And the Third Brought Fire

Weetamo whimpered quietly as the door shut behind Nix - and Nix took a moment to survey where she would work. It wasn't exactly auspicious: The saloon's second story was narrow and creaky, the floor thin and the sound of piano playing and conversation drifted up across the carpeting that had been thrown down higgledy piggledy by some saloon girl during her rounds. The window was glassless and the only light came from a bare, cheap electrical bulb that was threaded to a copper wire that itself vanished into the darkness of the ceiling. Considering the rest of Maryfort, Nix supposed they had an atomic turbine buried somewhere in their small settlement, likely near their chapel. It provided enough power for electricity and maybe some emergency heat during winters, but likely hadn't been tended to in years.

She put the thought out of it out of her mind as she closed the door, latched it, then stepped up behind Weetamo. The slender green train was looking out the window with clear nervousness, her hands touching together over her belly. "I-I've never been serviced by a technician before. Well, okay, I was, but I wasn't Weetamo at the time. See, I was a passenger train, back in the day, but then they had to change the cars, and, well..."

Nix knew quite well. A train wasn't just the engine - even if people had thought so for ages. It was the engine and all the cars attached to it, as well as the linkages, even some of the track that it ran along. Even the brakes. All of it combined to create the spirit of the train. But train cars could be, and often were, changed. Nix had heard it compared to an ancient riddle about the Spirit of Theseus - if every part of the Greek hero's ship had been replaced, part by part, then would her soul be the same by the end of it?

Well, it depended on the parts replaced.

Put a new set of antiaircraft guns on an airship in the place of her old flare batteries, she might get more aggressive and less flighty - over time, as the change seeped into her soul. For trains, it could be quite traumatic to remove every car at once then hitch new ones, so trains changed their outlines slowly, cautiously. Nix didn't blame her for being so disconcerted thinking about it, and she didn't want her to keep thinking about it. Not now. Not in a situation that was meant to be tender.

Gentle.

She stepped up behind Weetamo's back, her arm snaking around her belly. She stroked the sleekness of Weetamo's stomach, feeling the faint seams that let her turn and bend her slender body. Her fingers stroked down and she found the belly button of the train-girl, teasing it with the tip of her middle finger. Her voice was soft. "It's okay, Weetamo...your tribe is never going to let that happen again." She kissed her neck. "And this isn't like changing a car."

"Okay..." Weetamo whispered. She leaned into Nix, relaxing more and more by the moment. "What is it like?"

"I'll show you," Nix said, grinning. She gently led Weetamo to the narrow, thin bed that she had been given. She drew her down and Weetamo sat on it, her eyes wide as Nix sat next to her. She smiled and looked into Weetamo's eyes, her voice soft. "We start off with what makes you comfortable." Her fingers stroked along Weetamo's thighs. "Do you like that?"

The train nodded, blushing furiously. Thin streams of steam were sneaking out of her cheeks - venting into the air and coiling up towards the ceiling.

"All right," Nix said, quietly. "You have such beautiful lines, you know. And you've served so well. You can run on track that's barely even there." Her fingers slid up and down, up and down that muscular green thigh. She leaned in, kissing a spot on Weetamo's neck where the paint had chipped, old damage reflected on her throat. "You're a good train. Good little steam burner." She nuzzled against her, then kissed along her throat, up to her jaw, to her ear. Her voice was soft. "You're so hot and wet."

"Y-Yeah," Weetamo whispered.

"And I saw your engine - you've got such a clever little boiler set up. You'll never rupture, not with that design and good maintenance. That's so impressive."

"R-Really?" Weetamo asked, sounding shocked. "I-I always thought it was so...outdated!"

"It's gorgeous," Nix said, grinning at her. She slid her palm up her thigh, then inwards, teasing her fingers against the dampening folds of Weetamo's rubbery cunt. She didn't quite touch her, but she didn't quite

not

touch her. She left Weetamo tingling between contact and release and Weetamo drew in a sharp gas, her soft

chugga-chugga-chugga

heartbeat audible through her chest. Her breasts heaved as she arched her back slightly.

"N-Nix!" she moaned, biting her lower lip to silence herself.

"Mmm, let it out. We can't let you get too...under pressure," Nix whispered.

