//------------------------------// // Chapter 24: Blinded With Science // Story: Brother Against Sister // by CartsBeforeHorses //------------------------------// “Tarnation!” Sheriff Silverstar yelled, swinging his hoof through the air. “I just don’t understand how Chief Thunderhooves could go and sign that treaty with Blueblood.” “Neither do I!” said Pound Cake, throwing his hooves up into the air. “I mean, we all went over there and made a really good speech to the tribe! Was he just not listening?” Little Strongheart shook her head. “Chief Thunderhooves is hot-headed. He is quick to anger, but slow to forgive. I guess that he just wanted to make war for the sake of his honor, to ‘reclaim our ancestral lands,’ and did not want to back down from a fight. There were plenty of the buffalo elders who opposed him, but there were enough who were loyal to him that he could sign the treaty.” “Well, let’s hope that cooler heads prevail, like they did back durin’ the first treaty I signed with ‘em in 2010. You know, the apple pie treaty,” said Silverstar. “Let’s hope,” said Pound. “But seriously, though. How could Thunderhooves believe a pony like Trixie? Lying, no-good, backstabbing Trixie? Why would he listen to her? Why would anypony listen to her?” “I think I know,” said Pumpkin. “You know what Trixie’s special talent is, right?” “Uh…” Sheriff Silverstar said. “Ain’t it magic? She’s got that magic wand cutie mark, right?” “Nope, it’s not magic,” said Pumpkin. “My talent is magic, which is why I’m good at it. But Trixie? She can’t even teleport, for Luna’s sake. No, her talent is manipulation, deceit, trickery. That’s even her name: Trixie. Think about it. Before she was the ‘magical research head’ or whatever she is, she started off as a stage magician. Stage magic isn’t actually real magic, but the magician convinces everyone that it is, because they use sleight of hoof and misdirection. “Those are the same tactics that Trixie uses to lie to ponies. She’ll tell them one thing that sounds really good, all the while she’ll be using them for her own ends when they aren’t looking. It’s the same way she convinced a lot of the young unicorns from Ponyville that their special talent was actually farming, even though they already had real cutie marks. She dazzled them with deception.” “And she’s older than y’all, too,” said Sheriff Silverstar. “Y’all two are pretty bright for fourteen-year-olds, but you’re still just fourteen. All things the same, a pony might be tempted to believe Trixie just ‘cause she’s older.” “Well, whatever reason that the Chief decided to sign the treaty, it’s done,” said Little Strongheart. “I will keep in touch with this town, and I will let you know if I see any movements that could signal an imminent invasion.” Sheriff Silverstar smiled. “Thank you, Little Strongheart. I’m glad at least some of the buffalo don’t want no war.” Manehattan Laboratories, August 2024 The bleached white walls of the palace were illuminated by fluorescent lights which shone from the tiled roof. Ponies walked to and fro, wearing white lab coats and carrying beakers, boxes, and other items. Next to a table with beakers, bunsen burners, and microscopes, Zecora stood, narrowing her eyes as she gazed inside of a glass box. She put her hooves inside of the box, where rubber hoses shielded her from the caustic, dangerous chemicals. A yellow hood with a clear plastic face covered Zecora’s face, protecting her from any fumes. She carefully maneuvered a vial of grey liquid, slowly pouring it into a beaker full of purple liquid as it trickled. Just as the last drop fell into the beaker, it shattered, cracking as the liquid splashed all over the thick glass of the box. Zecora narrowed her eyes. Thankfully, the glass was explosion proof. “I could do with a little less tetranium carbide. That is something that I have not yet tried,” said Zecora. The other chemists simply shook their heads, returning to their tasks. Zecora sighed as she left the room, removing her chemical hood and stepping out into the hallway. Just as she stepped into the hallway, Zecora saw Twilight approaching her. “Hello, Zecora,” said Twilight Sparkle. How’s your research project coming along? Have you come up with the special potion that you needed?” Zecora shook her head. “Not yet, Princess Twilight. I still need to get the formula just right.” Twilight Sparkle nodded. “Take as much time as you need. We have the best equipment that money can buy, and all of Equestria’s best chemists on the task.” She motioned with a hoof around the laboratory. “Though I still don’t know how this relates to assassinating Emperor Zaporizhia,” she added, a puzzled look on her face. Zecora chuckled. “Patience, young alicorn, you must find. The answers will all come in time.” “Okay. Well, keep at it, Zecora. Equestria is counting on you.” Twilight smiled and