Steam was the writephoto prompt for last October. One of my visitors at the Lymington Craft Fair last weekend gave me the germ of an idea for this one, but most of the thanks go to K L Caley at New2Writing.com for the picture. It’s 930 words, 5 minutes reading time.
The Steam Railway
“The 12.15’s late again,” the stationmaster muttered as he looked at the heirloom watch he pulled from a pocket inside his tunic.
He tapped the display unit mounted on his controller, frowned at the response, and stepped outside onto the platform. A goggle of eyes turned to him. They belonged to several families, two business-types, a woman with three copious baskets of produce to deliver to the city restaurant, and three local lads who were probably looking for mischief, but not here.
He coughed to prepare them for his announcement. ‘It seems the Celerist has been delayed. Flooding on the line, as you might expect after all this rain, and it having been high tide at ten this morning. You can wait for it, or I can put old Rocket to work, or you can find some other way of reaching your destination. Possibly by returning home or to the cafe if you need a connection, since the 8G mast is currently reserved for priority services only.”
”I suppose that’s why we’ve not had any signal today,” one of the business-types said.
The stationmaster agreed with him, then moved through checking how many wanted to try getting through in the Rocket.
”How long will it take?” The businesswoman asked, a question echoed by one of the families, one he didn’t recognise. Most of the other families had sighed at the news and rounded up the kids to go back home.
”At least two hours if you manage to get a Sapphire when you get to Woking, but it’s more than an hour’s journey that far, longer if we pick up more passengers on the way.”
”But I have meeting in London at 14.00!”
”Sorry, ma’am, but it’s the best we can do. Celerist class trains are great if the conditions are right, but whoever decided to install them with their high-faluting magno-cushioned propellers didn’t take account of the prevailing weather conditions, let alone climate change.”
To his surprise, the woman smiled. “I quite agree. Shame they didn’t listen when I said so in Parliament. Is there any way I can patch into your network to zoom with my meeting? It would be even better if I managed to do it from a station, rather than a home office.”
The stationmaster checked her ID card and agreed to make the arrangements for the local MP. The other business-type kicked up a bit of a fuss, but the stationmaster pacified him with a seat in his office and a glass of sherry while they brought the Rocket up to the platform.
Although he warned the remaining passengers that it could take some time for the Rocket to get up to full power, its boiler only having been lit half an hour ago, the old steam engine hissed and wheezed from the siding to its place beside the travellers in less than five minutes.
”I suppose you had little warning of the Celerist’s delay,” the MP commented with a bland smile.
“None at all, I’m afraid. The Celerist is never late, as you know. But I know these lines, know the land, and know when it’s just not going to make it. The Rocket and its crew have been on standby most of the morning.”
”How do they keep up the myth of its invincibility?”
”Local news daren’t mention it, national comms are owned by the same people as the Celerist. They can put the frighteners on people pretty quickly. You don’t often travel by it, ma’am?”
”No. I’m trying to bridge the gap between the city bubble dwellers and the rest of the electorate, but it’s hard to have the time spare for surface travel. It’s good technology though, isn’t it?”
”Oh, yes. Works great in deserts. Vital for eastern Europe, Africa, and Central Asia. Parts of America and India too. Just not anywhere that suffers storms and floods. I’ll just see the Rocket off, if you’ll excuse me.”
The stationmaster checked everyone was safely aboard the boxy carriages, and had used the station’s facilities before they boarded. The businessman departed hastily and returned before the stationmaster finished reading out the safety rules.
Stepping back onto the platform, the stationmaster blew his whistle and waved a flag to signal the Rocket’s driver. In response, a blast of the engine’s horn shrieked into the air, and the carriages lurched and jostled each other to get moving after the engine.
The MP joined the stationmaster as he watched the train depart along the narrow track, carefully maintained on either side of the magno-strip for the Celerist. “How do you get the fuel? I thought the treaty banned coal,” she asked.
”Ah, well, that’s something of a trade secret. But if you’re careful and frugal, you can do wonders with recycled building ash treated with a special compound, and mixed in a careful ratio with reclaimed coal nuggets. Gleaners are worth their weight in gold. Not that gold’s much use here, but you know the saying.”
”Yes… but what’s the special compound?”
”Trade secret. It’s known as Georgio. I believe it relies heavily on strawberry juice.” The stationmaster tapped his nose in an old-fashioned gesture suggesting you keep quiet about what you’d been told.
A little while later, the MP got into the system to take part in her meeting, the only person absent from the city-bubble to do so. She wondered whether to mention this Georgio compound to the Prime Minister, but decided to keep it to herself. For now, anyway.
© J M Pett 2024
How imaginative! I loved this! And I do love steam engines…
I really enjoyed this too I loved how the old ways won through when the new ways failed for lack of though….money ruling the day!
I do miss KL’s writephoto. 💜💜
I’m glad you are using the old WritePhoto prompts to keep some new stories coming! This was nice—love that there’s still a place for the old steam engine :).