The Sky Above

Rainbow leapt up to her bunk and flopped over, her damp mane slapping limply on her pillow. It was evening, the bunkroom lit by little zephyric lamps that ran haphazardly along the ceiling; the bulbs dancing on their lines to every shake and shudder of the ship reminded her of candlelit rooms – all pools of warmth and cozy shadows.

The others were in much the same state as her. “And we have to get up when?” Rainbow grumbled.

“Early,” Squirrel huffed shortly – as best as Rainbow could tell, whatever she’d been up to in the hold had been taxing, even for her.

“Just have to get through tomorrow,” Twilight chimed in from below.

Rainbow rolled over on her bunk to peer down over the edge. “Thought it was gonna take a few days at least?”

Twilight gave half a shrug. “Maybe the weather’s changed? Gyre said the morning after next.”

Rainbow grunted before curling up into a cozier position. “That’s good, then.”

“Didn’t care for cooking?” Squirrel asked, smiling knowingly up at her.

As much as she wanted to bicker, Rainbow found she just couldn’t muster the energy. “Not as much fun as doing it at home – I mean, seriously, does everybody have to yell like that? Like, all the time?”

“Yes,” Squirrel nodded sagely. “Just be happy you were only doing buffet – at least that way you haven’t had to learn about the dreaded chits.”

Rainbow groaned. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming -- the moment you didn’t ask to be the cook yourself, I should’ve known.”

“Yep,” Squirrel nodded again, smiling widely.

“How’d the hold go?” Twilight chimed in. “What were you clearing up in there, anyways?”

“Oh, that,” Squirrel began, taking a moment to stretch out on her covers and shift into a comfy position, her thicker damp fur fluffing up as it rubbed against the sheets. “A good bit of the stuff down there’s stacked on the most ungainly-looking scaffolding I’ve ever seen. Some of it collapsed – dunno why – and they’re still trying to recover what they can and repair the shelving. It wouldn’t take nearly as long as it has, but the dang hold’s so full there’s just no room to do anything.” She grumbled as she pulled a knee to her chest and began massaging her cannon. “I must’ve spent half the day on my hinds.”

“Oof,” Rainbow commiserated.

“At least they have a proper water array here,” Twilight said. “The showers were nice.”

They couldn’t argue with that. Rainbow spared a glance for her wet pillow and idly wished she’d taken the time to dry her mane and tail properly.

Oh well.

“Same thing for you two tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Well,” Rainbow sighed, rolling back away from the edge. “It’s only one more day – with a little luck I can get through it without any burns.”

Twilight stood to the side while a pair of sailors pushed past, a large bundle of rods balanced longways across their backs. They glanced briefly at her in passing, but seemed otherwise wholely disinterested in the new mare. Makes sense, I suppose, Twilight figured. They probably all know we’re only here til Snowbound.

She was on one of the many wooden gantries that ran between the main clusters within the balloon, enroute to one of the aft pressure pumps; the air was unpleasantly tingly, but at least her ears had finally adjusted.

The mechanisms on the ship were all simple enough – at the end of the day, everything flight-related always came back to celestine; likewise the air pumps keeping the envelope from collapsing in on them were little more than zephyr-powered pistons and slides: all pretty standard fare.

So much so, in fact, that she couldn’t help but feel entirely superfluous.

“Waste of time,” Twilight grumbled as she continued on her way. “Could be repairing the storage bay, but nooo, I’m a uuunicorn.” She huffed again as she stepped into a narrow alcove and started ascending a steep, cage-wrapped ladder; either side of her ran bundles of cold pipes, condensation running off of them in thin streams. She knew she was being a little silly, but after everything that’d happened this past month, she found herself more and more interested in the doing of things, and not just the thinking.

She heaved herself over the top to find herself on yet another narrow gantry, but this time, rather than being sandwiched between pipes, canisters and workstations, she found herself in an open space beneath the top of the envelope; the sun’s glow stood in harsh contrast to the sterile zephyric tubes below, and easily illuminated the walkways crisscrossing the area. Brushing back her mane in the turbulent air, she pressed onward.

Ahead and set either side of stern were two great cylinders from which large ventilation pipes ran along the inner framework of the balloon. Like any other dirigible, these were part of the network that pulled in air from outside and exhausted it within, giving them the significant positive pressure required to keep the envelope intact in the face of strong headwinds; it was inelegant – much of the innards of modern ships often were – but it worked.

