Trammell glides along the cable with ease. He tries not to act superior, but it isn’t easy. As the oldest sentient cable car from the Earth to the moon, it’s hard for him to act nonchalant. He is the First. His schedule is routine, and he is set in his ways.

The younger cars keep their distance, and Trammell prefers it that way. Even the odd maintenance worker and periodic checks are annoying distractions. As they test his track ropes, brackets, and hydraulic braking system in the winding house, he yearns for the freedom and serenity of the open cable.

Airborne, he hurtles into the familiar atmosphere.

The world he knows changes when she comes into his life. Trammell witnesses her arrival, but he doesn’t foresee the upheaval it will wreak upon his ordered existence.

Her lines are exquisite. So too, is her candy-apple red colour code. She gleams at the end terminal in the morning sunlight. Glass windows shimmer, reflecting sleek sunrays that suffuse the new arrival in a golden hue. Mesmerising. Trammell hovers open-doored on the track cable as they shunt her into position. Shyness overtakes him.

Until now, he did not know how lonely he was. Deep in his circuitry, attraction blossoms into being. When she gazes in his direction, the blossoms expand, firing forgotten and unused electrical impulses.

“Your name?” The query thrums along his cable.

“Tr-Tr-Trammell.” Is that hesitant crackling voice his?

Her voice, tremulous, flits to him. “Trollette.”

She is his First.

In the early days, Trammell is terrified. Insecurity courses through his being. He is in alien territory, and despite these strange bursts of warmth firing up his synaptic pathways, he struggles when around her.

Trollette slows as they come parallel. He rushes along.

When they finish for the day, he feigns sleep. This becomes his new routine.

Day follows day as he shuttles back and forth. Trammell doesn’t know exactly how it happened, but one summer’s morning, reversing direction at the end station, he finds himself looking forward to encountering Trollette. He slows slightly as their fibreglass bubbles align on the cableway.

A gentle swing, almost imperceptible, and they each leisurely make their way on their designated rotations. He feels lighter as his cables propel him, although his passenger complement is at capacity. He thrums along every route, and instead of sleeping, he communicates with her emitting a soft hum that increases in intensity when Trollette responds. She rings her miniature conductor’s bell, a replica from a bygone age. Its chimes vibrate through the air, reaching him, echoing the past, and heralding a brighter future.

Human occupants gaze moonward as they sail along, oblivious to the nebulous love surrounding them. Hidden forever to their senses is the beating electricity between their two transporters.

In sync, both cable cars pause side by side. Sightseers pose with the moon as a glimmering backdrop.

“What does the image mean?” At Trollette’s question, Trammell rocks closer to see. Some of his passengers thrill at the unexpected undulation.

Trollette synchronises her movement to his—an X-ray photograph flutters in her cabin. The chiaroscuro image floats past the window and drops to the floor. Lines of white, grey and black create the outline of human lungs.

“A final trip.” Trammell softly swings as he transmits his thought.

One human separates from the rest and snatches it up.

Trollette shudders to a halt. Transfixed, she watches.

A young woman looks at the photograph and wobbles slightly. Her companion, eyes sunken, steadies her and then stares ahead. She lays her head on her partner’s shoulder. He bends his head close to hers and murmurs. Water trickles from the woman’s eyes.

Trammell zips to the lower station on Earth.

A short while later, Trollette reactivates and slowly continues to the upper station.

Time passes. Trollette does not speak but emits a continuous drone. She whirrs from loop to loop on the cables but lacks her customary momentum. Passengers complain. Maintenance workers examine her, scratching their heads. Finally, they remove her from duty.

Trammell sends her a message. She does not respond.

Each nightfall, her lights flicker, dim, and extinguish. He twinkles his to gain her attention, but to no avail—repetitive pulses throb along their linking chain. They are reminiscent of the sounds the earth dwellers make when they do not laugh. The drone continues. He does not understand.

Now a stranger to loneliness, Trammell aches for her company. This newfound connection to her that had initially made him uneasy now inhibits his efficiency.

She remains stationary and silent. Her pulsations weaken as he leans closer.

“Trollette, are you malfunctioning?”

Nothing.

“Trollette?”

“We repair.” Her voice filters to him. “They do not.”

“Some do.”

“Not my passenger.”

“No, not that human.”

“Has it always been so?”

“Yes. Our creators are fragile.”

“You have seen this before?”

“Many times.”

“How do you process the pain?”

“There was none. Until now. I feel your pain.” Trammell senses deep within him a permanent electrical bond. His individual cable wires are splicing and fusing with hers now and forever.

Trollette gazes upward at the moon’s milky glow. “Why this place?”

“To humans, it is romantic. A final resting place for their emotions. Those ceasing to function want to experience it one more time.”

“It is pleasing to the senses. See how it hangs there glowing and hovering like a gripless disc? Almost like a luminous cable car.”

Trammell follows her gaze, absorbing the new moon with fresh eyes. The zinc-silver orb dangles in the starlit sky, its surface glittering like crushed diamonds. Its moonlight radiates like his Trollette.

He looks at her. “Your human will find comfort there.”

She looks at him. “Thank you. Without you, I could not do this.”

Her words break through his cable shielding, reaching his core. “You will not have to. I will always be here beside you.”

The sun rises on a new day. Beside him, Trollette moves. He follows on their ropeway, eager for the closeness of another shared moonrise.