The Arcturiad: Long Flight

Gizmo blinked twice in surprise and shook his head. “I’m sorry, General,” he said with a nervous chuckle, “you’re sending me where?” The room was utterly silent; those who weren’t staring at him expectantly averted their eyes and stared at the table. The only sounds were the harsh buzzing of the incandescent lights and the faint clacking of a telegraph in the corner.

“To Griffonia, Colonel.” General Lancer repeated, rubbing his chin. “The north, to be precise; just about as north as you can get.” He turned back around and began walking towards the table. The crowd of officers parted as he made his way next to an annoyed looking Griselda. “Let me tell you about a few things, Colonel,” he said. “Despite our stubborn reluctance to believe otherwise, the world’s been around a whole hell of a lot longer than us.” He looked down at a small peninsula of Griffonia with a worried look in his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean some things in the past shouldn’t stay buried.”

“Pardon me, General, but I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” Gizmo said tentatively. He had meandered over to Lancer, who looked like he was about to doze off on top of the table. Gizmo gave him a gentle little shake, jolting him back alert.

“I’m sorry, what were we talking about!?” Lancer exclaimed confusedly.

Gizmo forced the annoyance back down his throat. “Griffonia, General.”

“Oh yeah. I was, wasn’t I?” he let out a raspy chuckle. “I’d normally be napping at this time of day.” He rubbed his chin again, “where was I? Oh yeah. A couple thousand years ago, a group of necromancers called the Dread League decided that it would be a nifty idea to take over a sizeable majority of the Griffonian continent.” Lancer’s face was deathly pale. “Folks unlucky enough to get caught up in their conquest got used as cattle to feed vampires and zombies and other hellish monstrosities that you wished would just stay in the storybooks.”

Gizmo continued to prod Lancer. “Alright, but if you don’t mind me stating the obvious, zombies don’t exactly walk the plains of Griffonia anymore.”

Lancer looked around the room, biting down hard on his lip. Expressions ranged from distraught to nervous to downright angry. A light bulb burned behind Griselda’s head, casting a long shadow over the table and the map. Lancer took a hard swallow. “Are we sure we’re gonna go through with this?” he asked the room.

Lightningcloud, whose eyes had been darting around the room ever since the conversation started broke his silence. “Go through with this!?” He fumed, “You’ll have to excuse me, but if the fate of the world is at stake then maybe we should, I don’t know, send the Elements of Harmony?”
“You know we can’t do that!” Lancer snapped back, “If the war here at home starts going south, we’re gonna need an ace up our sleeves.” He composed himself and straightened his hat, which had begun to slip off of his head. “Plus, you’ve already expressed extreme confidence in Colonel Tech, so I see no reason why he’s unfit for the job.”

Gizmo’s head swiveled quickly on his shoulders, and he raised one of his eyebrows sharply. He squinted at Lightningcloud, who chuckled nervously and tugged at his collar with one of his wings. “General Lancer?” Gizmo asked, “Could I have a moment to confide with my…” he gritted his teeth, “esteemed comrade.”

General Lancer nodded in agreement before turning back to whisper in Griselda’s ear. Gizmo stomped over to Lightningcloud, grabbed his shirt, and dragged him over to one of the cobweb-filled corners. “What the hell is going on here you bastard?” he hissed.

“Get out of my face, Tech. Your breath smells awful.” Lightningcloud growled as he looked back at General Lancer and the rest of the general staff, they were all gathered around the table again and not paying any attention to the two. “Look, I may have recommended you for this tiny mission so you would miss the advancement exam.”

“You what!?” Gizmo almost yelled, breathing short, incredulous gasps. His mouth hung agape and his eyes were as wide as a deer’s in the headlights of an oncoming car. His lip began to quiver at the thought of being shipped off to the icy wastes of northern Griffonia. A putrid mixture of anger and fear began to coagulate in the back of Gizmo’s throat, covering the back of his tongue in an acidic film. He looked back towards the collection of officers before blurting out a shaky “I’m telling them!”

“Shut up!” Lightningcloud hissed. “Look, I didn’t know it was gonna be this important. We just need to convince them that there are other options.” He paused and gave Gizmo a hard look. “Besides, do you really think they would believe you? I’ve had these jokers wrapped around my hoof for years.”

“What other options? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re trying to run a war!” Gizmo exclaimed

“Look, I’ll think of something. Just let Lancer ramble for a while.”

Before Gizmo could get another word in edgewise, Lightningcloud pushed past him and approached the desk. As he flashed a warm smile, the corners of his mouth quivered with a hint of nervousness. “Gentlecolts.” He said, voice smooth as honey. “I’m sure Colonel Tech is ready to hear the details of the proposed operation now.”

“Like hell he is!” a large pegasus whose jawline was as sharp as an obsidian knife and whose jacket was adorned with a plethora of glittering medals spoke up with a voice that rubbed them raw like sandpaper against the flesh. “I’m sorry Lightningcloud, you know how much I respect you, but can we all take a look at this guy for one damn second? He’s an earth pony for Celestia’s sake! No wings, no magic. Hell, he doesn’t even look strong enough to pull a plow!” The pegasus sat down and crossed his entire body, he glared at Lightningcloud with a burning intensity.

