A curious pile of junk was turning into an even more curious machine. At the base of it all was a dynamo, a rather big one, and attached to its backend through a series of toothy gears was an electric motor. Wired to both of these was an airship-grade battery, with the dynamo’s power going into the battery, and the electric motor drawing power. A rising balloon generated the initial charge, but it was no ordinary balloon.
It was a surplus weather balloon, designed to carry a payload. Several yards around, made of heavy-duty guard-grade fabric, Vinyl had bought it with the idea of turning it into a flying photography rig for aerial shots. It already had the mechanicals to raise and lower itself with electrical current, and it depended upon Celestium for extra lift.
This would be connected via a reel and a flywheel to the front end of the dynamo, with a tether. A fine, thin, narrow wire would connect to the battery for the trickle charge needed for the Celestium. The rising of the balloon would turn the flywheel, which would pick up momentum and speed, and this would turn the dynamo, thus building a charge. Once the balloon had reached the end of the length of its tether, a switch would turn on the electric motor, which would in turn slowly pull the balloon back down, using very little electricity due to the power of efficient gearing.
If everything worked as planned, there would be a surplus of electricity, a net gain, and the system would be self-sustaining, rising and lowering on its own, generating a constant, steady amount of power. With time, tinkering, and thought, it could no doubt be improved; it might even be a viable means to generate electricity for a whole house.
There was a tremendous effort underway to find alternatives to coal and to be self-sufficient, meeting one’s own power consumption needs. Incentives were available for those who powered their homes without being connected to the grid, because electricity was needed for the war effort. Though Sumac was little, helpless, and powerless, it was through efforts like this one that he felt he was contributing, doing his part, and doing what was right for the greater herd.
“Vinyl, what do we do if the battery goes dead?” Sumac asked while his master double checked the various electrical connections.
“Hmm?”
“Well, the whole system only works because of the initial jumpstart that we’ve given it,” Sumac said, sharing what was on his mind. “It works because you had a charged airship battery to uh, prime the pump? How do we get it running if the pump isn’t primed?”
At this, Vinyl froze in place and her muzzle contorted into an intense, scrunched pucker of concentration. Octavia changed the music to something sweeping, dramatic, and mysterious. She leaned into her electric cello and played some unknown tune that Sumac had never heard before. Alto sat close to her, his eyes closed, swaying back and forth whilst he listened to his mother’s music. Meanwhile, Vinyl remained stumped, and Sumac allowed himself to feel just a smidge of smug satisfaction.
“Sod it all,” Vinyl muttered, and there was a screech when Octavia yanked her bow over the strings of her cello.
“Vinyl!” Octavia’s whine of protest caused Alto’s eyes to open and the colt cringed from his mother’s tone.
Before anything could get out of hoof, Sumac had a solution; wiping his eyes, he then looked up at his master and said, “All we need is a hoof-turned crank to generate the initial charge. Once the Celestium in the balloon has a bit of a spark, it will begin its rapid rise and at that point everything should power itself.”
“Problem solved.” Vinyl held up a wire, pulled off her dark glasses, and examined the worn out, frayed end. Tossing it away with a snort, she conjured up another section of wire and went to work replacing the discarded one. “We have a bigger problem, Sumac.”
“Oh?” Sumac wasn’t in the mood for bigger problems, because his emotions were still in a state of collapse. Just the mere mention of a bigger problem made him feel like crying again and part of him wanted to dart beneath the workbench, so he could hide.
“We’re going to have to contact that attorney I know,” Vinyl continued, “and we’re going to have to queue for hours at the patent office—”
“But I don’t wanna!” Sumac blurted out while he backed away from his master.
“Sumac, be responsible.” Octavia’s voice was now calm, prim, and reassuring. “Chin up. If you start a task, you simply must see it through from beginning to end. Vinyl is right—this is something that must be patented. You’ll make money and that money can be used for school. For your future. Queuing isn’t so bad—”
“Yes it is!” Shuddering, more tears streamed down Sumac’s cheeks and his emotions threatened to run rampant. Nothing worked right now and everything was coming out all at once, no matter what he did to hold it all in. The soothing music had stopped, he wasn’t distracted by labour, and the very prospect of queuing for hours had unhinged him—it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, whatever that meant.
