In The Name of Science

In The Name of ScienceChapter One: The Science of Terminal Velocity     Falling....     I was falling.     Falling down.     Falling hard.     And falling fast. "Gaaaaaah! Ohgod ohgod ohgod ohgod!"     Old man Gravity yanked my body downward at the speed of a bullet. The wind whipped and roared around my ears like a hurricane with deafening noise, I wanted to cover them up, by my arms just flailed uselessly. The world was nothing but a colorful blur as I toppled end over end, the tears in my eyes obscured everything and rendered me nearly blind.     My brain rattled and bounced around like a meatball in a glass jar, muddling my thoughts and reverting them the to most basic of primal instincts. Falling bad. Falling scary. The G forces rushed up to meet me with the harsh power of a speeding semi truck, straining my body to near-painful levels.     The wind rushed past and ruffled my fur like a...     Wait.       My fur.     Fur.    What in the name of sweet baby Jesus in the cradle going on?! How did I get here?! Why the hell are my hands orange?!     Sadly, there was no time to dwell on that, for I was going to meet the ground in not too long, and then it'll be all over. The multitude of buildings below me grew in size at an alarming rate, soon I would scare the hell out of some guy by crashing through his roof in a bloody mess.         Death was coming for me, there was no doubt in my mind about that. Funny how I accepted it so quickly. I. Was. Going. To. Die. Just like that. I wondered if there really was a Grim Reaper waitng at the bottom, sharpening his sythe with a whetstone in anticipation of my arrival. Well, there's only one way to find out.     I never expected my life to flash before my eyes as I fell. I just thought that that was a folk tale, but apparently not.     My life went a little something like this...Cup of coffe and a cigarette. Cup of coffe and a cigarette. Cup of coffe and a cigarette. Cup of coffe cigarette. Cup of coffe and a cigarette. Almost got laid. Cup of coffe and a cigarette.     I'd like to say that I regret nothing, but that would be a lie. The amount of things on my bucket list that I had crossed off was pathetic, and there were so many things I wanted to do, places I wanted to go, people I wanted to meet. All of that was impossible now. Death had a funny way of making it hard to have fun.     Oh god, why was this happening to me? One moment I was in Central Park, and the next...Loading, please wait. . .     Central Park.     Oh, Central Park, how I loved thee. It was a much needed splash of wonderful color in a city otherwise filled with the dull shades of modern architecture. I loved the crowds of people of all races and genders lazing about the open areas on a Sunday afternoon. I loved the young fathers pushing their infants around in strollers, and the lovely ladies taking their spoiled dogs for a walk. I loved the nature, the grand old oak trees holding fast to the ground and the carefully manicured patches of flowers that I couldn't ever remember the names of. I even loved the ragged, unwashed panhandlers wandering about and muttering their warnings of the incoming apocalypse. Yes, even them.     It all added to the ambiance and sense of relaxation that emanated from every inch of the place. I loved everything about central park, and that is why I've always spent my weekends here.     That day, I was sitting on a ragged wrought iron bench, dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans, black fedora, and an old cotton hoodie. "Brrr..." I zipped up my hoodie, it was starting to get cold out here. The leaves on the trees had just started loosing their  green brilliance to make way for the reds, oranges, and yellows of Autumn days.     Carefully placed right next to me was a smooth black leather case, about four feet in length, that took up over half of the bench. It was bound shut by a brass three-number combination lock.     I eagerly slid the three numbers into place. One. Six. Two. Click. The case was opened, revealing the most valuable and cherished item on this whole planet and anywhere else in the galaxy.      An old six-string Gibson acoustic guitar, with bright orange finish that has faded to a shade of yellow after all those years of use.     I lifted the instrument gingerly out of it's case and slipped the leather strap over my head. It's familiar weight felt comfortable in my lap, almost like an extra limb that I had grown up with.     My fingers found their way to the coarse strings. Pluck. Thruummmmmm. The guitar sent a beautifully low note throughout the area, perfectly pitched. This baby needed no tuning, she was all fired up and ready to go.     First thing's first, I propped up the cardboard sign in my still open case, presenting it to the world. "College Fund" it read "Don't be stingy."     I took a deep, cleansing breath and peered around the sidewalks that winded their ways through the park.  A few people strolled by, giving me no more than a second glance. This would be a high-traffic area in an hour or so, making it an excellent place to preform.     And without further ado, I played.    