//------------------------------//
// Sunny Breaks 
// Story: The Coming Storm 
// by Jay911 
//------------------------------//

AUGUST 2

"I HAD A DREAM SO BIG AND LOUD, I JUMPED SO HIGH I TOUCHED THE CLOUDS," I sang at the top of my lungs, bouncing happily through the common area.
"Uh oh. Somepony's awake," Karin spoke up, but the warning was far too late.
Swift looked over at me, hooves going up to cover her ears. "You might be able to fly now, but you can't carry a tune worth a buck!" she sneered.
I skipped over to her as I continued singing, eventually getting snout-to-snout with a huge grin on my face. "I STRETCHED MY HOOVES OUT TO THE SKY AND DANCED WITH PONIES THROUGH THE NIGHT!"
"Somebody feed that thing!" Jeff hollered from somewhere else in the building.
"Maybe food would keep her quiet," Karin joked.
"She should be stuffed, considering all the snacks we had last night celebrating," Rich commented.
A pink unicorn's hoof was placed against my muzzle. "We get it, you're happy. And I bet this is gonna be the best day of your life, right?" Swift deadpanned.
I grinned around her hoof.
"Don't start back up, or so help me, I'll-"
"Your threats have no power here! Not anymore," I cackled. "I can fly down from the rafters now!"
"Let's test that!" she snapped, her horn beginning to glow.
"Ladies!" Rich said, standing up. "Please. Don't fight!"
"We're not," Swift said, diffusing her magic. "Somepony just needs to tone it down."
"All right, all right," I said, backing off, still smiling. "I'm sorry. I'm just... so..."
"We get it," Serge interrupted, grumbling, as he came through the common area, beelining for the kitchen.
I could almost feel myself deflate as he went past. Everyone else fell silent as well.
I started to slowly go after him, but Karin called my name. She shook her head, got to her hooves, and dashed off past me, following him.
"I didn't mean to bug him," I frowned.
"Don't beat yourself up," Swift cut in. "We know you're happy. We're happy for you, too. I was just joking with you. But he's not in the mood to share in your joy."
"All the more reason I should go apologize."
"Stormy," Rich spoke up. "I know him better than you, and Karin knows him better than I. Give him some time. Trust me."
"Okay," I said, ears drooping, as I pivoted around. "If he comes back in here, tell him I'm sorry."
"Where are you going?"
"Outside," I said. "Up top."

My plan hadn't changed, but my enjoyment of the morning was diminished by the issue with Serge.
I stood on the roof, forehooves up on the parapet, wings wide, eyes shut, feeling the wind.
South-southeast at 9 kilometers an hour, I told myself. The speed was an estimate, of course - all I was really getting was its strength. The temperature I could tell, but relative to my own body temp. Humidity was also something I could sense.
Back to the wind - it wasn't just the breeze flowing past; I could detect the currents both ahead of and behind me, like it was a river of air and I had details on every cubic centimeter of it within a certain distance. The temperature variances in each stream of air were as plain to me as the differences in color of the older and newer blacktop on the roads. The sun's rays gave me warmth, but didn't interfere with my assessment of the contents of the sky. I could even tell what the likelihood of clouds forming was, based on the humidity, temperature, and airflow.
All of that was filed under useful information, but what I wanted to know right now was: Is it good weather for flying?
What I told myself, being a rookie who didn't know any better, was: It's always a good day for flying.
With that, I leapt up, beat my wings against the air, and took flight.

