//------------------------------// // 2. The change in motion of an object is proportional to the force it experiences. // Story: Laws of Motion // by mushroompone //------------------------------// When I was sixteen, my dad died suddenly and unexpectedly. It was an accident. I don’t like talking about it. I don’t remember a lot of what happened in the weeks after we found out, but I remember those first few minutes. First, there was shock. A punch in the gut. Denial sets in right away and you try to talk yourself through all the ways that this cannot and must not be happening. Then, when the shock fades, you’re left with nothing. You freeze. Nothing seems okay to do—like you aren’t allowed to just exist as you always have. You need permission for everything. And, when someone tells you to do something, you do it.  The squad took me upstairs. Blaze made me a cup of tea. It was something to do, so I drank it. Soarin told me to go take a shower. It was something to do, so I did. Fleetfoot only paced back and forth, over and over and over. Soarin's mane and tail shampoo smelled like fake ocean and sharp cologne. I tried to scrub away my new cutie mark—first with just my hoof, then with a loofah, then briefly with a large hoof-file. It didn’t come off. Not even a little. I stepped out of the tub and used a mirror to look really closely at it. It was made of hair, just like the old one. Under that, the mark on my skin had changed, too. Who knows how deep it went. To the bone, probably. When I came out of the bathroom, the squad was sitting at the round table in the living area talking in hushed tones. They all shut their mouths at once and turned to look at me. Their eyes were huge and glassy like fish. I rubbed a towel into my mane with one hoof. “Well, don’t stop talking about me on my account,” I growled. “Have you decided what you’re doing with me yet? Am I enough of a charity case to keep around now?” “You’re not a charity case,” Soarin insisted. “Speak for yourself,” High Winds replied softly. Blaze gave her a light smack on the shoulder and a cold glare, though it didn’t phase Winds. She never really liked me anyway. “Wow. How generous of you all,” I grumbled. I tossed the towel back into the bathroom and watched it land in a lump on the bath mat. “It’s fine. I’m leaving. I’m sure I can find another place to waste away. Maybe a park bench. Or a gutter.” “Don’t talk like that,” Fleetfoot murmured. I scoffed. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s my destiny, after all,” I said, lifting my wing to give her another look at my new cutie mark. “There’s no doubt about it: nothing useful there. Now you all can leave me here to die guilt-free.” I made to leave, but Fleetfoot leapt out of her chair and beat me to the door. She silently placed her hoof over it. “Fleets. C’mon.” I sighed. “It’s over.” “You're going back to counseling,” she said. I grit my teeth. “I’m not staying here anymore,” I reminded her sternly. “That means you can’t make me do stupid stuff like—” “Your destiny changed!” Fleetfoot interjected. “That’s what counseling is for!” “Pass,” I spat back at her. “I told you: I know who I am. I was born to be Captain of the Wonderbolts. That’s over now, and so am I. The flank agrees.” “But—” “Just leave me alone!” I turned to face rest of the squad, still sitting at their round table. “That’s all I wanted. I wanted to be left alone. I’m a lost cause, okay? Like the whole stupid planet.” Soarin opened his mouth, but no words came. “You’re not a lost cause,” Blaze muttered, but her tone told me she’d already given up. I didn’t bother responding. I just turned back to Fleetfoot and said, “Move.” She did. So I left. I walked straight out the door of the dormitory and through the campus without looking back. I didn’t know which way I was going, but it didn’t matter—I just needed to get as far away as possible. At the edge of campus, the shadow of the ship fell away. I paused there, right at its edge, and stared down at the grass between my hooves. The sunlight crept slowly towards me across each blade, even as they bowed and swayed gently in the breeze. I shuffled backward a half step and kept watching. It kept inching towards me. The campus was positioned at the foot of Canterlot itself, which allowed it to overlook almost its entire domain—miles and miles of Equestria went sprawling into the distance, dotted with roofs and trees and unplanned clouds. It didn’t look poisoned, but it also didn’t look the same. For one, everything was taller; ponies were starting to build up instead of just out, since many of our larger settlements were reaching the fringes of habitable space. For another, I could see two other ships from here, rising from the ground like pimples pushing their way through skin. Cloudsdale was gone. There was no air traffic—not of individual pegasi, not of magic-powered airships. That part of the world was gone for good. That made me want to get out there and fly, but the new part of me did not. The new part wanted me to give up. The sun slid over the tips of my hooves. It was warm.  “I see you’ve had an eventful hour.” I jumped and whirled to look behind me. Apple Bloom smiled thinly back. She was holding a cup of coffee in one hoof and raised it towards me, as if toasting me. “Those ships sure are popping up fast, aren’t they?” I groaned. “Ugly pieces of—” “Hey now,” Apple Bloom said gently as she came to stand beside me. “How about a little appreciation for the ponies doing somethin’ about all this?” I just growled in response. “That’s what I thought you’d say.” I watched the sunlight bloom onto the young mare’s face. It made her already-yellow fur glow a brilliant gold. I realized that I must be glowing, too—we were practically the same exact shade. “A few years from now, we’ll be on the Middle-Equestrian observation deck, feeling the light of a different star,” Apple Bloom said. She took a sip of her coffee. “Ain’t that amazing? Standing on the edge of a new era like this?” I scoffed. “Maybe you are,” I said. “I’ll be staying right here.” Apple Bloom gave me a look. “You’re that stubborn?” “I am.” “Hoo-wee.” Apple Bloom chuckled. “You’ve even got my sister beat—and I thought for sure she was the most stubborn mare in the world.” I didn’t say anything. “You know, it’s ‘cause of her that we’re gonna be able to eat up there,” she said. “She’s leading the on-board agricultural development.” “Hm.” “And Rainbow Dash—her wife, I think you may know her—she’s working on a fitness plan to combat wing atrophy in space,” she went on. “You don’t think you could help out with something like that?” “Nope,” I replied. “Hm. Too bad,” Apple Bloom said. “Why?” “Not my problem.” “That’s not a reason.” “Yes, it is.” “No, it ain’t.” “It is.” “It ain’t.” Apple Bloom winked at me. “I’m pretty stubborn, too. We can do this all day if you like.” “Ugh.” Apple Bloom giggled to herself and took another sip of her coffee. “Y’know, somethin’s been bugging me.” I rolled my eyes. “What?” “When Fleetfoot told me about you, she made sure to tell me you’d hurt your wing before the Wonderbolts were grounded,” she said. “Now, I s’pose I can see how that would make it hard for you to properly grieve that part of your life, but Fleetfoot didn’t strike me as the… overly perceptive type. So why did she think that was so important for me to know?” I looked down at the ground. “I dunno.” “You’re a terrible liar, ma’am,” Apple Bloom said. “I think Fleetfoot told me that because your problems didn’t start with the shift—they started when your Wonderbolts career ended. Which means this—” she gestured to Equestria, spread out before us “—has been a real good excuse for you to avoid your issues. Everyone’s getting kooky, anyway. It’s the apocalypse. Am I right?” Was she? “No.” That time, she actually laughed. “I just said you’re a terrible liar,” she snickered. “But I admire the effort, I guess. C’mon.” I scowled as she turned and walked the other way. “Excuse me?” “We’re gonna fix your cutie mark,” Apple Bloom said. “I know you’d like to, so let’s just cut the yammering and get to it. Right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She just kept on walking. And… well, it was something to do. So I did it. Before I knew what was happening, Dr. Bloom was brushing mane away from my temples and pressing little sticky pads into my fur—one on each side of my head, two on my right cutie mark, one on my heart. All the while, she hummed a little tune and explained nothing. There wasn’t much to look at in her office beyond farm kitsch and the diagram of the branching river on the wall. I wondered how far I’d traveled. I wondered if this had been a motion across tributaries, or merely the end of a journey down a single one. I still wasn’t completely certain what either option meant. “Alrighty!” Dr. Bloom announced as she snapped one more wire into place. “That’s that. Let me just…” She trailed off, then spun around and arranged a chair in front of the examination table, wheeled the console to face me, and brought over