//------------------------------// // MAY // Story: Radiowaves // by mushroompone //------------------------------// “I don’t think this is going to work out.” Night Glider shook her head vehemently. “No. No way, I’m ready to go back to work! It was just a mist—” “We can’t make mistakes in this business. I know you know that. So help me out, here.” Dirt and pine needles crunched softly under Night Glider’s hooves as she trotted through the forest, trailmarkers long behind her. Her breath kept a steady pace with her strides. The air here was hard to breathe. Fresh and warm and pine-scented, but still hard. Or maybe it was the weight on her chest making it hard. “Look. I know you’ve had a tough few… I know some stuff went down that you’d rather not talk about,” he said, turning his back to Night. “I get that. I’m not gonna hang you out to dry, okay? I’m glad you’re back.” Night didn’t say anything. She gently shuffled her hooves and stared at the linoleum floor. “You just need some time to readjust.” Night paused at the crest of the next hill and tried to catch her breath. Pegasi weren’t meant to get around on hoof. She was sure of that. Must have been a biological thing. You get used to flying, then you can’t get so far on the ground anymore. Well, tough. She would go it on hoof. She would go all summer on hoof. She couldn’t trust her wings anymore. “You ever heard of Smokey Mountain National Park?” Night shrugged. “Sure. I guess.” “Big wildfire risk. They need lookouts who can keep watch during the summer months and call in anything… smokey, I guess,” he said with a little chuckle. “It’s a hard sell. Lonely and long. No flying, no searching, no rescuing. Just watching from a little tower.” He dropped a pamphlet on the desk in front of Night Glider. ‘Wildfire Season at Smokey Mountain National Park’ it read in friendly, bold letters. Night pulled it towards herself and peered down at the image curiously. A wide, flat room, up on stilts, overlooking a pine forest.  It looked peaceful. “It’s a way to make a little money while you’re getting back on your hooves. I’ve already called the mare in charge. She said she’d be glad to have you aboard.” Night Glider turned her head back, craning her neck for any sign of the watchtower she’d be spending her next few months in.  The trees were too tall. She paused a moment to give her wings an experimental flap, but it still didn’t feel quite right. Maybe they were weighing her down. Maybe they were to blame for it being so hard to breathe the fresh mountain air. “You’ll be in touch with our meteorologist via radio,” the mare at the visitor’s center had told her. “She’ll send out a report each morning with wildfire predictions, and keep you posted if anything breaks out.” “Meteorologist?” Night repeated. “That’s right. Her name’s Clear Sky,” the mare told her. “Real nice filly. Single mom. Make sure you radio her as soon as you get to your tower—she’s the only other pony you’ll be talking to all summer. You report to her, she reports to us. If she loses track of you—” “I’ll be on the missing pony list?” The mare paused. “R-right.” If Night Glider was reading her map correctly, the watchtower was just around the next bend.  If she wasn’t, she might be in for a worse summer than she had anticipated. Night Glider picked up the pace, breaking into a light canter. Her hooves thumped softly in the drifts of hairy white pine needles coating the forest floor. Her wings hung suspended in the air at her sides, catching the wind like sails but not daring to flap. “I hope you brought a book,” the mare had said, producing a small cloth bag from under her desk. “It gets boring up there. A whole summer, y’know.” “I know,” Night said, taking the bag from the mare. “It’s okay. I can handle it.” “And you’ve got a few hours of flying before you get there. Stay hydrated, okay?” Night hesitated. “Um. What if I’m walking?” The mare looked up at her. “Well, then, it’s more like two days.” She hadn’t been wrong. It had been about two days. The sun was going down, and the air was cooling off—not that it was all that warm yet. Some trees really know how to hold onto a chill, though, and these trees did it excellently. It was as if they were oozing cold, sloughing it off in heavy clouds that then seeped into the discarded needles huddled about their roots. Night Glider puffed up her feathers in an effort to hold warmth closer to her barrel. Almost there. She slid down a small embankment, dirt and pine needles crumbling down along with her, and broke into a gallop with her newfound momentum. Those tiny airbourne moments between strides, little gasps of weightlessness, were the closest thing to flight she’d dare let herself have. The ground swelled under her once more, and the trees thinned, and her home for the next five months rose before her, stoic against the fiery sky. The watchtower was sturdy. Perhaps not as sturdy as Night Glider would have liked, but certainly stronger and broader and simply more than she had anticipated. It rose several stories off the ground, clearing the tops of even the tallest pines, holding a single room aloft in the fresh air. Night Glider approached the tower, her gallop slowing to a curious creep as her lungs struggled to catch up. A bare wooden staircase wound its way around the tower in a corkscrew. Though it looked rather rickety, it also looked old—no sharp corners on the edges of the planks of wood, patches of cool green moss spreading here and there—and so Night Glider decided to trust it. If it was going to fall over, it would have already. Right? The base of the tower was as barebones as it gets; four thick, heavy, solid beams of wood piercing the heavens, criss-crossed by support beams that tangled together like a spider’s web. Night Glider wondered what sort of shadow this thing must cast over the forest. She put her hoof on the first step. The step groaned its acknowledgement, but did not budge.  