A glorious day indeed
The classroom seemed far too large, or perhaps, Sundance was far too small. He couldn’t remember coming to school, yet here he was, sitting in class, surrounded by classmates who had indistinct, fuzzy faces whose details diminished if he tried to look directly at them. A tremendous wooden desk dominated the room; on the desk there was a pile of apples, one pear, a somewhat brown banana, and several stacks of books whose titles could not be made out. Behind the desk was a larger than life alicorn—a rather purple one at that—and she was busy drawing a diagram on the blackboard.
When he tried to read the time, the numbers on the clock refused to come into focus.
“Good morning, class,” the teacher-alicorn said without turning around to address her students. “Today we have a test. I hope you’ve come prepared.”
Squirming in his seat, Sundance couldn’t recall studying for a test, and he wondered if he could somehow get out of class. Perhaps if he said his stomach hurt, or mentioned that he had the green apple splatters. Or maybe, if he was lucky, it would be a multiple choice test and he could fill everything in randomly. That usually worked out well enough and was enough to get him a passing grade—most of the time.
“No, Sundance… you may not be excused. I know for certain that you do not have the green apple splatters. Now be a good colt, and don’t make me summon Principal Applejack.”
Upon hearing this, the tiny colt whistle-whinnied in alarm and his stubby wings slapped against his sides. His classmates laughed; though he could not see their mouths, nor their expressions, he could hear them. Their laughter made his ears burn and his embarrassment left his face hot. Fearing that he might get sent home with a disciplinary note to present to his mother, he covered his eyes with his front hooves, tried to sit still, and wished for a state of nonexistence.
“I am your Teacher-Princess, Twilight Sparkle, and today, there will be a quiz on the logistics of leadership.”
When Sundance pulled his hooves away from his eyes, he saw that his teacher had turned around. She was looking at him in some vaguely avian manner, with her head tilted off to one side, and her piercing eyes seemed to be staring right through him. Guts clenching, he realised that he had no idea what the subject of today’s test was, and though his mother had never actually twisted his ear off, he feared that today would be the day when it finally happened.
Yep, one of his ears was coming off, all for a lack of study.
“You didn’t study.” The Teacher-Princess’ words were not a question and the way her brows beetled were terrifying to behold. She was larger than life, this Teacher-Princess, and it was a safe bet to assume that she had a dominating wingspan.
Little Sundance could hear his classmates snickering.
“A quick refresher… we can’t have you failing, Sundance. Your mother is a confirmed twister of ears.” Extending one wing, the Teacher-Princess pointed at the board. “We’ll start with a quick, easy question. How many farmers does it take to field one soldier?”
“I… I don’t know,” Sundance blurted out in reply.
“But this is such a simple, easy question. How could you not know? This is the starting question, the question from which all other questions originate from. Sundance, this is the beginning… the central hub from which all spokes of understanding radiate from to form the wheel of knowledge for this particular subject.”
Ashamed, he repeated his initial response. “I don’t know.”
“What does a soldier do?” Twilight asked, her tone one of supreme patience.
“He fights?”
“That was a question you gave me, not an answer.”
“A soldier fights.”
“Better.” Twilight’s brows unbeetled and her stern expression softened. “At least that was an answer. Yes, a soldier fights. He does not farm, but lives off of the labour of others. For the soldier to be a soldier, there must be a surplus of food.”
“So you need a few farmers to field a soldier.”
“A soldier needs weapons and armor to be a soldier. To properly outfit a soldier, you need a blacksmith. That is yet another pony who does not farm, nor does he have time to farm to support and feed himself. The blacksmith too, lives off of the labour of the farmers.”
Thoughtful, Sundance began to rub his chin whilst he cogitated upon his newfound insight. A blacksmith was a big, burly pony that did a lot of work and would need a lot of food. As much food as the soldier, if not more. The blacksmith would also do more than make armor and weapons, the blacksmith would also make tools for the farmers—but to do so, the blacksmith had to devote all of his time to blacksmithing.
“The blacksmith is nothing without iron,” the Teacher-Princess said to the thoughtful colt. “Iron does not magically appear. Nor does the charcoal the blacksmith needs to keep the forge hot. Mining and charcoal making are time consuming tasks. Hard work.”
“And to make charcoal, you have to cut down trees?” Sundance pulled his hoof away from his chin. “To cut down trees, you need lumberjacks. Woodcutters. And those are ponies who can’t farm either, because they’re too busy.”
“Correct.”
“One soldier all alone can’t protect all of these ponies, you’d need a garrison of soldiers.”
“Correct.”