A continual thumping came from both devices – a sound that got all the louder as she neared. “Looks fine to me,” Twilight sighed as she did a glance-over of the port one; nevertheless, she started unscrewing the panelling, the sound redoubled in strength the moment it was off. Ears folded tightly back, she cautiously poked her head into the machine and, horn alight, got to work.

Twilight’s ears were still ringing after she’d reattached the panel, dulling the roar of the pumps: even though the pistons themselves were in a sound-deadened room below, the racket reverberating up here was considerable. She rubbed the sides of her head, wishing not for the first time she could’ve turned the machine off while she checked over the redundant controllers.

“At least it’s done,” Twilight mused aloud, if only to check if she could still hear. She’d packed up her basic toolkit and started back to the ladder when a thump shuddered up through the framework. Casting a worried look back at the upper pumps – did she somehow break something? – she considered tearing it down again when another, much larger rumble sounded up from below; she quickly crouched low to the ground: there may’ve been netting over the open spaces either side, but she was in no hurry to test them.

Moments passed before she stood back up. “Did something collapse?” Her eyes widened as she realized what must’ve happened. “The hold!” Dropping her gear, Twilight shot back towards the ladder, scampering down it so fast her hooves slipped off the rungs, dropping her the last several feet to the ground. She landed heavily and stumbled to the ground, eyes wide in shock. “Right,” she breathed as she carefully stood back up. “Slower, I think.” She carried on down the halls to the staircase that brought her up here; it wasn’t until she’d reached the bottom, stepping off onto the balloon’s main level, that she heard the shouting.

Redoubling her pace, she nearly ran straight into a small colt at the top of the main starboard well. “What’s happening?”

“What?” The colt paused barely a moment before continuing to race down the stairs. “Don’t know!” he shouted back over his withers.

Huffing, Twilight hurried after him, the sounds of panicked shouting growing ahead.

“Hey!” A rough voice called from one of the many rooms she’d run past. “Twi!”

Digging in her hooves, Twilight came to an abrupt halt just in time for a triplet of sailors – Rainbow at the rear – to brush roughly by. “Dash!”

Rainbow paused at her side just long enough to give her a quick, worried nuzzle. “They’re saying something’s gone wrong in the hold – let’s go!” And like that she was off again, Twilight well in tow.

They raced onto the cargo bay’s upper floor, the metal gantry clacking under their hooves. Machinery and piping, destined to service the props, covered the outer wall floor-to-ceiling while a thin railing opposite was all there was to keep one from falling into the hold below.

Looking over the rails, Twilight could see that the entire centre had collapsed in on itself, as though the floor had partially given way. Daylight could be seen shining through the gaps in the hull, if just barely through the fallen shelving and cargo that was nearly burying it. A roaring, whistling whine permeated the hold as a strong wind beat into everything.

“Did the floor give out!?” Rainbow shouted over the noise.

Twilight nodded. “Looks it!”

There was a flurry of activity all about the place: cargo being tugged away from the hole, lines being tied to secure what shelving yet stood, and above it all a pair of gryphs were fussing with what looked like a rusty rail-and-pulley crane.

“Hey! Tourists!” a rough voice shouted across the hold at them. Looking up, Twilight saw the speaker was a burly mare, her wings flexed in agitation. “You with the rainbow – help them on that crane! Unicorn – get everything away from the hole! I don’t need the whole blasted hull giving way!”

With a quick nod Rainbow leapt up nimbly onto the rails, flaring her wings and taking off to join the ceiling gryphs. Twilight cast around for the nearest way down before shooting off towards a steep spiral staircase cut right through the walkway floor.

The ground level was a mess. The steady wind and buckled floor-plates had strewn all manner of goods about: in sight alone was a small waterfall of copper ingots, spilt across the floor when their crates had split; crumpled packages, their parchment wrappings flapping noisily about and decorating the scene like fallen leaves; and, flowing like sand amidst it all, copious amounts of raw sugar.

A sweet taste filled the air as Twilight trotted through the dunes, her hooves kicking up little white whorls in her wake. Her plan was to find someone working the same task – it felt too dangerous to risk working at odds with anyone given how delicate everything felt – and coordinate. Stepping around a muzzle-high fragment of shelving, she nearly ran straight into a fluffy-looking dam working to lever back some debris. Before Twilight could even open her mouth, the dam had spotted her.