walked away as Zecora went back into the laboratory. She walked over the table where she saw that one of her assistants had already brought her the chemicals that she needed for the next trial. She smiled at the assistant, who blushed and scurried off to some other task. Zecora put her chemical hood back on, taking a set of tongs in her front hooves and carefully positioning the vial into the box, closing the top. then, she reached her hooves into the rubber guards as she mixed the two substances together. The resultant purple mix boiled and simmered, and Zecora’s heart sunk as she prepared for another explosion. Instead, the mix died down into a resultant green compound which sat, unmoving, inside the box. Zecora grinned from ear to ear. “This is such good news. The vial contains a mix I can use!” Mareicopa Department of Magical Research: August 2024 Trixie sat at her desk in Mareicopa, levitating a pen in front of her as she signed documents and read reports. There was a knock on her door. “Come in,” she beckoned, and a stallion wearing a yellow rubber suit walked in. “Greetings, Research Minister Lulamoon,” he said, giving her a salute. Trixie cleared her throat. The stallion blushed. “I’m sorry. Greetings, Great and Powerful Research Minister Lulamoon.” Trixie smiled. “That’s better, Doctor Stekton. They don’t teach you respect at the universities these days?” Doctor Stekton shook his head. Trixie sighed. “I’ll have to see King Blueblood about that. So, what is it that you want?” “Well, ma’am, our preliminary results from Project Clovenhoof are in, and I thought that you might want to see them.” Trixie smiled, jumping up from her desk. “Excellent! Let’s go down there and see.” The stallion led the way, and Trixie walked with him downstairs. The hallway was brightly lit, and there were glass panes through which Trixie could look in on the various other rooms in the department. “The mental acumen approach has been only moderately successful,” said Stekton as they walked. “Subjects one, two, and three were given the best of the best magical instruction available, just as in magical schools. However, after two months, they can only just barely levitate a pencil for a few seconds. They may get better in time, but we may not have enough time.” Trixie shook her head. “The buffalo aren’t as inherently magical as unicorns. We already knew this. We are the master race for a reason.” Stekton nodded. “Subjects four, five, and six, who were given psychoactive drugs, showed moderate potential. They demonstrated some heavy object levitation, pyrokinesis, even teleportation on one occasion.” Trixie smiled. “Terrific! Would it be usable on the battlefield?” Stekton shook his head as they rounded a corner next to the restrooms. “I’m afraid not, Minister. The drugs aren’t easy to synthesize, and wear off rather quickly. Also, they can lead to some… delusions.” She groaned. “Tell me some good news, Stekton!” Stekton flinched slightly, but otherwise stood his ground. “Well, you remember how we received seven volunteers, yes? And I’ve only told you about six of them.” She nodded. “Well, we put the seventh in a limited biomechanical trial run program. We didn’t expect much success, which is why we only devoted a single volunteer to it. But the seventh has actually shown incredible progress. Far more than the others, in fact.” They reached the end of the hall and walked through a doorway which led to a dark staircase. Stekton narrowed his eyes as they walked. “We had to move him to the secure basement area after a slight... incident. Seems that he had reservations—no pun intended—about volunteering, and decided against carrying through with the trial all the way. But given his success, we couldn’t have him turning against us.” Finally, after walking down several dozen stairs, they reached the basement, and walked down a long, dimly-lit concrete hallway. Puddles of water gathered on the floor, and it had a dank, musty smell. They reached a giant, round, steel blast door at the end of the basement hallway. Right in front of the door stood two unicorn stallions who looked to be in their mid-20’s. One was a tall, lanky, stallion with a dark teal mane and a coat the color of rotten squash. The other was a short, stocky, stallion with a fiery-red mane and an aquamarine coat. “Greetings, Great and Powerful Trixie!” they both shouted in unison, bowing to her. “Snips? Snails?” Trixie blinked several times. Then, she turned to Stekton. “What are these two doing here? This is a place of science, not of foolish schoolyard antics and undying adoration! ...Though I must admit,” she blushed, “I do rather like the undying adoration part.” “Snails and I are working on some biomechanics with the buffalo. Stekton hired us on as interns when we graduated from Mareicopa State last year, just in time for the unicorn master race to