//------------------------------// // The herald of hard choices // Story: House of the Rising Sunflower // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// The small model of the domed home was intriguing, but perhaps not the best representative of the final product. As for the model itself, it was impressive, with a wondrous attention to detail. Grass, flowers, a serene slice of pastoral goodness. But the miniscule domed home was far too tiny to enter, and so Sundance had a hard time deciding if he liked the diminutive domicile. “We started of with a foamy concrete,” a handlebar-mustached unicorn said as he gestured to a bubbly sample slab. “We made a lot of improvements. It was ideal. All that air, you see. Good insulation. Amazing properties. But then some pegasus had the bright idea of using pegasus magic and binding clouds into the concrete.” This time, the unicorn pointed at a second sample, which was far more foamlike than the first. “Stronger, lighter, more insulation. Highly resistant to weathering. Brilliant stuff.” Sitting in a chair, Nuance seemed beside himself. Squinting, Sundance peered down at the model. “So why bury it with earth?” “Oh that.” A bubblegum-pink pegasus took over, and her every word was scented with something vaguely cotton candy-esque. “The sod layer is important. It adds another layer of insulation and prevents the sun from shining directly upon the dome. During extreme summers, this allows the dwelling to stay just a little bit cooler. Since it is sunk into the ground, inside temperature stays remarkably stable. We’ve had a lot of success with these designs so far.” Changing position, Sundance examined the two sample slabs of concrete and heaved a wickery sigh. The trouble was understanding this stuff, which he didn’t, and that made it hard to make an educated decision. It was a matter of trust, he supposed. But he didn’t want something that would crumble in a year or two. The rustic hovels were falling down, but they had stood for whole lifetimes. “How much experience have you had with them, and where?” Lifting his head, Sundance waited for an answer. “We have a few test sites,” the mustachioed unicorn replied. “Our biggest one is located in the Ashlands. Most of our construction has been done overseas, actually. There’s a bit of a—” “Most Equestrians think living in a sod-covered dwelling is beneath them,” the pink mare interjected. “They’re resistant to the idea of a small house based on communal living. They want big, enormous, expansive bathrooms, and individual kitchens, and living rooms, and bedrooms, and these small, efficient homes lack all of that. These are small. Simple. Cosy. They’re a place to sleep, but the very design encourages communal living, with shared spaces for the community to gather. Equestrians, even the very poor, desperate ones, resist the transition of practical housing.” “Thank you, Berry Briar.” A smile appeared beneath the unicorn’s mustache. “Oh, don’t mention it, Commander Humblewood.” “So, when I have new residents arrive, they might be turned off by the housing situation.” Sundance extended one wing, gave it a stretch, flexed his primaries, and then began to rub his chin. “It might influence their decision to stay.” “That’s not a bad thing,” Humblewood said to Sundance. “Think of it as a filter, of sorts.” “Hmm.” Rubbing his chin, Sundance wished that he had the room to pace, but the small, steel room was cosy, to say the least. “Like it or not, this is one possible future of many. Individual dwellings are ultimately inefficient… these are a luxury, really, when one sits down and considers the ramifications of housing tens of thousands. Or more. This solution only works here due to circumstance. Ultimately, we’ll need to focus on high-density high rises. Arcologies, we call them. But for now, we can still cater to some individual needs.” Berry Briar’s face was now a stern, hard mask, and for the first time since meeting her, her martial bearing could now be seen. “A future of hard choices awaits.” “And I suppose I am one of the heralds of hard choices?” Sundance looked Berry Briar right in the eye as he spoke, and tried to read her response, in case her words didn’t match her expression. “Is what I’m doing here to be a ‘take it or leave it’ situation?” “Yes,” Humblewood and Berry Briar said in unison. “I see.” Sundance ceased to rub his chin and he folded his wing against his side. “Future developments here will be quite different.” Humblewood cleared his throat before he continued, “Yonder