The Arcturiad: Long Flight

Clouds had begun to occupy the sky above Canterlot. Ponies across the city looked forward to the impending showers that would soon wash the trash off the streets and into the sewers, but they made a concentrated effort to make their ways to places that would protect them from the downpour. Gizmo had to drag himself, what he thought was, far too many blocks to get in the vicinity of the hospital where the Griffon was being held. As hospitals go, the building was completely bland and monolithic. Grey, concrete walls held up a flat and featureless roof. Ambulances were parked in the entrance rotunda, mostly sitting idle.

Gizmo’s heavy hoofsteps carried him through the large entrance and into the pristine and sanitized lobby. The air was stagnant and ponies sat rooted to their chairs, waiting for their appointments. Gizmo made a beeline for the front desk, pushing past ponies waiting in line “Excuse me, excuse me.” The clerk was a mare with deep, dark circles under her eyes.

“Sir, you’re going to have to wait in line like everypony els-“

“I’m here to interview a griffon, she has broken wings.” Gizmo grabbed the lapel of his coat and showed it to the clerk, the badge signifying his rank glinting in the harsh fluorescent light.

The mare rolled her eyes. “Of course sir” she sighed, “I’ll get you back there right away.”

She trotted back to the tall bookshelves and pulled a large tome from the bottom shelf. After a few minuets of flipping through pages, she looked back up at Gizmo.

“She got in around two days ago, on the fourth floor, room 456.”

‘Thank you for your help.”

“Don’t mention it.” The mare growled.

Gizmo pushed his way past a nurse that had come into the waiting room to retrieve a patient. He never liked hospitals, the only reason they ever existed is because something was wrong. Walking down the grimy halls, the pained groans of the sick and injured did nothing to assuage his discomfort. He stopped a few of the staff to ask for directions and then continued on his way. When Gizmo reached the fourth floor of the hospital, a beleaguered unicorn in a stained coat stopped him.

“Colonel Tech?” the unicorn asked, “My name’s Doctor Brightmane, I’m the psychotherapist for this hospital and I’ll be sitting in on your interview with the patient.”

Gizmo shrugged. He didn’t expect the interview to last more than five or ten minutes, they never did. He followed Doctor Brightmane down a long corridor. Padded rooms with barred doors lined either side. The Doctor made a comment about how their mental health ward was one of the most “humane and dignified” in the nation. Patients were doing everything from rattling the bars to rocking themselves softly in the corners of their cells. The shrieks and incessant giggling put Gizmo on edge. He kept his head low and made sure to avoid eye contact with everypony.

As the two reached the end of the hallway, Doctor Brightmane opened the last door and stepped aside. He gestured for Gizmo to enter. Once he was in the room, he saw a Griffon that had been stuffed into a pristine white jumpsuit. A solitary book was propped open in front of her, and a dirty food tray was neatly placed next to it. She looked up at Gizmo with sudden relief, the tension meting from her poised muscles. She stood up and snapped to attention, bringing a claw up to her beleaguered face.

“I assume that I am talking to an emissary from the great Celestia herself!” she bellowed

Despite her bandaged wings, she seemed to be in good shape. The ghost of absolute exhaustion ran over her eyes, dragging those bags down her face. There was a staunch determination seeded in the way her eyes narrowed, like a sniper looking down their scope towards a target. Her legs were thin and shaking like a mutt stranded on the frigid streets, and looked like they could barely hold her body off the ground.

Gizmo winced at the griffon’s sudden outburst; a headache had manifested itself in his temples. He had to sit down and rub them vigorously. After a few seconds he stood back up. He met that determined gaze with one of disinterest, and began thinking of what he was going to do when he got out of that bastille of a hospital.

“Alright, lets get this over with.” He groaned

He placed himself directly in front of the griffon and dropped a clipboard and pen heavily onto the floor.

“Name?” He asked

“Griselda Featherbolt” she answered

“Place of origin?”

