A Million Miles From Home
“Pass the bread, dearest?”
Apollo lit his horn. A pale blue aura surrounded the bread basket and carried it across the long dining table. Bittersweet reached out with her hoof and transferred a roll to her plate.
Apollo’s eyes lingered on her. Her pale coat and wavy hair took his breath away every time he got to see her, which was a rare occurrence these days.
“You’re staring, Apollo,” she said.
“I can’t help it,” he replied. “You’re beautiful.”
She waved a hoof. “Oh, stop it. We both know we’re getting older.”
“And yet you still look as beautiful as you did when we were in college.”
She blushed, and Apollo chuckled.
“Moooom, Daaad,” the young filly sitting on Apollo’s right said. “Gross! Stop being so cheesy!”
He reluctantly tore his gaze away from his wife. “Sorry, Whipple,” he said, turning to her. “Sometimes it’s hard.”
Whipple was five, and Apollo couldn’t believe how much she’d grown. He’d seen the pictures his wife had sent him, of course, but seeing her ‘in person’ really hammered it home.
The dining room was a small one, with light, slightly-faded wallpaper. The table they were sitting at was long and wooden, able to accommodate six but doing well enough for three. A window sat on the opposite wall from Apollo; he could feel the warmth of the sunlight where it landed on his coat.
Beyond the glass, he could see out into the village street, ponies coming and going along a dirt path lined with bushes and flowers. The sky overhead was a shallow blue, faint wisps of clouds drifting across it on the gentle breeze.
Perfection.
Apollo dipped his spoon into the bowl of vegetable soup in front of him. Steam drifted off it as he raised it to his lips. He blew on it to cool it down.
“This soup is delicious,” he said, after he’d swallowed.
“Isn’t it?” Bittersweet said. “I wish I could take credit for that.”
“They really knocked it out of the park this year,” Apollo said.
Bittersweet raised an eyebrow. “Better than my cooking?”
“Ah—no,” Apollo backpedaled. “I do miss your cooking. Just, y’know—”
Bittersweet laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, I know I can’t compete with the chefs they employ for these things. Honestly, it’s amazing what they can do nowadays.”
They lapsed into silence, and Apollo drank some more of his soup. Chunks of carrot, fennel, potato, and tomato, all complimented by each other and the broth they were swimming in. It had a very nostalgic taste, like something his mother would have made. If she’d been a better chef, anyway.
Whipple, however, didn’t seem to like the sudden quiet.
“Daddy!” she said, a little too loud.
Apollo smiled at her. “Yes, Whipple?”
“Tell me about being an engy—engine…” She paused, pursed her lips. “An en-gi-nee-ah?”
“Now now, dear, you know we don’t talk about Daddy’s work today,” Bittersweet said, in a gentle-but-scolding tone.
Whipple frowned. “But I wanna know! All my friends at school wanna know, too!”
Apollo gave her a smile. “Sorry, Whipple. That’s the rule.”
She pouted.
“Tell you what,” Apollo said. “I’ll tell you all about it the next time your mother and I are on the phone. How about that?”
Whipple pouted a little less. “Okay, I guess.”
“That’s my girl.” Apollo leaned back in his chair. “So, how’s school going, kiddo?”
She smiled. “Really good!”
“Tell him what you painted in class yesterday,” Bittersweet said.
“I painted a rocket ship!”
“Really? Wow,” Apollo said. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“Her teacher says she’s a joy to have in class,” Bittersweet said. “And that she’s making friends fast.”
Apollo smiled, then reached over and ruffled Whipple’s curly mane with his hoof, causing her to giggle.
He slid back into his chair. Once again, his eyes returned to the view outside the window.
“They did a great job putting this place together this year,” he said.
“I hear Princess Twilight herself requested it,” Bittersweet responded. “Something from her youth.”
“Huh,” Apollo said. “From an alicorn’s youth?”
“Yeah. I can’t even imagine it, can you?”
He shook his head.
They lapsed into silence again, and Apollo once again returned to his soup. It had cooled down a bit by now. Steam no longer wafted up from its surface. It was the little details like this that really sold it.
Perfection.
A loud beep sounded in Apollo’s ear and he sighed.
