Luna's Daylight

by Alicorn_Avionics

Rating: everyone
Tags: Princess Luna, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other, Adventure, Random, Princess Celestia, Human
Length: 3761

Luna swaps her tiara for a top hat and enters the world of railroad ownership, only her one engine isn't Equestrian built.

Willard Eperts had considered himself lucky: He'd attained his dream job of stoking Southern Pacific's Daylight Limited at the age of twenty, he'd made quick friends with the engineer, and when the United States dove into the Second World War in 1941, he'd managed to dodge recruiters and keep his dream job by the skin of his teeth.

I did say "had," right?

Now, he's debtor to a princess in a world of talking ponies, and the only way he can repay his debt is through running loads on the Equestrian Railways. It wasn't even his fault for parking the 400-ton machine on that marble floor.

*Disclaimer: The characters of Willard "Willy" Eperts and Murton "Morty" Turner are completely fictional. Any relation to persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. The records for the true engineers and firemen of the Daylight fleet of locomotives can probably be found within Union Pacific's historical archives. This was just an idea I had that I wanted to write.

Published 2013-01-20 17:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-01-20 17:40:01 UTC

Prologue: Ramblings of an Old Railroader

Luna's Daylight
Prologue: Ramblings of an Old Railroader
NOTE: Descriptions for all railroading terms used in this chapter can be found in the author's notes.

"Mr. Eperts, you have a visitor," Droned an obviously bored nurse from the doorway before walking away, leaving a young man bewildered at the threshold. The man scanned the room from his vantage point, taking in the details. The room itself was small, as could be expected at such a retirement home, being only big enough for one bed, a nightstand, a bookshelf, a dresser, and an armchair; and yet its occupant had managed to fill it with a lifetime of memories. Dozens of framed photographs covered the beige walls, with placards and awards adding a glint of gold in the filtered sunlight snaking past the blinds. Several albums containing more pictures of his past were neatly tucked within the singular nightstand. The more the young man glanced about the room, the more intrigued he became.

He began to notice the various other trinkets and oddities the other man had obtained in his lifetime. A model of Southern Pacific's Daylight Limited populated a corner of the dresser. Railyard signage pocked the walls wherever there was room between photos. A single placard, six inches tall by eighteen inches wide, caught the young man's eye. The number "4455" stood out in gleaming brass upon a background of bright, glossy red. He edged closer to it, trying to discern its importance.

"Ah, so you fancy her old number plate," Came a voice from underneath the bed's comforter. The young man spun around on the spot to face an older gentleman sitting up on the bed. "I don't blame you, she was one hell of a looker in her time..." the old man trailed off, allowing the wrinkled corners of his mouth to curl into a small smile of reminiscence.

"Oh, pardon me," He began again, snapping out of his revelry, "I don't get quite too many visitors around here. My name's-"

"Willard Eperts?"

"Eh, yes, yes. 'Willy' to those who knew me. And you are... ?"

"John Turner. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Eperts. My father has told me a lot about you." The young man greeted, stepping over to the bed and shaking his hand.

"John... Turner?" Willard repeated, the rusted gears of his mind grinding at the mention of the name. The name was familiar, he had known a Turner at one point during his ninety-plus years alive. He squinted his beaded eyes at his guest, searching for similarities. John slowly grew uncomfortable as the old man's scrutiny continued. He tried to back away, only to be pulled back in by Willard grasping his hand fiercely. How the old man had kept so much strength at his age was beyond him. Suddenly, a look of revelation sprung to Willard's weathered features, his eyes gleaming.

"You-you're Morty's boy! Hooo-ho! I knew that old bastard had a girl!" Willard wheezed joyfully. After calming himself down, he noticed John's look of bewilderment. "Murton, Murton Turner? He was your gandpappy, wasn't he?" John nodded. "Ha, ha! Come, sit, have a seat! I'll have Missy bring us along something. What brings you here, boy?"