Griselda looked over at Doctor Brightmane, who was leaning against the wall of the room fidgeting with his ring of keys. It was that kind of fidget where concentration was torn away by the inner churnings of the mind, where absentmindedness robs the subject of all amount of essential thought.

Griselda looked as if words were imprisoned in her beak. Beads of perspiration were forming on her forehead, traveling along the contour lines on her face, and falling onto the soft, padded floor. She shifted in her seat, almost as if she was primed for flight or escape. Finally, the words began to trickle out of her mouth like drops from a leaky faucet.

“Griffonia…”

“The Empire?”

“No. The continent.”

Gizmo raised a hoof to his throbbing head and took a deep breath to quell his mounting frustration. The inside of his head felt as if it would burst through his skull. He took a few breaths that were as powerful as the throbbing pressure mounting inside his head.

“What part of Griffonia?” he sighed, more than a tinge of annoyance attached to his voice.

“The north…” Griselda trailed off.

“Oh for Celestia’s sake!” he exclaimed. Gizmo was clearly getting as far as a snail on a salted path with that line of questioning. He had done these types of interviews before, there was always some nut job, or spy, claiming to be a messenger. Their problem came from giving too much information, like a convict thinking the more detail they put in their alibi the more convincing their story will be. “What’s the purpose of your visit?”

She stood up and snapped to attention again. “I come bringing a message of upmost importance for her highness Princess Celestia of Equestria!”

“So you have a seal?” Gizmo asked. Communication directly with the Princess was highly sought after. Long ago, the Ministry of War had made a certain number of official seals to distinguish superfluous messages from urgent communiqués. Despite the fact being well known, it always seemed to trip up most of the fakers. Griselda tapped her claws together, allowing the nerves to dance between her talons.

“Well… There’s a seal on the message.” She drew a claw up to her collar and tugged vigorously in the manner that displayed marked uncertainty.

Gizmo jerked his head around toward Doctor Brightmane and asked to have Griselda’s belongings brought in. He was absolutely sure that he had this interview wrapped up. Like when it’s near the end of a race and you’re in front. His experience gave him that kind of delirious self-confidence that slackens your efforts and dulls your reflexes. Thus, it was natural that Gizmo was hit with the type of surprise that drops a stone in your stomach and makes pins and needles shoot throughout your body when he saw that the seal on the parchment in front of him.

The seal, which had no lack of shine and glimmer from a heavy polishing, was ornate beyond compare. A large centric cross was superimposed on a background of flowery vines. Even the tiniest of thorns could be made out, almost as if someone had sculpted each little prickle with a knife. In the center of the cross stood a griffon on it’s hind legs letting loose a resolute war-cry, raising it’s talons to strike at some unseen foe. Gizmo’s awe locked his eyes to the seal, imploring him to wean every single one of the infinite details out of the small, golden stamp.

Gizmo shook his head vigorously to dispel the uncertainty that coagulated in the deep blue of his eyes. He had never seen a seal such as this one, but the intricacy of the stamp made him less certain that it was a counterfeit. Griselda was looking at him expectantly, almost as if she was seeking his approval. Gizmo began to discover the cartilaginous texture of his lower lip, as his front teeth began anxiously grinding against it.

It took an excruciatingly protracted hour for a stone-faced unicorn guard to deliver the ledger detailing all the seals the Equestrian government found acceptable and their uses. It was a hefty tome bound in ancient leather. The trip over from the war office did nothing to clear the cover of a thick layer of grime. The guard dropped the ledger in front of Gizmo and a cloud of dust was hurled into the surrounding airspace. Doctor Brightmane gawked at the conspicuous black rectangle of dirt that had been imprinted on the clean, white padding.

Gizmo began tentatively turning through the archaic parchment, eyes intently studying and disregarding every single symbol, every single detail. Time seemed to stop in the way that it does when you’re hanging on the edge of your seat, not knowing what outcome you’re looking for. As pages turned into sections, Gizmo felt a smug zeal build in his chest. There was no seal such as this one. If it wasn’t in the ledger, then the government didn’t recognize it.

