> Mac to the Future
>  by Maran
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Gotta Get Mac in Time
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Big Mac didn't ask for much. All he wanted was to finish his senior year without getting magically brainwashed again. A girlfriend would be nice, too, but maybe he would wait and focus on finding the right girl after he graduated.

A familiar voice broke his train of thought as he strolled down the hallway toward his locker.

“Big Mac! There you are! Can ya help me with somethin'?”

He turned to see Granny Smith walking across the tiled floor at a pace that was fast for her age, especially considering she'd been on her feet for six hours that day.

“Eyup,” he answered with a smile.

His grandmother held up her phone. “Lil' Miss Photo Finish says our fall pictures are on her website, but I can't get it to show on this newfangled doohickey!”

“Did ya enter the password?”

“I tried, but I can't get it right!” She shoved her phone into Big Mac's pink hands.

After taking out his own phone, he found the password he'd saved. About fifteen seconds later, he'd entered the password in the login screen on Granny's phone and selected the family portraits. Wordlessly, he handed the phone back to his grandmother.

“Thank you, Big Mac,” she said with a smile. “Aw, I like this one.” Angling the phone so Big Mac could see the image, she added, “Miss Photo Finish did such a good job.”

“Eyup.” The picture showed Big Mac sitting on a log between Applejack and Apple Bloom, with fall foliage of orange and gold in the background. His sisters grinned, while he smiled with closed lips because, in his opinion, he looked cheesy when he showed his teeth. They all wore their new school outfits, with Big Mac in his red hoodie and jeans that had straight legs and even hems. His old jeans were more comfortable, but Granny Smith insisted that he pick out a new pair.

Granny moved her gaze from the phone to Big Mac's face. “You look more like your pa each day.” Smiling wistfully, she reached up and patted his cheek.

Big Mac said nothing. He supposed he did resemble the high school photos of his father, but he remembered Bright Mac being taller and more muscular. It may have been the perspective of an eight year-old that made his pa seem bigger than he actually was, however.

“Hey Big Mac, hey Granny.” Apple Bloom came up behind them to peer over their shoulders. “Lookin' at the pictures?”

“Aren't they precious?” Granny asked rhetorically. “I should pay Photo Finish more.”

“She's a high school student,” Bloom said in a flat tone. “You paid her plenty.” She turned to Big Mac, holding onto one backpack strap while putting her other hand on her hip. “So, Big Mac, I have a question about Ogres and Oubliettes. Do y'all have any wizard players?”

He raised his eyebrow. “Trixie.” Either Apple Bloom had forgotten she'd joined their game nights, or she somehow didn't realize Trixie would choose to be a wizard.

Throwing her head back, Apple Bloom yelled, “Dang it! No point havin' two wizards in the party, is there?”

“Nope.”

“Guess I'll be redoin' my character sheet, then.”

“Eyup. You could be a druid,” suggested Big Mac. “They can use spells and turn into animals.”

His sister perked up, her eyes gleaming. “I like the sound of that!”

Disregarding the O and O discussion, Granny Smith pulled at Apple Bloom's backpack. “You need to wear your straps on both shoulders, half pint, else you'll end up with a bad back like Scootaloo.”

Apple Bloom sighed. “Scootaloo's back problems were not caused by carryin' her backpack on one shoulder.”

“Maybe not, but you could still strain your back.” Granny lifted the backpack from Apple Bloom's shoulder, holding the straps apart.

“The other kids' grannies don't fix their backpacks at school,” groused Apple Bloom.

“Big Mac, we need to talk.” Applejack's tone was light on the surface, but with a hard edge underneath. “We need to talk” was never a promising way to begin a conversation.

His expression was carefully neutral as he pivoted in place and saw his middle sister striding toward him. She smiled at him, and her green eyes glinted.

“The Rainbooms need the tour bus on Saturday,” she said, spreading her hands. “We don't mind that you let Dr. Discord borrow it, but we need it back in workin' order in time for our gig.”

Big Mac didn't dare ask how she knew Dr. Discord was redesigning the engine. Maybe she simply knew Dr. Discord better than he thought she did.

“You'll make sure he has it ready for us, won't you?” asked AJ.

“Eyup.”

“I'll hold you to that.” She gripped his shoulder. “That's this Saturday, ya hear?”

“Eyup.”

“Good. I'll let the gals know.” Releasing his shoulder, she raised her voice so their grandmother could hear. “Don't wait for me, y'all. Sunset's givin' me a ride home.”
Granny Smith lifted her head, having finished fussing over Apple Bloom. “You want us to wait for you?”

“She said don't wait for her,” said Bloom, rolling her eyes.

