take eight minutes and divide / by ninety million lonely miles
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take eight minutes and divide / by ninety million lonely miles
“Everything going okay?”
Zipp made a small sound of surprise and whirled about.
In the sunlight which filtered through the stained glass windows, Zipp swore she could see a bit of lingering sparkle hovering about Sunny’s head and barrel. Ghostly afterimages of her well-earned horn and wings which seemed to cling to her, to follow her about despite their fading effects.
Only an illusion, though. Sunny beamed down at her friend from the top of the tall staircase, painted over in all the colors of the rainbow. “It’s definitely starting to look like an airship station in here again.”
Zipp chuckled. “Uh… if you say so, I guess.”
Sunny rolled her eyes and started down the stairs at a brisk trot. “Oh, come on. I showed you the pictures, didn’t I?”
“Y’sure did,” Zipp agreed. “Lots of times.”
“Do I need to show them to you again?” Sunny asked. A little smirk curled her lips, and she elbowed Zipp in the ribs.
“I think I’m good, actually,” Zipp said, chuckling lightly and batting Sunny away with one wing.
Sunny giggled. A sound that matched the sparkle of sunlight in her eyes. “So… what’s with the gloom and doom?”
“There’s no gloom,” Zipp said quickly, her wings snapping in at her sides. “No gloom, no doom.”
“Mm, I’m sensing gloom,” Sunny teased.
Zipp scoffed. “Must have your wires crossed, Sun.” She turned, back to Sunny, and looked up at the enormous stained glass window before her. “This is cool, y’know? I’m glad this place isn’t just a… a weird, secret science cave anymore. Start of a new era, or whatever…”
Her voice trailed off, little more than a breathy whisper as she gazed up at the window before her.
It was strange. Looking up at history like that. No longer wondering privately what those fragments meant, what story they told. Stranger still, she felt as if she were a part of it. As if the rearing pegasus shimmering in the evening light flickered with her own colors, with her sisters’ colors, the two of them phasing in and out of history.
The sound of slow, hollow hoofsteps approached her.
“Super convincing, Zipp,” Sunny murmured.
Zipp forced a half-smile, then cast her eyes down towards the floor. A weak chuckle rolled up and out, though it dissolved into nothing more than a short huff as it passed her lips.
Sunny’s teasing energy melted away in an instant. She sidled up closer to Zipp, eyes wide and glimmering with concern as she looked into her friend’s face. “Hey. What’s going on?”
Zipp shook her head. “It’s stupid.”
“No it isn’t.”
“You don’t even know what I—”
“It’s not stupid,” Sunny said insitantly.
Zipp sighed. She could have sworn she felt a wing wrapping around her barrel, giving her a comforting, sparkling, hissing-and-popping, bubbles-in-soda hug.
“It’s not,” Sunny repeated. “Nothing you’re feeling is stupid.”
Zipp arched a brow in Sunny’s direction. “Has that line actually worked on anypony?”
Sunny shrugged, a little smile tugging at her cheeks. “Izzy.”
Zipp snorted.
Sunny giggled again. A sound as light and barely-there as the magic which fizzed over her head.
“C’mon,” Sunny said, plopping down on the marble floor. “We’ve got a sec. Let’s talk about it.”
Zipp rolled her eyes, and dropped down next to Sunny. Her limbs clunked clumsily on the cold, hard floor, but she squirmed against the marble until she managed to find a position of relative comfort. Sunny, too, lowered herself all the way down onto her stomach, and rolled to one side to face her friend more directly.
“Look,” Sunny said softly. “I know you’re gonna miss this. It was your space.”
Zipp shrugged. “I mean, I guess,” she muttered. “It’s not like it was totally secret, anyway—my mom and my sister knew all about it.”
“They did?”
Zipp nodded. “This was my workshop, y’know?” she said, gesturing to the stacks of boxed-up tools and machinery in the corner. “They came down here for fittings and stuff. And to practice.”