plain would be ideal for communal barracks. Of course, calling them that would be a problem, but some clever public relations gabber will no doubt come up with a name that makes it palatable. Of course, ponies also have the option of building their own houses, should they come out this way.” Sundance’s lips pressed into a straight line, and he glanced over at Nuance, who squirmed in his chair. The poor colt looked miserable, worried, unhappy. Fretful, perhaps of how these unpleasant options might be taken. For Nuance’s sake, Sundance managed a sort of half-smile, an effort to reassure the colt, but what Sundance wanted was reassurance for himself. What was the right thing to do? “It is funny, sometimes, how a building represents a political ideology.” Nuance seemed quite surprised by the words that had just come out of his mouth and he sat there, blinking in a confounded way. “That’s true,” Humblewood was quick to reply. “Which is why your father has so much trouble advancing his ideas—” “And his agendas,” Berry Briar added. Nuance still seemed pretty astonished that he’d said something meaningful. This made Sundance feel a bit better, but did nothing to help him resolve the mother of all decisions. He could not help but feel that this one choice would forever impact his rule, and he started to wonder if this heavy feeling that he had might be the crown that Skyla had mentioned. It very well could be. “Nuance is right, you know.” Humblewood’s voice was a bit more gruff now and his mustache bristled as he scowled. “Forgive the potential pun, but this could cement your politics. Right now, everypony is scrambling to establish the boundaries between individual liberty and collective need. Ponies want a return to the old days, some of them, but they want the modern liberties that they’ve come to enjoy. No one is quite sure how this will turn out. Only the brave are exploring this new frontier.” Closing his eyes, Sundance thought of Baltimare and the inner-city. Desperation was a cancer. The fear of failing to pay the rent was something that everypony shared in common. All knew the dread of the rent deadline. Lucky were the privileged few that gained housing from the place where they worked. His mother and he made just enough to be stable, but things remained tight. Of course, now that he was gone, he worried about his mom. Was she just scraping by? “There’s a matter of utilities.” Nuance’s soft words made Sundance open his eyes. “There’s no power here, no modern sanitation. No water system. Whatever plans there might be for housing depend upon having basic services. It would behoove us to focus upon the here and now. If we build these houses, we provide for the needs of the peasantry, and there’s room for a bit of growth. While we might one day build housing blocks here, that is a day far in the future.” “Well said, Nuance.” The colt fairly beamed from Humblewood’s sincere praise and squirmed in his chair. “We have a similar problem in the Ashlands.” Briar Berry reached over and tousled Nuance’s mane as she spoke. “The village there keeps growing. Housing is an issue. Basic services don’t really exist yet, but there are many makeshift solutions. Windmills, dams, stuff like that. The ponies of the Ashlands are clever. You share a lot of the same issues, so some of the same solutions might apply. If growth is to happen, you’ll need to undergo rapid industrialisation of the area.” Turning about, Sundance once more examined the model. His eye trailed over every blade of grass, every flower, the tiny windows, the door, and he tried to imagine life inside of the dome home. It was… a room. Just a room. A place for a bed, and maybe a table. It was a safe, warm, secure room, sheltered from the harsh elements, secure from feral weather. He couldn’t see how a feral storm could do much damage to such a dwelling. Which made it more than a place to rest one’s head, but a refuge, a place of safety. Perhaps a good place to run if another owlbear dropped in, unannounced. “Do it,” he said. “Tear down the old and build the new. My subjects deserve more than dirt floors and rooty, bug-infested roofs. We’ll deal with the future when it comes. Should it come roaring in like a charging owlbear, it’ll meet the same fate as the last one.” Nuance gulped. “Right, Baron.” Humblewood nodded. “We’ll get started straight away.” A gaggle of giggling, gossiping teenage fillies went galloping past, and left the scent of bubblegum in their wake. Sundance was reminded of school, the packed hallways, and the