come and use our talents,” said Snips. “We’re scientists, following in your hoofsteps, Great Trixie!” proclaimed Snails. “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You two… graduated… from college? I mean, a dirt pony college, but even still?” Stekton nodded. “I see a lot of potential in these two. That’s why I hired them.” Trixie narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t approve this, Stekton!” Stekton shrunk back. “But, you did give me power over hiring and firing, Trixie...” he started, his voice trailing off as Trixie opened her mouth to speak. But she was interrupted by Snips. “I handle the mechanical part, all the electrical wiring. I cut ‘em to the right length, and wire ‘em all together!” he said, pointing to his cutie mark of a pair of scissors. “And I handle all the blood and guts!” said Snails, pointing to his cutie mark of a snail. “Together we make a great team,” said Snips. Trixie scoffed. “Well, let’s take a look at the results that you’ve gotten. Then we’ll see.” Stekton leaned down to the blast door and put his horn into a hole. It beeped, and then opened. “Biometric horn-print security door,” said Snips. “I made it myself.” “Hey, I helped!” said Snails, scowling. They walked into a brightly lit observation room beyond the steel blast door. A thick pane of glass and a second, smaller door stood between them and a dark chamber. The rest of the chamber was thirty by thirty meters square, and had solid concrete floor, roof, and walls. In each corner of the chamber, a tall, metallic pole sticking up, glowing blue with magic. In the center of the room sat a single buffalo, sitting on the floor and gazing off into space forlornly. “Prepare security protocol,” said Stekton. Snails ran over and pressed a button on a console in the observation room. A green, circular light atop the second door turned red, and the second door swung open. Meanwhile, the first door leading back into the hallway closed shut again. “After you, Great and Powerful Trixie,” said Snails, bowing and motioning with her hoof. Trixie and Stekton walked through the second door through the observation room and into the chamber. Stekton turned to Trixie. “This is Subject 7.” “No, my name is Wolverine Spirit!” he croaked, turning around and frowning. He stood up to his hooves before collapsing once more. Trixie’s eyebrows raised. Not at the buffalo’s insolence, but his appearance. His eyes were bright red, almost glowing. Both of his horns were charred and blackened at the ends. He was much thinner than he was when he had come in just a few months ago with the other volunteers. His once-bulky sides were shriveled, and his ribcage was visible. But the thing that struck Trixie the most about him was the metallic, backpack-looking device on his back. Black tubes connected from the device up to his horns, where they melded in. Yellow and green wires extended from the sides and into his skin, where they dug under and intertwined with red and blue veins. Atop the device, a single, long, thin metal rod stood up. “He’s a beaut’!” said Snails as Trixie’s jaw hung open in shock. Stekton pointed towards the device on his back. “The biomechanical field generator, or BFG, is an electronic device which sits on his back and is magically fused into his spinal column and bloodstream in order to harness arcane energies from the air and his body and channel them into his horns. As you see, continued use does have some minor side effects, such as fatigue, weight loss—” The buffalo cut in, “And hearing loss! The ringing in my ears is unbear—” Snips tapped his hoof on the ground and the buffalo quieted down. Stekton continued, “—but the effects are tremendous, as he will demonstrate. Subject 7, you are to show your abilities to the minister. She and I will return to the observation chamber, and I will lower the magic suppression field. Then, you will cast your spell on the wooden target on the wall behind you. Snips and Snails will remain in the room to ensure that you don’t try any funny business again.” Wolverine Spirit’s eyes widened as he backed up, until the chains that bound him to the floor caught and he fell to his back. “I do not think I can do it again…” he whimpered. “Please… don’t make me…” Stekton shook his head. “And please do not make me commence negative reinforcement once again,” said the scientist coldly. “Yeah,” said Snails. “What he said!” The buffalo jumped up to his hooves and nodded. Whatever the ‘negative reinforcement’ was, he quite clearly didn’t want to be subjected to it again. Doctor Stekton and Trixie returned to the observation chamber, and Stekton pressed a giant red button on the terminal in front of him. An alarm blared, and the four towering metallic beams in the corners slowly descended down into the concrete. He leaned into the microphone and spoke. His voice boomed in the