a little notebook, all while muttering under her breath. When she was happy with that, she dimmed the lights and turned the console on. The console didn’t have a name—it was just a big, tan box with a domed screen. Dr. Bloom yanked a control panel unlike any I had ever seen out of its side. As the machine slowly warmed up, a hum spun up under the screen and, with it, a green cast. Dr. Bloom twisted a couple of knobs on the control panel and the green cast crystallized into a brightly-glowing green dot dead in the center of the screen. Dr. Bloom looked up at me expectantly. “Y’ready?” “Just get started before I change my mind.” Dr. Bloom sighed, almost wistfully, and pressed a button on the console. The dot held steady in the center of the screen, but a lighter-green tendril sprung from its side and reached for the left edge of the screen.  “And we’re off to the races!” Dr. Bloom announced. She reached over to tap the tendril. “This is the tributary you’re on now—we’re sailing it in real time!” It was, quite literally, a perfectly straight green line. “If you say so.” “Gotta start somewhere,” Dr. Bloom said.  “How is this even legal?” I demanded. “This is magic, isn’t it? It feels like magic.” Dr. Bloom chuckled tensely. “You can’t feel magic,” she said firmly. “And… yes. There’s a bit of magical waste involved. But it’s an approved part of Last Gasp efforts. We need ponies to prepare us for the next step, and this is the best way to find ‘em.” I growled softly as a manner of response. “Anyway…” Dr. Bloom mumbled. She returned her attention to the screen. “Now we’ll need to build a definition of this tributary. It’s just like orienteering: we observe where we are so we can figure out where to go next. How would you describe your current cutie mark?” “I wouldn’t.” Dr. Bloom gave me a sympathetic look. “I understand you’re in a weird position, here, but please trust the process.” I glared at her. She only smiled softly back at me. “Fine. I got this cutie mark about two hours ago when I realized I should give up on life and slowly waste away until I die. Does that help?” “It’s fine,” Dr. Bloom muttered. She messed around with the control panel, which caused the line to jump and flicker before ultimately settling back into its original, perfectly-straight form. “And how would you say you picture your future with this cutie mark?” “I picture watching every living creature blasting off into space and then moving into Canterlot palace. Until I die.” Dr. Bloom grumbled something under her breath and punched a few more buttons. I couldn’t even begin to guess how she entered that into the console, but she seemed to do it without much difficulty. I guess that’s what made her the expert. The line jittered a bit more before again coming to rest. “Great. Can we talk about my old cutie mark now?” “Yes, for goodness’s sake,” Dr. Bloom exclaimed. “Start by describing how it looked for me.” “Fire,” I said. “In the shape of a bird.” “Bird… on… fire…” Dr. Bloom repeated under her breath as she tapped away at the controls. I nearly corrected her, but decided it probably didn’t make much of a difference. “I got it when I was seven,” I continued. “I was practicing a little aerial trick with Fleetfoot and she fell and hurt herself. She wanted to quit and go home, but I made her try again and she landed the trick.” A little shadow of a smile passed over Dr. Bloom’s face. “You were friends with Fleetfoot way back then?” “Yeah,” I said softly. Even talking about that day, I swear I could smell the sun on the fresh-cut grass. It had been summer. “Long as I can remember, really.” “Interesting…” Dr. Bloom murmured. She twisted a dial. “And how would you say you used that talent?” “You’re really asking me this?” I chuckled. Dr. Bloom offered me that same gentle smile. “Trust the process, ma’am.” I sighed. “As Captain of the Wonderbolts, obviously.” I shuffled my wings against my sides. “Mostly as a performer. But I did some coaching, too.” Dr. Bloom nodded. “And your future?” My future. “Uh… I dunno. I guess I pictured coaching until I dropped dead at the side of the track,” I joked. Dr. Bloom shot me an uncomfortable look and flicked a rather large switch. “That was a joke,” I clarified. “Y’know, my big sis said there’s truth in every joke,” Dr. Bloom said. “I happen to think she’s right.” She pressed a few other buttons on the panel and another line shot off the bottom of the first. The screen had to zoom out to contain it. It didn’t look like much—just another flickering green hair