The view from on high was incredible. I could see the entirety of Ponytown, the surrounding sidewalk (and our 30-some-odd little gardens), and the parking lots and unused streets beyond.
I tried to keep pushing out of my head how so much of what I was doing wasn't possible. I ignored the fact that my wings shouldn't have been large enough to support me; I pushed aside thoughts of how it wasn't getting colder and harder to breathe the higher I went, as I figured it should have; I told myself to forget about what would happen if whatever magic was at work suddenly decided to pack it in and send me plummeting.
Instead, I just flew.
What Luna had told me in my dreams was definitely worthwhile. I had to keep the right balance between my knowledge of physics and my insistence that I was going to fly regardless. Dipping a wing still made me turn in that direction; leaning made me roll. But it was the interaction with the atmosphere that let me do all that in the first place, I somehow knew.
Lifting my head to start rising, and using a nearby thermal to assist in the climb, I took a rest on top of a 20-some-story apartment building across the road from Ponytown. The roof was quiet except for the wind; there were no hums from rooftop air conditioning units, cell tower sites, or other such equipment. I would be well and truly alone with my thoughts.
This is such a big deal, I told myself. Had I had the power of flight from the start, things would have been very different.
The thought of coming across an HPI gunship suddenly crossed my mind, and I whirled around, scanning the sky with mild but unnecessary panic. It was pointless to worry about something I could sense (but wasn't sensing) coming from a mile away.
What I did realize from my look around was that my vision was greatly improved. I hadn't realized it before, but I'd probably been seeing better for quite some time, perhaps from Ponification on - after all, I'd needed glasses before, as Tom.
What I was seeing, from across the street and twenty-plus stories up, was a white pony with red mane exiting the roof access of Ponytown and step outside, looking around, first around the roof and then up in the sky.
I took a running start and put myself in flight, circling down towards the Ponytown roof.

As I approached the roof, it occurred to me that I had far too much speed. Flying up to the apartment tower had been easy, as I just flew up to the roofline from below and did a little jump to close the distance. But coming downward, I'd forgotten one basic element of physics that I couldn't ignore: Gravity.
"Oh shit, look out!" I hollered at Serge as I swept across the edge of the roof, moving far too fast for my comfort. My hooves struck gravel and sent it flying, erasing the yellow-painted message we'd said we needed to revise anyway. At the other end, my fellow pegasus turned and saw me hurtling towards him, skidding, flapping my wings frantically to try to 'go into reverse'.
Rather than duck or get out of the way, he spread his hooves wide and steeled himself. I had a look of surprise on me as I collided with him, sending him scuffling backwards a few feet and falling over on his behind.
"You okay?" he said after we extracted ourselves from the tangled heap.
"Fine," I said, embarrassed at my deplorable landing. "Thanks. Sorry about that."
"I'm sure you didn't mean it," he assured me, offering a smile.
"How about you?" I queried.
"Me? I'm fine," he said matter-of-factly.
"I meant about earlier," I clarified.
"My answer stands," he said, getting to his hooves and facing me. "Don't beat yourself up over it. I'm happy for you. You've succeeded at something you've been working at for a long time. Congratulations." He gave me a smile and a nod.
"Thanks," I said, forcing myself to smile in return. "I still feel bad for dropping you when I promised you I wouldn't. And especially after you were so worried of falling."
"It wasn't falling I was worried about," he told me.
"What?" I asked.
"You need to understand things from my perspective. You asked me before if I'm religious. Stepping onto that cloud... it stood to make a huge impact on me, and everything I believe. Should I consider my Lord invalidated by all this?" He waved a hoof at himself and then me. "Or is this a test of my faith, a challenge for me to overcome? To prove that I have the strength needed to survive in this new world?"
"I guess I'm an atheist, or agnostic, or maybe both," I said slowly. "But I think I understand what you're saying. And I'm sorry for my part in introducing doubts into your mind."
He shook his head. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your problem. I'm the one who needs to find answers. Perhaps I should be thanking you, for putting me on the road to coming up with those answers."
"If you want to think of it that way, then okay," I smiled.
"I do," he nodded. "And I want to give you something for being so understanding."
I blinked and must have looked confused. "Come again?"
Serge lifted a wing and let something fall into his hoof, which he then presented to me. "I don't pretend to know anything about flying, but if my guess is right, you might find these handy."
In my hooves was a boxed pair of pink, purple, and black Oakley womens' ski goggles.
"What the...? Where did you find these?"
"There was a box marked 'seasonal' in the corner of the warehouse," he said. "All kinds of winter junk in there. I figure they'll fit you."
I fumbled with the clear plastic case, trying to open it and release the goods inside. After a few moments, I had them out, and tried them on. The strap needed adjustment, but they covered my eyes completely and gave the world a yellowish tint.
"What do you think?" I said, smiling and facing him.
"I think they look good," he smiled back and nodded.
I stepped forward and gave him a one-legged hug. "Thanks, Serge. I appreciate it a lot."
"Thank you," he said, returning the embrace, "for understanding me."
"Not a problem," I said. "I'd go test them out, but I just came back down and wanna rest a little. I'll try them out after lunch, okay?"
"Sure thing," he answered, turning to open the roof hatch.
We went downstairs and towards the kitchen, but we heard a commotion in the common room, so we altered our course.
I stopped short, feeling my wing collide with one of Serge's as we both poofed out in surprise. I lifted up the goggles to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.
"Stop it!" Rich was protesting, rearing up. On top of his head, stacked on his horn, were four homemade donuts. A fifth was in between Karin's teeth, she having just jumped up to snatch it away from Rich. "Stop eating my practice rewards!"
"Tell Jeff to stop making them taste so good!" Karin laughed, her mouth half-full.
Swift was sitting before them, smirking and laughing. She saw us and said, "We were levitating donuts and practicing precision placement..."
"They're mine!" Rich said, starting to gallop away from Karin, who gave chase, cackling gleefully.
"I can't leave you fools alone for a minute," Serge sighed, putting a hoof to his face.

