• Published 1st Apr 2017
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Message in a Bottle - Starscribe



Humanity's space exploration ultimately took the form of billions of identical probes, capable of building anything (including astronauts themselves) upon arrival at their destinations. One lands in Equestria. Things go downhill from there.

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G4.05: Special Delivery

Even through the walls, James could recognize the familiar sound of quadcopter rotors spinning somewhere nearby. She rose from where she'd been studying, ignoring her racing heart as she darted to the window, and scanned the sky with acute eyes. The quality of pony eyesight in daylight was one of the many wonders James had discovered since leaving her confines of the basement, and it was an ability that came even more naturally than flight. There was no need to run outside and get the attention of the passing drone—her house didn't have real windows so much as openings to the sky covered in ice. Ice so thin she could break it with her hooves if she wanted, which was exactly what she did now. Once she made a sizeable hole, the rest crumbled away in a wave. She could only hope Lightning Dust wouldn’t be too mad.

The delivery drone wasn't meaningfully different from the ones that delivered packages back on Earth, a slim plastic drone covered in solar paint with six soft plastic propellers. This one had the same design they did, which minimized "sound bleed" by focusing almost all the noise directly downward. Not all of it, obviously, since she'd still heard it. Still, these ponies could fly. Did anyone see you? James thought, nervously watching the drone as it soared in over her head and landed on the bare floor. Well, landed wasn't quite the right word.

It tried to land, but the cargo box it was carrying sunk through the clouds like they weren't there, and the whole thing nearly went tumbling through the house.

James jumped after it with an urgent scream of pain and frustration, ignoring the spinning propellers as they raked shallow gouges in her coat and tangled up in her mane. She got her forelegs around the box the drone was carrying just as the floor completely dissolved, and she went tumbling through into the kitchen. She crashed down on the table, which was made of clouds as much as anything else, and smashed into the ground floor, sinking nearly a foot into the clouds.

Only then did she realize she was bleeding, chunks of her mane had been ripped out, and she'd smashed the drone into two pieces. It was a little tricky to climb out while keeping one hoof wrapped around the drone, which still squeaked and struggled in vain, electric agony. She surged out of her fluffy white prison, climbing up onto the floor and hugging the broken drone to her chest like the survivor of a shipwreck might cling to her flotation device. Several large chunks of broken plastic that had once been part of the drone slid off her chest, leaking fluid and trailing wires as they fell out of the house into the abyss below.

None of that mattered. Clutched in James's hooves was a hard-shell plastic case, so large she could only just hold it. Inside were replacements for all her gear. No more struggling with paper, no more living in the dark. With her computation surface, everything would be good again. James might very well complete her mission in weeks, if she worked really hard. After that... she'd be free to do whatever she wanted.

James still didn't know what that would be, but it would probably involve living with Lightning Dust.

* * *

Lightning Dust knew something was wrong from the very moment she stepped into the factory. She walked straight to the big magnetic board of assignments the way they all did when it was time to start a workday, removing the metal card she used to check in from her saddlebags and holding it in her mouth as she approached.

The board divided the labor of weather creation in Stormshire into three basic sections: Raw Materials, Production, and Distribution. The last category was by far the most glamorous of any weatherpony's job, and it was always reserved for the most skillful ponies. Lightning Dust always had the pick of any assignment she wanted, and she could always find the magnet with her own name at the very top of "Distribution." Everywhere Stormshire went, she was always leading whatever weather crew was out distributing what they produced.

Yet her name was no longer in the top slot. It was no longer on the board at all. She hadn't even been placed into the intern level of production, where young ponies visiting for summers frequently watched work at the factory. She searched the floor, wondering if perhaps her magnet had slipped off the board somehow, but there was no sign of it. Dust sighed, making her way over to the locker room anyway. She walked down the back of the building, through huge spaces packed with machinery. Thanks to the cooperation of the tribes and the introduction of unicorn magic, a job that would've taken hundreds of pegasus ponies now took only about a dozen.

The lockers were full of chatting ponies, each of them at least on friendly terms with her. She'd had brief flings with a few, though nothing had lasted. Dust didn't live such a meandering lifestyle because she was good at commitments.

As she entered, the entire factory went silent. Half a dozen ponies—mares and stallions half-dressed in their weather gear—all stared at her as though she'd grown another set of wings. Dust felt herself tense, but she didn't say anything. Though she didn’t know for sure, she had her suspicions. Mentally she prepared herself for what was to come next.

Lightning Dust didn't want to be traveling the world without a home. When she had finally saved up the bits to move to Cloudsdale she hadn't expected she would ever leave. Unfortunately, life hadn't been kind in that respect. It never is.

Dust found her locker combination no longer worked. She tried unlocking it, going through the motions as though she didn't already know what was coming next. After three attempts, she sighed, turning for the far door and leaving her locker with all her stuff still inside.

Stormshire's weather supervisor had an office on the top floor, with wide round windows that overlooked the sky for miles around. She found the door already hanging open, and so she didn't bother knocking. It wasn't as though she didn't already know how this would end.

Morning Showers was sitting at her desk as she always was, going over a stack of weather schedules with a forced nonchalance. Yet as she looked, Dust found a brown box resting in one corner of the room, a box already packed with Dust's belongings. "Morning," Showers said, watching her come in. "I suppose you'll be..."

"You could say that, yeah," Dust interrupted. She could feel her whole body tensing. She was ready for a fight, even if she didn’t expect one. It was easy to see the transformation in their eyes—she was an outsider now. A herd was great until its members all turned on you. "What gives?"