She put her hoof on the next. She began to climb. Her wings fell away from her sides very gently, as if they, too, were merely heavy clouds sinking down to the earth, buoyed by pockets of wind. Night Glider dared to allow herself that tiniest fleeting glimpse of flight before snapping them into her sides once more. The door to the tower was locked. As she lifted the key from its place on her chest and jimmied it into the lock, Night Glider wondered why a firewatch tower would need a lock. When the door opened she decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. For some reason, Night Glider felt the word "quaint" jump to mind, though it was hardly the right one to describe what she was seeing. Perhaps some part of her still associated quaintness with oldness, rather than that particular brand of old-fashionedness that came with quilts and cats and teacups. Or perhaps it was the sound of the door creaking open which brought the word to mind. The tower was a strange mix of barebones and utterly maximalist. While the only true amenity in the single room was a beat-up cot, there were quite literally dozens of scientific instruments installed in the space, less than half of which had any meaning at all to Night Glider. Papers of all sorts similarly littered most surfaces—guide books filled with sticky notes, trail maps haphazardly folded down to size, edible plant leaflets laying open and sun-faded, datasheets printed from machines that were likely older than Night Glider herself, and pages torn from spiral bound notebooks still dribbling their spaghetti edges out the sides of misshapen stacks of potential tinder. "Overwhelming" would have been a good word. "Underwhelming" would have been a good word, too. "Okey-dokey…" Night Glider muttered aloud as she took in the scene, though she immediately balked at the feeling of the phrase on her tongue. "No matter what, the very first thing you should do is call in to Clear Sky and let her know you're there safe," she said, tapping the desk with perhaps undue importance. "If she doesn't hear from you, she's gonna lose a mind and a half." "Got it," Night Glider agreed, hardly paying attention. "No, no—sweetheart, this is a single mother we're talking about." She tapped the desk again. This time the importance was not so undue. "She's got overprotectiveness you wouldn't even believe." Night Glider didn't respond to that, though she did give her a quick and emotionless glance. "Call her. First thing. Don't forget." Wasting no time, Night Glider approached the flurries of papers and began sweeping what she could out of the way. A few stray pages fluttered down around her hooves as the tabletop was slowly uncovered. Night did her best to step around the papers, but slipped on one or two as she fumbled her way through the unfamiliar surroundings. At long last, she spotted the radio; a small thing, bright yellow, thankfully still nestled in its charger and jammed behind a teetering tower of books. She picked it up and pressed the single large button on the side, and was rewarded with a quick pop of static as the radio sprang to life. “Uh… hello?” she said into the radio. “This is Night Glider with the, uh…  Smokey Mountain tower?” Despite her immediate regret at the shakiness of her voice, Night Glider released the button and waited. A moment passed. Then two. Night chewed her lip and looked around the room, a sort of dread bubbling up as she realized just how many papers she’d need to organize to make this space even remotely liveable. Anxious and impatient, Night Glider lifted the radio again. “Hello?” “Hi!” Night felt her shoulders spring up around her jaw in surprise. “Hi, sorry! I was trying to—well, really I was—it doesn’t matter,” the voice on the other end spluttered. “Hello! You’re Night Glider!” Night didn’t quite know how to answer that. It wasn’t even technically a question. Her hoof hovered near the button as she tried to think of a response. “I just get so anxious waiting for the lookouts to arrive,” Clear Sky explained. “Haven’t had to file a missing pony report yet! I’d like to keep that streak going, y’know?” Her voice had a dry quality. Almost raspy, if Night Glider was hearing it right. “Everything looking good over there?” Clear Sky asked. “I know the last guy to keep watch was a bit… well. You fill in the blank with whatever you want and you’ll probably be right.” Night Glider looked over the tower one more time. A stack of barely-contained papers slipped off the edge of one bit of countertop and quickly spread across the floor. “Uh. I’m sensing that.” “Oh, no. That bad, huh?” “It’s fine. I’ll need something to do, right?” Night Glider grumbled. “Might as well clean up some other dude’s mess.” Clear Sky turned on the radio in time to snort. “Story of my life.” A witty reply didn’t come to Night Glider, partly because she wasn’t really the witty type, and partly because she was simply too exhausted to put in any effort at all. The radio stayed quiet, and so Night set it aside on the counter and turned her gaze to the view outside the windows on her every side. The sun was dropping, ever so slowly, behind the mountains on the horizon. It flared bright orange. The orange filled the watchtower, throwing stark black shadows across every surface. Night had to shield her