The Arcturiad: Long Flight

The most striking thing about Canterlot on a hot summer day was the way the gold-topped spires glinted in the noon sun. Walking around the streets, one could completely forget the grinding calamity of war that plagued Equestria. The occasional uniformed soldier milled around with the endless amount of ponies. It was market day, with merchants barking advertisements at unassuming pedestrians. Royal Guards stood with the pretense of watching for changeling spies, but were simply there to occasionally clear the streets and allow carts and carriages passage through the crowded market square.

A train was pulling into the grand station in the center of the great city. A grey steam locomotive pulled wooden freight cars that groaned with cargo of all kinds up to a rickety loading dock. Porters and teamsters immediately went to work; opening the doors and unloading the cargo before the engineer could even get up from the simple folding stool he had set up in the control room of the engine. An earth pony stood in one of the cars, gathering his various trunks and suitcases. He was an officer dressed in full military regalia, not just the common fatigues of a soldier on leave. The pony set his belongings carefully on the platform, hopped down from the car, and expectantly observed the station around him.

The earth pony had a coat as grey as the leaden sky on an overcast day. His cutie mark, a pair of interlocking gears, sat squarely in the middle of his flank. He stood tall, not a slouching bone in his body, and had perpetually raised eyebrows above squinting eyes. He was, as most ponies were in those days, unbearably cynical. Only an oppressive siege of insurmountable evidence and the endless battering of good argument were able to leave a dent on the citadel of his suspicions. He felt an ever-increasing sense of annoyance as he shifted his gaze to the watch near his hoof.

“I swear” The pony muttered, “The train’s the only thing that runs on time in Canterlot.”

His eyes snapped to a splotchy brown pony holding a sign cardboard sign still dripping wet with black tar-like paint. Upon it, the large, bold letters read:
“COLONEL GIZMO TECH”

Gizmo released a sigh of relief and began hauling his belongings towards the teamster, who rushed to meet him.

“So you’s the colonel?” The teamster asked, the words leaking through the gaps in between his sparse teeth.

“Yeah.” Gizmo replied. “I suppose it was wishful thinking that the Brigadier General would send a military escort my way.”

“Naw, sir! You was lucky you got me!” the teamster threw in a toothy grin that had far too much gum and too little tooth.

“Alright then, better make the best out of it. Mind helping me with these bags?”

“No problem sir!”

They loaded the baggage onto the cart and the teamster hitched himself. Gizmo was about to climb in when the teamster let out a sharp whistle.

“Hey, I get paid before every ride.”

“Your fare hasn’t already been paid?”

“Naw, your boss said you was gonna pay me.”

Gizmo rolled his eyes, money was already tight, and much of the payroll budget for officers had been transferred for the upkeep of raw recruits. He sat down and opened his untouched coat, the medals and buttons shined to mirror-like perfection, retrieving a small leather coin pouch. Ten bits were traded between the two, and the teamster’s tone became much more amicable.

“Alright, you hop up now. I’m supposed to take you straight to your hotel.”

Gizmo climbed onto the wagon. There were no seats or cushions, so he balanced himself precariously on one of his larger trunks. The cart pulled forward with a jolt, almost making Gizmo fall from his makeshift perch.

“You alright back there?” the teamster asked. “I recon I move a little too fast for some of my passengers.”

“I’m fine.” Gizmo replied briskly

The crowd of ponies flowed around the cart like a multi colored sea, ripples being created with every single turn of a head. The teamster hawked obscenities that could make even a military stallion like Gizmo squirm, and a path through the madness of the rush-hour crowd formed. They got out of the station without too many difficulties and were soon under the comforting blanket of a blue sky. Surprisingly, the streets were actually less packed than the inside of the station.

The warmth of the sun blanketed the ponies in the street. It was the kind of heat that wrapped its arms lovingly around all under the open sky. It allowed the wearing of the loose, trendy garments of summer. As Gizmo was carried down the street he looked around, eyes drawn towards the vibrant colors of the stalls and storefronts. The blatant resplendence of Canterlot caused a knot to curl up in the base of his stomach. Their flamboyant nonchalance grated against every part of Gizmo’s being.