“Civilisation is complicated,” Sundance mused aloud. “How did it ever get started in the first place? How did it survive? It takes so much just to field one soldier, but once you have the support in place for just one soldier, you need an army to protect it. Which means you need more farmers, so you can feed the miners, the woodcutters, the charcoal makers, and the blacksmith. But… woodcutters, miners, and charcoal makers all need tools that the blacksmith makes, so these are things that can’t exist without one another.”
“The algebra of survival grows ever-more complex.”
Just thinking about all of it gave Sundance a terrific headache.
“Now we begin our test… you have thirty-minutes to complete it… good luck.”
Coughing, Sundance awoke with a start. The fire, what was left of it, was a crackling bed of coals. Wrapped in a woollen blanket—the one gifted to him by Silver Lining—he shivered a bit while he waited for his watery, itchy eyes to focus. He hated his hovel and would be glad when there was something better, something more civilised to sleep in.
A few feet away, his owl was a fuzzy white-grey lump stuck on a stick.
How many days had it been? He could no longer tell. It was easy to lose track. It had only been a few days since he had brought Hollyhock home and near as he could tell, she was adjusting. Her foals seemed happy enough, but they had no toys, no books, not much of anything to keep them entertained. This bothered Sundance, and as he lay there, blinking his eyes, he decided that today would be the day he did something about it.
Rolling over, his bones ached in protest. He had tossed his itchy straw into the fire and let it burn. Sleeping on bare wood was mightily unpleasant and when he woke in the mornings, he felt old. It was cold enough to see his breath and he watched the curls of steaming vapour that rose from his nose. He had been dreaming, some awful, dreadful dream, but he couldn’t remember the details.
Looking up, he could see dark sky beyond the hole in his roof where all of the smoke and heat from the fire escaped. No stars could be seen, but the faint rosy glow of dawn filled Sundance with hope—if the sun was shining, there would be warmth. Tears trickled from his watery, itchy eyes, and though it was quite cold outside, he was in desperate need of fresh, breathable air.
It was time to face the day.
Sundance was a majestic silhouette as the sun rose over his barony. He stood atop an outcropping of rock at the very top of the box canyon, waiting to greet the sun. Down in the box canyon, it would be dark a while longer—it took the sun some time to rise to just the right angle to shine down into the crevice—but there were already signs of life down below.
Facing east, he waited for the soft kiss of the golden rays of light. Spreading his wings, he gave them a good shake, trying to rid himself of the itchiness that drove him to distraction. His stomach rumbled and he wondered what might be served for breakfast. The mush came in colours; yellow, brown, pale green, and colourless grey. Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold, pease porridge in the pot was how many days old?
Great for loosening stubborn, stuck bowels, pease porridge, and it came out looking much the same as it went in. Whose bloody brilliant idea had it been to boil peas until they were gloppy mush? Since nopony was looking, Sundance gave himself a good scratch behind his ear with one hind hoof. Chilly shivers of absolute bliss paraded up and down the length of his spine as he gave that itch behind his ear a good what for, digging in with the hard edge of his hoof.
In the distant east, the fires of dawn manifested between two peaks. Sundance ceased his scratching, raised his head, and his manner became solemn. The sun touched his land before Canterlot, and though he could not put his thoughts into coherent words, he felt obligated to greet his grandmother’s fiery, life-giving orb.
Spreading his wings, Sundance dreamed of becoming the Guardian of Dawn.
Heading westward, Sundance allowed the updrafts to carry him upwards and he flew in lazy circles as he gained the altitude required to approach Canterlot. He had an idea, a grand idea, and he planned to stop by the castle to act upon that idea. What he needed was a standard issue cargo crate, the crate designed to fit into the bed of his sky truck. With luck, he could pick one up for free.
A pony had to be desperate to hope for what amounted to a wooden box.
He needed tea, for operation T-Drop. There were little ones in need of toys, books, playthings. At some point, he needed to track down Twilight Velvet, whomever she was, and have a long talk with her about Hollyhock, but he wasn’t sure if that would happen today. More than anything, he needed a touch of civilisation again; civilisation was full of soft, pleasant things, and he desired those things a great deal.
He hoped that there was money in his account, otherwise, all his plans would be for naught.
Folding his wings, Sundance waited for the two armored guards to approach. The castle’s landing strip was nice, so very nice, and so much better than his own. It was a runway to aspire to. Perhaps even more amazing, the castle allowed the public to use the strip, as it was the largest, longest strip in Canterlot.
“Hello fellas,” Sundance said as the two guards drew near. “Quite a nice morning.”
“That was some kind of landing,” one of the guards replied in a rather brusque manner. “Tell me, why haven’t you joined our ranks? We need pilots.”
“My landing wasn’t that special.” Keeping his wings tucked against his sides, Sundance fought against the urge to boast.