Either their grandmother didn't notice the eye roll, or she didn't care. “All right, just come home by nine.”

“I will, Granny.”

As Applejack left in search of her friend, Granny Smith faced her two remaining grandkids. “Well, let's head on out to the jalopy.”

“I gotta get my stuff,” said Big Mac, jerking his thumb in the direction of his locker.

“All right, then, we'll be waitin' for you in the parkin' lot. Come on, Apple Bloom.”

His grandmother and sister headed toward the exit, and Big Mac finished the walk to his locker. As he raised his hand to open it, he noticed that the combination lock was missing. Frowning, he pulled open the door, expecting it to be empty.

Instead, Dr. Discord burst out and crashed into him.

Big Mac was nearly knocked off his feet, but years of carrying heavy livestock helped him catch his balance and push back against Dr. Discord.

His physics teacher straightened and brushed off his sleeves. “Do I know how to make an entrance or what?” He flashed a cheeky grin.

Big Mac merely stared up at him. Aside from Principal Celestia and Coach Iron Will, Dr. John Q. Discord was the only staff member taller than Big Mac. He had gray skin and his eyes had yellow sclera (if Big Mac remembered his anatomy course correctly) and red irises. Combined with his bushy white eyebrows and wispy goatee, they gave him a perpetually insane appearance. His thinning white hair had obviously been smooshed against the locker walls.

“I know what you're thinking: How could someone so tall fit inside this little locker? Well, I'll have you know that I'm extremely flexible! Want to see me put my legs behind my head?”

“Nope.”

“You're missing out,” said Dr. Discord with a shrug. “Anyway, have good news – my project is ready for testing!”

Big Mac smiled in relief. “Great! AJ and her friends need the bus this weekend.”

“This weekend . . .” His teacher hesitated, bringing his hand to his chin. “That shouldn't be a problem. After all, time is an unlimited resource, now.” He chortled.

Big Mac arched his eyebrow. Surely Dr. Discord didn't think he discovered the key to immortality, did he? From redesigning a bus engine? That wouldn't make sense, even for Dr. Discord.

“You'll see what I mean.” The teacher spread his hands in a dramatic arc. “It all happens at 1:15 tonight!”

“What happens?”

“Like I said, you'll have to wait and see. I promise it'll be worth your time.” He let out a chuckle. “You'll come to the mall parking lot tonight, won't you, friend?” Dr. Discord clasped his hands together.

Big Mac paused. It was a simple yes or no question, and yet . . . “Why so late?”

“Technically, it's early in the morning,” his teacher replied. “Applejack told me she wakes up that early every morning to sweep the floor before school.”

Big Mac's mouth curved down. That was an exaggeration, which didn't sound like something AJ would say. But it was very much like Dr. Discord to exaggerate when rephrasing a statement from someone else.

“But more to the point,” his teacher continued, “the mall parking lot will be empty at 1:15, providing more than enough driving area for the bus to accelerate. We'll be able to observe it without having to steer around other vehicles.”

“Who's drivin' the bus if we're observin' it?”

“Oh, that's easy. I've got it connected to a radio control. That way I can test the bus with an animal first. Which reminds me – can I borrow your dog?”

Big Mac narrowed his eyes.

“I don't need it for long. An hour at most.” Dr. Discord spread his arms.

Leaning back, Big Mac asked, “And what are you fixin' to do with our family dog that ain't safe for a human?”

“Now, now.” Dr. Discord held up a finger. “I don't want to spoil the dramatic reveal.”

“I can't let you experiment on my dog unless I know more about this project of yours.”

The taller man scanned the hallway from left to right. Students walked by them, barely giving them a second glance.

“Oh, very well.” Leaning toward Big Mac's ear, Dr. Discord whispered, “I want to observe its response to temporal displacement.”

“Temporal displacement . . .” Big Mac repeated quietly, thinking about it. “You mean time travel?” Slowly, Big Mac began to smile and shake his head. “Doc, if you want me to keep helpin' you, you gotta tell me the truth,” he said in a louder voice.

Dr. Discord flailed his arms in disbelief. “That is the truth! Get your lie-detecting sister over here if you don't believe me!”

Big Mac furrowed his brow. “That's not something that either of my sisters do.”

“Really?” His teacher scratched his head. “What was I thinking of, then?”

The only answer was a shrug. Dr. Discord shook his head as if to clear it.

“Well, it's not important anyway,” continued his teacher. “What is important is that I can prove to you that I can . . .” He lowered his voice once more. “Create a temporal displacement. But I can't do that without a test subject! Can't I at least use one of your pigs?”

“What if it dies?” countered Big Mac. “How would I explain that to my family?”