Sunny nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“I dunno,” Zipp said with a shake of her head. “I’m mostly just relieved to get all this off my chest. I’ve been keeping this dumb secret my whole life. I’m just… over it.”
Sunny only looked at her.
Even without words, her eyes said so much. That precise tension in her brows, the way she thoughtfully chewed one lip… but mostly the way her eyes stayed riveted on Zipp’s. Unmoving, blinking slowly and surely, like a cat.
Zipp cast her a suspicious sidelong glance. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Just listening.”
Zipp grimaced. “That’s dumb.”
Sunny frowned. “It’s not—”
“Why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling?” Zipp said, giving her friend a pointed nudge. “You’ve been, like, queen of good vibes lately. All zen and friendship-y. Aren’t you freakin’ out? Even a little?”
“Pft.” Sunny waved one hoof dismissively. “No! Where’d you get that idea?”
Zipp swallowed hard. “Well… I dunno.” She looked down at her hooves. “It would be understandable, wouldn’t it?”
Sunny cocked her head to one side, those wide eyes still boring into Zipp’s trying to catch the meaning behind her words. “O-of course it would,” she said. “Everything’s changing. I think everyone’s a little freaked out right now.”
Zipp shrugged again.
Sunny chewed her lip. She drew in a small breath, as if she was going to say something, only to let it out in a small sigh which echoed through the massive room.
“Pipp told me the other day that, uh… that there’s all these foals who have magic all of a sudden, right?” Zipp said, laughter lifting the edges of her words. “And, like, not only are the parents basically going through puberty again, but they have these out-of-control kids that are all magically-charged, blowing holes in the walls, jumping off the roof and flying out of reach… isn’t that crazy?”
Sunny laughed. “Pretty crazy.”
“And, y’know, there’s still some pegasi who can’t,” Zipp continued. “F-fly, that is. They don’t know what the problem is—if it’s genetic disorders or mutations or illness… unicorns, too. Some ponies just can’t.”
Sunny nodded. “Yeah. I heard about that.”
“So, when you think about it, there’s kind of a lot to be scared of, isn’t there?” Zipp said softly.
Zipp pulled her forehooves in towards her chest, cringing into herself, holding her breath tight and firm in the center of her chest.
“Even for somepony like me?” she added in a whisper of whisper. “Who has it good?”
Zipp sniffled. A quick hoof flew to her face, wiping away a tear with more force than was strictly necessary.
“Hey,” Sunny said softly, sliding closer to her friend. That tingly phantom sensation came over Zipp once more, like she was being wrapped in TV static and snuggled by its surprising warmth. “Zipp, it’s okay.”
Zipp made a small sound as she tried to fight back more tears. “Is it?” she asked. “I feel so stupid. I got the thing I always wanted, and all I’ve done so far is cry about it.”
“I’m scared, too,” Sunny said.
Zipp stiffened. She sniffled again, wiping a hoof under her nose and sitting up straighter. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t say it before,” she said gently. “I-I thought I was doing the right thing.”
Zipp shrugged. “It’s okay.”
Sunny laughed. “See? Everypony’s looking at me like I’m the leader of the revolution or something, and I don’t even know how to take care of you!” she said, tears nipping at the corners of her words. “Let alone everypony…”
“You know no one expects you to be perfect, right?” Zipp said.
“But they expect me to be something,” Sunny replied. “And… well, the truth is I didn’t think I’d get this far. I thought somepony smarter would swoop in and… I dunno. Take over, I guess.”
Zipp looked over at her friend. “There’s nopony smarter than you,” she said.
Sunny blushed. “Oh, come on.” She waved her hoof dismissively. “You’d more than give me a run for my money, Zipp.”
Zipp shrugged. “Okay, true,” she said with a smirk. “And, come to think of it, I did swoop in.”
Sunny laughed.
Zipp laughed, too.
The sound filled the room, tall and empty as it was.