eyes to make out any of the surrounding landscape at all. It all seemed so small from up here. Even now, having just marched her way through two days’ worth of forest, Night thought it looked distantly fake. A diorama, maybe. The watchtower was sturdy, but it, too, had a fake feeling. Its windows sealed out any hint of wind and weather, any of the rising thrum of crickets and cicadas. She may as well have been watching it all on screens from the safety of home. An open window would be nice. Perhaps over her bed. Night circled the large map at the center of the room to her cot and climbed up with all four hooves. It had barely any give—though, to be honest, she was more distracted by the feeling of something crackling beneath the covers. With a bit of fumbling and stomping, Night managed to tug the covers out from under her hooves and toss them down to the wood floor of the watchtower. A single sheet of notebook paper lay there on the lumpy mattress. Though Night’s hooves had managed to punch it into a shape not unlike a coffee filter, the hasty writing was still somewhat legible by the light of the setting sun: I love you I love you I love you I wish I didn’t It would be easier for you But I must not tell a lie I love you I love you I love you Night furrowed her brows. She read the thing—notes? Poetry? Love letter?—a few times over before deciding that, whatever it was, it was likely not her business. She tucked it safely between two books at the head of her bed. She would figure out what to do with all this stuff later. As soon as Night found the lock on the window, the radio crackled to life again: “Hey—you still there?” Night sighed. “I can’t come to the phone right now…” she muttered, returning to fussing over the window. The sticky latch seemed almost wedged into place. “Hello…” Clear Sky all but sang into the receiver. “Hello, hello… Night Glider, come in…” “For the love of—” Night threw all of her weight against the latch, and it mercifully popped open, and the window with it. Before Night could register any of it, she was face-down in the cot, cool night air rushing over her exposed feathers. “Night Glider!” Clear Sky repeated, swapping out her sing-song voice for a conspiratorial whisper. “Hey! You still there?” Night growled softly to herself as she rolled off the mattress and stomped across the room to the radio.  “I’m still here,” Night replied. “Oh, hey!” Clear Sky giggled to herself, part embarrassed and part victorious. “I’ll be here a while,” Night added. “You don’t have to check.” “Well, I know that.” Clear Sky scoffed. “You’d be surprised how many ponies forget about the radio. Either they don’t charge it or they just plain don’t bring it along on patrols. I guess a lot of folks take the job to get away from other ponies, and then they’re frustrated they have to carry one around with them everywhere, but… well, hey. That’s the job.” Night did not respond to that. “Anyway?” “Anyway,” Clear Sky agreed. “I just wanted to remind you to keep me charged!”  She laughed. A mom laugh. Night Glider sighed lightly as she snuggled down into bed. “Mhm,” she murmured, eyes already drifting closed. “And, um…” There was a very long pause. “Whatever it is you’re trying to get away from… well, I hope it gets better.” Night’s eyes snapped back open.  She laid there for a long moment, staring blankly at the radio in her hoof, trying to think of something to say in return. The wind whistled through the wraparound porch and curled its chilly fingers over the edge of the window. Night Glider tugged the blankets up to her chin. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Clear Sky said simply. “Goodnight, Night Glider.” “G-goodnight, Clear Sky.” Nothing in return. Night Glider stared at the radio for another long moment. Though she hardly knew Clear Sky, she didn’t seem the type to leave a thought like that hanging. Or any thought, really.  She clambered out of bed, slow and lethargic, to replace the radio in its charging cradle. Her hooves dragged through drifts and flurries of discarded papers as she wound her way back to the cot and finally collapsed. Though her eyes felt sandy and weak, Night scooted across the cot and pressed herself up against the wall of the tower. From here, she could make out a sliver of the night sky between the tower’s roof and the mountain peaks. The sky was so clear out here, clearer even than it was at the edge of the desert. More than just stars, Night could make out the distant swirls and streaks of other galaxies against the endless black.  She sighed contentedly.  The stars would always be there for her. Sleep soon got the better of her, though. Night Glider dreamed of flying. There is a feeling adjacent to deja vu that, every now and then, creeps up and pounces on you without much warning. Whereas deja vu convinces you that an unfamiliar feeling is not as new as you may think, this feeling is truer to reality; it is a certainty that, despite an experience being new to you, you will have it many, many more times. The feeling crept over Night Glider as she slept, fighting through the inky darkness of half-dreams, on the back of Clear Sky’s tuneless singing. She was singing. Not a gentle tune. Not a comfort. Loud. Imitating trumpets. A morning fanfare which scraped against the topmost ceiling of the radio’s transmission power. Night Glider found her strength and managed to bury her head under her pillow, though it only just barely muffled Clear Sky's triumphant song. “Good morning!” Clear Sky shouted. “This is your official wake-up call! You will be given a moment to reply before round two!" True to her word, Clear Sky released the button on the radio, and the lookout tower was over again bathed in a blissful early-morning quiet. Night Glider allowed herself to relax before reaching for the radio to respond. When Clear Sky said ‘a moment’, though, she really only meant the one. Her voice exploded from the radio once more, the same off-key song in the same full-chested voice. Night Glider swore she could hear it echoing off the mountain range itself, could hear birds scattering in fear of this new, exceptionally loud predator. "Wakey-wakey, Night Glider!"  