behind thick glass—but it still gave me a bit of a stomach ache looking at it. “There we go!” Dr. Bloom scooched her seat forward and pointed to the new line. “This here’s your previous destiny. And this junction point was earlier today, when your destiny changed.” “Great.” “It is great! Now we’ve got two points—we’re oriented!” Dr. Bloom exclaimed. “That means we can start planning out routes. Where would you like to go?” I stared at the screen. It looked like a tuning fork. It was already starting to give me a headache. I just made a long, low sound of confusion and blinked repeatedly, hoping to clear away the strain from the flickering screen. No such luck. “Back to the Wonderbolts branch,” I said. Dr. Bloom’s eyebrows jumped up onto her forehead. “Y’sure? There’s lots of wide, empty space to explore…” She swiped at something on the control panel, and the image zoomed out even more. The lines were so thin that the computer struggled to even render them—they blinked in and out of existence like twinkling stars. “Could be something else good out there. Something… space-y, perhaps?” I clenched my jaw. “You can’t trick me into picking something else, y’know.” Dr. Bloom shrugged. “Okay.” “I’m serious.” “I heard ya.” I scowled at her, waiting for her to say more. She just gave me that same soft, easy smile, as if there was nothing at all happening in the cavern behind her eyes. “Stop looking at me like that,” I ordered. “Like what?” she asked sweetly. “Like I’m a foal and you’re lying to me,” I snapped. “Take me back to the Wonderbolts branch.” “Whoa, there.” Dr. Bloom held up her hooves, as if to ease me. It had the opposite effect. “Remember what I told you about navigating? We gotta find out what’s between point A and point B so we can map a route. You’ll have to ford the rivers in-between.” “Yeah. Fine. Whatever. Let’s just get to it, okay?” “Alright, alright…” Dr. Bloom shook her head and chuckled softly to herself. “Let’s find out what we’re missing in the middle, then.” She looked down at the control panel and started hammering away once again. I have absolutely no idea how she knew what to press and when—everything was unlabeled and there was no readout for her to know what she’d already entered. After a minute or so, the screen dimmed, then leapt back to life with three more new branches: all of them between me and normalcy. “Not too many,” Dr. Bloom said as she peered at the screen. “It looks like you’ve got three tributaries to cross.” I squinted at the screen. “That’s all?” Dr. Bloom shrugged. “That’s all.” “You made it sound like this was going to be… hellish.” “It’s different for everyone,” she replied. “Crossing three tributaries could very well be hellish for you, y’know.” That was difficult to imagine. I stared at the domed screen and watched the little lines tremble like reeds in the wind. Sure, there had been a bit of a to-do when I’d gotten my new mark earlier, but not more than was to be expected. Especially back here, in a secluded doctor’s office, it amounted to little more than a cosmetic change. Nothing worth getting excited over. “I guess we’d better get started, then,” I grumbled. Dr. Bloom held up a hoof. “Are you sure you want to do this now?” I furrowed my brow. “Why would I want to wait?” “I swear, no one ever listens to me on the first go…” she muttered as she jammed the control panel back into the console and rolled up to me. “For each tributary you ford, you’ll experience a different version of yourself. That can be incredibly taxing, especially for someone of your age after a day like—” “Someone of my age?” I repeated. Dr. Bloom tried to form another word, but instead released a sigh with a growl-like undertone. “Yes, actually,” she said. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but by medical standards you’re middle-aged. That means your neural plasticity is lower, which means hopping tributaries will be more challenging for you than young ponies.” “I’m an ex-Wonderbolt. My neurons are super plastic,” I hissed. “That’s not—” She shook her head and sighed again. “It’s nothing to do with you, your health, or your relative ability. It’s just a fact of life. The longer you have your cutie mark, the harder it is for you to change it.” “Well, I’ve only had this cutie mark for a couple of hours,” I said. “And I’m not leaving this office until I’ve hopped a stream.” Dr. Bloom looked up at me wearily. I have to admit: in that moment, she looked like she could have been about my age. That sort of tired can only be baked