"One of our planes was miss-ing, two ho-ours o-ver due.

Yes one of our planes was miss-ing, with all its gal-lant crew!

The ra-di-o sets were hum-ming, they wait-ed for a word;

Then a voice broke through the hum-ming, and this is what they heard:"

Mister Rye Wander sighed contentedly as he reclined back in his seat. The padding, treated and yellowed in such a way as to closely resemble manticore leather, gave a pleasing creak as the soft foam inside adapted to accommodate the shape of his back. He found himself once again admiring the plane's interior- the chrome plating, the red carpet leading through the aisles, even the personal reading lights planted above his seat, hard to handle as they were, filled him with a sense of pride and entitlement.

He couldn’t believe some pegasi were actually willing to pass this up, go about flying ‘the way Nature had intended’, as they’d as they’d so insistently chanted throughout the whole terminal. It had irritated him to no end as trying to ignore it just turned it from a droning mantra into an even more irritating mindless animal bleat.

He jokingly bet to one of his liberal and less cynical friends that they’d see at least half of those protesters boarding when they’d return home from the continent. Those would be the sheep, the kind of folk who disliked something simply for the sake of being new, the ‘hangers on’ types, just looking for a new bandwagon to hitch a ride in.
Then you had the old-timers, and like so often with these kinds of protests, they formed the hardened core of the group. From what Wander had seen he’d place good money on them being veterans of some kind or another. They were the type with enough pride and backbone to make up for the rest of the chaff and would sooner collapse shivering from pneumonia rather than admit they’d started a losing battle.

This was real flying, no matter what you heard those hardline featherbrains say about it. They were simply the kind of folk who’d hate something new just for the sake of being new. The kind of folk who just couldn’t handle progress.

Wander reached into his suits breast pocket, the tweed a light shade of brown compared to to the darker mat of his own coat, and slid out a metal case which glinted brightly even in the aesthetic half-glow of the plane.

‘Every generation has its mules’, he thought, picking out one of his last cigarettes (what his more liberal and less tolerable friends jokingly referred to as ‘cancer sticks’.)
‘The bozos that get left behind trying to catch the tail draft.’

He reached his hoof up to his mouth, the roll of white paper tipped lightly on the edge as it neared his slightly parted lips, only to pause then he glanced to his side.

Next to him, his daughter was still wrapped up tight in the grey, scratchy woollen blanket he’d discarded after it caused him too much irritation, but apparently suited the barely grown filly just fine. She was snoring slightly, her nostrils flaring with each breath, one of the few things he found tolerable only if the traveller next to him happened to be a loved one.

Seeing that she was asleep, the stallion felt a slight twinge of guilt mixed with relief. He’d promised Polly he’d quit. In hindsight, he should have prepared better before crossing that particular point of no return. Now he was stuck between the ever present but ever less likely to be satisfied urge of camel Joe’s, and the guilt trips Polly was so inexplicably good at dragging him through.

She’d look at him with those big blue puppy eyes (she could make them tremble slightly, he was sure of it) her face looking at once both stern and pleading. She never said a word throughout, but then again, why should she? That look said it for her; ‘Please, don’t.’

Not a mite more forceful than that...which is what made it sting so goddess-damned sharply.

It wasn’t the cancer that worried her,’ he thought ‘or the lung diseases, no- she didn’t know anything about those things. It was the voice she was worried about.

‘Daddy,’ she’d asked one day, out of nowhere, ‘I’d like it if you didn't smoke so much’

“And why is that, honey? He’d answered, wary that she might have gotten an earful of some raving health nut teacher back at school.

“Your voice, daddy” She had replied “It makes your voice sound all gravelly.”

And she said it so tentatively, so utterly without authority or assertiveness in a tone that plucked at his heartstrings like a musicians hooves on a violin.

She would never abuse it though. She was enough brains in that delicate little head of hers to realize she could-
Well- she could shout, she could scream, she could could break the glass and bend the silver, but as long as she’d use those eyes he’d never have the heart to deny her a thing.

‘But she won’t.’ The stallion thought happily, lodging the cigarette stick between his gums.

You raised her right by that account Wander. She thinks about more important things than dolls and ice cream. She treasures trust.

A shadowy flicker abruptly stole over his face, twisting the corners of his mouth into a grimace.

