//------------------------------// // G4.05: Refractory // Story: Message in a Bottle // by Starscribe //------------------------------// Lightning Dust had planned to visit the hospital every few days, to make sure the ponies in charge didn’t find more ways to screw over the filly she’d rescued. At first she managed to keep this up, bringing small gifts of sweets to add a little variety to the filly’s hospital food diet. But less than a week in, wildfires far up north necessitated every available weatherpony (including her) to fly up with as much moisture as they could to stem the flames and protect Equestria’s countryside. It took two full weeks for the fires to be contained and for everypony to be sent home (with ample overtime bits). Once Dust repaired the incidental damage to her cloud home and squared away everything with the factory, it was back to the hospital to see what had happened to the filly. The pony at the counter, Welcome Basket, looked up as she entered. The lobby was empty this evening, as it often was. Stormshire was a quiet town, off the beaten path and without any particularly dangerous activities. “Lightning Dust,” she said, looking up with a smile from the book she’d been reading. Dimestore Daring Do trash, but Dust wouldn’t say as much. “No heroics today?” “No,” she stopped. “Nopony’s needed saving.” It had been a different story up north. But in more settled areas, there were whole groups of ponies who looked out for those in need. Firefighters, ambulance workers, policemares. Stormshire didn’t have any of those. “I’m just here to check on the pony I brought last time. Did they ever find her parents?” “Oh, you mean Jaiemes.” Welcome Basket turned away, trotting to the other side of the desk, where there were several large filing cabinets. She picked a folder without hesitating and walked back with it clutched in her mouth. “Is that her name?” Dust waited patiently, tapping one of her hooves on the cloud-floor. Welcome Basket shrugged. “That’s what she called herself, according to Healing Touch. I never spoke to her myself.” She trailed off, staring down at the files. “Looks like… no, they never found her parents.” She frowned. “No cutie mark to search in the registry, and her dental records were nonexistent. All kinds of strange, couldn’t get anything on her. Nothing more about it here, except that she’s been transferred to Family Services’ local orphanage.” “We don’t have an orphanage,” Dust pointed out, trying not to sound confrontational. She didn’t do a good job. “Where would they take her?” Welcome Basket shut the folder. “Does it matter? You’ve done your part in saving her life, Lightning Dust. Let somepony else worry about it.” She remembered pulling her from the water. Remembered her desperate cries. Remembered how helpless she’d been in the hospital. How needy she’d been. Whatever mystery had placed a pony who couldn’t even speak Eoch hundreds of kilometers from civilization, she didn’t know. Welcome Basket was right, of course. It wasn’t her problem anymore. There were other ponies to worry about things like this. Yet Lighting Dust remembered her own childhood. Remembered what it was like to be a “difficult” child, passed from home to home because nopony knew how to deal with her. Her problems might not have been so bad (she could speak Eoch for one thing, though she hadn’t been able to read for several years). More importantly, she remembered how good a job the hospital had done protecting her, when Lightning Dust had left her here. Then she laughed. “Yeah, maybe it isn’t. Saving ponies isn’t my job either, but I seem to do plenty of that.” I have to repay the debt somehow. “Did that…” she bit back a few obscene words. “Did the mare from Canterlot ever return the filly’s possessions?” Welcome Basket shook her head, expression darkening a little. “You mean the poison box? No, she didn’t bring it back. Hasn’t been back at all, actually. Just the transfer orders from Family Services…” “Was it really poison?” Dust asked, unable to help herself. Maybe another pony wouldn’t be able to get away asking questions about confidential information around the hospital. But when you’d saved lives, the ponies became cooperative. It was a nice perk of the business. “Did anypony actually get hurt?” “Well… no,” Welcome Basket sounded thoughtful. “But Dodge Junction apparently had a few. Some kinda flu, except it made them lose their hair… and skin, sometimes,” she shivered. “Can you imagine? Earth Pony hospital dealing with a magical disease?” “No,” Dust said, growing resolved. “Thanks for the help.” She left. It took several hours to track the little pony down. She’d gone to the office of Family Services, then flown to the other end of town, then found the ancillary office closed and had to fly to the pony’s house. Stormshire was a working, factory town. Whenever services like this were needed, it relied on the settlements below to provide them. Unfortunately, there were no services offered in the Badlands, and Dodge Junction had just as little to offer as Stormshire. Eventually she discovered the