My practiced hands danced around the strings with ease, filling the air with wonderful, wonderful music. I started off with a slow number to warm up, it was a nice little peice by an eighties band named Tesla. The song was called "What you Give." It was a ballad, plain and simple, about learing that life isn't the material things that you surround youself with, but the love that you give away to others. Whoever wrote it must have not had any money probelms in their life, because I'm more trouble by what I don't got than what I give.     On and on the guitar went. I recited the chords to that cherished piece with perfect rhythm and beat. The hollow sounds filled up this part of the park like a high-tide wave of music as my instrument sang it's longing song of love and joy. I, myself, did not sing with it. I didn't exactly have the best voice for solo singing, I was a baritone, and nothing but. If I tried singing higher, I would have sounded like Mickey Mouse trying to do covers of seventies and eighties tunes.      (I chuckled to myself at the thought of Disney's mascot trying to sing Panama, or something like that.)     Instead, I let my guitar be my voice. I let it wail it's hollow melodies when my vocal chords could not.      People who would have passed me by any other time suddenly stopped when my music caught their ears. Their trains of thought were derailed as they put their lives on hold to take a moment to listen. Some of those people stopped by to say hello, and comment on my playing. Some of them even left a pocket full of change or a dollar bill in my case before they went away. I would smile and quietly thank them for their donations.      The song ended. So I chose another. This one was a little harder, it was Fleetwood Mac's Never Going Back Again, one of my personal favorites.     The New Yorkers came and went like they always did. Stop. Listen. Chat. Money. Leave. This was my usual Sunday afternoon routine, I've been doing it for around three years since I got that office job up town. Three years... still didn't stop being fun. Even more fun than my times with MLP, and that's saying a lot.     A short, three-year-old girl with very curly blonde hair and her much taller mother passed me by. I saw the girl's eyes widen in interest the second they came within earshot, she slipped her tiny hand from her mother's and wandered over to me.     I said nothing and politely smiled at her as I played on, she smiled back with a grin that was a few teeth short.     "Thas pretty." the child said simply.      "It takes a lot of practice." I stated matter-of-factly, not breaking the song's beat "Been doing it all my life."     "I'm sure it does." her mom said humorously just as she caught up with her energetic kid. She stopped and put her hands on her hips "My name's Catherine, this is my little girl, Naomi."     "Hello, Catherine." I said absentmindedly. I turned my gaze down to the little girl with a finger in her mouth, and with a much friendlier tone I said "Hello, Naomi. I'm Silus."     Naomi gave me another adorably toothless smile and waved at me, even though I was only a foot away "Hi, Siluz."     I'll be damned if that wasn't the cutest thing I've ever seen.     Catherine's eyes darted to my case, and then back to me "Attending college, are you?"     "Hold on..." There was only a few notes left in the song, I quickly finished it so I could have a proper conversation with the ladies.     I set the old Gibson to the side "No, I'm not a college boy, not yet anyway. I'm not exactly bright enough or good enough at a sport for a huge scholarship fund, and not a single person in my family can afford to send me anywhere nice." I shrugged "So, here I am. Paying for it on my own."     The woman nodded sagely "Yeah, I know what that's like--" she inclined her head to Naomi "--Had to put cosmetology school on hold so I could take care of this little ball of energy."     I opened my mouth to say something, but my words left me and I instead decided to keep on playing guitar. This next one was a random salsa dance-type peice that I found on the internet, it was pretty fast and hard to play, but it was oh so satisfying when I hit the notes perfectly.      To my suprise, little Naomi was dancing and jumping around when I started playing, but not to the beat. Normal Kids never seem to have a sense of rhythm, they just dance because it was a good excuse to move around wildly. And it was freaking adorable, to boot.     Naomi giggled as she spun around. It seemed that laughter was indeed contagious, and she soon had her mother and I giggling along with her.     Catherine checked her watch and flashed and apologetic look at me "Sorry, gotta go, I'm almost late for yoga." She took Naomi's hand in her own "Come on, Sweetie."     "Mmkay." the daughter hummed, she turned to wave at me again "Bye-bye!"     I smiled and waved back "Bye."     The tall woman cracked a small smile at me and gingerly dropped a handful of copper and nickel jinglies in to the leather case "See you later." she said, already starting off in a random direction.      I tipped my black felt fedora at her "Thank'ee, ma'am, I'm here every Saturday."     She stopped mid-stride and turned to me "Well, I'll probably be here around the same time next week. We'll stop by again when we get the chance, okay?"     