The grimace deepened, pulling taut the wrinkles at the side of his face (. His mind began to wander back to the last twelve years or so of hell he’d gone through. It began with those male ‘relatives’ (later ‘friends’, then just ‘helpful acquaintances‘) he’d caught snooping around the house when sometimes... no, every time he’d come back from work early. His reaction was what was to be expected from an average, prideful colt in his day and age; he beat the living horsefeathers out of them. Then (kindly, and of course, always in a respectful manner,) showed them the door, where they could limp out with some dignity intact.

The confrontation with his dear beloved was, to put it lightly, unpleasant in the very extreme. Insults were thrown, mostly pulling either his virility or the respectability of his parents heritage into question, with him throwing back some very ungentlecoltly accusations in turn.
When Polly was out to school or, ever more frequently, a friends place, things began to get physical. Not one on one fisticuffs (they were still respectable ponies, after all) Instead, they resorted to throwing furniture. As the guidance councillor would have said, it left our mouths and hooves free to “express our innermost feelings and thoughts of one another”, all with the added bonus of never having to get physically close.

This must have been two, no, three years before they finally settled for a divorce. The night after he had thrown a shoe and hit a frilly flower and fluffy pussycat tea-set on accident.
It had fallen and gone to pieces, and so had she.

It all came gushing out. Once again all the frustration and anger meant for him and him alone.

He’d started to blank out by this time, having spent his emotion in a brief flare of anger on a passionate argument and culminating in the throw, having all the emotion simply flow out of him in a few brief moments, he could only face the consequences with weary resignation.

He had sat himself down (perhaps he would have noticed his wife’s screeching had gained a more frantic, even hysterical tone than usual, but all too soon it blissfully turned back to just that same old animal bleat) and had begun to stare down at the broken crockery, as if the shards of blooming flowers and mewling kittens would still hold some symmetry only he could fathom.

Then a flash of shining metal caught his gaze, and his eyes were suddenly following the progress of a gold band bouncing lazily behind a table leg.

He turned back at to his wife, and she’d stood there panting heavily and her arm outstretched like in some dramatic gesture of offering, and finally she uttered the words he’d been both fearing and hoping for;

“I’m leaving you.” She had choked out, her features briefly softening from a feral snarl as she began to realize what she’d said.

“Do... do you hear me, you leathery old mule?” She had stammered softly. “I’m leaving you. It’s over.”

He’d realized early on that their marriage was starting to look very much like a freight train, hurtling along at breakneck speed and pieces starting to fall off the edges. Neither of them would willingly stop it out of some vague notion that it was still the right thing to do, for them, for Polly. So they let it hurtle on, getting pushed forward by it’s own momentum until the inevitable wreck.

Not the endless fights and arguments, not the year long dry, spell- hay, not even catching her cheating- but a tea set!? That bitch couldn’t find a better note to end our lives together on than the remains of some goddamn cornershop knock off?!

Wander suddenly realized his hooves had begun digging so deep into the armrests that the material had begun to tear. He promptly let his arms settle to his sides.

‘... bucks sake. How long have you both been looking forward to this? To see the sights, to live a little?’

‘And lets agree to not mention that particular dragon of the deep until we reach dry land, shall we?’

He procured his lighter, a copper trinket he otherwise used to fiddle with when he was with his own thoughts, and with a flick and a spark managed to bring a tiny flame to life.

He had just begun to inhale his first breath when his little ritual was interrupted.

The cabin door opened. A pony dressed in the pristine white coats of the airline staff and the decorated cap marking him out as the plane's captain stepped out. Wander awkwardly tried to hide the telltale glow of his cigarette, something he’d surely be politely but firmly reproached for.

Instead, the cream-white earth pony ignored him completely as he made a straight line for the lavatories. Wonder still glanced at him, nervous that his little activity was discovered, and in doing so found his nerves acting up for a whole other reason.

He’d only caught a glance, but even that had sent some kind of alarm bells ringing. He’d seen that particular kind of look before: the pilots face had looked pinched, edgy, wide eyed with the kind of worry he remembered seeing in jittery recruits on their first day on the job. A pony with that kind of look needed a warm drink and a kind face telling him he could go back to his job soon as he got a hold of his nerves.