truth: The regional office would eventually send a carriage to transfer the filly to the ground for foster care, but not until the city passed over Appleloosa. Three months from now. In the meantime, the filly was being housed in the basement of City Hall, and volunteers would sit daily shifts until she could be brought to proper facilities. In a way, this vindicated everything Lighting Dust had feared. On the other hoof it meant she had to get involved, or else live with the guilt that she had watched something like this happen and done nothing to help. “I’ll take the rest of the night,” she told Quickfeather, the pony assigned until next morning. Quickfeather barely even hesitated long enough to pass her instructions on, so eager was she to get away before Dust changed her mind. The basement of City Hall was the closest thing Stormshire had to a public space. Chairs were stacked up near the walls, the same chairs they used for weddings and funerals and anything else that happened in town. Somepony had brought the child a blanket and a small box of old looking toys, along with some straw to eat. The filly herself looked far more despondent than the last time Dust had seen her. Her possessions had been returned, at least the ones that had survived. She wore the inner layer that had been inside her weird suit. The suit itself was long gone, along with whatever had been inside it. Penumbra hadn’t expected it to fall right through the clouds of the operating table once he cut the filly free--and why should he have? What kind of pegasus wouldn’t get their clothes enchanted with a basic cloudwalking rune? The same kind of pegasus who was sent alone through the wilderness, didn’t speak a word of Eoch, and apparently had possessions so dangerous they could make ponies sick just by touching them. Or so everyone said. But Dust wouldn’t believe them until she flew down to Dodge Junction to check it out for herself. The filly had kept only two of her possessions, which Dust herself had been examining during the emergency surgery. Now those two possessions had dwindled to one, a mysterious block of metal and wood. It sat in front of her on the ground, its markings as inscrutable as when Dust had seen it the first time. The filly stared at the block as though expecting it to do something. Her mane was deflated, her tail hung limp, and her breathing was slow. This was the other sort of pony; the sort Dust had almost become. A pony who had given up. If she goes into the system, it’s going to chew her up and spit her out, Lightning Dust thought. Then she cleared her throat, walking through the open door. “Hey! Are you… still doing okay?” The filly looked up, but she didn’t say anything. There was no clear comprehension in her eyes. “Right. You don’t speak Eoch. I almost forgot.” She felt her own ears fold flat to her head. How could she possibly get to know a pony who couldn’t even understand her? To her surprise, the little pony spoke. Her pronunciation was very strange, the words halting. But they were words. “I… remember… you…” she said. Lightning Dust froze. The filly hadn’t exactly demonstrated advanced language skills, and her accent was so thick it was almost impossible to make out. Still, for a pony who hadn’t known a single word of Eoch a few weeks ago, it was an impressive achievement. Just the sort of determination she remembered in herself. She’d have this little pony making loops and racing the clouds in no time. “Yes, you would,” she said, nodding enthusiastically. She spoke very slowly, enunciating each word. “I found you. Do you know enough to tell me how you ended up alone in the Badlands?” The pony met her eyes, but there was only confusion on her face. She paused, took a breath. “Need… words-having book. Words-having fix.” “Words-having book?” Dust stared right back, uncomprehending. “You want me to have a book with…” She froze. “Oh, you mean a dictionary! Is that what you want?” The filly stared back, confused and frustrated, sinking back onto the ground. “Hold on, I’ll be right back. The library is upstairs.” Dust turned, hurrying up the stairs. The filly didn’t follow her. Of course, calling it a library was more than a little generous. There were only two shelves of books, and most of them had been donated by ponies who were about to move to another town on their weather circuit. Dust didn’t do much reading herself, but she’d walked past it a dozen times on her way to collect her paycheck from the town clerk. She didn’t find a dictionary, but down on the bottom shelf was an old textbook, the same bright blue cover she’d used when she had been a little filly in school. “Intermediate Eoch for the Modern Equestrian,” it said. She took it in her mouth, ignoring the slight taste of mildew as she carried it back down. By the time she made it back, the pony had moved. She wasn’t staring at her block of wood and metal anymore. Somehow, Dust couldn’t have said how, the pony had transformed her box into a guitar. It was small, made of the same colored metal and wood of her box. It also looked a little bent and had more