//------------------------------// // Tourist // Story: Destination Unknown // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// Destination Unknown Tourist Admiral Biscuit Her coat wasn’t completely dry by the time her stomach started grumbling and she nibbled on some grass to sate her hunger, then sat on her haunches and looked out at the lake, at the waves rolling in and crashing on the beach. Calling it a lake didn’t feel right; she couldn’t see the other side and probably couldn’t fly across it; it was a small ocean. An inland sea. From the other side, she could have watched the sun set over it; here the sun was at her back, painting the lake in a rainbow of colors as it descended behind the skyscrapers. And when it was gone, even with all the lights of the city behind her, over the lake it was dark, a vast emptiness which was both foreboding and enticing. Airplanes flew overhead, their navigation lights clear in the sky, and below them boats bobbed on the surface, almost identical in appearance. If she were a fish, could she tell them apart? She shivered in the night air, then took flight, kicking up a cloud of sand. Due east, into the nothingness knowing that as soon as she looked back the skyline of Chicago would be a clear beacon. The water held the sun’s heat, fed its heat up into the sky, gave her almost-thermals to ride on and more turbulent air down low. A sailing ship passed under her, its sails rigged for effect but powered by the diesel engine thumping in the stern. She thought about landing on it—some sailorponies felt that the first pegasus landing on the ship as they approached the coast was good luck. Could they see her, or was she invisible in the darkness, a shadow briefly blocking the stars? She didn’t know. She buzzed the rigging, diving between the masts before heading into shore. Fireworks were shooting into the sky, painting the night in their temporary colors and for a moment she thought about climbing, looking down on the fireworks display from above, but instead chose to skim the wavetops, flaring as she arrived on shore. In the city proper, she started to climb, thinking that the Hilton Chicago would be the perfect place to camp for the night. But she needed to hear the rumble of a train and while she still hadn’t picked the right yard, there was the El, with its antiquated bridges over the city, chock-full of hidey-holes. The swish of tires on cars passing below was almost like ships cutting through waves, and she wrapped herself in her army blanket and settled into position as an El train clattered overhead, peppering her with rust and grime. It had been too long since she’d been to the ocean. That was her new goal, once she tired of Chicago she would go west, all the way to the Pacific. This time she’d take a northern route where the weather would be more favorable. ••• Chicago had plenty of tourist attractions on offer, most of which wanted to charge her money to see. Sweetsong didn’t mind paying to watch Hamilton; even if she didn’t understand American history, the music was catchy and she caught herself singing What Comes Next as she flew to the Willis Tower. There, they let you pay bits to ride the elevator to an observation floor, but they couldn’t stop her from flying to the top, circling the building to taunt it, finally landing between the antennas and getting a view that the tourists couldn’t, no matter how much they paid. And she realized as she sat on the edge and peered over the parapet that she hadn’t flown that high in a long time. Whatever, there were too many rules about flying on Earth and the clouds didn’t exactly cooperate with pegasi. From her eyrie, she could see the lake vanish into distant haze, long before the shores of Michigan could be seen. And she could see airplanes departing O’Hare and idly wondered if it would be possible to stow away on one. An airplane could take her places that a train couldn’t, but they flew too high and too fast for her comfort. She could also see a network of tracks winding in and out of Chicago, yards scattered seemingly at random. Some were elevated, some disappeared under buildings, and while at first glance there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for it, railroads didn’t build yards for no purpose. All she had to do was find the right one, one that offered mixed freights and a good hiding spot away from the bulls and the cameras. That was for later. She glanced up at the twin antennas, wide enough to be a perch if she wanted to try. Surely birds landed there sometimes and maybe a pegasus had, too. She could have flown up, but instead, Sweetsong leapt off the edge and glided down, angling for the Shedd Aquarium; patrons had been generous and it was worth the admission price to see a fish zoo. ••• Stores let a pony browse, even if she wasn’t actually interested in buying what they had to offer. Clothes, sunglasses, tourist kitsch, fashion accessories, jewelry, Legos, even a pancake café. Her blackberry key lime pancakes were expensive and worth it. Chicago also had plenty of rooftops and bridges where a pegasus could overnight and never be noticed, and for a few days she let the city enfold her, guide her. She wanted to move on, that was always in the back of her mind, but for now there was plenty to see and experience, easy money with a few hours busking in the various parks. The silver bean, the stained glass museum, even standing on a street corner and watching a bridge lift to let a boat through. Flying over Soldier Field while a game was being played; landing on a South Shore platform with no intention of boarding a train, just reveling in the electric currents from the wires, a barely-contained lightning storm. Lou Malnati’s sold her a Chicago-style pizza, different than any kind she’d tried before, thick and rich and filling and big enough to last for two days. Sweetsong knew how to use a computer even if she wasn’t good at it, and the library gave her access to rail maps. By the end of the week, wanderlust was crowding back in her mind, and while there was still plenty of Chicago to see, a few flights back to the shores of Lake Michigan only heightened her need to stand on the shores of the Pacific instead, to feel the even more distant wind ruffling her mane.