He knew that the ponies here, unless some calamity befell the Equestrian Armed Forces, would never need to worry about a trip to the killing fields of Olenia, the homeland of the deer that the Changelings had invaded a few years prior, where the bloody alleyways Vaverfront would claim thousands just for one side to gain a devastated tenant or bombed-out bunker. The ones with wealth abundant enough to live here would never need to worry about the draft, even if their names were called up. Their friends in high places would simply withdraw the draft notices, often without any sort of justification.

Gizmo himself had been stationed in the area surrounding Vanhoover, a city that had once been a bustling center for commerce and innovation on the eastern border of Equestria. The changeling threat had always loomed out there; the city was one of the closest to Queen Chrysalis’ lands. But even after the attack on Canterlot that had so nearly toppled all of Equestria, the ponies of Vanhoover remained uncannily apathetic. For them, their country’s near demise had simply been a headline that had only lasted a few days. Nopony cared until the shells as dense as cinderblocks began to fall like deathly rain from the ashen grey skies.

Now, Vanhoover was a husk of its formal self. Only soldiers made camp within the dilapidated buildings and murky sewers of city. Combat between the Changelings and Equestrians was only a few miles outside, gunshots and explosions could be heard at all hours of the day. Personnel of both sides were only able to slip into dreamless, crushing sleep out of pure exhaustion. The sweeping fields outside the city were flat as a plate, perfect for the airbase that Gizmo worked at.

The teamster turned his head back to look Gizmo up and down, perhaps skeptical of his motives “How did the war get you?” he asked

Gizmo sighed. “It didn’t. The military paid for college. It wouldn’t have been easy on the pocketbooks otherwise.”

“I see.” The teamster turned back towards the road in front of him.

Gizmo had graduated early, not because he had some drastically higher degree of intelligence than the rest of his peers, but because the Changelings had just invaded Olenia and the military was already understaffed. He was immediately plopped in a research lab stuffed with scientists and engineers of all walks of life. Their purpose was to bring mechanical flight to the Royal Equestrian Air Force, so pegasi could be distributed amongst the other branches of the military.

They succeeded in producing the first fighters, thanks in no small part to the many sleepless nights Gizmo spent alone in the library. There had been a large jamboree in celebration of their momentous feat; every single pony in a leadership position had attended. The music was playing so loud that nopony could hear the air raid sirens blaring outside the base. When the bomb punched through the roof and detonated in the middle of the dance floor, those that weren’t immediately incinerated were crushed under a mountain of rubble. There were no survivors.

After the condolence letters were sent and state funerals concluded, Gizmo was commissioned as an officer and given several promotions. He had decided not to attend the party that night, instead he was reading in his room when the alarm was called. There was nopony else alive with the experience needed to keep the airplane research moving forward. During his brief time in officer training, he was informed that he was the first earth pony to hold a leadership position within the army. This surprised him, but he was too busy dodging the open hostility and the steely looks of other new officers to take much pride in his accomplishment.

The town passed the cart by in a myriad of colors, each individual detail clamoring for attention. The pastel of the shopping districts gave way to a dirty brown, as the cart began to drive deep into the heart of the slums. There was almost nopony out on the streets. Ponies that were trudging about on the dirty cobblestones hid their faces and rushed past the cart, the sight of Gizmo’s crisp uniform draining any of the remaining color from their faces. Gizmo shifted in his seat, bringing one of his suitcases close to his chest.

“How far away is the hotel?” Gizmo asked the teamster

“Oh, taint far from ere’. Yer boss said he wanted me to bring you somewhere that was close to the recruitment office.”

The cart stopped in front of a rickety brown building with all the windows above the first floor barricaded with crude wood planks. On the first floor, the windows were so clouded with dirt that they obscured the entire interior from the gaze of one attempting to peek inside. Beams supporting a shambled overhanging roof were detailed with faded paint, fine depictions of flowers and grass claimed by the relentless battering of the elements. The teamster stopped suddenly, inertia carrying the majority of Gizmo’s luggage, and Gizmo himself, to the front of the cart.

“This is where I leave you, colonel.” The teamster said “I hope you have yerself a nice evening.”