Seeing that in the senior pilot captaining the vessel he was currently on didn’t exactly fill him with confidence either.

Wander leaned back, more tensely this time, and finally took a drag from his cigarette. He kept burning it almost to it’s mid-point. Mouth still slightly agape, his head arched back as he exhaled, watching the plume of smoke as it coiled lazily upwards.

That was better. The sudden pang of fear in his belly was still there, writhing like a ball of slithering vipers, but it felt more subdued now. Controlled, even.

Not long after, he heard the whirl of flushing water as the pilot finished relieving himself. Next came the soft click of the doors lock mechanism being opened, followed closely by the sharp, methodic hoofsteps of a trained uniform.

Wander smartly extended his arm to catch the passing stallion gently on the shoulder.

Said captain responded almost instantly - his face never hitching from that same look of polite indifference.

“Is everything all-right up there?” Wander asked slowly. “Nothing I should be worried about?”

The edges of the pilots mouth twitched once. That was the only show of what might have been surprise or dismay before that same visor-like mask of a face slid back on.

“Nothing to worry about, sir.” He answered without missing a beat. “Just a small amount of turbulence-”

“Nothing to worry about? Wander said, cracking a smile. “Son, I’ve seen forced marches that can’t hold a candle to that. You double timed your way back there... and judging by the look on your face, you had cause for some relief, isn’t that right, son?”

“Now, either you lost a very unfortunate bet with one of your crew-members, or there was a circumstance present which for some reason or another demanded both you and your co-pilots full attention, And for such a length of time that you couldn't leave to take a leak even when you were fit to burst.”

“So I’ll ask you again, Captain,“ Wander said softly, no longer smiling, “For the sake of my peace of mind, and please, just be honest- is there anything I should be worried about?”

Finally the other stallion seemed to have found the courage to open his mouth, gulped once, and finally spoke.

“There were some unexpected high altitude thunder storms, sir.” He gushed out. “I had to ease her out of from the upper cloud sphere and into the lower air currents, and air currents around this part of the Atlantic are pretty hard to predict, because...“Licking his lips once, he continued, “...because here, the warm tropical currents meet the colder ones from the South, you see, and that sends those air currents twisting and turning in all kinds of wonderful screwed up ways, and by Celestia does it play merry hell with the equipment on this thing.”

He sighed quickly, following up again in a much more upbeat tone, “Well, long story short I’ve had a wonderful night flying a plane against the world’s strongest crosswind while wondering if the first thing to explode would be the engines or my bladder.”

His face smiled briefly, then stiffened with a look of almost horrified realization.

Wander managed to keep a straight face for three entire seconds before he burst out chuckling.

“Excuse you?” he chuckled incredulously “What the hay am I gonna do, complain? You’ve just had me and my daughters lives in your hooves you humble bastard! Why, if I still had my rank I’d commend ya’ for a medal” He laid back, still smirking, “Even if you had soiled your uniform.”

This time, the pilot smiled back. “I wouldn't dream of it sir. Pristine Neigh-jing silk. My father’s.”

“Ah, so he does have some pride in him after all.” Wander leant forward and gestured to his side while he did so. “Say, you wouldn’t mind joining us for some real food back on solid ground would ya? Polly hasn’t had any-pony but this old fossil to talk to since we left home... Of course, only if sitting on your flank all day isn’t too demanding, mind you.” He finished coyly.

“In fact, I’d love to, sir.” Replied the stallion before his smile turned wry. “You might have flown with my father as it might turn out.”

“Hold your tongue son, I’m not that old.”  
The captain tipped his hat downward, both as a courteous way to end the conversation and to hide the idiotic grin he’d been infected with.

“Well, sir, it’s been a refreshing little talk,” he said “But I’m afraid I really do have to get back now. Even a plane out of danger still needs a pilot.”

Wander inclined his hoof, the one still holding the cigarette. “Don’t let me stop you then.”

The captain nodded curtly before he turned his back, and briskly disappearing behind the next row of seats and out of sight.

“And so concludes a life and death situation.” The stallion thought idly. ‘Just like that.’