“I really admire you, Sunny,” Zipp said.
Sunny snorted. “Me? Yeah, right.”
“I do!” Zipp insisted. “You saw a big lie, and you did something about it. I wish I’d been that brave a long time ago. Maybe things would be different.”
Sunny reached out a small, chipped hoof. It connected with Zipp’s—always pedicured to perfection, at the insistence of the court—and ran gently, whisper-soft along its edge.
“I don’t want things to be different,” Sunny said. “It’s scary, sure, but… good scary.”
Zipp swallowed. “Good scary?”
“Yeah,” Sunny said. “I mean, I’ve seen bad scary. Everypony at each other's throats and everything. Actually afraid of the unknown, y’know?”
Zipp nodded.
“That’s not what this is,” Sunny said. “This is… this is exploration.”
Zipp arched a brow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah!” Sunny said, nudging her friend. “We’re like explorers! We get to go out into the unknown together. And it’s scary, but it’s… it’s roller coaster scary. Nervous and excited.”
Zipp scoffed, trying to fight back a smile.
Sunny reached out with another hoof, taking Zipp’s foreleg in a grip that was firm and comforting, and giving her a small, hearty shake. “Aren’t you excited?” she asked. “About what’s out there? About what we can do together?”
Zipp snorted. “I mean, I guess I—”
“You don’t sound excited!” Sunny said, giving her friend another small shake.
“Izzy is really rubbing off on you, isn’t she?”
“Zipp, come on!” Sunny said, leaping to her hooves. “I’m scared, you’re scared—but we can choose not to be! We can be excited and adventurous together! And it starts with this station.”
“I mean, I would argue it started when I decided to steal the royal crown from my own—”
“Zipp.”
“Sorry.”
“We can do anything we want,” Sunny said. “Anything’s possible.”
Zipp was still.
Sunny stood there, in the light coming through the stained glass, looking out at the world beyond Zipp’s secret hideout. Even through the thick, colored glass, the swell of distant mountains was clear. The sign of places not yet traveled, of things wiped from history that had to be uncovered once more.
Those phantom limbs, hints of magic which still pulsed under the skin, floated out from her sides. Her wings spread in the sunlight, their own pieces of marvelous stained glass, stretching with effort that caused them to tremble. Wisps of golden magic curled from the tip of her horn and floated to the ceiling, ducking in and out of shadows.
But there was something else there, too.
Zipp scrambled to her hooves and came to stand beside Sunny, squinting into the stained glass with purpose and determination.
There!
A reflection.
And not of the ponies in the station.
A reflection of somepony else.
She was tall—really tall, actually—but not the thin, waif-like alicorns in ancient art. No, she was a little round. Youthful, but not in that unattainable way. In the natural way. Eyes bright and round, cheeks pink and peach-fuzz soft.
She wasn’t smiling. That was no surprise. Zipp had come to expect an almost alien serenity from alicorns.
But she wasn’t serene, either.
She was nervous. Brows furrowed, eyes darting over her own reflection with an urgency bordering on mania.
Zipp stepped closer.
As did another reflection.
This one small. Stocky. Her face old, but everything else about her almost eternally young.
She looked up at the alicorn beside her.
“You okay, Twilight?” Rainbow asked.
Twilight blinked, drawn out of the strange visions. By her friend’s familiar voice. “Everything’s going to change, isn’t it?”
Rainbow heaved a great sigh. “Y’know, Twi, one of these days we’re gonna have to get used to change.”
Twilight made a small sound, something meant to be dismissive but more in the cadence of a grumpy toddler.
“What’s so different about an airship station?” Rainbow asked. “It’s exactly the same as the last one.”
Twilight shook her head. “I-it’s not that,” she said. “It’s… the future.”
Rainbow furrowed her brows. “We’re in the future, egghead.”
Twilight frowned. “We’re… what?”