Lightningcloud perked up and breathed a sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and was about to respond before Lancer butted in. “General Softsky, shame on you!” he snapped. “The documents that General Lightningcloud provided show us Colonel Tech’s immense intellectual capabilities.”

“Sir, if I may.” Gizmo began. “I’m just an engineer, we tend to have marginally higher test score-“

“Oh you’re too humble, colonel!” Lancer interrupted again. “Anyway. Where was I again?”

“The zombies, General?” Softsky groaned.

“Oh yeah. After a period of time that the history books could never give credit to, a bunch of nations got tired of constantly staring over their own shoulders. They banded together and banished the Dread League up to the snowy wastes of the north. We hadn’t heard anything about them, that is, until a few weeks ago.” Lancer paused, “when Ms. Featherstone here showed up.”

All of the shadows in the room split at their hooves and fell on the floors and the walls and the tables. Most of the ponies still looked extremely hesitant to speak, their eyes darted around like students after their teacher asks a question. Lancer continued, “So here’s the gist, a bunch of religious nuts-” Griselda interrupted by clearing her throat loudly and throwing a sharp glare at Lancer, “pardon me.” Lancer apologized with a flustered cough, “A bunch of holy orders fought alongside that grand coalition and, after the Dread League was driven back, coalesced into what is now the Arcturian Order.”

Lancer stopped and turned to face Griselda. “Did I get that right?”

“Most of it.” Griselda responded. She stood up from her chair and moved directly into the center of the mass of officers. They moved away from her like oil in water, forming a perfect circle around her. With a tremendous voice and a puffed out chest, she met all of their curious gazes with steely determination. “The Dread League isn’t going to stop at Griffonia this time.” She paused, allowing a silence that made their skin crawl to seep into the officers. “There’s only one thing that was stopping them in the past, the Griffonian Empire. But now, King Grover is knocking on death’s door and his kid’s still fresh out of the egg. If there’s any time for the Dread League to attack, it’s close.”

Softsky rose from his chair and entered the circle that the officers had made, standing directly next to Griselda. “It sounds truly dire, and Equestria could be at great risk if the Dread League should conquer Griffona in it’s weakened state.” Softsky turned to stare directly at Gizmo with a gaze that could burn through hardened steel, “which is why we should send the best of the best to protect Equestria and her interests.”

“Well said General Softsky!” Lancer applauded while remaining in the outer ring. “I’m glad we can rest easy that we have such a capable leader like Colonel Tech!”

“No, Lancer!” Softsky fumed. “What I’m trying to say is there absolutely has to be better candidates than Colonel Tech! We aren’t gonna have any second tries on this one.” He spat a glob of phlegm onto the stone floor and got directly in Lancer’s face. “Unlike your genius Vaverfront offensive.”

“Now that was uncalled for, Softsky.” Lancer growled. “Alright then! Fine!” He jeered. “We’ll take it to a vote. We’ll go around and ask everycreature, if the aye’s win, we send Tech.”

One by one, the everycreature’s names were called. It was dead even, with every single aye being countered by a nay. There was one thing Gizmo was certain of; he was sure as hell he didn’t want to go to Griffonia. So by the time his name was called, he threw his hat in with Griselda and Softsky, who had both voted nay. It looked as if that mini coalition had won the day, but then Lancer’s central clique of officers let out three consecutive aye’s in quick succession. Everycreature threw nervous glances around the room, but eventually all eyes settled on the last vote to be tallied. Lightingcloud was sweating profusely, a skicky film of perspiration covering his brow.

Lightningcloud looked extremely panicked, he looked at Lancer and then looked at Gizmo like he was about to be sick. He bit down so hard on his lip that he drew a few droplets of addled blood. Finally, he released his answer with a heavy breath. “Aye.”

The afternoon sun had woven a musky stink into the dust particles that drifted around in Gizmo and Griselda’s hotel room. The creaky floorboards had swelled in the heat, muffling their steps like a porous layer of cork. They packed in silence, folding their crumpled clothes and placing them neatly in their suitcases. After the vote, Gizmo and Griselda had been ushered out of the war room quickly with a folder of haphazardly stacked mission detail documents.

“How the hell am I gonna get back to Griffonia?” Griselda grumbled. Despite her silence, she was able to hold a keen tension against Gizmo. When Lightningcloud had cast his fatal vote, she let out a tremendous groan of disgust. Gizmo, who had a knot the size of a hoofball in his stomach, responded to her dismay with a sense of muted denial.

“We’ll fly, of course. There’s an airbase near Manehattan that’ll provide a good taking off point.” Gizmo practically whispered. He didn’t even look at his clothes as he folded them, moving his muscles like a lifeless machine.

“Oh really?” Griselda replied incredulously. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but Softsky made a particular effort to make sure everycreature knew that you don’t have wings. Besides…” she gestured to her still bandaged wings “… my wings aren’t exactly gonna be sending me into the stratosphere.”

Gizmo closed his suitcase with a thunderous thud, the metal clasps fastening with a sharp click. “Griselda.” He began. “I know you’re not too happy about having to go on this mission with me. Hell, I’m not too happy about it either, but…” he took a deep breath “there’s nothing we can do about it now so we might as well go along with it.”