"I've seen you in a lot of the photos my dad kept of you and my grandfather. He died before I was born, and I want to learn more about him. You two worked for the Southern Pacific railroad, right?"

"More than that, son. Mort- er, Murton was the engineer and I the stoker for the Daylight. A damn shame they scrapped most of 'em. Beautiful engines..." He forlornly mused, glancing over at the number placard. "Bah, that's in the past anyway. So, what is it you wanna know? How we whiled away the hours on the main iron, or how the two of us dodged the war?"

John shifted in the armchair and produced a large gold coin roughly the size of a half dollar. "Well, my father said you might know something about this."

Willard squinted, trying to focus on the coin's design. He grabbed his glasses off of the bedstand and slid them on, his eyes going wide as the design became clear.

"Where did you get that?" Willard breathlessly asked, raising a shaking hand for the trinket. He turned it over and over again, examining every inch of its surface. A stylized sun with a crescent moon nested within it lay embossed on one face, while the heads of two unicorns engraved on the other side smiled gently at the coin's bearer. The phrase "Concordia et pax pro omnibus" was etched into its rim. "There's a story behind this coin," he said, holding it up so John could see "Canterlot Minted" arched over the sun and moon, "a story I promised Morty I'd not tell a soul until he was good an' buried. Now, it's been onwards of forty years since then, an' you're gonna be the first to hear it." He chuckled slightly. "Fitting, really, to be talking to his own kin about it."

"Anyway, that day started like any other in the San Francisco yard, fog creepin' through the bogies..."

Author's Note

Each chapter will include a glossary of railroading terms used within them as well as facts about the Daylight and/or Southern Pacific Railroad.

Railroading terms used in this chapter:
Bogie: The assembly to which the wheels are attached to a locomotive or rail car
Main iron: Slang for "main line"

Fun fact: Over the course of its operation, the Southern Pacific Railroad purchased 48 of the GS ("Golden State" or "General Service") class of locomotives from the Lima Locomotive Works in four separate series (Ranging from GS-2 to GS-5) to pull their Daylight trains. Of these 48, only one remains: a GS-4 with the road number 4449. Willard's 4455 is also a GS-4 locomotive, and one of the last GS-4's to have been produced.

Chapter 1: Off the Rails

Luna's Daylight
Chapter 1: Off the Rails
NOTE: Descriptions for all railroading terms used in this chapter can be found in the author's notes.

The city of San Francisco stirred lightly in the smog of an early November morning. Fleets of trawlers departing from Fisherman's Wharf grumbled as they plied across the bay towards the orange towers of the Golden Gate, getting an early start to the day's fishing. Few automobiles shared the streets with what cable cars had emerged to start the early morning commute while factories sat mute in the morning mist. In the east of the waking city by the bay however, things were far different.

Steam locomotives clattered loudly over the rails in Southern Pacific's Mission Bay yard, crying out with sharp whistle blasts as they crossed paths. Switches snapped open and closed while rolling stock assaulted each other as plumes of dark soot billowed overhead, clouding the air and assaulting the nostrils. A few men in denim workwear dodged bustling switchers as they made their way to the yard's roundhouse. Within the building, several men crowded around a pegboard while five Daylight locomotives simmered, their fireboxes providing a gentle roar as they built pressure in their boilers.

"Engine 4430... San Francisco troop deployment, depart yard by 10 a.m ... Engine 4437... In for service... Engine 4449... Coast Daylight #88, depart yard by 8:30 a.m..." Willard Eperts called out for his fellow workers as he ran a finger down the day's work orders. Since joining with the railroad in 1938, he'd been doling out the day's duties every morning. While it had originally been due to him being the youngest member of the crew (joining at the age of twenty), he'd grown accustomed to this morning ritual and continued doing so despite having served another five years. "Engine 4451... Oakland troop deployment, depart yard by 8 a.m... and finally, my own 4455... Deadhead to L.A. for Sunset Limited tomorrow, depart yard by 9 a.m!"

"Dammit, Willy!"

"You lucky bastards..."

"Morty 'n you always git th' deadheads!"