“Bollocks.” There was a clank as the guard, an earth pony, drew himself to attention. “There was a diagonal shear and you touched down damn near sideways, hit the ground running, and your cart didn’t skip off the ground once. Not one fronkin’ bounce. I know who you are, Lord Sunfire, and I recognise that cart. What brings you to Canterlot, Lord Sunfire?”
“Funny you should ask.” Sundance grinned and did his best to appear as friendly as equinely possible. “I came for supplies, but I was hoping that you’d have a spare crate. You know, the standard issue crate that fits into the bed of the sky truck and can be dumped out the back.”
Both guards appeared quite surprised, and the second, a pegasus, tilted his helmeted head off to to one side. “Lord Fancy Flier needs a wooden crate?”
“Yes I do. Do you have one to spare?”
“We have mountains of them,” the pegasus guard replied. “Planning on hauling some goods? Need something weatherproof?”
“Yes, actually.” This wasn’t exactly what Sundance had in mind, but it too, was a good idea, and he might have to return for a second crate, if the opportunity presented itself.
“Well, we’ve got crates coming in by the bloody score, but we’re not moving many crates out.” The earth pony squinted and gestured at a distant group of buildings. “You’d be doing us a favour if you got rid of a few of them. You do know they have an interlocking design, right? You can carry one crate in a sky truck lying down, or two secured in side by side. But that makes a tall load. Not every pilot is comfortable with that.”
Two? Sundance struggled to contain his excitement. “I think I’ll be fine. I’ll take two, if I can get them.”
“Two it is, then. Come with me, Lord Sunfire.”
Calling them crates simply didn’t do them justice. Like everything else the guard possessed, these crates were overbuilt. Every corner, every edge, any place that might suffer an impact was reinforced with brass, and the body was constructed with cedar. Heavy brass hinges allowed two doors to swing open, revealing the inside. The doors had brass hardware that secured them and would keep them closed in any conditions, even a crash, as Sundance expected. These crates were made to survive, and had been reinforced for parachute drops.
“We’ve got so many crates that we’re about to hold a surplus sale,” the earth pony guard said. “The brass and wood is valuable. Prince Gosling demands that the factory that makes these run night and day. Keeps ponies working and keeps those trade skills sharp. There is no finer crate in all of Equestria, and maybe the world.”
“It’s just a crate—”
“No, you knobhead, it’s not just a crate.” The earth pony turned on his companion and his eyes narrowed in a fierce manner. “Every crate you see represents a job. A job is what keeps bread on the table. Prince Gosling created an industry that satisfied a need. We get crates. Good ones. Certainly better than the splintery crap we used to have to make do with. And the workers get something in return. Pride in a job well-done. A paycheck. A future.”
“Aye, I never thought of it that way.” Taking a moment to adjust his helmet, the unicorn then nodded at his earth pony companion.
“I enlisted so I could get a scholarship,” the earth pony said, grinning. “I plan to go into economics. I’m told I have a good head for logistics. I might actually stay in the guard as a lifer. It’s not bad work, if you can get it.”
Sundance nodded in an amicable way.
“Say… speaking of logistics and the moving of goods…” A shrewd expression took over the earth pony’s face and his eyes fairly twinkled with intelligence. “The war has left a shortage of pilots. Need work, flyboy? I help manage work contracts—martial, commercial, and private. Canterlot functions as a central cargo hub.”
“I could use a job, sure.” This day was turning out better than Sundance could have hoped for. “I’m busy today, but I can come back.”
“Come back and see me. I’m Scram. On any given day, I have a dozen or more contracts. Bush pilots are in short supply. Dangerous work. Because of the shortage, it’s lucrative work. You’ve got the sky truck… those are rather hard to come by for private citizens, as they’re not for sale.”
“So just drop in and ask for you?” Sundance asked.
“Yeah, you do that.” Scram’s grin now had teeth. “Now let’s get these crates loaded up and secured. I’ll fill you in on the pay scale, which is wickedly complicated and works on a sliding scale of weight, difficulty, and danger.”
“The easiest, safest jobs pay the least—”
“Aye, you understand already.” Scram kicked his unicorn companion into action and there was a clank of metal against metal. “Make with the heavy lifting already. We don’t get paid to stand around!”
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Well, beyond storing stuff and transporting stuff, a crate can be a spaceship, a helicopter, a den, a house, a cave, a transmogrified... pretty much whatever you can imagine it to be - the big cardboard box that my parent’s fridge turned up in when I was about seven years old, I had great adventures in it :)
So shall we expect a one shot soon where Prince Gosling invents the ISO 40-ft container?
9235149
I had nothing planned to that end.