The two unloaded the cart without exchanging any more words. With a quick nod, the teamster was off disappearing behind one of the brown corners. Gizmo dragged his luggage to the patio of the hotel. Above his head, a dated sign depicted a yellowed shield with the words “The Steadfast Guardsman” under it. Gizmo slowly opened the door, the rust on its hinges screaming in resistance

On the inside, the hotel was no more impressive. The dirty windows only let a marginal amount of light into what one could assume used to be a grand reception area. A gilded chandelier hung from the rotting ceiling, all traces of luster stripped from the gold leafing. Ornate oil lamps with stained glass shades sat gloomily in the corners, adorned with sheets of lacey spider-web. The tablecloths and rugs were either rolled up and covered with flimsy paper or scattered around the room, moth eaten.

In the front of the room, a stallion was behind an aged oak clerk’s desk. He was ancient, predating the cobwebs and ruin of the hotel. His mane was overrun with grey hairs and revealed sporadic bald patches. A youthful glint was smothered in his deeply sunken, baggy eyes. There was an old ledger in front of him, bound with a heavy iron clasp. He looked up and saw Gizmo standing in the doorway, his eyes widening in horror. “Oh please!” he screamed “Don’t send me out there again! I’ve already done my service but I lost my release certificate! Please! Please!” he began weeping profusely.

Gizmo rolled his eyes and trotted over to the stallion.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m not from the recruitment office.”

The stallion still wept, he was now shaking violently. Gizmo gently put his hoof on the stallion’s shoulder. “You’re having a panic attack, it’s alright. It’s alright.” He softly crooned. “Breathe with me.” He began taking deep breaths, raising and lowering his hoof in a methodic fashion.

The two sat on the floor for a while, the stallion taking shaky breaths along with Gizmo. Eventually, the sobbing subsided, the old stallion wiping his bloodshot eyes.

“Thank you for that.” the stallion said. “The day I got drafted was the worst day of my life. I honestly think it would be better if I had dropped dead on the spot.”

Gizmo recognized the detached look in his eyes. That awful stare where soldiers home from war get caught in the unmatchable horror of the past, with the unending trepidation that one might need to go back. Gizmo handed a small metal canteen over and after a few sips, the stallion was finally able to calm down. He pulled himself off of the floor and leaned against the clerk’s desk. “Haven’t had booze that good since before the war” he mused. “Where did you get it?”

“I’ve been saving up my emergency rations. They’re supposed to be for before battles, but I didn’t see much combat out there.”

“Lucky bastard.” The stallion muttered, “I never got why they gave officers emergency rations. Haven’t met one yet that’s had to fire a gun.”

“Neither have I.” Gizmo replied. “To be honest with you, I’ve never actually seen a changeling before.”

The old stallion grumbled at that before pushing himself up off the floor. Despite the short distance between him and the desk, it looked like he was trying to climb a mountain. His face was contorted in intense concentration, with tiny winces of pain whenever he took a weighted step. The old stallion had now collected himself, and opened his ledger. “Now uh… How can I help you?”

“I need a room.” Gizmo replied

“Well good news for you, I got just one left.”

Bits changed hooves and the old stallion dropped a rusty key onto the dusty table. “There you go” the stallion said “Room’s on the second floor, they’re numbered so you should be able to find it pretty easily.”

“Thanks.” Gizmo replied

“Don’t mention it.” The stallion sat down and began reading a newspaper, ignoring Gizmo as he ascended the stairwell with his copious amounts of luggage.

As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, Gizmo let out a cacophonous sneeze. He waved his hoof around in a futile attempt to dispel the specks of dirt that were drifting about in the air. The hallway around him was decorated with ornate and intricate, albeit dirty paintings. An assortment of dried up and withering potted plants sat on antique tables. Gizmo counted the room numbers as he made his way down the hall. Brown tarnish was slowly enveloping the gold of the number plaques.

Finally, Gizmo reached his room. He had to jiggle the key for a considerable amount of time before the lock was willing to open. The room was relatively tidy, all things considered. A layer of dust coated everything in sight. He placed all his suitcases on the bed and opened a large trunk. A few shirts were moved to reveal a brown folder. Gizmo opened the folder and pulled out a flimsy letter.

“Colonel Tech.” the letter began. “The Ministry of War is pleased to inform you that the recent passing of Major General Lightwing has opened an opportunity for your promotion. We are allowing for three weeks of leave from your current post so that you can travel to our central recruitment office in Canterlot. There, you will be evaluated against other candidates for promotion. Enclosed with this letter is the necessary paperwork you will need to complete in order to submit an application. We hope this correspondence finds you in good health and eagerly await your arrival.”

