did not mind in the slightest.
They fell into step with the music, a staid and familiar jazz standard, and found ample space around the middle of the floor. Pioneer was pleased with his decision to lead. Truro was slightly shorter and slimmer and fit neatly in his arms, close enough for Pioneer to catch the occasional whiff of that distinct smell all steam engines seemed to have.
Too, Pioneer was a little relieved that Truro did not seem to want to talk for the first dance. 999 always wanted to gossip on the floor, constantly telling him to look-no-don’t at some engine or another. He didn’t mind, really, but it was nice to just enjoy the music, the rhythm, the feeling of moving in sync with another body without the need for words.
In that regard, Truro was an excellent partner. He was attentive, responsive, and – when Pioneer lifted his hand to spin him – graceful. Truro turned back to face him and cocked an eyebrow, a wordless query. Impressed?
Pioneer huffed a laugh and tugged him nearer in answer. Yes. Very.
Enchanted as he was by the moment, he couldn’t help feeling the occasional pinprick of unease, of eyes on his back. Engines were still whispering, still pointing. If anything, it seemed like they were doing more of both and as Truro looked up at him, considered him, Pioneer couldn’t help but wonder…
The song slowed, the last crooning notes drawing the dance to a close. Truro closed his eyes and inhaled as if savoring it and Pioneer rocked him at half-tempo until the song was over. When the bright trumpets of the next number started, Truro’s eyelids fluttered like he’d just been woken from a dream. He wasted no more time then, locking Pioneer with that arresting gaze and lifting his chin expectantly.
“Another?”
“As many as you like.” It was the truth. He was beginning to wonder if he’d ever be able to say no again. If he’d ever want to say no again.
They returned to dancing, but Truro’s stance relaxed a little and he lowered his hand to finger one of Pioneer’s lapel pins in a gesture Pioneer immediately recognized as an excuse to get a hand on his chest. He considered the winged man on the pin, tilting it a little to catch the light.
“Hermes?” Truro asked. It wasn’t a bad guess.
“Zephyrus,” Pioneer said. “Greek god of the West wind.”
“Oh! The name of your train.” Truro’s face lit up. “We’re two of a kind then, you and I. The Great Western Engine and the Engine of the West Wind.”
Pioneer smiled, amused at how delighted Truro seemed to be at the connection.
“That Denver happened to be west of Chicago was something of a happy accident, I think,” he said. “My creator named me Zephyr because it was at the end of the dictionary. He wanted me to be ‘The Last Word In Passenger Service’.”
He smiled and rolled his eyes, as he always did when he told this particular anecdote. “I loved the man, but Ralph Budd was… a bit of an eccentric. Everything he did was a publicity stunt. For my tenth birthday they had an eight-foot knife hooked to a ribbon that fell when I pulled forward to cut the birthday cake they made. Then they sent pieces of that cake all over the country to my brothers and cousins.”
Truro smirked a little. “Is that why you don’t like these kinds of events? Too much like a publicity stunt?”
“That’s not quite it.” He paused, trying to tread carefully around the words. It was important that he not be misunderstood. “When I was new, I was the Burlington Line’s last, best hope. 1934 was not a good year for anyone, least of all passenger rail. They rolled out the red carpet for me, almost literally, because it was important to create the Zephyr’s identity. Identity leads to emotional investment which leads to financial investment. Good for everyone.”
Truro nodded. It always came back to money. It was a tale as old as engines themselves.
“In order to do that, create that identity, they treated me… very unlike an engine. I mentioned my tenth birthday. That wasn’t unique. Whenever I made an appearance, they always sold tickets and the tickets always sold out. I sat for every photo opportunity, broke through every paper sign. I wrote letters! And they sent them! I… never received a reply.” Lifting his hand again, Truro turned. When he was back in Pioneer’s arms his brows were knit.
“I realized, then, what it was all for,” Pioneer continued with a thin smile. “It was marketing. The parties, the events, even the film. They were all to sell the image of the Zephyr. I wasn’t told, because the image sells better if the subject truly believes in it. And I did.”
The expression on Truro’s face changed, from one of pensive consideration to sympathy. He squeezed Pioneer’s hand again, a gesture which Pioneer returned.
“For a long time, I felt like a sucker. Like Burlington, and Mr. Budd in particular, had gone behind my back and made a fool of me because they thought I couldn’t– or wouldn’t– play my part if I knew. Like I wasn’t the engine Mr. Budd wanted me to be, so he needed to pull the wool over my eyes. I didn’t see until many, many years later that his commitment to image was actually a kindness.”
“I’m still here because while the image might have been fabricated, the response to it was real. People remembered my name, they remembered me. When my service life was coming to an end, it was never a question of whether or not I’d be preserved. They had a spot ready for me at the Museum of Science and Industry on the day I retired. City of Salina–” Pioneer looked away. “You’d know him as M-10000.”
When he looked back, Truro’s eyes were closed in recall. “Yes. Yellow and brown. Distinct. I remember.” He opened his eyes and met Pioneer’s gaze. “Not as distinctly as I remember you, though. They were cultivating an image, even then.” His tone wasn’t flirtatious, merely factual.
“That’s just it,” Pioneer agreed, glad that Truro seemed to get what he was driving at. “Salina broke the record before me, but Union Pacific didn’t capitalize the same way Burlington would. He never had the kind of publicity I did, and maybe that was more Useful in the moment. Certainly, he wasn’t sitting around eating cake or writing birthday letters. But by the same token, he wouldn’t ever get the chance to.”
