The Skarloey Railway is a railway run by engines that run on narrower tracks than the North Western Engines. Its main industries are passenger work (both locals and tourists) and slate. It once used a slate quarry near the end of the line, but the UK’s Ministry of Defense bought it to be used as an ammunition dump in 1960. To this day, the SKR get their slate from the Sodor Slate Quarry at the bottom of Shane Dooiney (Sudric for The Old Man), one of Sodor’s mountains. It was during one of these runs that Sir Handel, a blue saddle tank engine and the SKR’s number 3 engine, was grumbling as usual. His crew consisted of Brittney and Swalmu. “Rotten trucks!” he grumbled. “Why can’t they just come along quietly!?”
“They don’t exactly have bogies, for a start,” remarked Swalmu.
“Do we look like stuffy old coaches to you?!” snapped the lead truck.
“Oh, shut up, you lot!” snarled Sir Handel as he bumped them to keep them quiet.
“Do you really need to do that?” asked Brittney.
“Bumping them is the only way they’ll behave,” replied Sir Handel. “I, for one-!” That was when they heard a loud boom!
“Please tell me that wasn’t an explosion!” yelped Brittney.
“It came from the old Slate Quarry!” replied Sir Handel.
“We gotta check it out!” urged Swalmu.
“We can’t go there anymore! The M.O.D’s got guards around it!”
“We have to make sure they’re all right!” Swalmu unhooked a radio from Sir Handel’s cab and called Mr. Percival. “Sir, we just heard an explosion at the-!”
“At the munitions dump,” finished an upper-class voice. “I just got off the radio with Rheneas and his crew. Medical teams are already there. Continue with your delivery, then return to the sheds at Crovan’s Gate. I have a feeling the Dump’s Commanding Officer will want to investigate us.”
“Investigate, Sir?” asked Brittney.
Everyone had gathered at the sheds near the transfer yards at Crovan’s Gate. The Dump’s Commanding Officer arrived with Mr. Percival. “Everyone, I believe most of you know Lieutenant Andrews,” introduced Mr. Percival.
“Good afternoon,” rumbled Andrews. “Now, as you all have heard, there was an explosion at the Munitions’ Dump. What many of you don’t know, but from what Duncan told Mr. Percival, was that there is an id on the person who set off the explosion. Although Duncan was hesitant, and frankly, both he and I had a hard time believing it ourselves, even when security footage revealed he was telling the truth, he told me what the person looked like.”
“The only reason I had to tell him was because my crew confirmed seeing what I saw,” said Duncan, a yellow narrow gauge tank engine and the SKR’s number 6. “I still can’t believe it was real.”
“Well, don’t leave us in suspense!” said a red saddle tank engine, the SKR’s number 1, Skarloey. “Who was it?”
“First off, any Star Trek fans here?” asked Duncan. A few crew members raised their hands.
“I watched a few episodes with my driver,” offered Skarloey’s best friend, Rheneas, the railway’s number 2 engine.
“Well, this character looked like a member of the Borg,” explained Duncan.
“Give over!” protested the railway’s number 4, Peter Sam.
“He’s being serious,” replied Andrews. “As I said, security footage confirmed Duncan’s words. Mr. Percival, I understand you have members of your staff that aren’t exactly native to this island.”
“That would be us,” said Flora as she, Brittney, Hanako, Swalmu, and Daniel stepped forward.
“Do you know anything about these…Borgs?”
“That rather depends on whether or not they’re standard Borg Drones,” replied Flora. “Duncan, did this Borg Drone act monolithic? Did it hide any emotion?”
“…Now that I think about it,” remarked Duncan. “This Borg was looking around as if it knew it wasn’t supposed to be there in normal circumstances. I had to tell the Dump’s guards about that. I thought it was a guy in a Borg costume.”
“Well, telling the Dump about a trespasser minimized casualties to only injuries,” reported Andrews. “Thank you for telling us.” Duncan stayed quiet. He figured Andrews would trounce him when it came to being plain and blunt. Andrews returned his attention to Flora. “So, these aren’t the usual Borgs?”
“In all likelihood,” replied Flora, “they’re agents of our enemies.”
“I expect every scrap of intelligence you can reveal about them.”
“You’ll have it once this meeting is over. I can tell you this, though; they have shields that are only set for energy-based weapons, not ballistic rounds. Aim for the exposed skin if you’re ever in combat with them.”
“Thank you for that, Ma’am. I just pray no one ever has to fight them. Everyone, confer with your new friends on how to spot them. I will be returning to the Dump. The mess will be too much for our one engine to clear up, so the M.O.D’s authorized us to give you all permission to help.” Andrews returned to his jeep and sped off.
“Everyone, we’re in a critical stage here,” warned Mr. Percival. “Skarloey, Duke, I want you two to help with the cleanup. Other engines will help when they’re available.”
“You can count on us, Sir,” assured Skarloey.
“We’ll clear the Dump AND catch the saboteur,” promised the single tender engine of the SKR, Duke. “Letting this villain run wild would never-!”
“Suit his Grace,” interrupted Sir Handel and Peter Sam.
“…Well, it wouldn’t,” muttered Duke. “Impudent scallywags.”
“In the meantime, we have duties to perform,” finished Mr. Percival. “Back to work, everyone.” Brittney and Swalmu returned to Sir Handel’s cab as Flora and Hanako boarded Rheneas and Daniel entered Rusty’s cab. They resumed work soon enough.
Sir Handel was lost in thought as he pulled his passenger train the next day. He had heard about what the Fat Controller’s engines went through and wondered if Edward’s false accusation and the current incident were connected. “Swalmu,” he asked during his run, “are we free after this run?”
“We are, so we’re going to be heading to the Dump,” replied Swalmu.
“Perhaps we can spot one of the Lords there,” mused Brittney. “If we do, then we can-” She then groaned and put her hand to her head.
“Brittney?!” asked Swalmu.
“Dizzy…” Brittney then shook her head. “There we go.”
“Did you drink enough?”
“Is it a heat stroke?” asked Sir Handel.
“Okay, you saw my fangs, yes?”
“…Those are fake, yes?” gulped the saddle-tank.
“No, they’re not. I really am a Vampire, and I can’t get a decent drink here. Your butchers don’t sell animal blood and I can’t just drain a cow or a sheep. The farmers here would get suspicious.”
“Wait, you prefer animal blood?” asked Sir Handel.
“It’s more nutritious for Vampires like me.”
“Maybe I should call a relief,” suggested Swalmu. “You can head back to the ships when you get a chance. At least the Glanthelantir’s sure to have some blood on board.” Brittney’s eyes then went wide.
“That ship’s got Vampire crewmembers! I can just ask them to send me what I need! Man, I’m so dumb!”
“No, no, you’re not,” assured Swalmu. “You just didn’t think clearly. We’ll call the Glanthelantir at the next station.”
“Here it comes!” called Sir Handel. Swalmu pulled on the whistle cord and announced the train’s arrival at Cros Ny Cuirn.
When night fell, a Lord dashed across the Munitions’ Dump. He looked around nervously before bumping into a figure with a cloak drawn around its arms. It wore a helmet and stared at the Lord. “You’re creepy when you do that!” he hissed.
“That’s the point,” replied the figure through the voice modulator in its helmet. “So, you were sure you were spotted?”
“Why else would the engines here be on the lookout?! I’m sure that yellow complainer spotted me! It must be why no one died in the explosion!”
“It would have sweetened the deal. No matter. We’ve sown the seeds of fear on this railway. There will be no going back to normal from this.”