I went and found Jeff, to get away from the insanity.
"Your donuts are kind of popular," I said when I found him, out front tending some of the mini-gardens, with Buddy lying nearby enjoying the sun.
"Oh?"
"Yeah," I laughed, and told him what was going on. He just smiled and shook his head.
"What're those for?" he asked.
"Huh? Oh," I said, realizing the goggles were still propped up on my head. "Serge gave 'em to me. Figured I could use them when I was flying. To tell you the truth, I didn't notice it when I was up there, but my eyes did kinda dry out on me."
"Good," Jeff smiled. "I mean, that you two are OK. Not that your eyes dried out."
"How does your garden grow?" I smirked.
He sighed. "We might be at our limit. And that's not a good thing."
"Not enough return?"
"Not if we want to stay here indefinitely," he said. "I worry we might have to move to some place where we can have a full and proper garden patch."
"You mean, like out of town?" I said, nodding northwards.
"Yeah. It's not like we can grow here," he said, gesturing to the parking lot with a hoof. "I mean, I'm good, but I'm not that good."
I tried to do some math in my head. "How much more space than what we've got now would make you comfortable?"
"Twice as much minimum. To future-proof it, say four times as much. Why? Do you have an idea?"
"I might," I said. "Give me a bit to work on it."
"What are you thinking of? I already thought of rooftop gardens and they won't do either - we'd have to exchange the soil constantly-"
"Leave it with me a bit," I insisted, heading back inside. "Trust me!"

I went inside and worked on a laptop for a little bit, then went to the common area. The donuts were gone, but all four of them were lying there reading, studying, or otherwise occupied.
"Everything sorted out in here?" I asked.
"Hi," Swift said with a smile. "Bellies are sated and lessons are over for today."
"Bellies are partially sated," Rich faked sulking. "Three-fifths sated."
"Think of it this way," Karin giggled. "I helped you avoid putting on two-fifths of the calories."
"Has anyone seen the tablet computer?" I asked.
"Yeah," Swift said, levitating it out from under what she was reading. "I'm done with it. You want to take a turn, do you?"
"Figured I might as well," I nodded, tucking it under a wing. "Thanks."

