The Arcturiad: Long Flight

Chapter 5

The train tracks that stretched out into the distance, the only thing that was able to catch the horizon on those plate flat plains, were far from perfect. There were methodical little bumps that jostled the cars and carriages whenever they ran over the fasteners that brought the sections of ribbon rail together. Ponies who had tickets to ride in the more upper end cars of the train had the luxury of ignoring the pulsations as they slept in feathery beds under plush comforters. Gizmo and Griselda were alone in that rickety boxcar. They made as much use out of their belongings as they could, throwing their jackets and clothes over their bodies as makeshift blankets.

Griselda had dozed off long before Gizmo, quickly finding herself comfortable on the piles of hay that they shared the boxcar with. The porous straw muted her snoring, allowing the sounds of night and the beat of the train to fill the car with a stately melody. Gizmo had been kept up by his racing thoughts. With a sharp whittling knife, he began to carve a smooth fillet on the corners of a cube of scented spruce wood. As he ran the knife through the soft bark, droplets of sticky sap ran down his blade. He envisioned adding a curve to the top, two holes where holding pins would go, and a wide notch he would slide on top of the control stick to the bomber he would be piloting. When finished, the block would be able to hold the controls in place while he moved about the cockpit.

Gizmo flicked his gaze from the block in front of him to a candle that was gently burning next to him. It would soon be morning, but every single time a lonely ember drifted into the air, adrenaline shot through his body as he raced to stomp it out. Much of the straw was moist and inflammable, but he took no chances when it came to starting a fire. When the train took an unexpected wobble, the candle would rock a little in its stand, sending beads of sweat rolling down Gizmo’s forehead. He continued whittling, knowing fully well that in the morning, they would be in Hoof Bend.

The town was like something ripped straight out of a fantasy film. Lush green plants and leafy trees coated the mountains that lined the valley that Hoof Bend was nestled in. Most of the ponies there were vegetable or flower farmers, with seldom few in occupations that weren’t agriculture related. Gizmo had lived his entire youth in Hoof Bend with his mother, a medical researcher, in a double story bungalow a mile outside of town. He always imagined the only reason he lived in Hoof Bend was to get out of it and plaster his name in big golden letters all over the history books. Now that he was returning, it felt like he had regressed in his quest.

But despite the town’s innate attraction towards obscurity, Hoof Bend occupied a special little place in Gizmo’s heart. He fondly remembered running blindly through the tall stalks of corn, fleeing the local grumpy farmer with his friends as they laughed gleefully by his side. The high school there had been a standard neglected public school, where the teachers gave far too much heart for how much they were paid. During college application season, the entire town cheered with him when acceptance letters arrived stuffed fat with flattery, or scoffed when the more high-end colleges sent their apologetic rejections. Graduation had been an intimate affair. Even with Gizmo’s quite large class size, the crowd stayed ecstatic for the entirety of the four-hour event.

As Gizmo continued to whittle, the image of the control block burned in the back of his mind, he thought to himself: have I really done anything at all? He had done two things since he left home: gotten a college degree, and gotten shipped off to a warzone. When he signed up for the Air Force Reserve Training Corps, he hadn’t really considered the monetary benefits, he imagined himself becoming famous for performing great martial feats or inventing genius tactical maneuvers.

His cutie mark gave the military other ideas for his future. Gizmo had gotten it during a science fair in middle school, a little late but nopony seemed to mind. He had been completely engrossed in a project on applied engineering and delivered a passionate and exited report in front of most of the faculty when the mark appeared. The ponies judging him smiled and clapped as he danced joyfully up on the stage, but ended up giving him second place for all for his troubles. The military also saw Gizmo’s aptitude in engineering, and placed him in an engineering major.

Gizmo set down the knife and the unfinished block, the candle was extremely low and it was getting to the point where even his racing mind couldn’t keep him awake. With a quick breath, he extinguished the candle and watched for a few seconds as the dull red glow of the wick vanished into the darkness. The straw poked into his belly as he tried to lie down and make some semblance of a bed out of the hay. He got his flight jacket out and was immediately comfortable as the soft, insulating wool lining covered him. He took one last heavy breath before his muscles relaxed and he drifted off into blissful sleep.

“This is your home town?” Griselda asked, rubbing a sore crick in the back of her neck. “I like it, it’s a cute place.”

Gizmo pulled his flight jacket up to his eyes, hoping to keep the sleep trapped there for just a few more seconds, before groaning as the little bits of prickly straw entangled in the wool drove themselves into his face. The train had pulled into Hoof Bend’ meager station and come to a complete stop, letting out low hisses of steam as the pipes of the engine decompressed themselves. Clearly peeved, the passengers from the front of the train exited their carriages and began to mill about the town, looking for a hotel or some place adequate to stay. Next to agriculture, temporary lodging was the second biggest industry. Lodging ponies looking to pass through could mean big money during the summer months, when they flocked from all over to visit the wine grottos and tasting rooms.

