//------------------------------// // 2. Dina Colada // Story: Tropical Sorrows // by Microshazm //------------------------------// 2. Dina Colada ~ You will be offered everything, promised everything; people will lay claim to every kind of skill, while knowing nothing. Dina taxied out into the glaring sunlight that shone through the layers of smog and dust, making the shadows irregular and shapeless. People outside the yard gathered around it every time somebody noticed the sound of turning rotors. The plane-helicopter hybrid ascended steadily up in the air. Claude was in the cockpit, with Kakara next to him as his co-pilot, and in the cabin – behind a soundproof door – the six ponies took the rest of Dina’s red cup seats. “Est-ce que vous êtes prêtes?” The loudspeaker in the cabin carried Claude’s speech from the front. “For whatever troubles that lie ahead of us, we are ready, monsieur,” yelled Rarity, already being the established link between the other ponies and the indifferent Frenchman. “Vous êtes prêtes...” Claude mumbled back and pulled the accelerator switch, sending Dina soaring away. The flight got boring fast. Claude wasn’t much of a music enthusiast, so he just tuned the radio into whichever channel that didn’t irritate him. The ponies, however, were offered a whole another form of entertainment: Kakara was with them in the cabin, telling the thrilling tale of his ten-year-old life. Claude had dimmed the windows and was about to fall asleep, when the cabin door slid open, and Applejack carefully made her way to the co-pilot’s seat. She pondered a while for a decent ice breaker. “I can’t speak Indonesian. Uh... Nice hat.” “Merci, madame,” said Claude and tilted back his fedora to reveal his rather droopy face. There were more important things than sleeping right now, and he didn’t hesitate to speak with the first thought popping up in his mind. “What do you do for a living, Applejack?” “I have an apple orchard. I work over there, or at least I used to. Been travellin’ so much with the Bureaus an’ all.” There was some regret in her voice, but Claude couldn’t notice. After all, the first Conversion Bureau opened almost a decade ago. “J’ai voyagé un peu aussi. Milles des kilomètres, quelques-uns par la voiture, beaucoup plus par les avions différents. Et avec Dina, huit cent quatre-vingt-dix-huit milles et neuf, mais, il augmente à chaque moment.” Applejack rolled her eyes and murmured something back, but this time in Equestrian. It was surprising how little the ponies had actually spoken their native language, as this was the first time Claude could clearly make out its otherworldly appearance. It wasn’t Malayan, certainly not European; to Claude, it was different, and most things weren’t. “D’accord, on parle anglais. ‘Ave you been to anywhere worth your while?” “Yeah, too many to count. The last place I really liked, I think it was Florence.” “Florence!” The simple idea of an apple farmer appreciating one of the most beautiful cities on Earth was enough to shoot Claude’s eyes wide open. “It’s a beauty. The churches, the piazzas, and the palazzos.” “I kinda liked the people there,” Applejack said, continuing as if Claude hadn’t said anything in between. “L’Italiens... You don’t go to Florence to see the people, you go and see la Renaissance.” Applejack put up a cutesy smile. “Nah, I didn’t. Don’t really fancy paintin’” Applejack was barely able to finish her sentence before Claude slammed his hands into the dashboard. “Take the wheel, madame,” he said and stormed out from the cockpit. “...tell me more about the rafters!” Pinkie Pie cheered to Kakara, who was standing in the middle of the cabin and miming some kind of a boat trip, all the while giving amped comments at incredible speed. “They’re not rafters? I love guessing games! The canoers? The fishermen? The hunters? The zookeepers...” Out of the blue, a very angry Frenchman burst in and leaped on the empty seat left by Applejack. “Kakara, arrête pour un moment.” The boy interrupted his show, though not without objections from Pinkie, who was clearly enjoying the vivid mental imagery. “Les poneys, écoutez– listen to me carefully. You are Equestrian, you speak Equestrian, and you ‘ave learned English.” The ponies nodded at each statement. Claude was deep red but retained a steady composure – out of self-respect as well as the fact that they were 11 kilometres up from the ground. He continued: “This is l’Indonésie, but you don’t