"Hey, a deadhead to L.A. ain't all it's cracked up to be," Willard defended, "Morty and I can't hardly find things to talk about other than the war to fill the time as we're blowin' through stations!"

A round of groans passed through the assembled men, some chortling as they turned towards their respective engines. Willard snapped open his pocket watch to check the time. Let's see, 6:42, gotta leave by nine... with her boiler at half pressure now... perfect amount of time to get her steamed up! he thought, while sauntering through the roundhouse behind the locomotives. He loved the Daylight engines, and while there were over twenty of them in existence, there was only one he considered his own.

"Willard!" Called a deep, gravelly voice from atop the tender of Daylight #4455 while wrangling the eight foot long dipstick back into it's place, "What've we got today?" Willard grinned up at his partner, Murton Turner. The older man had spent several decades of his life with the railroad, and was twenty-three years Willard's elder. Murton had joined as a yard worker, and worked his way up to his current position as engineer for the Daylight after losing three of his fingers in separate accidents.

"We got another deadhead to L.A., Morty!" The two shared a laugh. "Let's get her out onto a whisker across the table and let her finish warming up!"

"You got it!" Murton replied, clambering down into the all-weather cab. Willard opened the roundhouse doors, soaking in the image of his Daylight waking for the day. To him, number 4455 was more than a machine, it was a living beast. Her joints creaked and popped as the monstrosity eased forward from its home, hissing in its morning exercise. While the electric lights didn't do the brilliant orange and red paint it's full justice, the engine was just as striking against the dark night. Willard smiled. He knew today was going to be good day.

Willard and Murton swayed slightly in the cab as they thundered down the rails along the southern California coastline. The Daylight panted as she raced along at her full clip with Willard keeping her firebox well fed. These were the days Willard loved. Nothing but the whipping winds past the windows, the deep bellows from the whistle rattling him to his core, and the bright California noon-day sun gleaming off of her brilliant paint. He couldn't appreciate the day to its full extent however, as he'd come under attack from sudden dizzy spells, headaches and mid-day grogginess within the past week. He'd reckoned it was just the coming on of a cold.

They continued on until a raised signal stopped them just north of the Santa Susana Pass.

"Willard, you alright there?" Murton asked while patting him on the shoulder, "You seem just a little out of it there."

"Bah, it's nothin' much. Just a headache, is all. Probably just my reaction to that new grease they shipped in."

"Ah, that's gotta be it. Been feeling that way myself, to be honest. Got it bad today, though."

"Hmm. Found a girl- I'm sorry, 'nice woman,' yet?" Willard asked, trying to fill the time while waiting for the northbound train to clear the pass.

Morty laughed before raising up his left hand, displaying his missing ring finger and pinkie. "I'm married to the job, remember? Bah, I could never find a woman who'll love a grimy ol' engineman like me. Now my brother... he's got a gal in every port, the bastard! Made a good choice joining the Navy, he did. Last I heard of him, he'd transferred to the Eldridge for some exercises they've been running in Philadelphia." A faint whistle in the distance alerted the pair their tenure at the signal was nearly over. "Oh, here they are!"

Willard groaned as the cab shook from the northbound train rattling past, his headache growing exponentially. He heard the signal clatter loudly into it's lower position, giving them the go-ahead to continue south, but couldn't focus as the world seemed to blur. He shut his eyes as the loud bellows from the Daylight's whistle only made his headache worse. His sense of balance was upset as the engine began rolling forward before Willard felt his stomach flip as though he were falling. Without warning, the cab jolted violently, sending WIllard to the floor as he was nearly deafened by an explosive sound.

With his ears still ringing, Willard struggled to get to his footing only to find the world had suddenly grown dark, the firebox providing their only source of light within the cab. He soon realized most of the high-pitched squealing wasn't from his ears, but from the wheels still attempting to turn. Murton locked the brakes on full, causing two jets of steam to hiss loudly from the Daylight's cylinders in response. With another loud bang, the cab shuddered forward again, nearly taking both Willard and Murton to the deck again.