Looking around the town, Griselda scratched her chin. “It looks like we’re gonna have some trouble finding a hotel room.”

Gizmo packed his flight jacket in his suitcase, his loose, linen shirt keeping him cool in the morning heat. There was a dryness in the air that signaled the coming of a blistering afternoon, where shirts would be soaked with sweat and glasses of cool lemonade would be sipped at splintery picnic tables under striped umbrellas. The little field gnats were already floating in between the tall blades of grass, glowing in the rising sun. Gizmo meandered over to Griselda’s pack, picked it up, and threw it into her open arms.

They both hopped off of the train and on to the rickety platform. Most of the ponies had decided to stay on the train in their bedrooms. This was impossible for Gizmo and Griselda, as the teamsters had already moved to unload the hay from the freight car. Making sure that they would be able to re-board, they double-checked that their tickets were in their suitcases before making their way off of the station and onto the main street. The streets were immaculately paved, with lovely little cobblestones set closely together as to provide the smoothest possible ride for carriages.

Hoof Bend was far from wealthy. The ponies were dressed in plain clothes and threw cheerful little smiles and waves towards Gizmo as he passed. “We’re not gonna need to find a hotel.” Gizmo explained to Griselda as they walked. “We can stay at my house, I used to live here with my mom before college.” Griselda nodded slowly in agreement, taking in the sights of the town around them.

A sharp whistle pierced the air and the two turned their heads. A portly old mare in a wide-brimmed hat was walking towards the two with a grin as wide as a canyon. “As I live and breathe!” She exclaimed, her southern drawl dragging the words out of her mouth. “If it isn’t Gizmo Tech! I haven’t seen you since you shipped off to college.”

Gizmo returned with a wide grin of his own, moving quickly to give the mare the deepest of embraces. After a ten second long hug, Gimzo finally let go. “Sweet Delight, you have no idea how good it is to see you again.” They began chatting furiously like cheerful spring birds, Gizmo maintaining his warm smile the entire time. They talked a while with Griselda standing awkwardly behind them.

Suddenly, Sweet Delight’s face became more apologetic. “I’m sorry Gizmo.” She sighed. “I haven’t been able to visit your mother as much as you asked me to.“ Sweet Delight averted her eyes and looked towards the ground.

“Don’t be sorry!” Gizmo assured the apologetic mare. “Things come up. She isn’t going anywhere anyway.”

There was a more serious pause as Gizmo trailed off and averted his eyes. It sounded like a lump was caught in his throat, but he cleared it with a quick grunt.

Sweet Delight put a gentle hoof under Gizmo’s chin and lifted it delicately. She cocked her head to the side and her eyes held a flicker of concern. “You know, Gizmo.” She started, “I’m sure that your mother would appreciate it if you visited more often. Maybe after your contract is up you could come back to Hoof Bend and-“

Gizmo gave her a large eye roll and pushed her hoof away. “Sweet Delight, we’ve talked about this. There’s nothing for me here.”

“Gizmo, you and I both know that’s a damn lie.” Sweet Delight said, putting her hoof down in a firm manner. “Everypony here has loved you and supported you and wanted nothing but your success, you’ll be able to find a place here.” She paused and backed off at Gizmo’s steely glare. Sweet Delight had known him his entire life, being his mother’s good friend for countless years. She had practically raised him when his mother was off looking for the next big cure or medical discovery. If there was one thing that Sweet Delight knew about Gizmo, it was his conviction that there was success somewhere just over the horizon.

Sweet Delight had always tried to rein Gizmo in, taking steps to get him involved in his community. But Gizmo saw everything he did as a means to an end. Sweet Delight let a deep sigh loose, she had lost this battle once again. “But then again, as long as it works for you dear.”

Gizmo’s ears perked up and the smile returned to his face. He extended his hoof in a welcoming way towards Sweet Delight. “I’m sure my mom would be happy if you visited with us.”

Grabbing Gizmo’s hoof tightly and giving it a few loving pats, Sweet Delight let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll probably come by after y’all leave. There are a few thing’s that I wanna talk to her about alone.”

Sweet Delight and Gizmo hugged each other tightly one last time before exchanging extended goodbyes. Again, Sweet Delight repeated a vague promise that she would visit Gizmo’s mother more often before returning to the little clique of friends that she had previously abandoned.

Griselda had split from the two while they were talking. She browsed the various shop windows and sampled small fruit flavored caffeinated beverages offered by a cheery barista. Finally, Gizmo retrieved her from her wanderings and apologized profusely for holding both of them up. They continued walking down the streets with their pastel shops and street performers. After a good half an hour, the edges of the town melted away into the green of the countryside. The blades of grass that covered the fields were long, sharp, and adorned in sparkling droplets of wet morning dew. The asphalt was replaced with a patchy dirt track as the main town faded from view. It wound its way through the sea of grass and followed the curvature of the hills.