“Don't worry about that! The chances of this experiment resulting in fatality are less than one percent.” Dr. Discord waved his hand.

“Which is non-zero, I take it,” said Big Mac, lowering his eyebrows.

“Yes, but even if the pig doesn't survive, your family isn't going to miss one pig, are they?”

“They will,” Big Mac said firmly.

“Come now, Big Mac!” Dr. Discord's scarlet eyes became round and soulful. “First you don't believe me about displacing the bus in the time stream, and then you won't let me use one of your many pigs for one low-risk experiment! I thought we were friends!”

“We are,” said Big Mac, lowering his arms and spreading his hands. “But friendship shouldn't be one-sided, and it seems like I'm always the one lettin' you borrow things without gettin' anythin' back.”

“What do you mean, 'without giving anything back'?” Dr. Discord wiggled his head from side to side as he quoted Big Mac. “I'm giving you the opportunity to own the world's first time-traveling pig! I'd say that's quite generous of me!”

“Can't you get a test animal from someplace else?”

“Well,” said Dr. Discord, stroking his goatee, “I do know someone – but it's risky.” He straightened up with a smile. “But that makes it more fun! All right, you talked me into it!”

Big Mac wasn't completely sure what he'd talked his teacher into, but it didn't matter as long as Big Mac had talked him out of using one of his pigs.

“You'll still come watch my test drive, won't you?” asked Dr. Discord.

“Eyup.” Big Mac could catch up on sleep some other time.

“Splendid.” His teacher draped his arm over Big Mac's shoulders. “After all, we orphans have to stick together.”





At 1:20 am, Big Mac rolled the family pickup truck into the mall parking lot. He looked around for the bus, but all he saw were street lights shining through the moderate fog that rolled in from the nearby river. So intent was he on staring at the middle of the parking lot that he didn't see the man run in front of his bumper until it was almost too late. He barely glimpsed the light from a reflective vest, and he slammed on the brakes.

“Stop!” Yelled Dr. Discord, holding his hand palm out.

His mind racing from adrenaline, Big Mac rolled down the window. “Are you crazy!?” he shouted, even as he felt angry at himself for not watching the blacktop directly in front of him.

“Yes, but that's beside the point. I want you to park on the edge of the lot.” His teacher pointed.

“You could've been killed!”

Dr. Discord snorted. “Please, you couldn't have been going more than 15 miles per hour. I could've been wounded at worst.”

Big Mac took a deep breath, willing himself to relax.

“Now,” continued his teacher, “I need all the empty driving space I can get, so move along!”

After driving into a parking space on the edge of the lot, Big Mac got out of the truck and walked toward Dr. Discord. As soon as Big Mac reached him, his teacher pointed toward a blue shape in the mist.

“Behold!” shouted Dr. Discord. “The tour bus time machine!”

Big Mac stepped closer to the bus, peering at the details. It had a beautiful, vintage 1940s body with a paint job that looked like precisely what he'd expect if Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash collaborated.

“It looks the same,” said Big Mac.

“Ah, it's the same on the outside. I wouldn't ruin this paint job that your sister and her friends worked so hard on. I'm insane, but I'm not a monster.” Dr. Discord held his hand to his chest. “Besides, if you're going to build a time travel machine, why not do it with glittery decals?”

Big Mac nodded, seeing the logic. Applejack and her friends would be peeved if they got their tour bus back without its scene of rainbows, clouds, and stars.

“I changed only the engine and the dashboard. Come and see!” Dr. Discord bounded up to the bus and pulled open the door. A goat bleated inside.

His teacher gestured toward the goat in the driver's seat. “I had to borrow this test subject without asking permission, but I'll give it back before its owner realizes it's missing.”

“I don't like this,” said Big Mac with a frown. “It's not right.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, would you rather go home and get your pig, or one of your dogs?” Dr. Discord asked sarcastically.

Big Mac didn't bother to tell him that he had only one dog. “Nope,” he answered, glancing away.

“That's what I thought.” Dr. Discord crooked his arms. “Now get out your phone, I need someone to record this while I control the bus.”

After grabbing his phone, Big Mac pressed the camera icon.

“Thank you.” Dr. Discord scritched the top of the goat's head. “My name is Dr. John Q. Discord, and I'm conducting a temporal displacement experiment using this goat and a remodeled 1949 school bus.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he were talking about building a tool shed. “I've placed a watch around the goat's neck.” He lifted a cheap digital timepiece that hung from the goat's collar. “It's been synchronized with the time on my phone,” he finished, holding his phone up to the watch. Both displayed the time as 1:23.

Big Mac nodded before glancing at the dashboard. It sported a new lever and some arrow buttons next to an LED screen that showed three lines of letters that seemed random, although the letters A and B showed up more often than the others.