Truro sighed and nodded in understanding.
“They wanted to make me memorable and I’m still here because they succeeded. For all my mixed feelings about publicity events, I’ll always be indebted to them.”
The song had changed at some point, but they were still in-step with the music. Pioneer wondered if it was the dance training or Truro who’d kept them in time.
“So, ah– To get back to your original question,” Pioneer said, realizing he’d not spoken for some time. “That’s why my enthusiasm for these sorts of things is… less than what might be expected. When I realized that they were never for me, they were just about me… I did have fun at the time, but those events have a tarnish on them now. Even today, I go to these things and wonder if I’m going to come away from them with a sour taste in my mouth.” The laugh he tried to offer in recompense was weak. He’d brought the mood down, surely, but he reassured himself with the thought that at least he’d been honest.
For his part, Truro did not seem to mind at all. The look he was giving Pioneer now was contemplative, not pitying. He seemed to be considering his next words carefully.
“Well….” Truro began, and as he spoke his eyes crinkled at the corners. “It seems that you have an opportunity then.”
It was Pioneer’s turn to cock his head.
“I only mean,” Truro clarified, “The Burlington Railroad and Mr. Budd are both gone. They are not your responsibility anymore. The only responsibility you have is promoting yourself, and you’re doing that just by being here.”
Pioneer nodded, slow and understanding, Truro’s words and actions over the course of the evening starting to come together like neatly-fitted gears.
“So, you can continue to attend these events as you always have, grit your teeth and be seen but not involved. Or…” He ran a careful thumb over Pioneer’s lapel again, smoothing the fabric between his fingers. “You can decide to lead instead. You get to make the decisions now, and you can decide to let these things be for you instead of about you. I think you’ll find that you enjoy them more if you do.” He smiled cannily up at Pioneer, eyes glinting in the chandelier light.
“I think,” Pioneer said, “you might be right about that.”
“So what do you want, Pioneer?”
Time seemed to slow. Pioneer dragged his eyes away from Truro, lifting his head to take in the surroundings. There were so many engines doing dances he didn’t recognize to a song he didn’t know. His head was filled with that steam engine smell, like matchsticks and oil, and all the while Truro was still running his thumb in insistent circles over Pioneer’s lapel. It was all a little overwhelming.
“I want–” He licked his lips. “I want to get some air. Let’s go outside.”
“I know just the spot.”
Truro led them up a flight of stairs to a secluded spot on a balcony that didn’t seem like it was open to the public. With Truro’s hand in his, Pioneer found he didn’t mind. The evening air had a snap to it, crisp and autumnal. Back home, the leaves would be starting to change. It always happened so fast these days, Pioneer hoped there’d still be some on the trees when he got back, that he wouldn’t miss them. Though he supposed if he did, Pilot wouldn’t hesitate to tell him all about it. He thought of the reds and oranges splashed across magnificent stainless steel…
“Thinking about someone?”
“Hm? Oh, no I just–” He turned to Truro, worried he’d been inconsiderate, but he leaned back against the railing, facing away from the courtyard below, regarding him with a fondness that made Pioneer’s heart flutter. “Just thinking of home.”
“Mm,” Truro hummed thoughtfully. His posture was open, relaxed. Pioneer stepped closer. Now that he was away from the crowds and the prying eyes, he let himself really look at Truro. It was remarkable how classically handsome he was.
Truro, for his part, seemed to be inviting it, tilting his head so the hard line of his jaw would not go unnoticed. Maybe it was the night air mixed with the faint music from the courtyard. Maybe it was the two drinks, but Pioneer wanted to reach up and trace that line. He wanted to, so he did. And when he did, and when Truro made a surprised little noise in the back of his throat at the touch, Pioneer wanted more of that too. He traced his thumb down Truro’s jaw and captured his chin in his grasp.
Reaching up to touch the back of Pioneer’s hand, Truro met his gaze evenly. “Is this what you want, Pioneer?”
“Yes,” He answered; And as if to reassure them both, and because he was tired of waiting, Pioneer tugged Truro gently forward and kissed him.
“Stephen!”
A short engine, dressed head-to-toe in sunshine yellow, looked up from checking his pocket watch to see 999 flanked by a pair of attractive Japanese electrics approaching him.
“New York! Headed off already? The party’s hardly started!”
999 gave him a condescending smirk that dimpled her cheeks. They both knew full well how late it was. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen Pioneer, would you? I’m afraid I’ve lost him.”
Stephen snapped his watch shut and placed a considering hand on his chin. “You know, I think I saw him leave earlier with City of Truro.”
“You ‘think?’” 999 repeated, eyeing him with suspicion.
Stephen winked. “You can trust me on this one.”
“That’ll be the day,” 999 said, but the delight in her voice was unmistakable. “Well if that’s the case, I think I shall be retiring for the evening.”
“It was wonderful to see you again, my dear.” Stephen said. “Don’t let me keep you!”
“I won’t,” 999 said, already walking off with her entourage. “Thank you, Stephen! See you next year!”
“Looking forward to it,” he called after her, and hands in his pockets, he started his way back over to the bar, humming one of the jazz songs from earlier that was now stuck in his head.