strings than Dust was used to. The filly was on her side with the instrument on the ground in front of her, struggling at it with her forelegs. Occasionally she’d make a few awkward twanging sounds, but that was all. Her motions struck Dust like a pony who had suffered a traumatic brain injury, a pony who was struggling to remember how to move. Yet to her knowledge, this filly hadn’t been hurt like that. Something in her past, maybe? Something the doctors hadn’t been able to find? “You had a magic guitar?” Dust asked, dropping the book on the cloud-floor beside the filly. “Was it somepony else’s? It’s mostly unicorns who play strings.” The pony looked up and noticed the book. She dropped her instrument back to the clouds, lunging for the textbook like a cat might pounce on a mouse. She opened to the first page with an awkward gesture from her mouth and hunched over it, staring. Dust backed away. “O-oh. Guess that was what you wanted.” She sat down where Quickfeather had been, frowning to herself. “I don’t think I’ve ever known a pony to just learn a language from a book. You’ve got to talk to ponies. Learn what they know. I’m here if you want a pony to talk to.” The filly looked up. “Thank.” She grinned, extending one hoof. “Me… is James. James Irwin.” In that moment, she seemed to come back to life. Volume returning to her mane, wings opening a little on her sides, ears perking up. It didn’t sound like a name, not even one a Diamond Dog or some other strange visitor to Equestria might use. Yet what else could it be? There was no mistaking the pony’s tone. She was apparently referring to herself. Welcome Basket had been right. “Lightning Dust,” she responded, taking the offered hoof, and shaking it. “You’re doing better than last time. Your time in the hospital must have helped.” That thought proved a little too complicated for the pony, who only stared at her blankly. Then she turned, looking back down to the book in front of her. Lightning Dust didn’t disturb her after that. “James Irwin” spent hours looking at the book, rapidly turning pages and marking all over it with a crayon she had stashed somewhere. Dust didn’t correct her. It wasn’t as though any other ponies would be needing a decades-old Eoch textbook. A few hours later, Dust snuck away for a few minutes to the hayburger stand at the south end of Stormshire and flew back with a pair of steaming burgers. They were still hot by the time she made it back, and the filly was still reading. “Hey,” she interrupted, pulling a table over from the side of the room and setting the tray down on top of it. “I bought something better than what the city gave you. Why don’t you try it?” The filly looked up from what she was doing, hunger evident on her face. Dust didn’t know if she had understood the call, or else if she’d been persuaded by the smell. Either way, she hurried over, eyeing the bag like somepony who hadn’t eaten anything but straw in days. She took one bite from the burger before squealing with pleasure, devouring the rest of it in just a few bites. She grinned at Dust, visibly relaxing. “Guess… can good….” She said more, but that was all Dust managed to understand. “I… think so?” Dust agreed, though she hadn’t finished with her own meal yet. It wasn’t like she was in a rush. She wouldn’t be going anywhere until the next morning anyway. “Favorite place in town. We’d have to go further to eat better. Los Pegasus has all kinds of different restaurants, and Canterlot has the gourmet scene. Guess you wouldn’t know much about those.” Only a blank stare was her response, though it was a far less discontent expression than the one she’d previously worn. The filly kept studying through the evening, occasionally looking up to ask questions, or point at different objects and test their names. She had crayons and a folio of scrap paper into which she apparently made notes of the things she’d figured out, moving in a systematic, measured way. She doesn’t think her parents are coming back for her. Dust didn’t either—nobody who had parents who cared about them would be wandering through the Badlands alone during a scheduled storm. And if any of what Healing Touch had told her about the filly’s abuses were true, her parents probably wouldn’t want to come back. They wouldn’t want to face justice for mistreating her this way. “I know you can’t understand me, James Irwin, but this mess is a pile of rotting feathers.” She gestured around the room—“I’ma talk to the mayor tomorrow, tell him how good a job he’s doing. I’ll get you somewhere to live, okay? I’ll do it myself if nopony else is mare enough.” The filly looked up at her from her makeshift bed, a pile of old blankets set up on a bare corner of floor. As Dust had expected, there was no comprehension on her face. “Thanks,” she said, her voice heavy with tiredness. “For… book…” She yawned, her wings poking out from her sides as she did so. “Yeah.” Dust patted her on the head, only a little awkward. “No problem.” Dust wasn’t crying when she left the filly behind the next morning. Not even a little. At least not that anypony saw.