“I'll show you how the controls work in a moment. For now, this goat needs to ride solo!” Dr. Discord patted the goat, and it nibbled on the sleeve of his blazer. He pulled his arm away.

“I knew I shouldn't have worn my work jacket!” The teacher hopped out of the bus, Big Mac following him and closing the door.

“Now!” Dr. Discord picked up a large radio control that had been resting on top of a duffel bag. His red eyes shone as he pressed a button to start the engine. “You're about to see some serious shit!”

After a beat, he stared at Big Mac. “We should probably edit that out.”

“Eyup.”

“Moving on.” Dr. Discord fiddled with some knobs. “Watch the bus,” he said, nodding toward the vehicle.

Big Mac aimed his phone at the tour bus and viewed it through the screen. The bus began to increase its speed, driving in a circuit around the parking lot. He couldn't get a good visual, but the headlights pierced the fog. Big Mac was amazed that his teacher could make the antique go 70 miles per hour. And still faster it careened, until it began to throw orange sparks from its wheels, and then blue sparks flashed higher, where its body should be. As if this weren't alarming enough, the bus turned and barreled straight for Big Mac and Dr. Discord.

Big Mac had always wondered why deer and other creatures froze in headlights. Yet at that moment he found himself paralyzed with fear. The bus was too close and speeding too quickly to get out of the way in time. Big Mac saw a brilliant blue flash and heard a loud crack like thunder.

And suddenly the bus was gone. There were only two lines of fire on the ground.

Big Mac let out the lungful of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and then he breathed in again. “What in Hades just happened?”

Dr. Discord, meanwhile, laughed with glee. “It worked! Ha! The look on your face is priceless!” He pointed at Big Mac. “And you said I was crazy!”

“You said you were crazy!” retorted Big Mac.

“True, but you said it first!”

“So . . . So . . .” Big Mac wrestled internally between asking Dr. Discord why he steered the tour bus toward them and whether or not it had actually traveled through time, until he decided that the latter was the bigger issue. “You really built a time machine out of the tour bus?”

“I did!” crowed his teacher. “I displaced the bus – and the goat inside – one minute into the future! Now we just have to wait to catch up to the bus's reentry point. You're still recording, right?”

“Eyup.”

“Good. You see, the secret to temporal displacement is the Flux Capacitor which moderates the accumulation of – Oh! There's the bus!”

Turning to look behind him, Big Mac watched the tour bus roll about 200 feet away before it decelerated and came to a stop. Dr. Discord jogged toward the vehicle, with Big Mac trotting after him. The bus was coated with a shiny, pale glaze. Dr. Discord put on mismatched gloves before tugging on the door. Big Mac wondered if the steel had become hot from all the sparks. After a few tries, Dr. Discord wrenched open the door, and Big Mac heard the sound of ice cracking. That was when he realized that the bus was not hot, but frozen.

The goat bleated as Dr. Discord climbed inside. “Come on, Big Mac!” His teacher beckoned him. “Let's check on the test subject, shall we?”

Big Mac noticed that his hands were shaking, and he did his best to steady his phone as he stepped in after his teacher. He was glad that he was wearing his new hoodie, because the bus felt like the inside of a meat freezer.

In the driver's seat, the goat sat trembling. Dr. Discord grabbed the watch that hung from the goat's neck and held his phone next to it.

“See, what did I tell you? The goat's watch is exactly one minute behind atomic time, and still ticking!” said the teacher.

Big Mac patted the goat's side, staring into its oval pupils.

“The goat is perfectly fine!” Dr. Discord switched on the bus's heating system. “It probably doesn't even realize anything happened.” He pressed the arrow keys on the dashboard, changing the letters on the top display. “I think this time displacement tour bus is ready for human test subjects now!”

“Right now?” Big Mac felt his heart pounding in his chest and his toes grow numb.

Dr. Discord laughed. “Of course! We have all the time in the world!”

Big Mac thought for just a second before he realized what time he wanted to travel to. He wanted to see his parents. Even if he couldn't change the past, at least he'd get to be with them again.

“Could we go back to 2007?” asked Big Mac.

“Why not? Or we could go even farther back, if you'd like. I know when I'd like to go first: November 5, 1993. The day I got the idea for the Flux Capacitor.” He pointed below the displays at the Y formed by tubing and wires. “It's what makes temporal displacement possible!”

Big Mac wanted to ask what exactly a Flux Capacitor was, but his teacher kept talking before there was an opening.

“I remember it like it was yesterday,” said Dr. Discord in a tone usually reserved for reliving one's wedding or the first time holding one's child. “I was in the bathroom, where I get all my best ideas, and I was hanging up a–”

A human-like scream tore out of the goat, interrupting the story. Then the animal tipped sideways off the seat, legs sticking out straight.