speak Indonesién – another bunch of unsure nods – expliquez ça! Madame Applejack grows apples! No princess in ‘er right mind would send apple farmers to Papouasie. I’m much more experienced than you six combined, et je ne suis que le pilote.” There was a brief moment of silence with the ponies staring at Claude, who was making rabid gestures and faces, the meanings of which eluding the ponies by a wide margin. “Applejack hasn’t been a farmer for ten years, neither has Rarity been a tailor, or me a librarian.” Twilight broke the silence with tremendous determination in her voice: she had, during the enigmatic show set up by Kakara, been able to turn her fear of setting her hooves into unknown and possibly dangerous territory into a new thirst for knowledge and understanding. Even though she’d never wanted to, Twilight’s position, not just as an Equestrian, but as a famous Equestrian had sheltered her from some of Earth’s intricacies. This would be a hooves-on experience on something mostly new. “But I know we still bear the Elements of Harmony. I know it doesn’t mean much to you, but it’s the most powerful magic known in Equestria. I know magic hasn’t left me, honesty hasn’t left Applejack, or laughter hasn’t left Pinkie Pie, even though we haven’t been to our homes for awhile.” Claude stared at Twilight over the back of his seat. He then looked at the other ponies if they had anything to add. “Right on, Twi!” Rainbow Dash yelled from the very back, where she and Fluttershy had gone to escape the on-board entertainment. “And your element is?” Claude snapped the question at Rainbow Dash. “Loyalty,” she answered, greatly emphasizing the individual syllables. “Très bien,” Claude said and clapped once, “so is mine, alors, I won’t throw you off the avion. Am I loyal, or what?” “Pardon m-monsieur,” Rarity said with notable shiver in her voice, “but shouldn’t you be flying cet avion?” Claude managed to raise an eyebrow at Rarity before he noticed: Dina wasn’t as level as it should’ve been. He took a quick glance at Kakara, who had already buckled himself up to a seat and was now reciting prayers. Applejack was sitting in the pilot’s seat with both forelegs on the controls. She was frustrated and extremely tense all over, sweating and trembling from the effort to fly a device much more complicated than any machine Applejack had operated before. The altitude meter that was counting down quite rapidly didn’t add much comfort to the mix. “Comment est-ce possible, Madame Applejack!? You turned off le pilote automatique!” “Ya told me to fly the plane. I couldn’t resist. I’m sorry.” The tone of Applejack’s voice, much like the earth pony herself, indeed represented honesty in its purest. Claude knew she couldn’t have overheard the exchange in the back, but seeing a down-to-earth farmer been dragged into such a taxing position he almost felt sorry as well. Nothing in the mysterious contract had implied an easy trip, so if it was rough for him, it would be rough for the ponies, and there was no reason to deliberately make it any rougher. Claude was quick to undo Applejack’s errors. “Ah, don’t worry. Ça marche, ça marche bien.” Claude looked at Applejack, his expression – through the prevalent red – was now gentle. “‘Ow about we fly this thing a little? Give them a real reason to be scared.” “I dunno if we should. Stunt flyin’ ain’t something I’ve done too much.” “Ah, tais-toi.” With that Claude pushed Dina into a steep downward spiral. He knew what kind of handling the plane could take and so did its computer, which would’ve automatically interfered with stunts endangering Dina’s integrity. Claude let the spiral go on for several seconds. Then he pressed the button for autopilot. The computer took control of the craft; it leveled violently but still not even touching its limits. “Woah Claude, you’re crazy! I just hope they were all buckled up back there.” “Madame Applejack, tonight we are scraping pony meat off the windows.” Applejack didn’t laugh but Claude did, ever so zestfully. Including Claude’s little diversion, it took approximately six hours to reach Papua, much like the previous two times Claude had flown the route. Kakara would’ve still had stories to tell, but their impending descent didn’t let him continue. Dina slowed down and once more changed to a helicopter as the jets shut down and the blades unfolded. Rarity was accompanying Claude in the cockpit. After Applejack had mentioned visiting