in over decades. “You know I’m serious,” I threatened. “I do,” Dr. Bloom agreed. She looked up at the clock, then groaned softly to herself. “Fine. We can do one—but that’s all I have time for today. I’m supposed to be visiting my family in Ponyville tonight for dinner, so I need to leave early.” “Yeah, yeah—fine. Let’s just get it done.” She made a face which implied that the typical patient is not able to simply ‘get it done’. But she hadn’t tried it with me yet. “Alright. Let’s try to pin down this first tributary,” Dr. Bloom said as she zoomed in. “Mm… judgin’ by the position of the confluence point, I’d guess this one is coming from childhood. Early days. Do you remember what sorts of things you wanted to be before you got your cutie mark?” I reached up to scratch my temple with one hoof, but instead found one of the tentacles stuck there and had to give up. “That’s going back a while,” I said. “That’s the idea.” “Well… my dad was a wildfire fighter,” I said. “I remember watching him put out a fire in the Everfree when I was really young. Is that the sort of thing you mean?” Dr. Bloom entered a few commands, and the line on the screen sharpened. “I think that’s it exactly!” she said. Then she looked up at me. “Ready?” I blinked. “Ready for what?” “To ford the tributary,” she replied. “Just hang onto your hat for me.” “What do you—” She pressed the button. And there was fire. It was all-encompassing. All I could feel was oppressive heat from all directions, sweat trickling down my neck, my eyes frying in their sockets. All I could hear was the roar of flame and distant, coordinated shouting. All I could smell was ash. All I could taste was ash. Then I opened my eyes: worse. A wall of flame towering over me, bare trees tilting at harsh angles as they came crashing down, pegasi and griffons and dragons streaking over my head in heavy yellow gear and hauling hoses. Buckets. Anything. “Spitfire! Look alive!” A dragon bellowed at me. She swung an ax at a clump of brush with her rear claws as she hovered just off the ground. “Wind shift! Wind shift!” another voice shouted, with a musicality that was almost military. So practiced and precise and loud. “Back up!”  For a moment, the roar of the fire was interrupted by the howling wind. The fire was whipped away and replaced by billowing smoke. I screwed my eyes closed again, but it hardly helped. The sting of the smoke was deep and complete—I couldn’t have escaped it if I tried. I gasped lightly at the sensation and the smoke darted into my lungs. I let loose a hacking cough that I thought might turn me inside out. “Hose!” Someone screamed. “Spits! Hose!” “Hose?” I whispered to myself. I looked down. There, in my hooves: the end of the hose. “U-uh—hose!” I cried in response. Then something clicked. I remembered this: in training, this is what we did. We lined up along the hose and we shouted orders up and down, never breaking the chain. We did this because the hose had a kick stronger than a donkey, and it took all of us to rein it in. The whole squad. “Water!” I shouted. “Water! We need water now!” I dug my hooves into the soft earth beneath me, taking a wide stance as I prepared for the kickback of the hose. My wings beat slowly at my sides and held me upright. Behind me, Fleetfoot steadied herself—I remembered a time when she snatched me out of the path of a fire whirl when I had singed my primaries. Ahead of me, Gertrude furiously cleared away brush to stop the wildfire’s progression. That was her specialty. I remembered when she joined the team—a scrawny little griffon, no bigger than a dog, but fast. “Water!” Fleetfoot echoed. “Water!” Came another, further back. “Water!” This one swallowed by the sound of roaring flame. I held firm, waiting for the rush. It was felt more than heard, though the sound was deafening when it wasn’t competing with a wildfire. The hose twisted and flexed in my hooves. Then the water came. And then— I rocketed upright and smacked my back against the wall behind me. My sudden flailing in amongst the wires caused the console to jolt forward, and Dr. Bloom only barely managed to catch it before it tumbled over. “Whoa, there!” she said, but I was a bit beyond that. My eyes were still stinging. I blinked hard, trying to clear them, and even waved a hoof in front of my face. I swore I could still see the smoke. “Settle down, now. You’re okay,” Dr. Bloom cooed. “There was—I was—” I stuttered. “The fire!” “Yeah, I figured as much,” Dr. Bloom replied. “Let me get you some water.” She