Big Mac merely shook his head.

“Don't worry!” Dr. Discord patted the goat's head. “Goats faint at the drop of a hat! Fluttershy told me it's abnormal if they don't faint every hour or so.”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean, nope?” His teacher crossed his arms. “Do you presume to know more about goats than Fluttershy does?”

Big Mac's only answer was to crouch down and put his hand on the goat's ribs. It was breathing, but it was ice cold. And something gleamed next to the watch on the goat's collar. It was a tag with a phone number, and above the number were the words: “If found call Iron Will.”

“You took this goat from Coach Iron Will?” asked Big Mac. “He ain't gonna like this.”

“He's not going to find out,” said Dr. Discord, arms akimbo, “because the goat is going to be fine!” Then he tilted his head as the sound of a vehicle drew near.

Dr. Discord and Big Mac peered toward the windows, but the melting ice obstructed half the view.

“That couldn't possibly be him, could it?” asked the teacher. “He couldn't . . .” Then his eyes widened as the vehicle pulled to a stop beside the bus.

Peeking over the taller man's shoulder, Big Mac saw the blue pickup truck with oversized wheels. “That's Mr. Iron Will's truck,” he pointed out, just in case Dr. Discord had forgotten what it looked like.

Dr. Discord pushed him back. “Keep your head down. It's best if he doesn't know you're involved.”

Big Mac wasn't one to hide from danger – at least not since he'd hit his growth spurt at the age of fourteen – but he didn't want to face the consequences of Iron Will finding him near his unconscious goat. So he ducked down below the windows.

“Where is he!?” boomed Coach Iron Will. The muscular man “boomed” every time he spoke. He had two volume settings: off and eardrum-bursting.

“How did you know I borrowed him?” Dr. Discord didn't bother to deny it.

Big Mac heard the truck door open and close, and then heard heavy footsteps on the blacktop. “You didn't exactly hide the fact that you're doing some kind of mad science experiment at the mall, John. Iron Will overheard you ask Fluttershy if you could borrow her rabbit. When Iron Will's kid went missing, he put two and two together. Now hand over the goat or get punched in the throat!”

“Okay, okay! I'm getting him!” Dr. Discord pivoted and crouched down to pick up the goat.

Iron Will gasped as Dr. Discord climbed out of the bus with the limp animal in his arms.

“Chompy! What have you done to him, you bastard?”

There was scuffling, and a fist striking something soft. Dr. Discord let out a strangled gasp.

Big Mac could no longer hide in good conscience. Leaping to his feet, he rushed to the doorway. “Stop!” He held his left hand in front of him, taking stock of the situation. Dr. Discord sat slumped on the ground with his hand on his neck, while Coach Iron Will stood over him. The large man held the goat tucked under his left arm, while his right hand formed a fist.

“Don't hit him!” shouted Big Mac. “We'll take your goat to the animal hospital and he'll be fine.”

Like Dr. Discord, Iron Will had yellowish sclera, but currently they were bloodshot. Veins stuck out in his thick, blue neck. Big Mac didn't know if his words registered in the coach's rage-filled brain.

“Big McIntosh? You're involved in this?”

Sighing, Big Mac answered, “Eyup.”

Iron Will growled and grabbed the radio control from the blacktop where it lay near Dr. Discord. Since the engine had been left idling, it rolled forward with the touch of a button. Big Mac grasped the metal railing next to the door, his eyes wide. Without thinking about it, he shut off his phone screen and started to put it in his pocket – but it slipped out of his hand and skidded across the floor. He swore under his breath.

Dr. Discord coughed and hauled himself up from a slumped sitting position into a crouch.

“Wait!” he wheezed. “Only I know how to operate . . .” His voice broke in a coughing fit.

Iron Will's expression was somewhere between a grin and a grimace as he pushed something on the controller. Then he faded out of view as the bus sped away from him. Big Mac glanced at the dashboard, and then at his phone near the back of the bus. The vehicle wasn't likely to hit anything in the empty parking lot, and it probably wouldn't travel through time. Dr. Discord had said he was the only one who knew how to operate it. These thoughts flew through his mind in a single second. He staggered down the aisle, holding onto the vinyl seats before stooping to pick up his phone. The bus was growing hot, and blue sparks flew across the windows.

Uh-oh.