He took in another draw, and this time smoldered the cherry all the way down to the filter. He drew the smoke in, but didn’t inhale, instead letting the smoke roll around his tongue and against the insides of his cheeks, filling his senses with the taste of tobacco and burnt leather. Finally, when the smoke had cooled and lost it’s flavor, he pushed it out through his nuzzle in twin streams of dragon breath, followed by a contented sigh as his whole body sank back into his seat.

Wanders whole world shudders as he’s thrown forward. He hadn’t bothered with his seatbelt, meaning his whole body simply kept on going and so landed awkwardly against the cabin wall, Wander leaning against it with the shell shocked limbs of a drunk whose nightly consumption has just caught up with his brain. By the time he scrambles back onto his seat, other ponies have started to join the commotion. Some had still been sleeping peacefully. Had. Now it was more likely that they were clutching their seats in that sudden onset of shock, steadily turning to panic.

He had just clipped his seat belt and was in the process the pulling it tight when the first screams rent through the air.

Wander blocked them out, just as he had the sudden drone of tortured metal that had suddenly enveloped him. What mattered right now is that he had to secure himself.

He turned to his left. Polly, who much more responsibly had fastened her belt good and tight, was still mercifully in that transition of shock to hysteria, her chest inhaling and expelling air in a quick in-out, in-out tempo you could tap your hoof to. If he didn’t stop her soon, she’d start to hyperventilate. Wander reached out.

He touched her lightly on her shoulder and she turned to him. Her eyes were wide and strained with fear.

He kept his eyes locked on hers. Still, he saw more of the view outside than he’d care for. For one, the outboard motor it looked out on was, quite vigorously, pumping out great plumes of flame and black smoke. Wander kept talking.

“You remember those lil’ leaflets?” he barged on. “The ones that tell you to sit in that funny looking way like- like when I caught Buster rubbing his backside off on the carpet that one time?“

His daughter nodded vigorously. “You..you got all muh’- mad at him. Y-y-you musta’ yelled twenty min-, t-twenty minutes straight...”

“Right, right... you gotta sit like that now, you understand? Lean forward, hug your knees, and tuck your head in, all there is to it. Alright?”

Wander suddenly felt a wave of vertigo, and the world outside angled a couple of degrees closer to the ground than what was considered suicidal.

He pressed down on her shoulder until his hoof drained white. He was hurting her slightly, he knew, but the result was that her big blue eyes once again looked back at him, still with fear, but now at least with some focus, and with that focus came a small measure of the steel he recognized.

“I need you to listen to me. Listen to me very, very carefully.” the stallion muttered, trying as best he could to keep his voice steady over the ever-increasing drone.

“You keep your head down, do what I say, and you’ll be okay. We’re both gonna be okay.”

His daughter nodded again, looking much more in control of herself this time. Just like he’d said, he laid his head down and hugged his knees, though he never took his eyes off of Polly. Haltingly, she mimicked him, although a little more slowly.

The plane was really shaking itself to pieces now. A luggage hold burst open, spilling open suitcases and coloured clothes into the walkway. The damage must have worn away at the planes circuitry, causing the lights flit on and off in a haywire fashion. At some point the oxygen masks had deployed themselves, now leaning uselessly over the crowd of screaming passengers.

All of this still didn’t actually reach Wander. He had to keep focused, to make sure to the best of his ability that nothing would happen to her.

Numbly, the stallion realized his daughter had closed her eyes and had started mumbling. Maybe to Celestia or Luna up above, maybe just to some nameless irrational force that might care for her plight...

“Dear Goddess” he thought, “dear heavens, dear sky, dear something up above please don’t let my daughter die, take anything you want my life my limbs but please oh dear heaven do not take my daughter from me...

The world shuddered. The aluminum wing finally reached its critical failure point and is sheared off like so much paper, being flung from a body no longer stable enough even have a hope of maintaining altitude.

‘I’l give up anything, just give us a chance, that’s all I ask for, just a chance-'

Whatever followed was wiped from his mind with the effects of the impact. His limbs are all thrown forward like those of a rag-doll, any thought or consciousness wiped away as every bone in his body seemed to pop loose, his seatbelt crushing into his stomach and stealing away even the chance for a surprised gasp. The last thing he heard was the shatter of glass and one more great moan of tortured metal, both all at once eclipsing the screaming ponies as effectively as to silence them.

Somewhere Below the Sea

by TheSkeletalGent

I: Sugar, We're Going Down.