“Looks like my time is up,” he said.
“Already?” Bittersweet looked distraught. “Can’t you stay just a little longer?”
“You know as well as I do that there are other ponies waiting for their turn,” he replied. “I’m just glad I got to spend time with you both like this.”
“But daddy, I miss you,” Whipple said.
Apollo smiled a sad smile. “I know. I miss you too, Whipple. I promise I’ll come back just as soon as I can. You be good for your mother while I’m gone, okay?”
Whipple nodded.
“Don’t forget to call,” Bittersweet said.
“You know I won’t.”
Another beep sounded in Apollo’s ear. He quickly got up from the table and moved to Bittersweet. He kissed her; her lips were soft and warm.
Whipple jumped out of her seat and ran over to him. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, then swept both his daughter and his wife into a big hug.
He didn’t want to let go, but he knew that he had to.
“Alright,” he said, pulling back. “I’m going now.”
“Goodbye, dearest,” Bittersweet said.
“Bye bye, daddy!” Whipple said.
Apollo smiled.
He opened his mouth.
“Call disengage.”
His vision faded to black.
Apollo pulled the neural VR helmet off his head with his hooves and blinked. The warm, cozy home was replaced by walls of grey metal, pipes and cables snaking their way across it. A workstation with a computer readout sat in front of him, wires trailing up to the helmet. It was just a bit too cold to be comfortable. It always was.
He was back in the booth.
He set the helmet down on the station and slowly stood up. His legs offered some resistance; he’d been sitting there for some time, after all. He stretched the stiffness out of them.
Apollo let out a sigh. Blinking again, he turned around and pushed the button next to the door to the booth. It slid open on silent tracks.
Another pony was waiting to go in. Actually, a lot of them were; there were ponies lined up at each of the six VR booths that occupied the room. Apollo stepped out of the booth, sidestepping the next-in-line as they entered for their own Polaris Day celebration.
He made his way to the back of the room. Another member of the crew waved him over; Apollo headed towards him. “Hey, Lugnut,” he said, as he got closer.
“Yo,” Lugnut said. He was a fellow engineer. “Have a good time?”
Apollo nodded. “The best.”
“Signal okay?”
“No delay at all, on either end. Glad we got that FTL signal array boosted after last year, it really helped.”
“Yeah, me too,” Lugnut said, nodding. “How’s the wife?”
“Beautiful as ever,” Apollo said. “Same with the kid. You wouldn’t believe how big she’s getting.”
Lugnut laughed. “She’ll be all grown up before you know it.”
Apollo grinned and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Stop it. I’m trying to cherish it while I can. How ‘bout you?”
“Oh, you know,” he said. “Shared some virtual wine with Rocky, flirted a bunch… it always amazes me that they can simulate the buzz of alcohol in these things. I always expect to come out of it still drunk.”
“How’s he doing?” Apollo asked.
“Pretty good, from the looks of things,” Lugnut said. “Misses me a whole bunch, or at least, that’s what he said. He’s focused on his caseload, though, so that keeps him busy.” He smiled. “Really good to see him again. Can’t wait for this jaunt to be over.”
“I hear you on that one.”
It had been three years since they’d left Equus. Whipple had barely been two years old when Apollo had gotten the job aboard the HMS Celestia. He still felt guilty about that, but a seven-year mining mission to a distant asteroid would set them up for a long time, and Bittersweet had encouraged him to go.
They stayed in touch regularly, though. And, of course, there was Polaris Day.
Lugnut sighed. “Well, I guess that’s enough dilly-dallying. We should get back to Engineering. I’m sure they’ve got something for us to do.”
Apollo nodded. In truth, his mind was still several light-years away with his family as he followed Lugnut back into the cramped hallways of the ship.
Adrift in the cold, unforgiving vastness between the stars, it was easy to forget what was important. To become apathetic. Detached. And so, once a year, for an hour each, on every craft sailing through the sea of the cosmos, the crew took over their ship’s neural VR room.
A day to meet with friends, to spend time with loved ones. A day to ground them in the world they had left behind, even if it was all virtual.
A day for them to remember, like the North Star guiding ancient sailors home.
Polaris Day.