He scrambled toward the front of the bus and put his hand on the ice-cold steering wheel as blue light filled the windshield. And then, with a loud crack, daylight assaulted his eyes. Big Mac plunked down into the driver's seat and slammed his foot on the break pedal. He breathed quickly, close to hyperventilating. With effort, he expanded his lungs to accommodate more air. Okay. He was fine. This was fine. The bus hadn't hit anything, and he hadn't fainted, although he couldn't feel his fingers. He stared at his left hand, which was gripping his cell phone with two fingers and a thumb while holding onto the steering wheel with the remaining fingers. Activating the screen, he saw that the time still showed 1:35 am, and there were no signal bars. He checked the available WiFi and found none whatsoever – near the mall.

Dr. Discord had mentioned November 5, 1993 – had he set the time machine to travel to that date? Or had Coach Iron Will accidentally sent him to a random time? The dashboard displays showed no clear answers:

BB-AF-BJJD AIAA:AA
BA-BA-CABI ABDA:FE
BA-BA-CABI ABCF:AA

It had to mean something to Dr. Discord, but Big Mac didn't understand it. The windows were partly defrosted at this point, and Big Mac gazed out across the parking lot. Mercifully, there were only a few cars. Judging by the sun's position, it was early in the morning – around 7:30 or 8:00, assuming this was November. Putting the bus in neutral, Big Mac cautiously maneuvered into a parking space. He was afraid to drive it any farther until he learned how to operate it, since he didn't want to risk getting even more lost in time.

Then he slapped his forehead. If he was afraid of getting lost, there was no way Granny Smith and the Rainbooms could drive it without getting lost in time, too. But there wasn't much he could do about that until he got back to the present.

Big Mac took the key out of the ignition and exited the bus, locking the door behind him. Hopefully, no one would break into it before he returned with Dr. Discord. His physics teacher had once told him that he'd lived in Canterlot since he was thirteen years old. Dr. Discord had to be in this town, Big Mac just knew it. He didn't know if Dr. Discord lived in the same house, but it was the only starting point that came to mind. There was nothing for it but to start walking.

He made his way around the mall, past the Kids' Castle toy store that had gone out of business just a few months before he traveled through time, but which was currently shiny and new. Big Mac felt a hint of nostalgia, but not enough to go inside. If he had truly cared about Kids' Castle, he would've shopped there when he'd had the chance instead of ordering his game pieces online. As he continued his trek, he saw other businesses that he hadn't seen in years. There was Binding Books, Radio Shed, and Applewood Video.

Behind and above the movie rental business was a billboard advertising for “Grand's Pears,” which made Big Mac lift his eyebrows. Granny Smith would be pissed if she saw it. She hated pears. The way she told it, half of Sweet Apple Acres used to be a pear farm, and there was a bitter rivalry between Granny Smith and the owner of the pear orchard. Then one day the owner mysteriously sold the pear farm and moved away. The newer owners had attempted to keep the orchard going, but a couple of droughts and a late frost had put the inexperienced farmers out of business, and a few years later they sold the land to Granny, and the pear trees were soon replaced with apple trees.

Big Mac pressed on past the billboard and toward the bank. It was the same in 2018, but the sign out front was different. Lights in a black field confirmed what he'd already suspected to be true:

Nov. 5, 1993
8:14 am
48° F

Then he saw something that made him stop in his tracks.

A phone booth.

Big Mac hadn't seen an actual pay phone since he was small, and even then, the phone was out of order. This phone had a ringtone, a sound he knew because Granny Smith insisted on keeping a landline in case of power outages. Then he saw the coin slot and remembered that the only cash he had was a twenty dollar bill in his pocket. Still, it might be better this way. There was a McDonalds a short walk down the street. He could order some food and get plenty of change back – he figured that twenty dollars was a lot of money back now.

Just in case he forgot later, he flipped through the phone book that hung on a cable under the phone. He found John Q. Discord's number and address and took a photo of it with his phone, so he'd have the information on hand. At least he could still use his phone to take and store pictures, if little else. The address was not the one Big Mac knew, but he was confident that he would be able to find it without too much difficulty. Big Mac slipped his phone into his hoodie pocket and made his way to the Golden Arches.





The young woman behind the counter was familiar. Her blond hair was pulled tightly away from her face, but Big Mac recognized the sneering expression no matter what age.

“Miss Harshwhinny?” he blurted.

His future civics teacher arched her eyebrows. “Do I know you?”

Any answer he gave would raise more questions, so Big Mac pretended he hadn't said anything. “I'd like the Big Mac extra value meal.”

Miss Harshwhinny's lip curled. “We're using our breakfast grills now. We don't switch to our lunch grills until eleven o'clock.”

“Oh. Right.”

Even in his time, it had been a relatively recent change to make both the breakfast and lunch menus available at all hours, and yet Big Mac had taken it for granted.

“In that case,” he continued, “I'll have the Bacon McGriddle meal, please.”