chamber. “The magic suppression field is down, Subject Seven. Proceed with the display.” Stekton flipped a light switch, and the flourescent lights in the room dimmed as the chamber was submerged in blackness, with the exception of a faint glow from Snails’ horn, and the light that shone in from observation booth. Trixie raised an eyebrow. “Why is it dark? We won’t be able to see the demonstration.” Doctor Stekton said, “He looks better with the lights off. Just watch.” Trixie gazed into the pitch darkness. Suddenly, the buffalo and the ground around him were illuminated white as the rod device on his back started to glow. “What is…” Trixie started. Suddenly, there was a tremendous boom and a flash as a lightning bolt struck the buffalo’s back. Trixie jumped. “Oh my,” she said. Stekton sighed. “That wasn’t the full effect. He normally channels it through his horns as well, using them to direct it at the target in front of him. I don’t know what his problem is.” Stekton leaned in towards the microphone, and said, “Subject Seven! That was not an adequate demonstration! Again, at once!” Trixie and Stekton waited for thirty more seconds, but with no response. He groaned as he reached over and turned on the lights. The buffalo lie motionless on the floor. Stekton gasped, and pressed the button to raise the magic suppression field once more. He ran through the door and checked Wolverine Spirit’s pulse. “He’s dead!” Stekton cried. “No!” cried Snails. “Months of work, down the drain!” Trixie raised an eyebrow. “Dead? Did he kill himself?” she asked. Stekton shrugged, walking back to the observation booth. “Maybe. Or maybe he forgot to channel it and direct it at the target, so it hit him on accident. Or maybe he died from exhaustion. As judging by his gaunt stature and exhaustion, using this spell is quite magically and physically taxing, and I’ve had him do it many times a day.” “He’s normally great at it,” said Snails. “I dunno what happened this time.” Stekton continued, “We’ve been analyzing the lightning spell to research possible ways that a unicorn could cast this spell—after all, that is our ultimate job—but no luck with that thus far. The only way a unicorn can cast the spell is if the unicorn also wears the biomechanical force generator, which weighs hundreds of kilograms, quite cumbersome and large for a unicorn. Not so much for a buffalo.” “Well, then I suppose that the important question is, can we get other buffalo who would be able to use the BFG and cast the lightning spell?” asked Trixie. Stekton smiled and nodded. “That’s the good news. The buffalo already use a mild form of weather magic with their rain dances. This is just that on a much grander, more direct scale. Subject Seven didn’t have any magical experience before he volunteered. Give us another month, and we can equip and train a dozen buffalo ‘shock troops.’ Three months, and we can make a hundred.” “Perfect, that’s just in time for the apple harvests in Dodge Junction! Will the side effects be noticeable immediately?” asked Trixie. Stekton nodded. “They are slow acting. I assume that you will conceal the side effects, yes?” Trixie chuckled, waving her hoof. “Of course. They don’t need to know. I’ll just tell that superstitious, hoof-dragging buffalo chief that their weather spirits would want them to do it or something. Why dance for rain when you can summon lightning itself?” “Though outdated and unscientific, their religious belief serves our purpose well,” said Stekton, nodding. “And by the time the buffalo realize the generators’ deleterious health effects, we’ll have already won Appleloosa.” Trixie smiled. “I’ll go see Chief Thunderhooves and find out if there are any volunteers to become living lightning rods. If not, I’m sure that he can force some of them to do it.” Snips and Snails smiled. Trixie turned to them. “I suppose that I underestimated you two.” Appleloosa, October 2024 On an overcast morning, in a schoolroom at the small schoolhouse in Appleloosa, about two dozen fillies and colts filed into class, taking their seats. Pound and Pumpkin sat together in the back of the class. At first, it had been somewhat of a fight to get the schoolhouse to accept them as students, but the sheriff insisted that the members of his militia be educated. The principal, a rather prejudiced old bat, refused. She was backed up by a small majority of the members of the parent-teacher association. That was, until the sheriff pointed out to her that Equestrian law required basic education for all fillies and colts up to the age of sixteen. If a local district refused to educate all children residing in its district, it would be denied the central government’s funding. The sheriff even got a signed letter from Princess Twilight to prove it. That got the principal’s attention, and she agreed to educate the twins. But before