"Well, uh..." Showers took a deep breath, lifting several folded sheets of paper from the table beside her and setting them atop the weather report. Dust could read the headline even from several feet away: “Wonderbolts Cadet Dismissed in Disgrace After Injuring Several." A black and white picture of herself was right below the title, glaring at the camera as officers of the Air Corps escorted her away. It hadn't been her most photogenic day. "Look, there's no painless way to say this."

"Go on." Dust sat down on her haunches, glaring across the desk. "I can wait. Apparently I don't have a duty shift." Dust would never have spoken to her boss this way before—at least not before getting a liter of cider in her first. But she'd done this dance three times now, and it always ended the same way. Being friendly with the boss never helped, so what was the point? The least she could do was make the experience as miserable and difficult as possible. It was only fair.

"Right, right." Showers opened the article. "Look, I need to know, Dust. Is this true? The Examiner isn't known to be sensationalist. If you can tell me what I'm reading here didn't happen, or didn't happen the way it says..."

Dust shook her head. "I don't know what it says. But if it says ponies got hurt and it was my fault, it's right. That's the only thing you ponies ever care about."

There was a long, awkward silence. Showers folded up the worn-looking newspaper. Dust had once wondered what it would take to gather up each copy—not a feat a common pony could accomplish, unfortunately. There was no way to escape her shame.

"I can't have you on a crew anymore," Showers eventually said. "I'm not the only one who saw this. Someone was passing copies—"

"Yeah, I bet." Dust didn't even try to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "I know Nightwing resents me after I wouldn't go on a second date with him. Lots of others... ponies can't fly like I do, couldn't beat me, so they'll talk about me behind my back and spread rumors. I get it."

"No, you don't." Morning Showers rose to her hooves, taking a deep breath. "Dust, you know the kind of trust a weather team needs in each of its members. I didn't plan on doing anything... but no one will be your wingpony."

"So, I'll work in the factory," Dust said flatly. "I can do every job there better than anypony you have. Just tell me where to report."

"Sorry Dust, that isn't happening either—for your safety, as much as ours. The Wonderbolts are national heroes. Learning what you did to them, how badly you—"

"Cadets," Dust interrupted, raising her voice a little. "Cadets who flew so weak they wouldn't make it onto the backup reserve here in Stormshire.”

"Doesn't matter," Showers said, her voice firm. "The point is that you're dangerous and I don't want you in my factory. You're gone."

Dust sighed. This part of the dance was always the worst. The first time she'd been fired this way, she had tried hiring a lawyer, defending herself in court. It wasn't right that one mistake would be held against her for the rest of her life, a mistake that hadn't even done permanent injury to a single pony. She had learned many things during that fight, but the most painful lesson was that they could fire her. It didn't matter that all weatherponies worked for the crown. "I do not quit," she said, speaking slowly and clearly. "I do not resign."

"It'll be easier for everypony," Showers said, her expression hardening. "Take your stuff and go."

"I do not resign," she said again, her voice flat and determined. "I'm the best performing pony in this factory. If you want me out, you'll have to fire me."

Morning Showers swore under her breath, throwing several of her drawers open in frustration. She pulled out a pad of paper a moment later, along with a pen. "You claim to be loyal," she muttered, glaring. "But you make me do this. This factory has had a hard-enough quarter."

Dust shrugged. "I've saved lives, Showers. I took in an orphan when the rest of this damn place let her rot in a basement. I think the least I've earned is the severance pay I need to relocate."

Showers only grunted, scribbling rapidly on the sheet. It was the standard message, informing that she'd been terminated from employment and was due a lump sum of no less than three months’ wages. As she had expected, Showers couldn't put a single critical remark on that page about her work performance. That's never what it's about though, is it?

Dust took the note with a matching glare of her own, storming over to the box and dumping its contents into one side of her saddlebags. It wasn't as though she had very much—a few flightsuits, some spare goggles, and a few old posters. She didn't care that she was crushing many of them.

Dust managed to keep her cool on her way out of the factory, walking with her shoulders straight and her hooves crushing the clouds confidently below her. Yet with each step she made, she grew less confident. Her breathing became shallower, her heart started to race. Why did it have to be so soon? The mayor was responsible for this somehow, he had to be. But what could she do?

Nothing, as usual. There was no way to get even, only to get away. Only now I'm not the only one I should worry about. Lucky Break was hardly in an emotionally stable position, almost constantly at the edge of hysteria. She was learning Eoch quickly, but that was about the only thing in her life that seemed to be going well. She isn't ready to move.

Dust stopped outside the factory, staring across town at her own house in its slow drift. Maybe she'd be better off if I gave her back. It wouldn't be hard. If anything, it would only show the mayor that he'd won. It would be her admission that she'd been wrong. How many more basements will she have to sleep in if I do? That wasn't to say the little pony had much better prospects waiting for her if she did accompany Dust to wherever she traveled next. Whatever fortune Dust had once enjoyed was now gone. Lucky would be in for a long ride across Equestria, bound for who knew what destination.

Would she even want to? After hearing her story... It was more than possible she would want to remain close to whatever power had sent her, so that she could return when her mission was complete. Assuming any part of that story had been true.

But having a little filly would probably help me. Ponies would be way more likely to give me a job if they knew I was supporting somepony. Dust shook her head and forced herself to banish those thoughts as she took flight for city hall. She would not become the sort of pony she hated, who manipulated the lives of others for their own personal gain. She wouldn't have to decide, really. She could give the pony what had never been given to herself: a choice. The filly might not have her cutie mark, but she was old enough to make decisions for herself.

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