I gave her a casual wave "Sure, see ya 'round."Loading, please wait. . .     Fluttershy had been having a very pleasant time on that particular morning in Ponyville.     The yellow mare marveled at the extent of beauty contained in the town's outskirts as she did most days. She enjoyed the peaceful nature of her little sanctuary,  much like I had enjoyed Central Park. Of course, it was mostly Fluttershy's doing that the area around her cottage was a botanical garden of vividly colored plants and animals, unlike the aforementioned park. The mare took tremendous pride in caring for the animals of Ponyville, most of witch lived at or around her house.  Fluttershy's front lawn was dominated with rabbit warrens, bird houses, and a clear blue stream filled with numerous species of fish that cut through the property.       It was all thanks to the shy little pegasus that these critters had happy, healthy lives. Or else they'd be in Ponyville knocking over garbage cans and skittering through the streets looking for food and shelter. She was  keeping all the animals at bay from the uptight citizens of that town as much as she was taking care of them.     For her, it was just another pleasant, sunshiny day to bask in.     Right up until I arrived.     In the distance, a small flicker of unusual movement caught the eyes of Fluttershy. It was coming from the east, it seemed to her to be the silhouette of some kind of bird, perhaps a hawk. The form was descending slowly, momets away from touching the horizon line.     Is it a bird?  she thought No, that couldn't be. Birds fly straight, not fall down. Is it plane? Wait, what's a plane? Fluttershy was unsure why that thought entered her mind. Perhaps she had heard that strange word some where before, but she couldn't recall where from.     With a mental shrug, Fluttershy reached for a pair of conveniently placed bird-watching binoculars and peered through them.     The realization hit the mare like a runaway carriage as soon as the form became clear. That was no bird, it didn't have wings. That means it wasn't meant to fly, and it was falling...     Falling down.     Falling hard.     And falling fast.     "Oh, no."     Fluttershy did not think. Fluttershy did not hesitate. Fluttershy just acted. Her hooves were off the ground before she even knew her wings were flapping.Loading, please wait. . .     Back in the park, things had taken a turn for the freaky.     There he stood not feet away from me, a creepy middle-aged man. He had a head of black hair with flecks of grey in it that receded to the back of his skull. A pair of thick glasses were perched atop his narrow nose, enlarging his eyes to comical levels. The old man wore a casual grey business suit with a bright orange tie that starkly contrasted with the rest of his clothes. He spoke softly, I mused his voice to be akin to that of Fluttershy's, but a little deeper and more masculine. And he definitely wasn't as shy.     In his cracked hand, the man held some kind of orb, around the size of a head and shaped like the egg of a chicken. This curious object was made from a metal that I had never in all my life seen before, it had the dull brown color of bronze, yet it glittered and shone in the sunlight like a bar of gold. The object was inscribed with runic symbols all over, the glyphs were arranged into some kind of pattern that looked like a language. Never before had I seen letters like this.     I eyed the orb warily "So you're giving me...this...thing. Just like that. "     The man nodded sagely "Just like that."     "All because you...you like my music, you're offering me a family heirloom that's worth more than I could imagine?"     "Consider it an investment for the future." the man said with a trace of humor in his voice.     "What's the catch?" Nothing in life is free. Nothing. That's something any New Yoker knows for sure. There's always an angle, always fine print at the bottom of the page.  This had to be a scam.     "The catch is," the old man began "We invest into your future, and you come work for us."     I knew there was a catch, but..."Who the heck is "us?" and what kind of work?" I was pretty willing to quit my current crappy job for something a little more substantial. And hey, you never know where a good job could come from in today's economy.      The man looked hesitant. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts before answering "I guess you could call us--" he stopped to search for the right word "--a team. A research team, dedicated to the pursuit of scientific discovery."     Scientists? "What does a group of science-types need with me? I'm going to college to get a freakin' degree in theater, not like aerospace engineering or something."     "Ohh..." he droned "We need someone with a more...artistic mind to help us. Someone with a fresh outlook on things."     Artistic? Fresh outlook? I can do that. "Well...I guess I'm pretty artsy. I can't tell you jack-shit about that higher level science stuff, but I can give you some damn fine advice on your fanfics." Heh heh heh."Fanfi--?" the unnamed man began, but let his voice trail off "Ah, I get it. A joke. Wonderful. Yes yes, I think you'll do just fine for the position."     