accepting them into the main school, she tried to set up a separate school for non earth-ponies. That idea quickly fell apart after she and the PTA realized that it would cost far more to hire teachers just for two students. So, rather reluctantly, the principal instructed the teachers at Appleloosa Primary School to accept the Cake twins into their classes. But then there had been the question of what grade to put them in. Though Pound had attended schools in Cloudsdale and Mareicopa after he left Ponyville, Pumpkin had not attended school since she left Ponyville. The last time that Pumpkin had been in a proper school, she was ten. Between then and when she moved to Appleloosa, she had been homeschooled by Zecora. So she and Pound were worried that she’d end up in a lower grade. However, after she took a few placement tests, the school board determined that Zecora’s teaching had been adequate. Pumpkin was placed in eighth grade along with her brother. Miss Applethorpe, a mare about Twilight’s age, didn’t seem to mind the two non-earth ponies in her classes, being as strict on the Cakes as she was on every other student. Which meant that if they disobeyed or misbehaved, they’d get a paddling or get sat in the corner with a dunce cap, just like anypony else. Thankfully for her, the Cakes had simmered down in their teenage years, and had a lot fewer behavior problems than when they had been younger. Back in September when the twins had entered school, they had initially been worried about bullies, but that proved to be entirely unfounded. Their classmates, not used to seeing non-earth ponies, were more fascinated by the twins than prejudiced towards them, seeing them as a novelty. In fact, they often asked Pound Cake to pick them up and take them flying around the schoolyard after class. Pumpkin became the go-to for magic, and they would often ask her to teleport them someplace or enchant something for them. Applethorpe stood up at the desk as class began, narrowing her eyes as her students lowered their voices and class began. She turned to the blackboard and spoke as she wrote with chalk. “Alright, class, today we’re gonna be discussing linear functions. Now, a linear function, modeled by y=ax+b, is one in which—” She was interrupted by a booming megaphone in the streets below. “Attention, Appleloosa residents. All members of the ASDF are required to report to Sheriff Silverstar’s office at once for general mobilization! This is not a drill!” Pound and Pumpkin glanced at each other. Pumpkin’s horn lit up as her book closed and floated into her backpack. Pound started packing up as well. Applethorpe swiveled around and tapped her hoof on the floor. “And just where do y’all think you’re going?” “We’re members of the militia,” said Pumpkin. “Yeah, we’re gonna report to duty,” said Pound. “Oh, no, you’re not,” said Miss Applethorpe. “Not without a valid and signed excused absence. Now sit back down.” Pound turned to Pumpkin. She shrugged. They both sat back down. The lesson continued for about ten minutes. “Now, the ‘b’ in this equation is the y-intercept. This is where the line meets the—” The door swung open, interrupting Miss Applethorpe once more. A rather perturbed Sheriff Silverstar stepped in, glaring at the Cake twins. “Didn’t y’all hear the announcement on the town P.A.?” he asked. “I swear, if I hafta go around and round up every militia member…” “Sheriff Silverstar!” Miss Applethorpe exclaimed. “I will not excuse any student from this class without a valid, signed, excused absence form!” The sheriff sighed, reached into his vest, and pulled out a paper ticket that he normally used to write citations to lawbreakers. He turned it over and wrote on the back. EXCUSAL OF ASBENCE FOR CAKES -SHERIF SILVERSTAR He gave it to the teacher. She snickered.“‘Asbence?’ I’m disappointed. You really gotta learn to spell correctly, Sheriff-with-two-f’s Silverstar,” she said. The sheriff frowned. “Well y’all at this here schoolhouse are the ones what shoulda taught me spellin’ years ago when I was a colt, so that’s on you,” he quipped. “Now come on, kids, let’s go.” Pound and Pumpkin packed up their packs and proceeded with the sheriff. The few dozen militiaponies all stood around the front of the sheriff’s office, muttering and conversing with one another. Pound and Pumpkin were in the crowd, and were just as clueless as the others. “Where’s the threat?” Applejack asked, looking around. “I don’t see no Second Kingdom troops. Just a buncha confused earth ponies.” “Eeyup,” said Big Macintosh. “Maybe it’s not not a drill,” said Pound Cake, shrugging. Pumpkin turned to him and raised her eyebrow. He clarified, “So, actually, it’s just a drill after all.” Pumpkin Cake chuckled. “That would kinda defeat the point of them saying that it’s not a drill,” she said. “You’re right,” said Pound. “Then the next time, if