frantic rush to get to class. School had not prepared him for this; he was entirely unprepared, and it showed. Skyla… there was a pony who was prepared. Born to rule, she knew what she was doing. Even Nuance had a far better grasp on the situation than he gave himself credit for. “Milord, lewds everywhere!” He sighed and his ears drooped. “I know, Sauerkraut.” For a moment, he thought of Cucumber. “Go bake a pie, Sauerkraut. I’ll expect it with my lunch.” “But… Milord! So much lewd!” Again, he sighed, and he was thankful for simple peasants with simple needs. “Sauerkraut, if you’re in the kitchen, you won’t witness the lewds.” “But what if I come out?” Now, his eyelids had a frightful twitch to them. Surely Sauerkraut had to know of the nightly lewds that took place—didn’t she? Perhaps she didn’t. The poor mare was distressed by the hormone-fueled shenanigans of the rampaging pack of teenagers. He made a mental note that he should never, ever leave poor Sauerkraut Pie and Turmeric alone together, as the results would be disastrous. “Lewds happen,” he said to the troubled mare. “I’m sorry. They’re young, Sauerkraut, and they can’t help it. They’re being lewd with the hopes that somepony responds well, and offers lewd in return. Reciprocated lewds leads to love, love leads to marriage and all that rot, new foals are born, and the world continues. So, we need the lewds.” “But… so lewd.” The elderly mare shuddered. “I know. I’m sorry. All of this is temporary. Things will return to normal, I promise.” With a shake of her head, Sauerkraut frowned and then stormed off. “Well,” Sundance muttered to himself, “that could’ve gone better. Feel like I flubbed that one.” A lone figure approached on the rock-strewn southern plain. Sundance squinted, trying to get a better view of the distant silhouette, but nothing could be gleaned from the far-off outline. It was a long, long walk to get to the barony from anywhere, and Sundance wondered if their visitor had walked from the railroad depot. That… that was a journey of several days on hoof. Visitors. Sundance wondered if any of the current visitors might one day return to stay here. A hard wind from the west made the grass sway with beautiful, rippling hypnotic patterns. Wildflowers were in bloom, and the grass has grown tall. He watched it all, thoughtful, and felt just a little melancholy knowing that this vast, empty space before him had once been a city. The snug box canyon was a natural keep, a castle of sorts. But the city had been a battleground, and now, all was ruin. The land had wounds, and he was responsible for healing it somehow. It was his business now, his life’s calling—and all because of his genealogy project. An exercise in tedium. His anal-retentive fixation with fine detail and doing everything just so had been his undoing. Yet, there was something satisfying about this job. And the question begged to be asked, if not him, then who? The owls might have something to say about that. His own transformation troubled him. Once, he was an impeccably groomed pegasus who took pride in his appearance. Oh, not much. Not to the point of vanity. But his mane and tail were cut just so. He brushed, frequently and often. He was a reflection of his work, with fine attention to detail and careful consideration. But now… Ragged scars ran the length of his neck and back. He couldn’t remember when he’d brushed his mane last, or his tail. They’d grown a bit long—eyebrow raisingly long—and he couldn’t recall when he’d given himself a good grooming. His hooves were rough, chipped, and in dire need of a good buffing. Did he have stinky wingpits? Probably. He’d fallen off of his lofty perch and now, he could not help but feel that he was a reflection of his barony, his land. A bit rough around the edges. Smelly. In need of a good cleaning up. “What am I becoming?” he asked himself. There was no answer, no reply. Not that he expected one. Whatever he was becoming, he was still in transition. There was no conceivable way to predict how this would end. An owlbear. A death. Little Amber Dawn tumbling down into a forgotten cellar. He was clay now, he was land, and his soft form was to be shaped by these hard experiences. One day, the fire would come, and he’d be made hard. Princess Celestia had promised that—and he had every reason to believe her. He would burn for all of this, and one of two things would happen. His flaws would prove fatal, and he’d shatter. Or he’d harden. Eyes squinted, he watched as the distant figure approached, and waited.