retreated back to her desk. I tried to steady myself—my wing pressed against the wall, my hooves gripping the edge of the examination table—but every time I blinked I was back in the forest fire. The heat was still on me. In me. I could still taste the ash, as if it had landed on my tongue like a fat, gray snowflake. I rubbed my eyes. “Fleetfoot…” Dr. Bloom was back at my side. She held out a bottle of water. “Fleetfoot?” I could still hear his voice in my ear. “She was a wildfire fighter,” I said. “On my squad.” “She... she was?” “She was—yeah. It was my squad. I was captain, and she was my number two,” I said. “And she—she and I used to go to Wonderbolts shows together.” I couldn’t tell what came first: the memory or the words. It felt like the opposite of recalling a dream—as I spoke, the memories wove themselves into my own past. Fleets and I had been friends since we were tiny. Our parents were on a squad together. We’d gone to basic training together. We were deployed to Neighagra Falls together. She was an avid birdwatcher. She liked mango ice cream. She was my first kiss. I moaned softly and pressed a hoof to my forehead. “What was—was that real?” I stammered. “What was that? Where did I go?” “Another reality,” Dr. Bloom said. “Just for a second. One where you were a wildfire fighter, just like your dad. And it looks like it was enough.” She gestured to my flank. I looked down. It was hard to tell under the little sticky pads, but something had changed. It was no longer a pile of ash, but an ax crossed in front of a diagonal slash of flame. A cutie mark for a wildfire fighter. Up on the screen, my little dot had moved. I was now sitting pretty one tributary closer to the old me. The question popped into my mind: did they need wildfire fighters in space? I didn’t ask it. “Take your time,” Dr. Bloom said. “We don’t have to do any more today at all if you don’t want to. I know it’s—” “This works?” Dr. Bloom’s mouth hung open as she processed the question. “Uh.. ‘scuse me?” “Counseling,” I spat. “This actually works? This is… this is insane.” Dr. Bloom chuckled lightly. “I know it can feel that way at first, but give it some time and—” “That was horrible! I-I'm so confused, and I...” I wiped a bead of sweat off my brow. “Why didn't I remember any of that stuff with Fleetfoot before?” "Because it didn't happen here, it happened there," Dr. Bloom said. "But now it's like..." I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to sort through the overlapping memories, but everything blurred together more quickly than I anticipated. "It's like there's two of her..." “I told you: hopping has consequences,” Dr. Bloom said. “You didn’t tell me what kind,” I replied. "You didn't let me!" I stuttered, but no words came. “Would you have decided differently if I had told you?” Dr. Bloom asked. Then, before I had a chance to answer, “Are you going to stop now?” I bit the inside of my cheek. “No.” “Then have your little philosophical debate with someone else,” Dr. Bloom said. “We’ve reached the end of our session. Let me get these things off’a you, and then we can—” “W-wait.” I held out a hoof to block Dr. Bloom. “What am I supposed to do until then?” Dr. Bloom arched a brow. “I’m not sure what you mean.” “They kicked me out,” I said. “The squad. I-I can’t go back until…”  The condition escaped me. Until when? Maybe never. Dr. Bloom gently pushed aside my hoof and popped the first wire tentacle off me. “Have you ever thought of apologizing for your behavior?” she suggested. “Or maybe finding your own place?” “That’s not exactly an option right now,” I grumbled. “I doubt that,” she replied in the same disgruntled tone. “But… fine. Why don’t you come with me to Sweet Apple Acres tonight?” I pictured the happy family breaking bread together. Then I pictured the happy family taking breaks from the bread to scold me. Together.  “Pass.” “Do you have another option?” Dr. Bloom asked sweetly. “I could sleep in the waiting room,” I suggested. “If there’s one thing my family taught me it’s hospitality,” Dr. Bloom admitted. “Even though I’m pretty darn sure your old friends would be willing to take you in given your, um… apparent progress, I can see you won’t be budging. And there ain't no way I’m leavin’ you to sleep in one of those uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room.” I watched as she leaned over and quickly zipped up a saddlebag she’d left sitting on the floor. She slung it over her back, then turned to face me. “Come on, now. You’re coming with.”