The radio room was partially bathed in sunlight, which made for a perfect reading area - warm and mostly bright, but not bright enough that the display on the tablet was washed out.
I had grabbed a tablet stylus from the junk pile that used to be the store's Electronics section, because hoof-tapping on the tablet would be difficult at best. So I lay there in the sun, stylus in my mouth, tapping on various things on the screen.
Reading the information stored on the tablet was a shock, to say the least. The HPI, or its predecessor, knew this was going to happen? And they did noth- no, wait. That was wrong. They did something; they created the HPI, and "saved" a handful of them. Condemned to a life of living inside thick radiation suits and in bunkers below the ground, protected by technology I couldn't begin to fathom. For decades - almost a century - humans had tried to find the holy grail of energy production, something that would eliminate internal combustion engines and make our reliance on consumable fuels obsolete. And in three short years, the consortium that established the HPI figured it out - but only to use it to protect a select few people - a tiny handful of humanity compared to the population of the world. And how long would their protection last? Nuclear reactors would only work for the length of time they had fuel - that explained the trip to the Pickering nuclear plant near us, so many days ago. To hear the HPI tell it, humans outside their protective envelope died almost instantly, with no visible trauma or injury, as if the entire world had become lethally toxic.
The tablet confirmed what we'd suspected: What they were calling 'thaumic radiation' was indeed magic. Somehow, magic had inundated our world - perhaps our universe, if one was to believe what was written on the tablet. It was something we'd lived without for billions of years, but now we found that we couldn't live with it. There was supposedly no stopping its arrival, so the HPI plan was put into action, protecting a scant few humans from the newly-hostile environment. I supposed that designs for manned moon and Mars exploration were cannibalized for the HPI plan - but it was far more difficult than constructing some insulated inflatable buildings like the stories I'd heard of about the Mars colony solutions. Such a wall would be an adequate barrier between the atmosphere of Mars and what humans could survive in, but 'thaumic radiation' needed to be blocked by far sturdier stuff.
I shuddered at the thought of humanity living in underground or heavily shielded bunkers for the rest of its existence, always worrying about when the nuclear fuel would finally give out, or fretting that the shielding might pack it in. Was there anything in human history with 100% uptime? I doubted a person with my anxieties would be able to cope with living like that.
I don't have to worry about that, I thought to myself, looking down at my hooves cradling the tablet. I can still live in this world.
Lots of information contained within the tablet meant it was easy to despise them. However, instead, I found myself pitying them.
That also brought up the question: How did I and my friends survive? And where did the rest of the world's population go? It still seemed like there was a lot of conflict and unanswered questions despite the wealth of information provided. The people the HPI saw exposed to this new Earth without any shielding didn't vanish, or turn into ponies. They just died, or at least became brain-dead, according to the HPI's tablet (thankfully, they didn't provide video documentation).
Why did the people who survived, survive, as ponies?
What made ponies resistant to the lethal properties of magic, compared to the human form?
And of course, where did everypony else go?
As that thought drifted through my head, I shook it. I can't believe I just thought that. Now I'm using that term in my own private headspace.
Then again, as was said earlier, it's what we are now. And to believe the HPI documentation, there's no turning back, and even if we did, the result would either be immediate brain death or starving to death inside an HPI bunker whose resources were already stretched beyond the limits - that is, assuming they'd let us in at all.
Enough of this morbid train of thought, I told myself. I went back to what I'd spoken with Jeff about earlier.
Okay. Five feet square times 39 plots is... I looked for a calculator app on the tablet.

AUGUST 3

Breakfast was pretty decent that morning; Jeff and Karin's recent mastery of dough made it possible to make bread, so we had fresh bread to go along with our fruit slices. I found a jar of peanut butter - expired, but what really can go bad in peanut butter? - and made a sandwich - mind you, the apple wedges were on the side.
"You are filthy," Karin scolded Jeff, taking a hoof in her own for inspection. "We need to get you showered today."
"Comes with the territory," he shrugged with a smile. "Having to dig constantly in the garden pits'll do that to ya."
"You going 'up' again today?" Swift asked me.
"Nope," I said. "And unfortunately I have to ask that you all cancel at least this morning's plans as well. We need to get out of here for about 5 hours."
"What?" Swift said, an eyebrow raising.
"Wait a minute, what?" Jeff asked, interrupting the conversation he was continuing with Karin. Rich and Serge simply looked up from their food.
"I got a delivery coming," I said. "The kind we probably don't want to be around fo-"
"You called the HPI here??" Swift cut me off.
"Yes, but for a good reason," I replied.
There was a brief pause. "Well, what is it?" she finally said.
"I want to make it a surprise," I told them. "Trust me, will ya? Let's just go out and have some fun."
"What are you up to?" Serge rumbled with a suspicious eye turned my way.
"Nothing bad!" I insisted. "Would you all rather hang around in here while their scare fields are doing their thing out in the parking lot?" When there was no response, I added, "I thought so. So let's pack some lunches and go have a day off."