Scanning through the letter, Gizmo found the address and time he was supposed to arrive. He looked up at the clock, which was miraculously still working. “Shit. Have to be there in 20 minutes” he muttered before collapsing on the bed. He allowed himself to lie there for the briefest of times, drawing abstract shapes from the splotches of mold on the ceiling. He peeled himself off of the bed and dusted off his uniform. He had to dig through the pile of luggage to find the briefcase he packed with all of the necessary paperwork. After he undid the clasp, he made sure that there were no unnecessary crinkles on any of the papers and slipped the invitation into the envelope next to a copy of his birth certificate.

He slipped his briefcase into his saddlebag and set off. The stallion at the desk had disappeared and an “out to lunch” sign had taken his place. Gizmo stepped out onto the deserted street and made his way to the street corner. Other than the odd pedestrian that scampered to get out of his way, Gizmo proceeded without interruption. The street seemed to get dirtier as he approached the gilded doors of the recruitment office. Around the front of the building, the hedges were high and neatly landscaped. The only way to actually see into the compound was through the open wrought iron gate.

Two marble statuettes of the Equestrian princesses flanked the doorway, staring down at Gizmo as he passed through. Inside the recruitment office, there was a flurry of activity. Bureaucrats and soldiers alike mingled together as the stomach of the war effort digested its food. He made his way past dozens of tall filing cabinets containing the name and status of every single pony drafted and their assigned posts. An army of typists hammered away on their typewriters, futilely attempting to keep up with the overwhelming amount of paperwork.

Gizmo found Brigadier General Lightningcloud’s office at the very back of the building. In front of it, there was an assistant’s desk with a largely uninterested mare behind it. She gestured to Gizmo, signaling that he could enter the office. The Brigadier General was a large, gruff looking pegasus with a significant amount of gravel to his voice. His coat was stone grey, and he had a black mane. He sat hunched over his desk, poring over the multifarious papers that covered it in a lake of egg white.

“Well Colonel, I suppose you’re here to turn in the application. Like we don’t have enough paperwork already.”

“You know me sir, just here to make life easier.” Gizmo replied sardonically

“Just give me the damn papers, Colonel.” Lightningcloud growled.

“Your wish is my command, your excellency.” With that, Gizmo gently laid the papers out on the desk and took a deep bow.

Gizmo turned to leave before Lightningcloud stopped him. “Just a second Colonel, I haven’t dismissed you yet” he sneered. “I just thought you would like to know how unlikely it is that you are going to receive this promotion. Nopony has ever skipped a rank before.” He let out a brief chuckle. “Plus, I hear the advancement exam is the hardest it’s ever been this year.”

“Well then” Gizmo replied “I guess that’s just some nice personal leave time for me.”

“Not quite, I’ve been looking for an officer to perform a civilian interview. A griffon almost died from exhaustion, dropped out of the sky faster than some of your first flying machines.” Lightningcloud chuckled again “She claims to be a messenger, but she isn’t on any of our payrolls. The doctors and I are inclined to think it’s insanity, so it’s pretty much a formality at this point.”

“Do I really have to have to?” Gizmo groaned. Vanhoover had been a major point of entry for messengers and spies. Whenever somepony claimed to be a messenger and weren’t on the list, they were given an interview. As an acting officer, it usually fell on Gizmo’s shoulders to conduct the interview and determine whether the messenger was legitimate or not.

“I’m so sorry to inconvenience you Tech!” the general spat tartly and leaned forward in his chair “It’s something that needs to be done, for your country.”

“Then why don’t you do it?” Gizmo hissed back

Lightningcloud let out a smug grin and resumed sitting nonchalantly in his chair. “It’s above my pay grade. Maybe you’ll be able to know what that feels like someday.”

Before Gizmo could retort, there was a knock on the door. A unicorn carrying a gargantuan stack of papers entered the room. “General, fresh casualty reports from the front.”

“Sweet Celestia, can those guys learn how to run a war? I’m getting sick of writing condolence letters.”

Lightningcloud slumped back and took a deep breath. He looked at the clock on his wall, and then looked at Gizmo. “Colonel, I suppose you have enough time for that interview before the written exam this afternoon. Dismissed.”

With that, Gizmo was ushered out of the office, flabbergasted.