“Go along with it!” Griselda hissed like a cornered snake. She threw her claws up in the air and screamed. Then, while tugging at the feathers on her head turned back to Gizmo with an animalistic rage in her eyes. “You see! That’s the thing that you don’t get! That you’ll never get!” she yelled. “I’ve flown halfway across the world because I thought that I would find someone who cared about saving it as much as me, but instead I’ve gotten an apathetic dickhead who just wants to ‘go along with it.’” She folded her arms haughtily across her chest and sat down.

Gizmo narrowed his eyes and stood his ground. “Well then, I would offer somepony else, but, in case you haven’t noticed, I have orders.” He paused and picked up his suitcase. “I don’t know how they do it in the Arcturian Order, but here in Equestria, disobeying orders is the fastest way to get a bullet in the back of your head.”

Griselda was about to respond, but Gizmo pushed past her, suitcase flung across his back. He had sold most of his other trunks and bags, and their contents, to lighten his load down to a single suitcase. He kept his uniform, a couple changes of clothes, and a thick flight jacket lined with fluffy wool. Standing in the narrow hallway, Gizmo checked his watch with a heavy squint against the glare. A deep feeling of dread burned within his chest as he imagined the lonely, isolated forests and mountain ranges of northern Griffonia. Up in those wastes, one could disappear; becoming nothing more than a pile of bleached bones hidden amongst pulverulent mounds of snow.

The sun hung low in the sky, a dusty potted plant placed delicately in front of a window cast a long shadow that looked like some tortuous black vine winding its way across the floor. After a brief pause and a few shaky breaths, Gizmo turned back to Griselda. “You ready? We’re gonna miss the train if you don’t hurry up.” Griselda shot him an irritated glare before shutting her own suitcase, a patchy leather box with rusty iron clasps that the military had provided her. She stepped forward with determination in her stride before standing beside Gizmo.

“Lead the way.” Griselda said

They both wove their way down the stairs and into the lobby, the old colt that ran the hotel looked visibly relieved that the two were departing. The streets were extremely deserted, even for the sparsely populated slums. Gizmo strode forward with Griselda in tow, making his way down the trash-littered sidewalks. He had convinced himself that, much like this mission, he had no business being on these streets. This area of Canterlot was a trap where one could be subsumed into impoverished obscurity, paltry resources never allowing one to escape their situation. They walked past a school, where scrawny children tried to learn algebra from beleaguered teachers. Ponies stood in the windows, putting up pristine blue curtains on polished brass curtain rods.

As they passed into downtown Canterlot, Gizmo looked at his watch again and picked up his pace to a brisk trot. Soon, the city’s sonorous bell would sound and engineers would mount the last trains of the day, whirring them to life and sending them lurching from their pig iron beds. The passengers had probably already been loaded onto the train and were awaiting departure with impatience. With each passing second, a dull and inevitable annoyance was rising in all who were on that train.

Gizmo and Griselda finally had made it to the central station, still as busy as ever. Making their way through the evening crowd, they pushed towards a teamster and asked for directions to the platform that was written on their tickets. Straining under a tower of baggage, the teamster threw a quick little nod towards one of the eastern platforms. The platform was covered in a thick steam that was leaking out of the train’s hydraulics, making it seem as if ponies were walking on a sea of fog. Tramping through the mist, the odd pair got holes punched in their tickets and boarded the train.

They got directed to a boxcar near the rear of the train, a rickety carriage with bales of straw piled high to the ceiling. Gizmo was unsurprised that the military booked the least accommodating accomodations once again, but was still a little disappointed at the distinct lack of seats. The little dried stalks of hay got stuck in the cracks in between the wood. Hardened from age, the floorboards had long nails that had not been hammered in properly protruding from their knots and gnarls. The car had the same cheap feel of the freight car that Gizmo had originally come to Canterlot in; with the large door being left wide open to the wind and the elements.

The train let out a piping whistle a jolted forward on the tracks. Griselda, who had not been settled in the straw when the train began to move, got a mouth full of straw when she fell directly on to her face. Gizmo, who had placed his suitcase onto the floor and sat on it like a meditation pad, let out a little peal of laughter at Griselda’s blunder. This peeved Griselda, who stood up haughtily from her prone position. “Well I’m glad at least one of us are enjoying ourselves.” She fumed

“Well,” Gizmo responded, “a good attitude is just about the only thing I have left now.”

“At least we’ll be able to make it to Manehattan and fly outta here.”

“Not quite. This train isn’t non-stop. We’re gonna be stopping in my hometown, presumably to drop off this hay.” Gizmo let out a shaky breath “Just like the War Office to send me places I don’t wanna be.”

The train moved out of the station, following the tracks as they wove through the mountains that surrounded Canterlot. The deep valley gave way to the wide-open plains of the Equestrian heartland. Looking out at the rolling countryside, their field of view was split horizontally between the azure blue of the sky and the rich green of the long grass. The tracks stretched on into the distance for forever, throwing a defiant challenge as they chased the infinitely retreating horizon.