A short while later, we were headed north on Brock Road, in the pickup and the Prius this time.
"Hot today," Rich observed from the back seat, nodding toward the temperature indicator on the dash of the car.
"Yup," I agreed. "But we have a cooler of drinks, so we'll be good."
"A cooler of drinks and sandwiches, and a duffel bag full of sports gear," Swift added, from the driver's seat. She and Rich had been the ones to load the stuff into the truck, so she would know, of course. "Do you really think we can play games?"
"We can sure as hell give it a try," I nodded.
"I'll bet it'll work," Serge supplied, waving a hoof in between the front seats at us. "This is probably the size of a person's wrist. You can jam a glove on that."
"That's the spirit," I grinned, hoof-bumping him.
"You're all maniacs," Swift said, with a faint smile on her muzzle.
"Go ahead," I said, turning sideways in the seat to face her. "Tell me you never played sports."
"I'm from Calgary," she reminded me. "Sports involved skates or people jumping on the backs of things that we look like now."
"Anybody who gets on my back is gonna get off in a lot less than eight seconds," Serge declared, and the rest of us laughed.
"Turn here," I interrupted. We made a right at the ghost town of Brougham, passing a church, hardware store, convenience store, and fire station. Several turn-of-the-(past-)century homes sat withering away on the sides of the road.
"And left up there," I pointed. Swift obeyed and pulled into a gravel lot beside a playground.
"A community park?" Rich asked.
I nodded, as the pickup pulled in after us. "My parents played beer-league here for a few years. My grandmother ran the snack shop," I said, gesturing to a shack over to the side of the playing field.
Buddy darted out of the back of the truck and raced across the field at full tilt. Karin, laughing, bailed from the cab and took off after him.
"Better catch 'em both, you don't know what they can get into!" I called out as I exited the car. Jeff climbed down from the truck, sighing and shaking his head - but with a smile - and hurried to give chase.
"Do you wanna play on the jungle gym?" Swift teased, looking toward the playground.
"Nope," I said, hopping up into the truck and opening the duffel bag. I took a baseball glove and a ball out of the bag, putting one in the other and the combination on a forehoof. Then I flapped a couple of times and hovered over the truck, nodding behind me to the baseball field. "My playground is over this way."

Three-a-side baseball is difficult enough on its own, with one pitcher, one infielder, and one outfielder. Doing it as ponies? Even more zany.
I wished I'd brought beer at one point, but none of us had been willing to yet explore the methods by which a pony could get drunk - and what an intoxicated magical being was capable of.
Having said that, it was loads of fun. We finally answered the question of what was the best way to swing a bat, and it was indeed with it clamped in your jaw. It didn't sting or ache as much as I thought it would, but maybe ponies' teeth were sturdier, able to handle the beating they took from being used to pick up and grip things all the time. Wait, that's not to say that I had anything to compare it to. I mean, I didn't try to swing a bat in my teeth when I was Tom.
The logical distribution of players to teams meant that Serge pitched, Karin handled the infield, and Rich roamed the outfield; in the other half of the inning, I took outfield, Jeff infield, and Swift pitched. It was mostly fair, especially considering that nobody had tried to play as ponies before. But our fastest runners were handling the relatively narrow infield, and our fliers and/or magic-users took the outfield. The 'newbies' team used their biggest guy - who, we learned, played in a company softball team for a couple years - as their pitcher, and our team used our magic-user for that position.
We played three innings of three outs or three times through the order (so 9 batters) each, and had a riot of a time. I almost got hit in the head with a ball when, during my first at-bat, I was standing there staring down Serge, who was about to unleash a pitch at me, and I heard from off to the side, where Swift was standing: "You swing like a girl!!"
I just about bust a gut laughing, dropping the bat, and as mentioned nearly getting plunked. Jeff was howling right beside Swift, and the other three didn't know what to think.