"Oh...ohhhh!" Weetamo whispered as Nix's fingers traced the outline of her sex, teasing her clit as she swept them up and around. Her lips parted and a thin stream of steam ticked along the roof of her mouth, past her nose, curling around her hair. Nix leaned forward, catching the last tiny spurt of warm, moist breath in Weetamo's mouth. Her tongue and the spirit's tongue pressed together, playing one against one another as Weetamo's thighs spread, bumping one against Nix's knees. Her hands bunched, grabbing onto the blankets as the bed creaked. Nix drew back, letting a thin ring of steam escape from Weetamo's mouth.

"Want more?" she whispered, kissing her ear, nibbling the lobe.

"Y-Yes! Yes!" Weetamo gasped. "I-I've never felt like this before. I-"

Nix pressed a finger against the folds of Weetamo's cunt and thrust in. She felt virgin tight, her lips enfolding Nix's finger with vice-eager heat. A blazing warmth flooded around Nix's fingertip, and as she pushed her finger in to the knuckle, Weetamo let out a mewling moan of purest pleasure, her hips bucking as she gasped and whimpered. "Oh my god, oh my god!" she gasped. "M-More, please! I...I..." she quivered and grunted low in her throat as Nix crooked her finger up. She found her G-spot, and through the trembling quiver that rocked through the train, Nix could feel every nut and bolt on her body going limp at once.

"Nix!" She moaned.

Nix grinned.

Then she added a second finger, leaned down, and found the tip of one of Weetamo's deliciously perky breasts. She sucked that bright green nipple into her mouth, teasing her with her teeth as her thumb reached up, rubbing Weetamo's clit, her fingers thrusting faster. She had to get past this part - if she let her tingle and hang too long, she genuinely might explode. And not in the

fun

was, precisely. The last thing that Nix wanted was to take Weetamo's engine out with a boiler explosion.

So, she finger-fucked her roughly, the knuckles of her finger

plapping

loudly and lewdly against her metal thighs. Weetamo gasped and moaned, her back arching as she screamed in bliss, her voice causing a momentary pause in the piano playing from downstairs - but as she bucked her hips and squirted around Nix's fingers, Nix heard the unsteady opening of

Yankee Doodle Dandy

resuming from downstairs - the first few notes hesitating between each tone, like the pianist was looking over his shoulder.

Weetamo drew in deep lungfuls as black smoke roiled from her back, smelling of warmth and lust. Her eyes were half closed and she groaned as Nix drew her fingers from her cunt, licking her glowing juices off her self. "W-Whoa..." she whispered.

"Feel how every nut and bolt on you is tight and true now?" she asked.

"Y-Yeah!" Weetamo said, her eyes widening. She arched her back again - to stretch. She heard something

PING

inside of her and her palm rubbed the small of her back. She let out a shy giggle. "T-There had been a bolt in there that was out of true a-and...I...I knew it needed to get removed, but I was worried if I asked, they'd just strip the threading out, so, I just kept quiet and now it's straight on and it feels so good! I feel like I could run across the Atlantic!" She giggled. "I-If there were tracks on the Atlantic, I mean. N-Not that there are, I know there isn't!" She added, hurriedly.

Nix, grinning slightly, licked her fingers clean. "I know," she said, her voice amused. "But that's just the easy part."

"Mew?" Weetamo asked.

"We still have your actual boiler to get running smooth - and your brake cables, and any rust."

"Oh!" Weetamo blinked. Then, her cheeks darkening, she stammered. "How, um, how do we, um, do, we...do..." She made a vague gesture, her palm flipping and over end. "Do...do that?"

Nix grinned. "Lets do rust first." She twirled her finger. "On your belly."

"Okay!" Weetamo started to turn to the right - realized this would slam her legs into the wall, blushed, then turned to her left, rolling onto her side, then her belly. As she laid there, she watched Nix stand and begin to strip, revealing her own slender body, her high breasts, her sopping wet cunt. "How do we fix the rust?" she asked as Nix tugged the strap up around her thighs. Her cock thrust into the air and she felt the strange sense that it was truly a cock - not just a device of leather and plastic. She grinned and took the base of the cock in her hand, lifting it up so that Weetamo could see the length, the girth. Then she picked up her bottle of lube from her belt pouch (no technician would leave their home without it.)

A thin stream of lubrication started to soak up the false cock.

"...what do you...how do you fix the rust with that?" Weetamo asked, her eyes widening more and more.

"Well, rust represents waste products and unfortunate buildups," Nix said, walking around behind the belly-sprawled spirit. Her hands cupped Weetamo's truly delicious, heavy ass - she did have quite a hefty caboose, after all - and her lube slick thumbs spread her asscheeks, revealing her pert, cute little asshole. Nix grinned, wickedly. "So, we just need to apply friction to a...symbolically useful area."