Gizmo and Griselda followed the track; those microscopic specks that fall from the trees and glint in the sun drifted onto their backs and noses, making them sniffle and sneeze. “Where are we going?” Griselda asked.

“Hmm?” Gizmo replied absentmindedly “Oh, my house is around a mile from here, down this path.”

“Great, I thought I would be done walking relatively early today.” Griselda huffed sarcastically.

They stopped at a dry stream with a bed of caked mud. Gizmo remembered it fondly from his childhood, splashing around with his friends on hot summer days. They would swim until the cool of the evening began to set in, forcing them to dry off and retreat back into their homes where supper would be waiting. But supper would never be waiting for Gizmo, his mother taught him to cook at an early age so she could remain in her basement laboratory, engrossed in her research.

Gizmo’s mother had been a medical researcher, studying bacteria and other virulent diseases. Always the busy type, she would spend hours in that lab turning out research papers that would be flung out into the academic community. She searched tirelessly for a cure or medical discovery that would propel her into the national spotlight, and cement her genius in the history books.

They left the dry brook and its dusty bed be, and continued on their journey. A cortège of eucalyptus trees lined the road in front of them, leading up to a stately wooden bungalow. The house was painted stone grey, with bright flowers adorning every windowsill. A white picket fence surrounded the property, separating the open field from the front yard.

The gate creaked as Gizmo pushed it open, little flecks of rust coming off of the hinges as they screamed in resistance. The long, untrimmed lawn crept onto the path leading up to door. As he climbed the stairs to the porch, the planks creaked under Gizmo’s hoofs. Griselda stood at the foot of the stairs as Gizmo took out a rusted key and placed it in the lock. With an audible click, the door swung open to release a plume of dust.

“Mom! I’m home!” Gizmo yelled into the house.

The dust moved around his breath, having been disturbed after years of lying dormant on the door. It opened up to a relatively ornate living room, old furniture and plush seats sat coated with a layer of dust. As they walked across the living room, Gizmo’s hoofs left imprints on the dust-covered floor. He beckoned Griselda in, waving dust particles around with his outstretched hoof.

“Sorry it’s so dusty.” He said apologetically. “I haven’t been home in a while so there wasn’t anyone to clean.”

Griselda looked around, confused at the grubby and unkempt nature of the house. “Where’s your mother?” she asked.

Gizmo had picked up one of the porcelain vases stained with images of mythical beasts and was looking at it intently. “She’s out back by the willow tree.” He gestured towards the kitchen, where a door stood next to the refrigerator.

Griselda tentatively turned away from her companion and walked over to the door. She tried to peek through the curtains, but a layer of grime obscured her view. She turned the latch and opened the door, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the afternoon sun. The willow tree stood tall on a grassy knoll around fifty feet from the foot of the door. The tree cast a long shadow in the morning sun, stretching from its base all the way to the door.

As she walked under its leaves, the willow tree’s shade chilled Griselda to the point of shivering. She looked around for some sign of life, before one of her talons became caught on something, sending her tumbling to the ground. Bringing her gaze down, Griselda was met by a blue pearl granite gravestone.

Seikilette Tech was chiseled across the top.

Underneath, an epitaph read “While you live, shine. Have no greif at all. Life exists only for a short while, and Time demands his due.”

Gizmo had made his way beside Griselda and sat down in front of the gravestone. “There were three things my mom always said you can’t control.” He said. “Who lives, who dies, and who tells your story.” He sighed and moved to brush some dirt off of the stone. “But I don’t think she ever believed that. She was always galavanting off to some far corner of Equestira hoping to make a name for herself.”

In the end, it had been her research that had killed her. A particularly deadly strain of tuberculosis had escaped containment when she was out of her pressure suit. Gizmo’s mother lingered for months bedridden an coughing up blood before she finally succumed. A quick funeral was held where some family members and close friends mourned the loss of “one of Equestria’s greatest minds” and Gizmo was on the train to college the very next day.

“I’m sorry Gizmo.” Griselda said awkwardly.

“Eh. Don’t mention it.” Gizmo replied noncelantly. “We can’t change the past or bring back the dead.”

Griselda coughed and cleared her throat loudly.

“Oh yeah.” Gizmo chuckled. “I forgot about that whole zombies thing.”

Griselda followed Gizmo back inside that mausoleum of a house, still feeling a bit uneasy from her unexpected discovery of Seikilette’s grave. Gizmo cooked a simple meal that night which they ate at a dusty table with three chairs, he dug through the pantry for some canned goods that had probably been there for years. Some corn and green beans with the lables faded with age provided a warm, but bland dinner. But the food was enough to sate their hunger, and send them straight to sleep.