Gizmo’s mouth twisted into a triumphant grin, one of a smug nature rather than malicious. It was another interview down, another counterfeit message discovered, another bogus messenger to be sent back to whatever desolate corner of the globe they came from. He let out the smallest chuckle of relief, and made eye contact with Griselda. “It seems as if the seal on this parchment is not within the ledger of acceptable identification.” He began. Gizmo had practically memorized the closing remarks; they were the same for every single interview. It always ended in the same way: the interviewee becomes mute and the color drains from their face as they learn their fate.

“As per article 8, section 17 of the Equestrian Martial Mandate, you are hereby convicted of malicious counterfeit and sentenced to death by-“

“But you didn’t finish the book!” Griselda interrupted with a startled expression

“I beg your pardon?” Gizmo asked through clenched teeth.

“You didn’t look through those last pages!”

Gizmo looked back down at the book, sure enough there were a few pages that had yet to be flipped. They were where there to help identify messages of vital importance and lacked the worn, crinkled feeling of the other pages of seals. Gizmo had never touched those pages and began to feel the stomach-churning gnawing of doubt begin to consume him. He looked back up at Griselda, eyes darting between her and the book.

“It’s most unlikely that the seal would be in there.” Gizmo explained “Those pages are reserved for the most important, high-priority messages that the Office of War could ever recei-“

“No! You listen here! I don’t care what you do to me!” Griselda screamed as she lunged to grip Gizmo by the collar of his uniform. The unicorn guard had quickly drawn a pistol and was shakily pointing it at Griselda’s head.

“Let go of him now!” He screamed

Griselda ignored him, her eyes locked with Gizmo’s. Her grip had tightened and Gizmo was panting heavily. “I don’t care what you do to me.” She repeated “but you have no idea what I’ve gone through to get here, and who’s depending on me. So I would appreciate it if you would do everything in your power to make sure that you’re right before you go dooming me and everyone on this planet to oblivion!” Flecks of spit flew from her beak onto Gizmo’s face.

“All right! All right! I’ll check!” Gizmo yielded. Griselda released his collar and he tentatively flipped to the next page in the leger. The seals in this section of the book were still rough, but more meticulous than the plain ones of the previous pages. Gizmo studied them with the same intent that he gave the rest of the book. He was on the very last page, deep in the most exotic of seals when he saw it.

The details on the seal were cruder in the book than the version on the parchment in front of him, but the similarities between the two were unmistakable. The griffon on the seal stared back at Gizmo with an intense triumph in its eyes, mocking him with a zealous jubilation. He put down the list of seals with resignation, mouth agape and face dumbfounded. His eyes darted from face to face, pleading for some sort of sign that there was a mistake, but the only creature that showed a remote amount of interest was Griselda.

“It’s in there… Right?” she tentatively inquired, an apprehensive tension sat in the creases around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. She began to lean forward,

“Yes.” Replied Gizmo. All assertiveness and confidence had disappeared leaving only an unfeeling murmur to respond to Griselda’s question. The oppressive weight of defeat hung from his back, lowering his head and slouching his shoulders. He forced himself to stand up and began to pack up the scattered items that he had brought to the interview; the notepaper on the clipboard remained completely untouched throughout the entire interview.

Griselda saw Gizmo packing up and moved toward him, trying to poke her head into his line of sight. “So what happens now?” she asked.

Gizmo slowly swung his head towards her rubbing his chin and thinking to himself, actively attempting to recall the process by which he was supposed to deal with matters like these. “Well, since your message will be officially recognized by the Equestrian government, I think they have to give you proper lodgings.” He let out a sigh of tremendous proportion. “I suppose I need to turn this into my superior officers. They should be able to get the message to the princess.”

