//------------------------------// // Hope is the Greatest Sin // Story: Utaan // by Imploding Colon //------------------------------// “No! Don't make me go down there!” A stallion whimpered, pleaded. He crawled across the rusted deck of Red Barge, dragging a limp, infected leg. “I... I-I can still be of use! I-I-I can scrape the barnacles off the eastern struts! Or assist in navigation! Or—” “Your leg's too far gone,” Dredger Nixkit droned, looming above the stallion in the salty air. “You aren't doing anything on all fours.” “You don't know that for sure!” The stallion stammered, hyperventilating. “Who says I-I can't be of use on the surface anymore?!” “The Harvest is low!” Digiff growled. “We need all the help down below that we can get! It's either this or the drink, pal.” “Please... pl-please there has to be something else I can d-do!” “We all pull our weight around here,” Nixkit said. “It's time you pulled your own.” He gestured aside. “Digiff. Saxon. Take him under.” “No! No!” The stallion struggled, close to sobs. “Please! I-I don't want to go down there!” Digiff grabbed one half while Saxon got a legful of the other. “Clench your teeth, buddy!” Saxon said, a grin plastered across his dirty face. “'Cuz this is gonna make your ears pop!” The stallion's struggles amounted to nothing. Soon, Digiff and Saxon were carrying him down a slanted corridor. At the pull of a lever, a toothed set of doors schwished open. The sound of grinding gears and billowing furnaces echoed thunderously, now accompanied by the stallin's shrieks as he was carried down to the lower levels. Steam and smog vented loose—stopping only when the doors slammed shut again, silencing everything. Nixkit exhaled, fanning himself as he turned and shuffled towards the Skag Hole on the topmost central platform. “They don't come as obedient as they used to...” Meanwhile, Swab shuffled past all of this, dragging a rickety cart full of rusted bits and metal nick nacks. His one good ear twitched to the sound of struggle, and he kept his dull face aimed forward. A lot of ponies here don't enjoy working on the Red Barge. But a lot of them would do even worse if they tried going elsewhere. This is something Top Dredger Skagra reminds us about all the time. The seven seas are huge and full of scary things. We're lucky to live where we do, where we can get nibbles for our hard work. That's food. Skagra provides it to us through Dredger Nixkit and Dredger Digiff. I work very hard so I can eat. Sometimes, though, I don't work so hard... or at least I reach the end of the day knowing that I could have worked harder. When I receive food on my lazier days, I know I could say something. I could be honest. But I hold my tongue. I lie so I can get extra nibbles. I know I'm hungry, but dishonesty is still bad. So I ask for your forgiveness, Goddess. Please don't punish my parents for it. Swab and several other fillies and colts stood along the northern strut of Red Barge. Side by side, they painted the hull of the conjoined ships a brighter shade of crimson. Steam pipes vented mists all around them, and the extra moisture made the task a great deal more difficult. Behind them, Quint, Whony, and a few other colts stood on a series of lattices, painting an even higher length of metal. The older colts shared a laugh or two, conversing with sweaty breaths and dirty grunts as they casually continued with their all-important task. Swab's right ear twitched, for he heard a wheezing sound. Looking to his side, he saw a filly teetering left and right. Finally, overcome by fatigue and heat, she collapsed, spilling red paint all over herself and a portion of the deck. With a gasp, Swab dropped his paint tools and rushed over to her. He was about to pull her up into a sitting position when he heard the booming shouts of Quint up above. Curious, he spun around, tilting his gaze skyward. Quint's teeth showed as he snarled, gesturing for Swab to leave the filly alone. Whony made sneering faces while several other orphans simply stared at the scene. Reluctantly, Swab backtrotted to his paint tools. He picked his brush up, dipped it in the paint, and resumed his task—albeit with occasional trembles. His eyes darted towards the side, watching as the filly's breath grew shallow and shallower. Sometimes we all work together as a group, and whether or not we get our nibbles depends on how well we get the job done. Quint—one of the oldest kids here on the Barge—has more or less become our leader... a “little dredger,” I guess. He can be really bossy, even mean, but we all know that he's trying to keep us organized so that we can all eat at the end of the day. Still, it isn't always easy obeying him. Like the other day when Fish Flier fainted right next to me. She had gone for three days without nibbles, and working with the group was her one chance to earn something. But her body was too weak. I wanted to help her... to care for her like every Foal of Verlaxion should care for one another, but I would have dragged the whole group down. Quint made sure I stayed in line, so I wouldn't risk the nibbles for the rest of us. Perhaps I should have disobeyed him. Perhaps all of us could have