Chapter 1: A Life is not Important...
“Number 34. You’re up.”
Flight Path took a deep breath and let it out in a slightly panicked sigh. Of course, now was the perfect time for nerves to set in. Not when he had to argue his way into the locker room. Not when he had to ignore the stares. Now. When all he needed to do was take a few steps forward.
Truly, this was how legends were made. It was something he’d tell his grandfoals, in the unlikely event that he had any.
“That’s right. I stood there like a spooked deer for a few hours. Couldn’t even step outside to face failure.”
What an inspiration he would be. The first changeling washout…
He blinked as he realized something. When did he become concerned about being an inspiration? Sure, it was important that so many others looked up to him. He was taking the first step towards something great, and the next generation of changelings would follow in his hoofsteps. Yet, that wouldn’t affect how he did on the field today. In that moment, the outside world didn’t matter.
And this doubt, where did that come from? He knew his limits. He knew how much work he’d put into training for this day. He knew that he was going to step through that curtain and awe the ponies out there.
“Come on! We don’t have all day.”
All he had to do was step forward. Any moment now. He just needed a second to psyche himself up.
“If you aren’t out there in the next 10 seconds, you forfeit your spot immediately.”
Screaming, inwardly, he jogged outside. His ears flattening as he was nearly deafened by the noise of the crowd. He noticed a dip in the sound as ponies turned their attention, from the finishing pegasus, to the new changeling that stepped forward.
To their credit, they didn’t start jeering him. Unfortunately, that fact didn’t stop his heart from fluttering in fear. What was he doing here again?
Oh yeah. He gazed at the Wonderbolts, seated directly in the middle of the course. They were still watching the previous pegasus finish off his audition. That’s why, he thought as he flared his insect like wings.
Even in their usual attire, he couldn’t miss that brief look of dubiousness that crossed some muzzles when they turned his way. Fiery pride welled up inside of him, burning away the fear. This was his course, and he was going to own it.
He began revving his wings, slowly building up the speed until he was using about half of his maximum. He didn’t want to burn himself out before it had even begun. Lucky Clover raised the flag beside him, a stopwatch in his other hoof.
There was a tense, nerve wracking, second before the flag dropped and Flight launched himself from the cloud balcony. Darting forward like a large black dart. The buzz of his wings just barely louder than the roar of the wind in his ears.
The first obstacle, the cloud rings. Designed to force the contestant to fly in a tight and controlled stream.
The first thing he’d ever worked on was control. He didn’t like the way he hovered, always rising and lowering with what felt like the smallest shifts in wing speed. He set targets, slowly decreasing the distance between them and himself, and forced himself to fly without touching them.
The only difference between that and this was the path itself. The clouds curved upwards, meaning he would be shifting from horizontal to a near vertical flight. Nothing too difficult, but not something he had specifically trained in.
The first three rings were wide enough for him to showboat a bit. This was a performance after all. Quick spins as he passed each ring were enough to wow a few of the spectators. But he stopped well before he got to any of the tighter rings. Choosing to build up his speed to compensate for the smaller wing beats he’d soon be forced to perform.
He tucked his legs in and brought his head down. His wings buzzed in tighter circles, but he kept his speed as he lifted. He tensed up as each ring got smaller, trying to make himself as small as possible. He kept himself level hooves just barely skimming the cloud rings. It was then that he realized he was a hair too low. No time to correct it now, he simply hoped he wouldn’t crash through the next ring.
He made it through while clipping the very edge of the circle. Small cloud puffs spilled behind him as he leveled off.
Keep moving, he told himself sternly. His eyes locked on the floating platform several feet below him. This would test both his instincts, power, and his knowledge of his own limits. Something he was well acquainted with, having pushed himself to, and over, his limit much too often when he had first begun training. That was back when he had no idea what he was doing. Before his coach had taken him under her wing.
He dived. Completely vertical in his drop. This time the wind was louder than his buzzing, nearly deafening him. As much as it burned, he forced his eyes to stay open. Only blinking when it became absolutely necessary. He counted out the closing distance in his head.
15.
12.
9.
7!
He began lifting his upper body as he spread his wings wide. The strain it put on his thin, membrane wings was painful, but bearable. He buzzed at a breakneck speed, launching himself forward, horizontally, even as he continued to descend. Unfortunately, It wasn’t enough, and he had to take an extra few seconds to stabilize just a few inches above the ground. He grunted and pushed himself, intent on making up for lost time.
The last, and arguably most important, test. Creativity. The Wonderbolts were performers as much as they were military. One needed a mind that could see the possibilities if they wanted to be a valuable member the team.
And of course, he’d need to prove his skills as a competent flyer. Pulling out of a bad move was just as important as pulling off a good one. Staying alert to his surroundings was necessary.
These thoughts raced through Flight’s mind as he zipped forward, passing over the Wonderbolt judges with hardly a second glance. A plan was already forming in his head. He wanted to show off his agility. His best trait. He formed the path in his mind. Tight turns, quick spin, push off of one cloud column into another, and from there he looped back around.
He was hardly aware that he had even started. In his mind he was still processing what his plan was, while his body was only a step behind in his actions. There were a few mistakes. He had to make a tight swerve to pull out of a botched flip. Not to mention his wing clipping the side of the arena, the resulting spin-out was hard to recover from.