“Here we go…” Vinyl spoke in a knowing way. “Here comes the rest of it.”
Very much against his will, Sumac felt himself being pulled into a hug. He kicked, he struggled, he protested, but it was to no avail; his master just overpowered him, which made things worse. Rather than a temper tantrum—which, to be honest, was exactly what Sumac expected from himself—he had a total meltdown where everything collapsed in upon itself.
Burying his face against Vinyl’s neck, Sumac gave himself over to blubbering.
Yet again, Sumac was having his face washed. Earlier, Pebble had used his ear as a hanky and he kept having episodic bouts of sobbing, which he felt ashamed about. Vinyl, who was scrubbing everything, smelled like thunderstorms, lemons, machine oil, and some kind of perfume that sort of made his nose tickle. Today, she had put on a beautiful sundress and had worn perfume—no doubt for Octavia’s sake—only to have her plans dashed by his inability to hold it all together.
Just thinking about this made everything worse, and the flow started again in earnest.
Alto, also emotional, was now secure in Pebble’s embrace. His wings fluttered against his sides and his head was buried just beneath his sister’s jaw, with her chin resting on top of his head. Seeing the two of them together, Sumac wondered where Sly was and what the little trickster was doing. Having a sibling was something that Sumac very much wanted, but every attempt so far had been met with failure—of course, this was just something else to be upset about, and it too, piled upon him, crushing him, beating him down.
“Ahuizotl is a real jerk,” Octavia said, coming dangerously close to being impolite. “Who does he think he is, arriving in Ponyville in the middle of the night with an army of mind controlled monkeys and those… those… crocodile-toad-thingies? Ooh!” Cheeks bulging, her sour mood turned the music she made aggressive, hostile, and a bit screechy. “Using Sumac’s sorcery and that cursed ancient idol, he was going to turn the whole of the world into a steaming, sweltering jungle. How awful!”
“Swamp crotch,” Pebble deadpanned while holding her brother, “forever.”
Sumac laughed: it was a sudden, unexpected sound, and even while laughing he was still a little weepy. Vinyl scrubbed at his face a bit more, and she had to hold him still because the laughter grew in force, shaking him.
“Even Princess Celestia is vulnerable to swamp crotch,” Pebble continued, “I’m sure of it. You can’t get anything done when everything is sweaty and galded back there. You just want to stand there, bowlegged, and wait for a cooling breeze of some kind. Ahuizotl had a winning plan—too bad he made Daddy angry.”
Unable to contain himself, Sumac lost it, and was overcome with riotous laughter.
The sun began to set on Ponyville after a long day of baking the soil and driving ponies to seek shade. Birds sang the evening chorus, along with frogs and crickets, with owls offering harsh critique. Swarms of bats descended upon the bugs as the twilight deepened and claimed what precious power it could before the night reigned supreme, uncontested.
A small herd of ponies sat atop a workshop roof, gathered around a curious contraption, from which an enormous balloon rose, trailing a fine wire and a thick, sturdy cable. Some blinking lights flashed on the balloon—it would rise while light retreated—and a faint, smooth clicking sound could be heard while it ascended skyward.
Sumac did not know it, but he was doing his part to usher in the new age of steam and Celestium. He was far too young, too inexperienced, too naive to understand his contribution to the world, for him, this was just an invention, a bit of science done at such a time when he was in dire need of distraction from his troubles. As he sat watching the rising balloon, he felt his own spirits lifting, buoyed by Celestium and spark; at long last, he was able to cope with his own trauma, rather than try to pretend it didn’t exist.
Alto Clef hovered in a tight circle around his mother Vinyl’s head, never straying too far from the light and safety she offered against the gathering dark. He too, watched as the big balloon rose, his wings buzzing as he flitted to and fro. The little quiet colt seemed entranced by the moment and celebrated this triumph in his own silent way. Raising one stubby foreleg, he offered a parting salute to the rising balloon.
Vinyl watched a gauge and the twitching needle showed that the battery was charging.
The spinning flywheel made a smooth, steady thrum; it was the sound of progress and Sumac found it soothing after the long, eventful day. He had finally reached some state of emotional stability—he had leveled out—and he was even starting to feel like his usual self once more. With Pebble by his side, he had found his smile again.