After our semi-quasi-ball game, we sat on the grass in the outfield, near the parking lot, and had lunch.
"Okay, I have to admit, this was pretty fun," Jeff said.
"Yeah," Rich said. "I didn't get hit in the head with any balls this time."
Swift and Serge and I snerked at that.
"You gotta tell us what's going on back home, though," Swift insisted.
"Nope," I said. "I want it to be a surprise."
"Oh come on!"
"It'll be worth it," I told her.
"Let her have her fun," Jeff said. "Though I don't know how you can consider anything with those people fun."
"We're gonna have to work together," I said matter-of-factly. "It's a fact of life in this new world. Do you deny that?"
"Why does working together mean we get evicted from our home for half the day?" Serge wanted to know.
"C'mon, you all know why," I said, looking around at them. "Nopony wants to feel like their gut is tying itself in knots. We've subjected ourselves to it for, what, a few minutes, an hour at most when we met them at the airport? Can you imagine what being in that presence for five hours would feel like?"
Rich spoke up. "I know I would've turned tail and run, probably all the way up here."
"Yeah," Karin said from beside Jeff. "Okay, you get the benefit of the doubt for now. But we want to know what this was all about when it's done."
"Oh, trust me," I smiled. "It will be very obvious when we get back."

I couldn't keep them from wanting to return as soon as lunch was done. Hopefully the HPI has bugged out by now, I thought to myself.
"I'm not feeling anything," Swift said as we turned back onto Highway 2, just over one kilometer from Ponytown.
"We'd feel it long before now," I agreed. "It's safe to go in." I told as much to Jeff and Karin on the radio.
We pulled up to the intersection before the mall and it was plain to see what had been done - and it outshone my expectations. A huge section of the northeast corner of the parking lot - away from our entrance door and the auto bays where we parked our vehicles - had been cleared, first of cars, then of pavement and grass, and then gravel. It was levelled, tilled, and ready for planting. To my surprise, a pallet with some kind of Scandinavian language written on its boxes was sitting at one end of the plot.
At my request, Swift pulled to a stop next to the turned soil, and Jeff pulled up behind us. We all got out, and I immediately went over to our earth ponies.
"It's enormous," Jeff said, staring at the tilled earth.
"10,000 square feet," I said. "Over ten times what we have in the little tree hole gardens. Half for us, half for them."
Jeff was still boggling at the size. "For them?" he said.
"They're gonna be here all the time now?" Swift wanted to know.
I shook my head. "Nope," I told them, and waved a hoof at the plot. "This is their part of the work. We're to tend and grow the crops. Package up half of each harvest and make it ready for delivery. We can work out a pickup site later. Maybe build a helipad over there or something," I suggested, gesturing towards a parking lot across the street, far off from our home. "I think that skid over there is seeds. Looks like they handled our starter pack too. We just have to make sure to keep this working in perpetuity."
"And they did all this on the promise we'd work with them?" Serge said with a tone of incredulity.
I turned to him. "I guess they trust us," I said.
Karin was laughing and poking Jeff. "Look at this! Think of how much stuff we can grow."
He grinned back at her. "Ready to get dirty?"
She just snerked and giggled, nodding and elbowing him in the side.

That evening, I found myself in the radio room again, tuning the bands and idly searching for any other sounds, as I did every so often. I intermittently picked up bits and pieces of what I could only presume was the Manitoba crew, supposedly hurtling this way on a steam locomotive.
It gave me a good feeling to think that there were other ponies besides us. Almost as good a feeling as finding out that the guys in the black helicopters could be counted upon to be our friends, when all was said and done.
That thought directed my attention to the tablet, still sitting where I'd left it after using it the day before. I dragged it over to me, found the stylus, and mouth-tapped out a message.
Thanks for doing that, I 'wrote'. You won't regret it. When you see how fast we can grow things, you'll be overwhelmed.
It took a couple of minutes, but a reply came:



	As we said before in person, miss Storm, your group may be humanity's saviors. We're willing to invest in that which stands to help us.
Stay in touch.
-X.



I smiled and nodded, then nudged the tablet aside to keep scanning through the radio bands.