"Guards, guards!" Came a panicked yell from some distance behind the engine. Angry shouts and a mad clattering of metal on stone echoed around all them. Willard tossed open the left door to the cab and gaped at what he saw. It was not, as he half expected, the interior of the Santa Susana Tunnel, but rather the interior of a large gallery. Marble columns supported the high, vaulted ceiling where the Daylight's smoke collected among elegant bunting and curtains. Instead of the limestone walls there stood a stained glass window, while below him where crushed stone should have been supporting the rails underneath them, a shattered marble floor bore the full weight of the locomotive.

"Morty, just where the hell are we?"

"Stop right there!"

***

***

Location: Canterlot
Time: 12:03 a.m.

A full moon hung high over Canterlot, casting a silvery sheen over the gilded spires of the city. The stars glinted and shimmered against their black backdrop. The streets of the capitol city were empty. Flags stirred in the light mountain breezes. Crickets chirped softly within the castle gardens, breaking the otherwise perfect silence with their melodious chatter. Equestria, as a whole, was asleep; save for one midnight-blue alicorn and her nocturnal guard.

The Princess of the Night sauntered through the darkened corridors, giving a slight nod to her own Lunar Guard as she passed their post at the doors to the throne room. Luna loved managing her nights from the throne room as opposed to her balcony. It gave her a sense of power her balcony couldn't match, although tonight she was here for a very different reason. She sat upon the regal throne and looked down the length of the chamber. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she dimmed the moon just enough to envelope the main doors in darkness, creating a seemingly endless void before her. Perfect.

Luna shifted her wings, letting an old tome shuffle free from its hiding place. Another grin found a home on her muzzle as she read the gold-inlaid title. Advanced Magicks and Conjurations, Penned by Starswirl the Bearded, she thought, giggling as she remembered how she had pestered the old stallion incessantly while he wrote the book by hoof. She pryed open the aged tome and began scanning its pages. The spells and incantations were forbidden for anypony to read, much less practice, but being a princess had its perks after all (even if she still had to sneak it out of Celestia's private library to get at it).

The reason for her sisterly subterfuge was simple: Just before her banishment, Luna had begun studying from the old tome, honing her skills with relatively simple spells After returning from her extended stay on the moon, Luna had been devoted to comprehending current political situations with the neighboring countries, learning of new towns and developments, and losing the speech patterns of old, all at the sacrifice of building her magical strength. It also didn't help that Celestia forbade Luna from reading the book, through law. Luna's expression soured a little as she recalled that little detail.

'It's for the good of everyone, I assure you...' Luna mocked internally, while preparing a spell from the tome. '...You're still developing your control and have untold amounts of untapped power...' She continued, now moving her mouth with the words. Her horn glowed with its blue aura, forming a sphere at its tip. "'...You're not ready for these spells, not after such a tenure of disuse...'" Luna mumbled, now expanding the sphere to the extremes of the throne room. "I just don't want you to lose control again, Lulu.'" She now growled, her voice picking up in intensity with every syllable. The walls glowed for a moment as the sphere of magic melted into them.

"'Lose control again,'" She snarled indignantly, "As if I had a CHOICE in losing my MIND to that MONSTROSITY AND NEARLY TEARING THY VERY PLANET ASUNDER!!"

Immediately she clapped her hooves over her mouth, regretting her use of the Royal Canterlot Voice in her fit of rage. Luna darted her eyes around nervously, her hate suddenly lost in the anxiety of being found with her forbidden text. Several minutes passed in silence save for the clinking of the chandeliers before she remembered the nature of the spell she'd cast moments before: Starswirl's personal spell made to block vibrations for his own experiments. A beneficial side effect was the excellent sound-proofing it provided.