His finish was simple. He tucked his wings mid-flight and threw his upper body forwards. He closed his eyes as he rolled in the air, opening them only when he felt his hooves slam into the final cloud platform.
Then, it was over.
Talon’s face fell as he read the letter.
“Flight,” he said, sadly. “I’m so sorry…”
Trying not to let his disappointment show, Flight simply smiled and turned away.
"I know it's hard..." His husband continued. The gryphon reached out to take Flight's hoof, and squeezed it comfortingly "And I know how upset you are. But you're going to have to get over it. You can’t be too busy missing me if you don't want the Wonderbolts kicking you out on your first day!"
As the changeling realized he had been played, Talon leaped across the table and pulled him into a tight hug.
"Why you little!" Flight growled as his shock dissipated. He squirmed in the hug, trying to get a hoof free to throttle the hybrid. The avian, cackling like a howlite hyena, simply tilted his beak and whispered into the ear of the changeling. As he spoke Flight stopped struggling. His eyes widened in surprise and he felt a blush color his cheeks. As he nodded, wordlessly, his husband grinned and flicked at the bugs muzzle with his tail before slinking past. Flight stayed in the kitchen for a moment longer before following to the bedroom.
“Don’t tell me that’s all you got, Buggie!” Spitfire yelled as Flight sped past at his top speed. “Come on, let’s pick up the pace here!”
He gave a shuddering sigh before pushing his wings even further, his eyes fixed ahead and trying to ignore the glances he got from the other Wonderbolts.
“Kick your legs up a bit more, straighten your back,” a voice advised. Following the instructions, without turning his head, he felt his drag lessen immensely. Flight breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thanks, Soarin’” Flight Path panted. “You know I used to think you guys just flew in circles all day?”
The pegasus laughed as they rounded the corner at the far end of the track. “Not sure where you got that impression. Ovals work best.”
“It gets easier as the days go by,” he assured as Flight began to lag behind. He moved in front of the changeling and let him fly in his slipstream. “Soon you’ll probably be outstripping even me.”
“Soarin’ get your flank in gear! Double time, let’s go!”
The pegasus mumbled something under his breath before turning away. “Keep your head up, brother!” he shouted, giving one last encouraging grin before he sped off.
Unfortunately, what little encouragement he garnered from his fellow Wonderbolt was offset by how quickly he was left behind. Flight sighed again and, despite the burning pain in his wings, kicked his speed up one more notch. His body screamed at him.
If I’m going to crash, he thought. I’m going to be completely spent when I do.
He buzzed harder, earning a few impressed looks from the pegasi surrounding him as his speed went beyond what even he thought was possible for his body. He knew he’d pay for it later, but that was a price could accept.
“Ms Spitfire, I thank you for taking the time to see me. Though I’m afraid I can’t claim to bring good news…”
“I’ve had my ears out for a while, I’ve heard the complaints.”
“Then you understand the gravity of the situation?”
“...Not entirely.”
“Pardon?”
Spitfire turned away from the window and sat down behind her desk. Removing her sunglasses slowly, she crossed the legs before placing them directly in the middle of her desk. She put her hooves together and sighed, not liking what she was about to do, but liking the alternative even less.
“Perhaps you can help a tired old mare understand? Explain to me exactly what the concerns of the public are.”
The politician blinked before rubbing at his neck awkwardly. “Well, it’s rather simple. Some ponies fear that the changeling may have cheated his way through testing.”
“And why exactly?” She asked, raising eyebrow.
“Well,” the stallion coughed. “He is a magic user. And there is no guarantee that an inhibitor spell would work on him.”
“And why is that?”
“Well… it’s because he’s a changeling, so far we don’t know how much an inhibitor prevents his magic.”
Spitfire was silent for a moment, then she breathed a sigh and placed her hooves on her desk.
“Let me ask you a question, Mr. Interests. If Twilight Sparkle wanted to compete for the chance to be a Wonderbolt, do you think the public would have a problem with it?”
The chocolate brown stallion blinked. “Of course not. After all she’s done for Equestria—”
“What about Discord?” Spitfire interrupted.
The politician paused. “Well, it would be hard for most ponies to be receptive to the idea at first, but given time…” He trailed off. An inkling of understanding was just out of reach.
“Let me explain something to you, Senator.” Spitfire said, harshly. She stood and leaned forward on her desk. “And you can quote me with that camera you’re hiding in your pocket for the press.”
“Twilight Sparkle, Discord, and the member of my squad, currently on the field, all have something in common, magic that is either above, or on another level than, that of unicorns. Who the inhibitor spell was designed for.”
“All I meant was that the spell might not completely block the magic of the changeling. And, if he wanted, he could find a way around it.”
“That would be true whether the spell works on him or not!” Spitfire growled. “And no pony seemed to question the effectiveness of the suppression charms they used to wear.”
The tension was palpable as both parties glared at each other. But the politician couldn’t hold the stare.
“Let me make something clear," she said coldly as she seated herself. "That changeling, the one who’s name you refuse to use. The one who is out there, right now, doing extra training to prove to me, and to himself, that he belongs here.”
“He stays,” she continued. Her tone brooked no argument. “I don’t care what the public says about my team or about me, as long as we keep doing our jobs."
"Now, I have quite a bit of paperwork to get through." She grabbed a stack and lowered her eyes, effectively making her guest feel invisible. "I assume you know the way to the door.”
And with a loud slam, her office was empty.