“Hey!” she said, a frantic edge to her voice. “Help me with this! Too much weight and this blasted breach will widen!”

Twilight hurried to join her, her horn alight as she tried to help: the weight – not to mention just how many things were stacked and twisted upon one another – made a pure brute force attempt seem folly. The plates beneath them audibly rocked as they started clearing away cargo, one item at a time; sugar spilled through the cracks, undoubtedly blowing behind them like so much smoke.

Soon more crew joined them, pulling what they’d freed from the hole still further away, dispersing the weight across the entire hold. Plates groaned and screeched as they rubbed together, in many places now far enough apart that Twilight could make out the ribs beneath; she took what care she could to always be walking above one of these, in the perhaps-vain hope that should the plate she be on buckle and fall, she could reach out and grab the beam.

The hole was growing: whether from the abuse of shifting cargo, or perhaps the entire superstructure was just too old and too weak to sustain itself anymore, she couldn’t say. She was tired now, the strain of her magic – as often holding the debris up as pushing it while she and dam carefully manoeuvred it to safety – caused her breaths to deepen. Around her, shelving was levered back; a quick glance upwards showed that they’d gotten the crane up and running, its limited rail system forcing them along slow, awkward paths.

Nothing she’d been working on looked nearly heavy enough to cause the collapse, although even as she thought that she couldn’t help but counter that whatever had been over the epicentre was undoubtedly scattered across the rocky fields below.

A tap on her withers grabbed her attention. “Should be good now,” the dam puffed, jerking her head abaft. “Let’s go.” Relieved, Twilight immediately followed suit as they wove through stacks and heaps of the surviving cargo, letting the others carry on the subtler work.

There was a small office of sorts between the bay and the stubby landing platform outside. Despite the scuffed, paper-laden desk, there was still enough room to sit and slump against the walls. Twilight sighed, closing her eyes as she rested her head against the stained wood.

The dam did much the same beside her. “What a mess,” she groaned.

Twilight grunted in response.

The sounds of shouting – as much angry as harried – echoed back to them from the hold. “Sounds like they’re trying to find someone to blame,” Twilight said.

The dam snorted softly. “Probably.”

A sudden thought came to Twilight, surging her to her hooves. “Do you know if anyone was hurt?” She hadn’t seen Squirrel, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t safely running around somewhere.

“Don’t think so,” the dam began, but Twilight was already leaving the office. The hold was still just as much a hive of activity as when she’d left it: dark bodies – most clad in heavy work jackets – were darting in and out of sight among the debris; a few of them were light enough or colourful enough to stand out, but given Squirrel’s dun-and-hoar colouration, she could be right in front of her and she may not even notice.

“Go ask Wintercress,” said a voice behind her. Looking back, Twilight saw that the dam had followed her, and was now pointing up at the stout pegasus from earlier. Casting around for some stairs, Twilight made to do just that – even if the mare couldn’t help, she’d have a much better view from up there.

The spiral stairs reminded her of just how tired she was; reaching the top, she took a few moments to school her breathing before approaching the mare. “Umm... hello?”

The mare – Wintercress – shot her an irritated look before, with a flick of her tail, ignoring her. Twilight didn’t really want to annoy her – she was clearly busy directing actions below – so she reared up next to her to get a good look at everything.

Rainbow was still busy flitting about between crane and hook, helping to pull still more things away from the breach – a breach that had widened dramatically since they’d first entered the hold however long ago. From the looks of it, barely a dozen people were in the bay. “Checking the outside, maybe?” Twilight wondered aloud.

Beside her, Wintercress grunted. “Got a bunch there, yeah. You want something?”

Twilight frowned at the mare’s brusqueness, but tried to remember that as her ship had kind of just fallen apart, she was probably allowed to be a touch rude. “Trying to see if my friend’s alright. Was anyone hurt? Is everyone okay?”

Wintercress gave another grunt. “Anyone close by scarpered the moment the deck started buckling: if you can’t see your friend here, then she’s probably fine somewhere else.” The mare flexed her wings, ruffling them as she folded them back to her sides; then, without a second glance at Twilight, went back to yelling down at the sailors below.

Seeing the dismissal for what it was, Twilight took another look around for Squirrel; seeing nothing, she decided to make her way back down – as long as Squirrel was safe, there seemed little point to running around looking for her when she could stay here and keep helping instead.