Gizmo flung his pack on his back and moved towards the door, jerking his head for Griselda to follow him. The guard still had his pistol primed and ready, as if the threat of attack had not yet faded. Gizmo looked the guard up and down, before swatting the pistol out of the air, breaking the magic field that had it suspended there. “Why didn’t you take the shot?” he snapped before exiting the hospital with Griselda in tow.

Brigadier General Lightningcloud, salutatorian of his class, prodigy of Princess Celestia, and Commander of the Canterlot Air Garrison was having an awful week. First, he had to torture himself writing a record number of letters of condolence. Next, coffee had ruined his best uniform that he was planning on wearing to the Grand Galloping Gala. Not to mention the staff shortage that the recruitment office was undergoing. He felt as if the military higher-ups might as well tie him up and send him to the eastern trenches, taking a bullet had to be better than this.

But worst of all was that dammed letter that Colonel Tech had brought in to the war office. Never had the Brigadier General gotten any important communiqués from random dullards who had washed up in some inbred farmstead in the middle of scenic nowhere. What did Princess Celestia say in response? Handle the matter to the best of your ability. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Now he was supposed to send an army halfway across the world to some snowy northern hellhole in Griffonia because some griffon falls out of the sky and tells him to? Like hell he was. He let out a low, anguished groan and lay his head down on his desk. How the hell was he supposed to help run a war under these conditions? Why the hell was he the one who had to make the decision? And why the hell was it taking so long for his secretary to bring his morning coffee?

There was a hesitant knock at his door before his secretary entered juggling a coffee pot and a manila folder. She was fairly short for a mare of her age, and wobbled back and forth as she balanced her the load on her back. As she approached the desk, a small wrinkle of the ornate carpet slipped under her hoof and sent her tumbling across the floor. The coffee, as if ordained by some higher being, sailed in a perfect arc through the air and landed directly on Lightningcloud’s head.

Despite wanting his coffee as soon as possible, the scalding, caffeinated beverage now soaking into his mane seemed to displease the Brigadier General. He let out a cacophonous howl of pain. The secretary let out a loud gasp before running to Lightningcloud’s side, apologizing profusely and patting his head down with a number of tissues that she had yanked from a small box on his desk. This seemed to displease Lightningcloud even more, as he snatched the tissues from the secretary before drying himself off.

The secretary backed away, retreating back to the manila folder that she had dropped. “Here are the results of the promotion exam like you requested, sir.” She said meekly, holding up the folder to shield her face from the spiteful glare the Brigadier General threw at her.

“It’s about damn time.” He barked at her. “I didn’t think that you would be delivering my coffee directly to my head.” He put down the mushy stack of tissues and looked at the secretary in an imperious way. “You know” he mused, “I’m sure there are plenty of other mares that are looking for work in these troubling times. Maybe I should begin looking for your replacement.” His words ended with an edge as sharp as a razor, cutting straight through the flesh and hitting bone.

The secretary immediately looked completely distraught, as she fell on her face and proceeded to beg for her job. Tears rolled down her face as globs of makeup hit the floor and stained the carpet. She kept rambling on about her loyalty and promised continued hard work in exchange for forgiveness. The secretary looked up at her boss before he nodded his approval at her desperate supplication.

The secretary made a hasty withdrew from the office; an unused tissue was firmly attached to the underside of her hoof. Lightningcloud looked down at his newly stained shirt and felt an impending sense of rage boiling inside of him. The thought of reviewing the results to the promotion test forced the frustration back inside his chest and left it there, boiling like the inside of some hellish volcano.

He turned towards the folder on his desk and rubbed his hooves in anticipation. The Brigadier General had a sense of pride over his accomplishments and thought he was the obvious choice for promotion. Especially with the amount of work he had done for the government over the years, he had scratched their backs, why wouldn’t they scratch his?

He quickly opened up the folder and almost as quickly threw it across the room. An animalistic scream of rage flew from his agape maw. Second?! To Tech?! He made a few laps around his office, nostrils flaring with an unbridled rage. How the hell did that bastard get first?! He let out another groan of exasperation before picking up the result folder again.