Rainbow spread her wings. “We’re in the future. Y’know, like back when we first met, this was always the future. Now we’re here.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Well, maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are,” Rainbow said. “Always knew I’d give you a run for your money.”
“You can’t ever be physically in the future, Rainbow,” Twilight explained, that old teacher-y edge returning as she pounded one hoof on the floor. “You’re only ever in the present.”
“What about time travel?” Rainbow asked.
Twilight grit her teeth. “Not the point.”
“Hey, you started it, Twi,” Rainbow said with a shrug.
Twilight bit her lip. “Something’s going to happen,” she said softly. “To all of this. It won’t last forever. What happens when it all falls apart?”
“Uh.” Rainbow shuffled her hooves. “This is getting a little too philosophical for me.”
“What happens when I move on?” Twilight went on, beginning to pace before the magnificent stained glass. “What happens if Luster Dawn doesn’t want to take the throne?”
Rainbow could only watch as Twilight’s march continued, back and forth, hooves pounding on the marble floor.
“What if there’s something out there—something worse than what we’ve already fought back?” she continued. “What happens if… if something happens?”
“Whoa, whoa!” Rainbow stuck a leg out, nearly tripping Twilight into falling flat on her royal face.
Twilight stopped short and took on a nervous, teetering stance, looking about as firm as a tree being chewed to shreds by a team of beavers.
Rainbow sighed. “Look, Twi,” she began, withdrawing her hoof in favor of a gentler wing. “As much as I admire you trying to plan away the future, things are always gonna happen. Things not even you can predict with that big, giant brain.”
“Rainbow—”
“Not the point,” Rainbow said, waving her wing dismissively.
“Then what is the point?” Twilight growled.
“That… well, we do the best we can,” Rainbow said. “For now.”
Twilight bit the inside of her cheek. “I hate that.”
“I know you do.”
“But what if—”
“Y’know, I was reading the other day about the Well of Shades,” Rainbow said, plowing right through Twilight’s nervous tittering. “Something about magical radiation? Whatever it is, it’s gonna last way, way, way into the future. Longer than you or I or any of us will ever be around to see it.”
“Yes, Rainbow. I know about—”
“Lemme finish, okay?” Rainbow said, holding up a hoof. “The problem is they wanna make sure ponies stay away from it as long as it’s dangerous, but they have no way of knowing if anypony’s gonna remember what happened. Or even speak the same language. Or have a record of our time at all.”
Twilight tapped her own hoof impatiently. “Mhm. I know. I read about it.”
“And there isn’t really an answer,” Rainbow continued, unperturbed. “All we can do is try to make it look dangerous, and hope ponies in the future are smart and good and careful enough to avoid it.”
Twilight looked down at her hooves. “Uh-huh.”
Rainbow made a face as her train of thought derailed. “I guess what I’m saying is that… well, maybe ponies won’t always be good,” she admitted. “I can’t guarantee that. But there will always be good ponies. Ponies who do the brave, scary thing and protect everypony else.”
Twilight looked up. “How do you know?” she asked. Soft. Vulnerable.
Rainbow smiled a small, gentle smile. “Because I know you,” she said. “And I know the Pillars. And I know your students. Someone will always be good.”
Twilight thought about that a moment. Then she bit down on her lip and nodded once.
“So quit freakin’ out about the station, okay?” Rainbow said, giving her friend a hearty clap on the shoulder. “No more doom and gloom. Let’s cut a ribbon, okay?”
Her duty done, Rainbow turned on her heel and prepared to zip back through the empty station.
“Things really are changing, though,” Twilight said.
Rainbow sighed. “Things are always changing, Twi.”
“I mean, first the station,” she said, laughter biting at her words, “now you’re reading…”
Rainbow turned. “Twilight, I swear to…” she trailed off, lost for words. “I swear to you, I’m gonna kick your flank.”
And Twilight laughed.
And it filled the empty room, a sound to match the light of the morning sun through the stained glass window.