Florence, Rarity had been dying for more information, which Claude was happy to offer since this time the topics went – if not perfectly – much better with his interests. “Il faut que nous continue plus tard, madame. Nous allons arriver bientôt.” Claude pushed a button and the windows became crystal clear again. In the distance there was a mountain range with a single summit rising steep above the rest. While everything else in their field of vision was lush, green forests, the peak featured shades of yellow, brown, and even black. “Darling, as much as I’m appreciating the view, it must not be a treetop where we’re landing, absolument pas.” Rarity gazed nervously below, trying to find openings, or even better, clues of civilized life. Rarity still tried to keep an elegant posture, she held her head straight and a hoof by her chin as if she was evaluating the situation from a more superior position than she actually had. Claude answered Rarity’s unspoken question: “N’oublie pas, madame Rarity, c’est pas la première fois quand je suis là. Ils vont nous contacter.” “Oh, I just love the way you pronounce my name. Rarity, Rarity... It’s jagged and rocailleux, but it’s beautiful.” Claude facepalmed, for it was all he could do at this point, for he could guess the reason for Rarity’s oddity. Paris, with its blackened buildings, had struck her as being dirty. Along with the disillusion, came Arman – a great tailor on his own that made Rarity both miss and frown upon her modest business back in Ponyville – to infect Rarity with the poetic bug, one serious pest of the modern society. Now, she could sprout different vines of creativity at every possible moment. People often find the vines extremely clingy. To Claude, Rarity was doomed beyond salvation. A second after he was done shaking his head, the necessary information appeared on the computer display. “Fasten your seat belts, we are landing,” Claude said with the cabin door slid open so everyone could hear. “Good that you’re giving the heads up this time,” Twilight snarked back. Before the others could chime in, Claude had already shut the door. There was a few minutes of gentle descent, when the craft abruptly tilted to the left, and a moment later back to the right. Claude glanced at the computer display and then outside. Blood began flowing into his face once again. “Merde, ils ont construit quelque chose de nouveau... et il est grand.” Rarity noticed Claude’s expression and frowned. “Hmph. We’re all creative beings, darling, we must dream big, think big, and sometimes even build big. There must be a reason why you are being so hard on these, tribes, as you call them. Si j’étais toi, I– Why is le pilote automatique switched on?” Claude turned at the autopilot button with a twisted look on his face and pushed it, but nothing happened, it stayed lit. He immediately began smashing the button with his fist and cursing its missing functionality. “C’est aussi une antenne!” “So this is not something you did the last time you were here?” “Non! Certainement pas! Look outside, Rarity, it’s not me flying the avion, je suis sûr c’est la construction là-bas!” Rarity did as asked, and she gasped: below them, covering the treetops, there was a huge net, an almost transparent, but definitely solid, construct that reflected the forest around it, hence it was hard to spot. The holes in it were big but still way too small for even a rather modest aircraft like Dina to pass through. Taking their velocity into consideration, the group wasn’t landing on it, they were crashing into it. The craft took a hit, but it wasn’t the crushing end to life that Claude, Rarity, and the rest were expecting. Dina only rocked back and forth a few times before it leveled and began descending slowly in a straight, vertical course. Every now and then, a bright flash of lightning illuminated the craft’s interiors with smaller sparks randomly erupting everywhere in the net. When they were about to touch the net itself, it moved away from them, the hexagon pattern breaking its regular form and opening a hole big enough for the whole aircraft. Some people could be seen milling about below. The moment they reached the opening, all of Dina’s electronics turned themselves off. With every vector pointing straight downward, it sure wasn’t the safest thing to shut down the rotor with 25 metres still between the craft and the ground. The color on Claude’s face changed accordingly. “Ils vont nous tuer.”