And really, he didn't invent these, either. He just told the woodworkers to make the best crate they could imagine.
Gosling isn't the inventive type.
Bodies need something to be stashed in for transportation and eventual disposal.
You know, there is a LOT you can do with a big sturdy box. A whole lot. A little work on the inside and you've got yourself a nice cabinet, or perhaps a big planter if it's not so tightly together to be waterproofed. Flip it over, you've got yourself a ready table. Salvage the tops. You've got window shutters, or perhaps even a door.
One pony's surplus is another pony's solution.
I thought he was going to fill it with toys and soft goods for his ponies.
Soldiers need smiths who need iron workers who need miners. All of them need need farmers. And the farmers needs the goods and services produced by the others. Without transportation and trade, House Sunflower would need to provide all these functions themselves.
But, once they have transportation and something to trade, House Sunflower can focus on making what they are especially good at along with what they want to make in case of emergencies (such as when the transportation or trade system breaks down because of war or financial shocks). I suspect that maintaining their ability to raise enough food to feed everyone, and planting a cash crop (like sunflowers for oil) could be a good strategy.
When House Sunflower has a cash crop, they will need to upgrade their transportation infrastructure. The runway is a useful start for moving lightweight items, but to move bulk goods, House Sunflower is going to need a road to move cargo to the train station and a loading dock at the station itself.
I wonder who and when the Weedverse quantified the law of comparative advantage? IRL, David Ricardo famously set forth that idea in his Principles of Political Economy in 1817. If the economics of the Weedverse are partially inspired by the late nineteenth century, the idea may be comparatively recent. However, comparative advantage might be something that ponies got instinctively (three tribes all have distinct advantages and one aspect of harmony could be trade). I wonder if the idea in Equestria is as old as Hearth's Warming or if it was only later spelled out in a famous academic work?
9235328
Cutie marks, I think, might count towards comparative advantage.
9235354
Definitely! Cutie Marks. Pony type. The influence of other-worldly beings. Abilities of other intelligent races (claws or hands, flying, special senses, breathing fire, lifespan, etc.) as well as geography, infrastructure, training, culture, organization, and lots of other things could go into comparative advantage. Cutie Marks seem to have historically given ponies a significant organizational advantage, as well as the advantage of doing specific tasks with preternatural skill.
In some ways, I wonder if Skyreach can be seen as a way to engineer comparative advantage.
9235400
That was one of the core concepts I had in mind.
Specialised societies engineered to do a few specific tasks quite well. To excel at them. When living together in harmony, each species would add its distinctive excellence to the overall greater good of society, as part of a harmonious whole that was greater than the sum of its parts.
So he's going to make a career out of dangerous flying.
To carry something. Alternatively, to have a coffin conveniently on hand for his inevitable fatal crash.
9235225
Cut a small flap on one end, and you've got a small dog house or a large cat house. :D
No, no, no. The phrase he is looking for is "well-engineered."
9235165
Kind of along the idea of don't tell a person how to do their job. Just tell them what you want and let them do it. Gosling wanted a good crate and gave them the goal. I like this. 👍👍
No, no, no. The phrase he is looking for is "well-engineered."
9235165
Kind of along the idea of don't tell a person how to do their job. Just tell them what you want and let them do it. Gosling wanted a good crate and gave them the goal. I like this. 👍👍
If i had to guess i would say that this boxes will be first used for transporting of stuff and then end up as a beehive and or an owlry. The crate problem of Ponyville might quite easily be something to kick-start some industries for Sundance.
Edit:
And the best part of it is that it also rubs the Prince of the land the right ways making product he is responsible of to multi-purpose help and ALSO solving another local leaders problems. Absolutely master stroke move. Goodwill is gained all around, everyone wins and his cause is advanced.
I can see it now.
"Is Milord taking up boxing?"
I think he wants it for tea, how ever it does sound like it would make for good temp lodging, size of a truck super reinforced and water tight, made to last. Good to put bedding in
Depending on the size of the crates, they could probably make decent owleries.
Because crates are useful you carry stuff around in them you keep stuff out of the weather with them hell in a pinch they can be a very good source of shelter
9235421
9235400
Which naturally leads to a bred-in interdependence.
On the one-hand, their output of useful work increases exponentially when everyone works together.
On the other, if one species link fails (goes extinct, becomes isolationist or refuses to work together for whatever reason), the output in that area for the entire system falls lower than would be the case for a single generalist species.
High risk, high reward.
I wonder if the centaurs had any backups built in for possible species-ending disasters.
9236208
"Only on Boxing Day, Cucumber."
And thus does Boxing Day come to Equestria.
Now this certainly has some real promise for the Future....