"Like where?" Weetamo asked. "I mean, I- hnnn!" Her head jerked back, her eyes widening as Nix began to ease into her.

If anything, Weetamo was even tighter back here. Her fingers dug deep into the sheets and her face mashed against the pillow, her large, hooked nose squishing slightly as she closed her eyes tight and squealed slightly. Steam rushed from her nose - but despite having not had this done in a while, her body clearly remembered. She bucked her hips back, pushing against Nix eagerly as she groaned, lifting herself half off the bed, onto her palms and her knees. Nix was glad for it. Her hands glided along Weetamo's belly, up to her breasts. She played with her nipples, her head leaning down to bury itself into her silvery hair, breathing in the steam and the burning coal of the glorious engine that she was plowing.

Her hips slammed down into Weetamo with the pounding, driving force that a train that carried freight needed: Heavy, eager pumps, to go with some rough tugging on her nipples, stretching her breasts, then letting them go slack. Weetamo groaned in her throat, deep and almost masculine, her eyes rolling back into her head as she bit her lower lip, dragging her lip against her teeth. Her hips rocked against Nix's again and again and again. Nix panted, feeling her own pleasure starting to rise as her strap ground and rose against her own cunt, which dripped with eagerness, moisture sliding between leather and over flesh. She grunted quietly in time with her fucking, whispering softly. "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Lets get that rust outta you. Fuck!" She grunted again, throwing her head back and grabbing onto Weetamo's hips.

"Oh yes! Yes! Yes!" Weetamo gasped, her

chugga chugga

heart racing faster and faster as her ass tightened around the strap filling her. "Oh god! Yes! Yes!" She ducked her head forward. "Oh god!" She arched her spine and glowing juices splashed against Nix's thighs and knees and puddled onto the bed as Weetamo came buckets, her fingers clenching on the sheets. Her hoarse moan was rich with purest joy, and Nix sighed as she felt her own climax - her first climax - rocking through her body. She watched through slitted eyes as Weetamo's green painted hide started to grow glossy and gleaming. New. She reached down, tracing the lines, the patterns.

With each touch, she wicked away sweat, and brought forth lines that were cleaner, more precise. It was the original markings, painted who knows how long ago, by the tribes that had adopted Weetamo when the world had burned and America had fallen to pieces.

Panting quietly, Nix grinned down at her. "So, there's the rust," she murmured. "Ready for the boiler?"

Weetamo panted heavily, her breasts rising and falling. "H-How do we do that?"

A few moments later, Nix was laying comfortably on her back, and watching with no small delight, as Weetamo arched her spine and bounced on her lap. Impaling herself on her strap again and again and again, the eager little train showed she had quite the sensual spirit: Her hands glided along her own belly, to her breasts, squeezing herself, playing with herself to bring more pleasure, more joy to Nix. Nix grinned and let her fingers do the work - she found and rubbed Weetamo's clit, moving her hand up and down with the bouncing, eager train. It was harder and trickier than it looked, keeping finger on clitty and rubbing.

When Weetamo screamed and arched her back, Nix heard the chugging of her engine again - coming into true. Deep inside of her, her boiler's components were shifting, settling, righting themselves. It wasn't like they'd face any explosions - old style boilers simply set the fires beneath tanks of water, and at higher temperatures and pressures, the water that was boiling could go from water to steam with unpredictable speed, turning boilers into bombs. But Weetie, and other trains like her, had pipes that ran water through the furnaces, allowing them to boil elsewhere. It was more complex, but safer. And now those pipes ran true and easy.

Weetie -

what a cute name,

Nix thought,

I think I'll stick with it for now

- collasped atop her, it was with a ragged pant and a giggle. "I...I don't think I ran this good even before 1945!" she said. "Like, I feel like my wheels are in true, my brakes aren't stripped down. Mmmmm! Even my coal scutters are clean and...ah!" She stretched her arms. "I can feel my interior doors opening and closing better - their screws are tight and oiled, my hinges are all smooth. I think you've even replaced some ball bearings that were missing."

Nix, who had been rummaging around in her pockets, but found no cigarettes, instead simply tried to enjoy the simple pleasure of hard work done well. "What can I say? I'm a good technician."