Her jacket shifted uncomfortably as she descended, reminding her of just how hot and sweaty she was despite the cool air. “A shower after all this wouldn’t go amiss,” she muttered to herself. Spotting the dam already back to work, Twilight moved to join her – she’d rested enough.

Squirrel, as it had turned out, had been off checking systems with some of the technicians as they tried to figure out what else may’ve failed. “I suppose,” Twilight said from where she was slumped in her seat, “that this type of vessel has some sort of failsafe for something like this? If the entire cargo bay sloughed away, I mean?” She, Rainbow and Squirrel were huddled together over one of the tables in the galley; it was evening, but still light enough to make out the rocky mountains passing below.

“Weeell,” Squirrel hedged, an almost embarassed look on her face. “Most cargo dirigibles would have ‘weak’ struts or wires holding up the hold – that way, if there’s a major fire or they’re woefully over-burdened in a storm or something, they can cut the hold loose and try to recover the contents later.”

“Would anyone even do that, though?” Rainbow asked, looking up from where she’d been nursing her drink. “Sounds like a huge waste of money.”

“And the contractees’ trust – so no, not that I know of,” Squirrel admitted. “It’s really just for utter emergencies; not that it would’ve mattered here – this ship’s got nothing like it.”

Twilight tried to hold in a sigh. “So if the hold had really started to collapse, there’d’ve been no recourse to save the ship?”

“We could’ve jumped?” Squirrel said, still with that embarassed look to her. “This, umm, this isn’t really a good vessel, Sparks.”

“So I understand, yes,” Twilight said, slumping over even further: the last few hours had been stunningly tiring, and she could hardly wait til bed. “Do either of you know our pace? I haven’t seen Gyre to ask.”

“Tomorrow,” Rainbow said, a faint smile growing on her face. “Late morning I think? Don’t think they’re gonna let us sleep in, though.”

“In case we’re late, I’d imagine,” Squirrel agreed.

“Mmm,” Twilight groaned. “For once I wouldn’t be opposed to sleeping in.”

“No kidding,” Rainbow grumbled.

Rainbow flopped over, her head bouncing lightly against her pillow. Supper had been a rushed affair, with little time for prep or getting together some decent stews -- it also didn’t help that it was just her and Crant doing everything, what with everyone else having been sent to help damage control; luckily, the sire could more than handle himself in the kitchen.

Something was nagging at her, however. “Hey Squirrel?”

The mare’s voice drifted up at her from below. “Hmm?”

“How many boat things does this ship have, anyways?” Rainbow rolled over to peer down from her bunk. “I mean, a lot of us here could just fly away if the ship blows up, and Twi can just magic herself to safety – “

“ – featherfall,” Twilight muttered sleepily.

“Yeah that,” Rainbow nodded. “But, like, you and Crant and Ruffle and stuff would just splat, right?”

Squirrel chuffed. “Nice imagery. I think all of us wings folk could’ve fit into just one of the tenders with room to spare, and we’ve got two.”

“Yeah, but, was anyone on them? Like, weren’t they all tied down?”

“Rainbow,” Squirrel rolled her eyes. “For one: we were all too busy trying not to have the ship go down at all to fuss with those things, and two: I’m pretty sure I already said this wasn’t a very good ship? What’s the worry about? I’m sure I’d’ve been fine if we blew up. Somehow.”

Rainbow frowned, but nodded – she didn’t know why she was even arguing, anyways. “I guess. Just didn’t think any of these ships would ever get in that kind of state.” She was still frowning uncertainly when she felt a few bumps through her mattress.

“Hey,” Twilight said softly, a leg still braced on the underside of Rainbow’s bunk. “It’s fine, Dash. I’ve seen the superstructure of this place – it’s solid, and the celestine is well set in place. It’s practically unheard of for a dirigible to plummet, and I’ve never heard of one that went down so fast that anyone died.”

“Yeah, Rainbow,” Squirrel chipped in. “Floatstone fails slow. I guess there was some risk if any of us were standing on the breach itself, but even then the floor should’ve been sagging enough to frighten us off.”

“I guess... not that I’m worried or anything,” Rainbow added hastily. “I was just curious.”

“Uh huh,” Twilight said, giving her bunk another soft nudge.

Rainbow grumbled, but felt better all the same. She rolled onto her side, leaving the other two to chat, and stared off down the bunkroom, past the crewmembers quietly chatting or reading alone; it wasn’t long before she found herself lost in idle thoughts.