The secretary, who was outside of the office sipping on some tea, ignored the sudden outburst and only stared harder at the newspaper in front of her. Several of the ponies that had been newly recruited approached the closed door, keen on investigating the commotion. The secretary quickly ushered them away, leaving the now sultry hellscape that was the Brigadier General’s office undisturbed behind the insubstantial portal of his door.

It took around thirty minuets and a splitting headache to bring the Brigadier General down from his frenzied paroxysm. By then, he scrutinized the results with a searing fervor. He looked at Colonel Tech’s scores, trying to deconstruct what led to his unprecedented success. Lightningcloud looked along the various columns, scored one to one hundred and saw that Tech’s technical and tactical multiple-choice section scores were frightfully high. But that’s just fact memorization! How come these sections count for so much? He thought to himself

Just like the rest of the participants, Tech’s psychological evaluation and social understanding skills were dreadfully low. “Heh” Lightningcloud chuckled to himself. I guess we’re all a little dispassionate when it comes to our pony skills. He closed the folder and tossed it back on his desk with a disappointed grunt. He then stood back up and began pacing a hole in his floor, dragging his hooves against the ornamental rug. The practical portion of the exam is next week! How am I supposed to catch up to Tech? It’s not like the guy hasn’t led ponies before, he practically needs to just get half the remaining points to come first!

He plopped himself back down in his chair, scratching his coffee-soaked head with a beleaguered hoof. He had heard that Colonel Tech was quite the abrasive boss. Verbal abuse was apparently commonplace in situations where he was the leader, but he couldn’t count on the colonel’s pony skills being his downfall. No, something more drastic was going to need to happen. He needed a miracle to prevent Colonel Tech from physically attending the practical exam.

His secretary opened the door and poked her head in to scope out the environment before re-entering the third stage of purgatory. “Sir? High Command is calling, they’re wondering if you’ve made a decision about a matter in… Griffonia?” The Brigadier General’s head snapped up and an impish grin spread to the corners of his face. He sat up, straight as a board, and put his hooves together like some venerable elder.

“Yes, I have in fact.” He said, words falling off of his tongue like smooth, sweetened honey. “Feel free to patch them in, I’ll take it from here.” The secretary left back to her desk and pressed a large red button on the base of the phone. Lightningcloud, whose hoof had been hovering over the handle of his phone, picked it up immediately when it began to ring.

“This is Brigadier General Lightningcloud, who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?” He answered.

The voice that replied was distinctly shaky and ancient, and it tripped over every single consonant. “It’s General Rock Lancer. It’s good to hear your voice again Lightningcloud. I hope you’ve been, mulling over how to deal with this matter in Griffonia.”

“Oh I have, General. Don’t you worry about it, I’ll brief you in the War Room tomorrow.”

“That’s good, how are you planning on getting all of those troops halfway across the world?”

Lightningcloud feigned dismay. “There’s a problem before that, General, the Changeling front is already strapped for troops. We can’t send soldiers that we don’t have to Griffonia.”

“So what do you suggest?”

The grin returned to Lightningcloud’s face “Well, if we were to send one of our best officers as a military advisor, we could provide assistance while still maintaining our presence in the Changeling Lands.”

“Interesting.” The ancient general mused “I don’t suppose you have somepony in mind?”

“Indeed I do, general. I’ll send his papers over to you immediately and you’ll see why he’s an exemplar candidate.”

“Fantastic. Bring him to the War Room tomorrow and we’ll brief him.”

“Of course. See you tomorrow.”

The Brigadier General hung up the phone and laughed out loud, a bubbly laughter like a clear brook rolling down a mountainside. He called his secretary with gusto, his baritone voice reverberating off of the wall. The secretary, who was considerably confused by Lightningcloud’s joyous nature, approached his desk with caution.

“Do you need something sir?” she said, chattering the words out through her teeth.

“Yes” Lightningcloud answered simply “Get Colonel Tech on the phone.”