"Good!? You're amazing!" Weetamo said. "I may not remember much since before I was a cargo train, but I

do

remember technicians back when I ran passenger! All wham! Bam! Thank you ma'am!" She glanced around. "I do miss the cu-"

Bang!

The sound was so akin to a car engine sputtering to life, steam engine burbling, that Nix nearly didn't notice it - save that it was followed by a sudden spate of shocked screaming. She and Weetie jerked their heads to the window, Weetie springing up and off Nix and running to the window without a single care in the world. Being a spirit, she could stick her tits out without anyone even noticing - but Nix had to start to bind her breasts, take off her strap, and toss on her jacket. By the time she had done, the shouting had calmed down - and when she stood by Weetie, she could see who had come to Maryfort.

The sun had dipped down and the whole fort was lit entirely by electrical lamps that dangled from the awnings and poles, hung from strings that made them look almost like lights set out for Mother Christmas. Their harsh light cast stencil perfect shadows in a confused mess against the walls - overlapping and murky. But the center of the street was clear.

There were four men on horseback. Each of them wore what looked like an outdoorsman's clothes, save for a single piece of uniformity: Old brown jackets with big pockets. They weren't long, but they each had a patch on them: eagles heads. One of them wore a genuine hard hat helmet, like he expected combat, but the rest were in bill caps and broad brimmed things that a cowboy might have worn. The bang had come from a cut down carbine that their leader had resting against his shoulder.

Sheriff Abernathy stepped out to stand between the horsemen and the rest of the town, his jacket rustling in the wind.

"Well, well, well! If it ain't Sheriff Abernathy!" the leader said, his voice a drawling Yankee accent. "Sorry to drop in on ya like this."

"We ain't got no problem with the Hundred," Sheriff Abernathy said. "But you ain't going to get paid here. We don't exactly carry the goods you're interested in."

The leader reached up and rubbed his knuckles against his chest, brushing dust away. Nix frowned. The Hundred? She...admitted, she hadn't heard of that one - but there were so many wild west gangs out there that it was impossible to keep them all straight. She took hold of Weetie's hand, tugging her away from the window, then whispered. "Get my belt."

Weetie blinked, then whispered back. "Why?"

"Just do it," Nix hissed.

Weetie nodded, humming as she scampered off.

"We're not here for something. We're here for some

one

. It's come over the grapevine that there's a limey prick whose got a real big price on his head - freshly put down from her Majesty's government." The Hundred leader said, grinning.

"I didn't know the Hundred ran jobs for the limeys," Abernathy shot back.

"Hey, we all need to eat. His name's Marion Nixon. Technician. Supposed to be running with some crummy beat up old spirit..." The Hundred said.

Weetie came up to Nix, smiling brightly. "Oh!" she said, excitedly. "They want to see you!" She waved out the window. "Hi!"

The Hundred glanced over as Nix jerked back, grabbing onto the Colt revolver that was hanging off his belt. He yanked it free and scowled. "Weetie!"

"What?" Weetie asked, while the Hundred rode forward - moving past the Sheriff, who scowled and stepped aside. The four strangers fanned out before the saloon and the leader called out.

"Mr. Nixon!" The leader waved. "We're here to take you into the custody of the Hundred and One!"

Nix frowned. "I'm afraid I don't know who you are, nor how exactly you're interested in me. Nor how you found me."

"Well, they don't just call us that cause the name's so catchy." The Leader's smile was a big white flash in a scruffy, shadowy face. Despite the lack of light on his features, Nix still had a feeling that the light from that smile wouldn't reach those eyes. There was something in the completely casual tone that made his skin crawl. He frowned and adjusted his grip on the Colt. "We just seem to be the lucky fireteam. Why don't you come down out of there."

"Or else what?" Nix asked.

"Or else we will burn down this saloon," the leader said.

Sheriff Abernathy moved - but one of the Hundred reached into his coat, and swung out a brutal, sleek little weapon: It had a straight magazine, a short barrel, and a wooden stock. A submachine gun. Nix tensed, his jaw tightening. Abernathy remained perfectly still, while the other people started to tense, crying out in shock and alarm.

"We, in fact, will give everyone in this saloon time to leave," the man said. "Then, I will count to ten..."

The door opened downstairs. People went running out, panting as they skidded into the dark, muddy street. The pianist didn't even take the door - he vaulted out through the windows, sending the shutters banging open with a crash.

"One," the leader said. "Two. Three."

Nix frowned. "Weetie," he whispered. "Can you get out of here and tell Enterprise about this?"