gone for an extra day without eating if it meant Fish Flier getting back to health. Point is, I didn't try hard enough. I let Fish Flier lie there, covered in blisters and paint. And for that, I am sorry, Goddess, and I plead with you to forgive my sin. The cart of food didn't last long. Orphans stained with sweat and paint grabbed all they could from Digiff's delivery. The hunger was intense, but the ritual of the provisions was even heavier. Each pony swiped up a single morsel of food and then galloped off to their respective habitat within the underground hovel. A pair of colts sat beside a burning barrel, munching liberally on their meal. Fillies sat against a stack of mattresses, giggling and gabbing off the stress of the day between frenzied bites. Quint and his group—of course—had a large bevy of meal. Random orphans would shuffle up to his lamp-lit corner, offering scraps of metal and tools for trade. Whony would examine each, converse with Quint, and then the older colts would offer more nibbles in exchange. Swab trotted past all of this, cradling a rectangular block of crumbly bread. His eyes narrowed, focused on a bunkbed positioned far ahead and against a wall. As he arrived, a group of orphans finished foraging all over the bed and the metal crate beside it. They scampered off in random directions with pilfered items in their position. Some of them returned to their own quarters to stow the objects away. Others galloped straight towards Quint's niche to bargain. Whatever the case, as they all galloped away, Swab found the bunkbed and its surrounding furnishings completely stripped of materials. Lying on the bed, her head and legs dangling at unnatural angles, was Fish Flier. Her eyes were thin and glazed over, and she stared off into the dull shadows of the compartment. Swab sat on the grimy mattress next to her. Exhaling, he placed his meal on the surface... then slid it over towards the filly. He rested there, smiling kindly at the other orphan. This carried on for several wordless seconds. Eventually, Swab's smile faded. Curious, he tilted his head to the side, peering closer. Fish Flier's coat was considerably paler than usual. The flesh around her lips and eyelids had turned dark, thick, and swelling. A fly settled on her muzzle, crawled into her mouth, then flitted out. The filly made no movement whatsoever. Swab blinked. His one ear drooped. Staring at the floor, he squirmed slightly. At last, after a full minute of this, he reached over, picked up his meal, then left the body altogether. He shuffled off to his own little corner to eat his pay for the day. Most of us here are what the dredgers call “sea foam.” It means that we don't belong to anything but the ocean. Lots of older ponies like to think that we just crawled out of the surf and hopped aboard the Red Barge. Maybe that makes it easier for them to put us to work. It doesn't make it easier for us. Sea Foam have no parents. Sea Foam have no future beyond nibbles. Whatever our cutie marks may have once said, it doesn't matter, because our talents are to serve the Barge. If we live long enough, we become Dredgers. If we're lucky, that means we work above deck. That's how Saxon got his job as a tower guard. But if we're still weak or lazy when we get older, then we work down in the Harvest Chambers. Ponies don't like going down there. I doubt I would either, because that means I'd likely never come out. I have to work hard. I have to grow up to be strong and reliable. It's not easy. I already lost my ear to a steam vent. But Top Dredger Skagra made it on top, and he had it worse. So what should I complain about? I can make it. I can live long enough to see my parents again. I don't care what anypony says. I am not Sea Foam. My parents were once sent out to search for better harvest shelves, and they haven't come back. That's all. They're still out there, my Goddess. You must know this too, which is why I ask that you take care of them. Please don't punish them for my sins... for the moments when I feel so angry and cold that I want to do mean things... like spit in Quint's face or grab the nibbles from sick ponies in the beds next to me. I don't do these things, of course, but only because I don't think I could get away with them. And that's not a good reason at all. I need help in not having these bad thoughts to begin with. I just need to work hard and pray. Mother always said that was enough to please you, Goddess. I really hope it's still true. “Auggh!” A stallion grunted in the daylight. Swab looked over from where he was rubbing the grime off a steam pipe. A dredger regained his balance from tripping over a little filly with a light pink coat. Bags full of tools fell across the deck around him. “Grrrrgh!” He turned, snarling. “You stupid little bitch! Didn't Dredger Digiff teach you about keeping the middle struts clear?” “I'm sorry, sir,” the filly droned, hobbling back onto all fours. “It won't happen aga—” Wham! A hoof flew across her muzzle. She spun once and fell limply to the deck. Swab winced. He jolted to his hooves, as if wanting to rush over to her. But a glare from Quint two steam-shafts away anchored him in place. “Now it