“The what?”

“You know, the sandwich made of pancakes, bacon, and eggs?”

Miss Harshwhinny shook her head. “I've never heard of that. It sounds disgusting.”

Feeling flustered, Big Mac said, “Fine, just give me an Egg McMuffin.” Surely those had to exist.

“Would you like the meal with hash browns and coffee?”

“Eyup.” He nodded.

“All right. That will be four dollars and eight cents. Please.” She took his money and stared at it with her brow wrinkled. “Is this a joke?”

Equally confused, Big Mac answered, “Nope.”

“This isn't real money.” She held it toward his face. “Look at the size of the President's head! And it's pink and yellow! Do you really expect me to believe this is legal tender?”

Big Mac had forgotten that the money had changed designs in the last 25 years. “Uh . . . I guess not.” He slumped.

Miss Harshwhinny managed to look down her nose at Big Mac, despite being a good six inches shorter. “Do you have another form of payment?”

“Nope.”

And then a pale yellow hand appeared to Big Mac's right and laid a bill on the counter.

“I've got it covered.”

Big Mac had not heard that voice in a decade, except in brief family videos. Slowly, he turned around and stared at the other teenage boy. Green eyes nearly identical to his own gazed back at him. A classic tan cowboy hat sat atop dark red hair. He wore a baggy, loose-fitting shirt and stone-washed jeans that seemed to be in style this decade.

“You're my – You're Bright Mac!” blurted Big Mac.

He'd wanted to talk to his parents, but ever since he'd gotten stranded, finding Dr. Discord had been his main concern. And now that he was face to face with his father, he didn't know what to say. He wasn't even supposed to exist yet. How could he tell Bright Mac that he was his future son?

A shorter, gray-skinned teen stood next to Bright Mac. He also sported a cowboy hat, and he seemed vaguely familiar to Big Mac, but he couldn't quite place him.

“Bright Mac, you know this dude?” asked the gray kid.

Shaking his head, Bright Mac said, “I don't think we've met. You go to Canterlot High?”

Big Mac's throat felt tight. “Eyup,” he answered in a hoarse voice. “I'm, uh, new.” It was true in the sense that he had started attending the school after his pa did.

His dad grinned. “Funny, I know just one other person who says 'eyup.' You know Pear Butter?”

Presumably this Pear Butter was one of the pear farmers he'd heard Granny Smith talk about, but the name didn't ring a bell.

He shook his head. “Nope.”

Bright Mac shrugged. “Must be a coincidence. What's your name?”

Since he couldn't give his real name when it was so similar to his father's, Big Mac said the first name that came to mind. “McBiggen.”

“Howdy, McBiggen.” Bright Mac shook his hand.

“And you're Burnt Oak, right?” Big Mac asked, nodding at the gray teen. He'd finally realized that the boy resembled the man who sold firewood on the outskirts of town.

Burnt Oak smiled and tipped his hat. “That's me. Looks like your McMuffin's ready, McBiggen.”

“Are you hicks gonna order or what!?” boomed an ear-splitting voice that could belong to none other than Iron Will. Somehow the hulking teen had walked up behind Bright Mac and Burnt Oak, but Big Mac hadn't recognized him until he spoke. Big Mac guessed that he was about 17, with a few scraggly steel blue hairs that formed the beginnings of a goatee on his chin. Although he had yet to reach his adult weight, he still had larger muscles than anyone else in the room.

“Iron Will has been waiting in line all morning!” added Iron Will.

“You just got here two seconds ago,” pointed out Bright Mac.

Folding his arms over his chest, Iron Will replied, “Iron Will's time is extremely valuable.”

“Keep your tank top on, dude. I'll order.” Ignoring Iron Will's protests that he was wearing a muscle shirt rather than a tank top, Burnt Oak turned to Miss Harshwhinny. “Say, miss, you got any good sarsaparilla?”

Miss Harshwhinny narrowed her eyes. “You boys are pulling a prank on me, aren't you? Do you have a camera hidden somewhere?”

Bright Mac placatingly held up his hands. “No, miss, no hidden cameras here.”

“Unless McBiggen's hidin' one in his pocket,” added Burnt Oak.

Big Mac's eyes widened as he realized his phone was exactly that – although the lens was currently facing the fabric of his hoodie.

“Not helpin', Oak,” murmured Bright Mac.

Miss Harshwhinny lowered her eyebrows. “So you three aren't collaborating to prank a long suffering fast food worker?” she asked skeptically.

“Miss, I don’t like playin’ pranks. Besides, we've never even met this guy before.” Bright Mac jabbed his thumb at Big Mac.

“Then why did you pay for his meal?”