For the past few weeks, Luna had been securing the throne room nightly so she could practice her magic freely and, more importantly, expand it. Recently, she'd set her sights on an advanced teleportation spell, one where if done correctly, could summon a small artifact from a realm beyond Equestria. She'd come close in the nights prior, forming the necessary arc of energy, peeling away the bothersome layers of space and time, even managing to make telepathic contact with the object her magic had chosen, but the magic had always fizzled out just as she tried to pull it back across the multiverse.

Luna was set that tonight was going to be it. She'd finally have her little other-worldly trinket which had eluded her for so long. She closed her eyes, focusing and molding the magic within herself. She formed the arc, as she'd done many times before, with perfect precision. The layers of time and space seemingly melted away from her touch, allowing her access to the greater multiverse. She meandered for awhile before focusing onto her treasure. Luna beamed as she found the familiar feeling of its coolness. She gave it a pull, but it didn't budge. She put more magic into the motion, only the meet the same result. Not to be denied her treasure again, Luna added yet more magic, bringing her magic flow to her absolute brink. Suddenly, a surge of raw magic rushed forward and entangled itself around the object. It lurched, springing back through space and time before blasting into the throne room with a bright flash and an explosive sound, shaking the room to its core. Luna's eyes shot open, cringing in protest of the unearthly screech now reverberating through the chamber. In front of her, the "small trinket" turned out to be an outlandishly sized machine. Uneasily, she edged around to the side of its orange and red girth and gasped as she took in its details.

Sparks lazy danced away from its huge steel wheels grinding against the marble floor, a confusing system of levers and slides moving along with them. Smoke billowed from its top, sending clouds of soot to mix amongst the chandeliers while a foul scent invaded her nose. The words "SOUTHERN PACIFIC" stuck out against the orange paint in bold white lettering. Luna wandered towards the warm red glow at the machine's midsection, but froze as it let out a loud groaning and clanking, bringing its wheels to a halt. Suddenly, it let out a loud hiss, shooting a jet of steam at high pressure. Luna panicked, galloping away while blasting the device with a bolt of magic for good measure, leaving a large dent on its rear panel.

"Guards, guards!" Luna wailed in her Canterlot Voice from behind the throne, having removed Starswirl's spell. In an instant, the Castle was a mad flurry of activity as guards clamored to their princess' aid. As the Lunar Guards entered the throne room, they all paused for a moment before taking up positions around the machine.

"Stop right there!" A guard cried, pointing a shaking spear at the device. His comrades shared his apprehension as they stood in formation with him. "S-step down, now! Both of you!"

Good, good, they've got that under control... Luna thought, still panicking slightly. As long as Celly wasn't woken up, I could probably-

"Luna! What exactly is happening here?"

...Damnit.

Author's Note

Railroading terms used in this chapter:
Coast Daylight #88: Express train service running from San Francisco to Los Angeles.
Deadhead: Train and/or engine crew moved without performing service, from one terminal to another at railroad convenience and for which they are paid.
Engineman: Slang for "engineer."
Hump Yard: A switching yard on an incline where, after movements by the engine, the cars are shunted by gravitational pull to their destination in a yard.
Sunset Limited: Express train service running from Los Angeles to New Orleans.
Switchers: Smaller locomotives used to move rolling stock within a yard, usually bear all of their weight on their driving wheels.
Table: Slang for "turntable."
Turntable: A track table operating on a pivot for diverting locomotives or cars into a specific track.
Whisker: Section of track used to store locomotives at a turntable, usually uncovered.

Fun Facts: Stories like Murton's weren't uncommon. Before the advent of hump yards*, many yard workers lost multiple fingers, even hands and sometimes their arms from being crushed between couplers. Most lost their jobs after losing most of their digits, although some were hired on to throw switches, as the large single-handled levers required little dexterity to operate.

The Mission Bay Yard was Southern Pacific's hub planted firmly within San Francisco's city limits, with an overflow yard (the Bayshore Yard) just north of San Bruno Mountain. By the 1980's, the turntable pit was filled in and the main yard and roundhouse torn up and developed into office buildings. The Bayshore Yard roundhouse still stands, and its table pit remains unfilled, although nothing remains of the original yard trackage.