won't happen again,” the stallion hissed. Then spat on her scarred flank. “Stupid Sea Foam! Why Skagra doesn't just flush you young shitheaps out to muck is beyond me!” “Come on, Trent...” Another stallion patted his shoulder. “It was just an accident. Let's go.” “Accident? They're all accidents!” The stallion hissed and wheezed. “I made it this far because I worked hard! Look at that little shrimp! She won't last another damn year! Somepony should just put her out of her misery—” “Trent, we have work to do now,” the stallion said forcefully. “Dredger Nixkit is watching us. Don't drag behind because of some clumsy sea foam.” Trent's nostrils flared. His eyes thinned and his ears drooped for some reason. As he turned around, Swab saw a steam scar over his flank where a cutie mark would otherwise have been. The workers gathered their things and shuffled off. Not long after, the filly's body stirred. Swab squinted. She stood up, her nose leaking blood. Five fillies rushed over to her, and when they arrived she held out five pieces of metal junk that she had somehow stolen from Trent during the whole ordeal. “Hah! Slick hooves have done it again!” “Well done, Croche.” “Yeah... way to go, Croche.” “Whony's going to love these.” “This will get us all extra nibbles for sure.” They ruffled her mane and shared a hug or two. Croche merely gave a limp nod. One of her sunken eyes appeared a great deal darker. With a dainty hoof, she wiped the blood off her muzzle... then glanced across the deck at Swab. Swab bit his lip. He looked towards where Quint stood, but the older colt wasn't looking. With a shudder, Swab returned to his work. While I try to do things right, not all foals down here think or act the same way. For instance, I caught Croche and her friends stealing from some of the Dredgers for the fourth time this month. They're good at what they do, and in a way I kind of admire it. But it's wrong... and I know it's wrong. Not only is it bad to steal, but they could risk all of our nibbles if they were caught doing it, even if they're only looking after themselves. If I cared at all about the rest of us, then I'd tell on them. I'd go straight to Digiff or Nixkit and let them know where all of the missing tools have gone. But it's been a full month, and I still haven't said a word. I'm just as guilty of stealing as they are now. And you know what the worst part of that is? I haven't felt sorry about it until right this moment, as I write these words down and share with you my heart, dear Goddess. Please, Verlaxion, forgive me for allowing this sort of a thing to continue. And I hope you have it within your gracious heart to forgive me... and to be easy on my parents... because I really don't think I'm gonna put a stop to it tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next... Along one of the upper platforms, Swab stood, mopping up a length of grimy metal deck. He paused to wipe his brow, then leaned against his mop. Something happened, and it forced him to squint. He tilted his head up, gazing beyond the struts made of fused boats... the pipework and smokestacks brimming with smog. Due west, beyond the rolling seas, the polluted clouds that orbited Red Barge had briefly lifted. A fiery red sunset loomed along the horizon, bathing the seven seas with crimson sparkle and shimmer. Swab exhaled. He leaned his muzzle against the end of the mop's stick. Slowly, a smile formed, lingering on the edges of his dirtied face. He closed his eyes before the moisture could bring forth a saline that rivaled the sea air's. And just the other day, the strangest thing of all happened. I saw a piece of the sky... and I felt happy. And ever since then, I can't help but wonder if feeling happy is a good thing. I almost feel as bad about it as I do about lying or stealing. Because it doesn't seem right, Goddess, for me to be the only foal here who's parents are still alive. I'm drowning in Sea Foam, and yet... there's always this strange place... this cloud that parts and I am there, gazing into the light, smiling. Because I know that they will come back to me someday. They won't come for the hungry foals... the mean foals... or the dying foals. They'll be coming back for me and only me. And it almost feels wrong to know this... to know that something good will come in the end. That my parents are coming back for me and I know this and every other pony around me is just... here. And for what? What do they have to look forward to? What are they fighting for every day? Just to grow up to become like Digiff or Saxon or all the other Dredgers? I don't feel like them, and it's starting to make me selfish. Please forgive me, Verlaxion. Is it a sin to hope? You are wise and you are gracious, and you know more about these things than I ever will. I ask that you help me get stronger... smarter... so that I may be a better pony for these other foals. That I may be a better pony for my parents. They've been gone so long... so very long. I have to be strong for them or else they'll be disappointed when they return. And I thank you, Verlaxion, that they will return. You're so merciful, and I will continue to pray to you everyday. Sincerely, Swab