I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose "What position? You still haven't told me what this job entails."     "I guess you could call it..." the man rolled his free hand around in a circular motion as he searched for the right word "Field work. You'll be the one collecting data directly from the environment and we'll be working in the backround interpreting that data and turning into fact."     Environment, he said. Like, out in nature? This guy must of been one of those eco-nut conservationist types. I could definitely get behind that, a break from the concrete roads and the skyscrapers of the Big Apple would be nice and refreshing, especially if I was to go out and do science-ey stuff for the good of the planet.     "Sooo--" I droned "Exactly where would I be doing my work?"     I almost didn't catch the ghost of a smile that appeared on his face, it was so subtle. "Ohhh..." he began "You'll be working in a very nice place, I'm sure that you know it well. It's a little country called Equestria."    Oh that's nice. Without warning, he tossed that bronze orb at me. Thinking fast, I caught the gleaming trinket in both hands before it impacted into my face. Wow, this thing was heavier than I-     "Wait, Equestria?" I asked just as Mr. Realization smacked me upside the head "THE Equestria?"     Before I could ask more questions and that old dude could give me an ambiguous answer, a silent flash of pure whiteness filled my eyes, washing away everything else in a wave of colorless oblivion.     And then I was falling.          Falling down.          Falling hard.     And falling fast.Loading, please wait. . .     I was out of breath. The combination of my incessant screaming and the G forces pressing on my lungs had knocked the wind out of me. All I could do was cough and hack and wait for my body to meet the dirt. I wondered if I had reached that thing where you can't fall any faster and you're at maximum speed. What was it called again? Terminal something-or-other. Eh, I guess I'll ask that guy standing at the Pearly Gates when I get there.     Then, just as suddenly as I started, I was no longer falling. I was snatched up by something else that was flying through the air, creating a jerking sensation no unlike that of being tackled by the world's biggest linebacker. The linebacker creature pressed me to its warm, and surprisingly soft, body as it flew on.     It's not true how they say that time "slows down" in traumatic high-adrenaline situations. In fact, it actually feels sped up. Minutes turn into seconds and seconds turn into milliseconds. That's what happened when whatever-that-thing-was grabbbed me. Time passed like a speeding car.     After a second, we must have hit the ground, because I felt the world roll and tumble around like it was caught in some cosmic washing machine. And then, after the washing machine had stopped, all was still. Thank god.     I was too disoriented to tell what had grabbed me, all it seemed like was a blur of pink and yellow mixed with the blue of the sky and the green of the ground. In fact, I was also too disoriented to give a damn about it either. All I know was that the falling has stopped, it was replaced by sweet, sweet stillness.     The thing that grabbed me moved onto its back and released me its tight grasp. I rolled limply on to the grass. Ahh grass, lovely,  scratchy green plants. Grass grew on land, and that meant I was no longer free falling. I was alive.     Wow....I mean, wow! I was... I WAS ALIVE! Alive alive alive! Hah hah ha! I fell from, like, a million feet up, but now I'm in the dirt without a scratch on me. Yeah! Gravity shall not take me this day. I would have celebrated, but I was too exhausted to even speak. My body just moved limply like a piece of putty, my limbs were jelly, and my head was swimming with dizziness. But that didn't matter. Why? Because I was alive! Wheeee!     "Ohmygosh, are you okay?" came a sweet feminine voice from above me with a mildly exausted tone. Well, at least I think it came. Honestly, it could have been my brain playing tricks on me. I made no response.     "Uhm, hey. Excuse me." the same voice said.     I felt something big and cold press against my side, it nudged me like you would nudge someone to wake up. "Hello? Oh no, please don't be dead."     "Mmnnnghh..." I grumbled, offering the owner of that voice the best reply I could manage, eliciting a high pitched gasp from the (I'm going to take a long shot here and say that it was a girl.) girl     My eyes were fighting my brain for the right to stay closed, but the brain always ruled supreme the body, and my eyes fluttered open dutifully.      What I saw was not was not a girl. In the noun sense of the word, anyway. She was a she, but not a girl girl. No, what I saw was the big cyan blue eyes, yellow fur, and pink mane of (You guessed it!) Fluttershy.     Fluttershy.     I was face-to-face with Fluttershy herself. What I thought had been a fictional, yet beloved character of a fictional tv show set in a fictional world with fictional talking ponies was now invading my personal space, looking deep into my eyes, and was breathing heavily like she had run a marathon.      And you know what? Her breath smelled terrible.