“Hiya, Sumac…”
Twisting his head around, Sumac turned towards the sound of the voice. A new flood of emotion coursed through him and every muscle went tight at the sight of Pinkie Pie. She stood on the edge of the roof near the stairs, hesitant, shy, and apprehensive. On her back was one of the distinctive boxes from Sugar Cube Corner.
“Feeling better?” Pinkie asked, her voice quiet, strained, and low, almost as if she feared just speaking might be somehow offensive.
“I’m sorry.” Sumac knew that the sooner he said it, the better, so it was best just to get it out of the way right now.
“I am too!” Pinkie Pie blurted out somehow as she was inhaling, filling her lungs with air so that she might say more. “You were so hurt and sad and withdrawn and I panicked! I’m not a smart pony when I panic and no matter how much I giggled at this ghosty, I couldn’t make it go away and it got under my skin and I started not being able to sleep at night and you just kept drifting further and further away from everypony and it got really, really bad this time and I just didn’t know what to do and I got scared and I just couldn’t give up on you!”
Sumac was about to say something, but before the words could leave his mouth, he found himself held tight in Pinkie’s embrace. He hadn’t even seen her move—she was at the stairs one moment and holding him the next—with the cake box now on the ground beside them. As it turned out, words weren’t needed or necessary. Gripping Pinkie, he held on for dear life as a flood of gratitude washed over him. For all of her annoyance, for all of the trying that she did to his patience at times, Pinkie Pie really was the best friend a pony could ask for or hope for.
“Some ponies are just really, really hard for me to understand but I just can’t give up on them!” Pinkie Pie pulled Sumac closer, perhaps attempting to crush him, and she redoubled her grip on the colt she squeezed in her forelegs. “I’m so sorry if I made things worse!”
A million things wanted to be said all at once, a million thoughts all raced to be expressed, and Sumac was overcome by them. Unable to speak, unable to put his thoughts into words, he did the only thing he could do: he clung to Pinkie and tried to hug her in some meaningful way that mattered.
“Sometimes ponies are grumps and you can’t hold that against them because they need help.” Reaching out, Pinkie snatched up Pebble and pulled the filly close. “The two of you are really confusing and sometimes I think I do more harm than good. I don’t know how the both of you put up with me.”
“We manage,” Pebble gasped while her aunt almost squeezed the Pie filling out of her.
“I made a pineapple-pomegranate-polkadot-puff cake.” Somehow, Pinkie snatched Alto right out of the air and the startled colt let out a terrified yelp as Pinkie lavished her over-exuberant affections upon him as well. “Who wants cake? My Pinkie Sense tells me that this is a momentous occasion in need of celebration!”
“It rather is?” Octavia seemed a bit perplexed by everything happening and her worried, maternal stare was locked on poor Alto, who was now being smooshed. Lifting one hoof, she covered her mouth and fretted while she watched her son get squeezed almost to oblivion. “Alto… darling, speak to your Mum…”
Alas, Alto said nothing.
“So”—Pinkie’s voice was chirpy and chipper—“who wants to explain to me what this contraption does and why it has a big balloon? Ponies are gonna ask questions. I’m gonna ask questions.” Her embrace ended with the same sudden abruptness that it had started with and when Alto went tumbling free, Octavia snatched him up while Pinkie gazed skywards at the rising balloon.
Though no longer held, Sumac clung to Pinkie like a drowning pony hung on to a life preserver. Thinking about the day, he sat in reflective silence, pondering great, ponderable ponderances, and wondered if this was a moment where he had grown. When he went home tonight, he would need to have a talk with his mothers, and it would probably be wise to offer up an apology just to be safe. He might have been a little too successful at pushing everypony away.
Throwing back her head, Pinkie Pie began to sing while Vinyl Scratch opened up the cake box. “‘Cause I love to make you smile, smile, smile… yes I do! It fills my heart with sunshine all the while… yes it does! 'Cause all I really need's a smile, smile, smile… from these happy friends of mine!”
Hearing Pinkie sing, Sumac couldn’t help but feel that everything was right with the world once more.