Coleman taps Sasha on the calf, and she obligingly reaches down.

When did she get so [i]big?[/i] It hasn't been [i]that[/i] long since their journey started, surely? Time was, he barely fit inside her cockpit; to move was to get jabbed by some lever, dial, oddly placed bit of metal, and he'd come out with scales rubbed raw from the squeeze. Maybe that's why kobolds, after all--nobody larger could possibly fit in a nascent engine.  

He hasn't had any missing patches of scales in a while now, has he?  

Look at her! Tall, mighty, gleaming, big enough to scoop him up in one hand, cup him like a child against her. He wriggles closer, presses his back against her. Feels the familiar shifting of the coal in her firebox, the soft prickle of the water in her boiler, warms himself in the heat seeping through his overalls and into his scales.

"Amalgamation," he murmurs. "Take bits of the Heart, shove it into her DNA. Armor her, graft in enough of the Flood to save her from drowning in it. I remember."

What must Black Sasha look like? Warped--recognizably an engine, but more Heart than Machine, stealing elements of angels, clowns, flood, anything and everything to help her survive. Could he recognize his own Sasha in there? Would he want to?

Quietly, he pulls out the little rag, and sets to work brushing off the coal dust his overalls have left on Sasha. It's something to do, something meaningful, to keep his hands thinking.

"But to make the rails better?" He huffs a small, pained laugh. "Well, you and I both know we're no Carinadir. We might be able to set Wormwood straight with a time machine and seven lifetimes of work, but then it wouldn't be Wormwood, worm-would it?"

It's a lame joke, and neither of them laughs. 

Frowning, Coleman dips the rag in the can of polish and studies the bronzed plate. "But... Well, it occurs to me that we might not be able to make the rails themselves better. But what about the trains? No, no, hang on, I getcha, I'm not talkin' about Amalgamation, lemme get at it..."

Y'see, every train is part of the Vermissian Line, see? Technically, they all follow the same codes and there's some agreed-upon regulations and practices set down by the ancients and revised as necessary. But every Engine and every Engineer knows the real score--every train is a line unto its own. It's an empire of one, with their enmities, borders, ancient feuds. And of course, everyone knows that [i]their[/i] train is the best.

"What if--instead of meldin' our train to fit the Heart physically--we tried to bring the Engines together? Again, not amalgamation, but friendship-like? Come to another engine's aid if they're in need, sorta thing. Cooperate in ways that don't involve decidin' who's invadin' who's track. Sounds like in your future, we fracture. Every train for 'emselves, kill and steal an' cannibalize as needed and as can be done. If we can figure that out--how to unite the lines--ain't no war to be had, right?"