The sound of one hoof pounding on wooden floors accompanied the shout. Night growled under her breath. A hoof shot out from under the covers and snatched the radio out of its cradle. “I’m up.” There was a long pause. When the radio popped back to life, Clear Sky was already a little out of breath, as if she’d been laughing. “I had a feeling. Good to see you survived the first night—we lose most of our recruits within twenty-four hours.” Night only furrowed her brows. “Kidding,” she added, holding in a snicker. Night Glider didn’t reply. This seemed to be an expected result. “You ready for your first day on the job?” Clear Sky asked. Cheery, though with a hint of… sass wasn’t exactly it. Almost secrecy. A little over-the-shoulder smile and wink. A brand of sarcasm that was altogether new for Night. “Do I… need to be ready?” Night replied warily. “Time will tell, I guess,” Clear Sky mused. “I’m supposed to walk you through all of your duties, so grab a granola bar and map and let’s get moving.” Night Glider let out another disgruntled sigh. “Aren’t you just sitting in some tower?” A pause.  “Maybe so.” “Aren’t I  supposed to just be sitting in some tower?” A longer pause.  “Who’s to say?” Clear Sky replied. “You really wanna miss out on all this nature? Might as well get a lay of the land, don’t you think?” Night Glider ground her teeth. No matter what Clear Sky said, all that echoed in Night’s mind was that suspiciously specific platitude whispered over the radio late last night: “Whatever it is you’re trying to get away from… well, I hope it gets better.” “I think I’d rather head out on my own, y’know?” Night said. “Do a little exploring. Stumble around. That’s more my style, really.” A much, much longer pause. Night Glider stood still at the edge of her bed. The sun was still technically beneath the horizon, but those very early rays of light were beginning to stretch up, shooting golden beams across the sky and sending matching ones across the interior of the tiny tower. Even so, the last glimpses of stars and swirls of distant galaxies still burned against the darkness. “O-okay!” Clear Sky replied, at long last. “Sure! That’s a… that’s a fine tactic. Get out there and see what you see.” “Cool.” “Just make sure you bring the radio, okay?” Clear Sky reminded her firmly. “And, really, I’m here for any questions you might have. Anything you wanna know about or talk about, I’m your mare.” Night nodded, though she didn’t know why. “Yeah. You’re the only mare I’ve got.” Another pause. “Right.” Night Glider nearly replied, but the feel of that little plastic button under her hoof convinced her otherwise. Instead, Night gathered her things (radio included), stuck a granola bar in her mouth, and headed down the spiraling tower steps into the early morning. That’s how it was meant to be, after all—lonely. Isolating. No one took this job looking to make friends. They took this job to be alone. The wet earth still held that last chill of dawn as Night Glider trotted away from the lookout tower and into the beckoning woods.  This was the point, after all. Maybe not at first. At first, the point was to have a job. Any job. Now, though, by the growing light of day, the point was the woods. And being alone in them. She tried to feel it—the isolation, the perfect aloneness of having an entire national park to oneself. She tried to absorb the wind as it blew, the sun as it rose, the birds as they sang.  Tried to be even less than one.  Tried to be none at all. She closed her eyes as she cantered, weightless, over the dry earth. Her wings fell away from her sides. The sharp scent of pine curled into her lungs and lifted her chest. And then the radio popped and hissed at her hip. Night's eyes squeezed shut a little bit tighter, almost imperceptibly so, in a vain attempt to ignore the ramblings of her compulsory partner. "—beautiful out here…" So distant and faint. Clear Sky must have been across the room from the radio. And mumbling. Night slowed down. The thumping of her hooves softened, and she listened closer to the far-away static emanating from her side. "Are you sure?" She skidded to a halt. The silence of the forest bore down on her, only the constant static of the radio cutting through it. "—a fairytale—" Night unclipped the radio from her saddlebags and held it near her face. She did her best to control her breathing as she listened intently, ear pricked, eyes squinting. Nothing more than distant mumbling—perhaps two voices?—met her. She couldn't pick out any other words. After another moment or two, the radio went silent again. Night briefly considered radioing back, just to ask what all the fuss was about, but she quelled her curiosity. She had five more months of this ahead of her. Exhausting all sense of mystery so early would only serve to make the next few months drag by. That, and Night wanted to be sure that Clear Sky wasn't encouraged to radio her any more than absolutely necessary. Night fastened the radio back on her saddlebags. Its presence was already starting to feel familiar.