The Trolley Problem

You do have some leeway when it comes to admitting passengers, but she’s only got fares for half her family. “I’m sorry,” you say. “The company’s really strict about allowing fare-jumping. If you can’t pay, you can’t board. It’s just that simple.”

Her face falls. “I understand.”

You pull the doors shut and ring the bell, then twist the lever to get the trolley in motion. In the rearview mirror, you see the group of them start walking in the direction of the train station.

•••

There are any number of problems which affect the trolleys—breakdowns, line blockages, overcrowding . . . fires are a new one. The stoves seem to be the cause of the issue, but nopony knows why. Nothing has changed in years: the trolley you typically operate is two decades old now, and one of its sisters went up in flames just a few weeks before.

As a result, you inspect the stove carefully at the beginning of your shift, and whenever you happen to be in the passenger cabin. Thus far, you haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary—no one has.

Two days prior, another trolley on your route went up in flames; burned down to a husk before the fire department could get there and put it out. It’s affecting the routes; new equipment has been ordered but trolleys can’t be built overnight and it will be a while before new ones arrive. The equipment is spread thin, delays ripple across the system, the schedule has been cut.

The pony with the grimy smudges across his cutie mark doesn’t stand out when he boards; you serve plenty of working-class ponies. You’ve never seen him before but he could be a new hire. It’s only pure coincidence that you’re looking back at the mirror as he kicks something in the direction of the stove, and a few minutes later, you see flames burst forth, eagerly licking at the wooden walls of the trolley.

If he’d tried that on a later run, he might have gotten away with it; your first responsibility is to the safety of your passengers, not capturing an arsonist. But they’re all regulars, they know where the exits are and get out fast, and you tackle him as he tries to gallop off into the crowd of onlookers.

“Why?”

You can see the anger in his eyes. “Years ago, one of you turned my family away when we didn’t have enough fare . . . we missed the train, my sister lost her job, and we went hungry for a couple of years until we could get back on our hooves, so I swore my revenge.” And then he swings a hoof at you and gallops off into the crowd of rubberneckers before you can give chase.