something actually went wrong, they’d have to say that it’s not a ‘not a drill’ drill, so that ponies would know that it really really isn’t a drill.” “This ain’t no stinkin’ drill!” The Apples and Cakes turned to see Sheriff Silverstar standing on the front porch of the sheriff’s office, as he shouted to address the crowd outside. “Little Strongheart here has an urgent message for us all!” he said. He stepped aside as the young buffalo stood up and spoke. “Greetings, Appleloosa. I have been watching Trixie and Chief Thunderhooves, studying their moves very closely. I believe that they will attempt an invasion of Appleloosa within the next twenty-four hours, likely sometime tonight.” Everypony in the crowd gasped, muttering amongst themselves in anxious tones. “Now, I do not know how this invasion will come. I know it will come from the west, but I don’t know who is involved,” Little Strongheart continued. “All I know is that, a few months ago, Chief Thunderhooves took several volunteers from our tribe to join the Second Kingdom’s army. Other volunteers have signed up since then. Also, some buffalo have been disappearing from our reservation. Most of them are peaceful bulls who never would harm a fly, even if the chief ordered them to. We wake up one morning and find one gone. Then a week will pass, and another will be gone, and the cycle goes on. We do not know if they have run away, or if they have been taken, or if they have been killed. The chief never comments on their absence, as if they never existed. Some of them may have been forcefully disappeared for speaking out against the war. “The Chief and the elders have been beating the war drums. They speak of war with Appleloosa any day. This afternoon, the chief told me that I should find someplace else to live for a while, someplace out west where the Second Kingdom controls. That if I didn’t leave today, I would be in grave danger. He gave me my belongings and told me to leave, and come back in a month. I got the message. The buffalo are planning to invade tomorrow.” The crowd fell silent. “Alright, gang, y’all heard her,” said Sheriff Silverstar. “I want y’all to take up defensive positions all along the town, inside of the clock tower, on the rooftops, in the apple orchards on the outskirts. Just like our trainin’ we did. Focus on the west of the town, since that’s the way to Mareicopa, which they control. If there’s an invasion, I’d bet my eyes to a dollar that it’d be from thataway.” The militia ponies all saluted and walked off to their positions. “Pound Cake,” he addressed the pegasus. Pound looked up. “Meet me in my office.” “What about me?” asked Pumpkin. The sheriff shook his head. “Nope. Just your brother. You go take up your position like we talked about.” She nodded and walked off. Pound flew over to the door and walked into the Sheriff’s office with Little Strongheart. The sheriff closed the door behind him and sat down at his desk. The three of them were now alone. “What’s up?” asked Pound Cake. “Pound Cake,” said Little Strongheart. “For the past month, I have seen many trains on the tracks that run through our reservation. They have few cars, and they all have bars on the windows. The trains come and go, but always turn back before they get to Appleloosa, though several have stopped near our teepees. There are also boxcars. Chief Thunderhooves has ridden in several of these trains. Though I do not know for certain, I believe that the army will be transported here by train to conceal their movements. This invasion is supposed to be a sneak attack, and if I hadn’t ran here to warn you, you would be off-guard. They do not know that you know about it, so they’ll still be using the train.” “Now here’s what I want you to do, Pound,” said Sheriff Silverstar. “I want you to fly out over the train tracks. Get a pegasus’ eye view of the railroad.” He handed Pound a pair of binoculars. “If you see a train, and you can tell that it’s an invadin’ force from the Second Kingdom, I want you to derail it.” He handed Pound Cake a stick of dynamite and a matchbook. “Sounds good,” said Pound Cake. “Can Pumpkin come with me? We kinda work as a team. She won’t slow me down or anything. In fact, she could help if I get shot at.” The sheriff shook his head. “You can do this yourself, Pound Cake, I’m sure’a it. Besides, that intangawhatsit spell of Pumpkin’s might come in handy here at the town in the event that they do decide to invade by hoof, or if you fail and they get here before you get back,” said the sheriff. “Okay, I guess that makes sense,” said Pound Cake. “I’ll follow the train track west until I see a train.” Little Strongheart gave Pound Cake a hug. “Stay safe, Pound Cake.” Sheriff Silverstar said, “Fly safe, and good luck. We’re all countin' on you.” Pound Cake nodded, walked out the door, and took off into the afternoon sky.