Big Mac picked up his bag of food and his cup. “Why did you pay for my meal, Bright Mac?” he echoed the question, staring at his father's freckles, unable to make eye contact. “You don't even know me, not yet.”

His pa's mouth quirked up. “You just looked like you were havin' a rough mornin'. Hope it gets better.”

Big Mac tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Eyup. Thanks,” he choked out.

It was all too much for Big Mac to deal with – his dead dad buying him breakfast had pushed him toward the brink. It was a simple gesture, yet it meant so much to him that his father cared enough to buy him food from McDonalds, before he even knew him.

Bright Mac's smile faded as concern took over.

“You okay, McBiggen?”

“Eyup. S-see you around.” Sparing one last look at his father's face, Big Mac made a break for the exit.
> Mac in the Day
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the chilly air struck him, Big Mac took a deep breath. He walked away from the restaurant, continuing his journey toward Dr. Discord's home. The crisp air didn't clear his head, but it did help him organize his thoughts in a way that made sense to him. His pa was here, and yet they couldn't speak to each other as father and son. If Big Mac found an excuse to talk with Bright Mac alone, he might convince him that he was his future son, and then warn him about the wildfire. But his dad probably wouldn't believe him, and besides, the timeline was fixed and everything he was about to do had already come to pass in 2018. If history could be altered, there would be a paradox. Since every event that led to Big Mac going back in time would be at least slightly different, he might not travel back in time at all, thus negating any changes he made – so that he would go back . . .

Big Mac cut off his circuit of thought and focused on getting to Dr. Discord. Once his teacher showed him how to work the time machine, he could visit both of his parents whenever he wanted – preferably at a time after they had become parents, so it would be less of a shock for them. He could bring Applejack, Apple Bloom, and Granny Smith with him, and the family would finally be reunited. His parents weren't really departed from this earth – he could jump back and see them whenever he wanted!

Big Mac drank his coffee, slowing his pace so he wouldn't spill. Maybe time was just an illusion. After all, he'd lived an entire lifetime in however many hours since he'd climbed into the modified tour bus. It felt liberating not to be a slave to the clock, worrying about schedules and deadlines. And so he found that he didn't care how long it took him to walk across Canterlot from south to north.

He ate his breakfast and plodded forward, sitting down at bus stops for a few minutes whenever his feet felt tired. However, he didn't ride the bus, because he was too proud to beg for bus fare. He didn't mind the long journey, though. It was nice to have a break from school and farm work, where he could be alone with his thoughts. The sun tracked toward the west as Big Mac entered the neighborhood where Dr. Discord lived. He thought about what to say to his teacher to convince him to help figure out how to operate the time machine.

So lost in thought was Big Mac that he didn't pay attention to traffic when he crossed the street – didn't see the car coming toward him until it was too late. He tensed and pivoted to try to sprint back to the curb – then the bumper struck his legs head on. His torso doubled over the hood before his whole body snapped back toward the ground. On a reflex, Big Mac flung his arms down behind him and landed hard on his hands and elbows. Groaning, he rolled onto his side, curling in a near fetal position.

The car had stopped just short of running him over. A door opened, and a man's voice floated into Big Mac's ears.

“Oh my gods, I'm so sorry! Are you okay, son?” The man crouched down next to him. “Can you sit up?”

Big Mac's body responded more quickly than his brain as strong hands pushed up against his back. He lifted his arms and pressed his fingers against the silver car bumper, attempting to pull himself to his feet. The man gripped him under his armpits and supported his weight as they stood together.

“Come on, son, let's move out of the street, all right?”

Big Mac allowed the man to lead him to the sidewalk. His legs worked fine, even if they were sore. He gazed at the man who had hit him and was currently helping him. The man was middle-aged, but still physically fit. He had light amber skin, brown eyes, and matching curly brown hair with a single gray streak.

The man held Big Mac's shoulders at arm's length and stared up at him – for he was a few inches shorter. “Do you think you broke anything?”

Big Mac examined his upturned palms. The heels of his hands had been scraped; blood seeped out of both hands where the skin been forcibly removed.

“What should we do, Pa?”

Big Mac gasped as a very familiar person stepped around the vehicle and approached them. Although she was younger than Big Mac had seen her, she was unmistakably his mother. Her beautiful orange curls were pulled up in a high ponytail, and she wore a teal skirt that brought out the color of her eyes.

“Should we call the police?” she asked.

“Pull the car to the side of the road first, and then get us something to stop the bleeding,” ordered her father.

The teenage girl nodded and climbed into the driver's seat.

Big Mac's brain caught up to the situation as he realized that this strange man was his grandfather. He'd never even seen so much as a photo of either of his maternal grandparents, and he'd always assumed they had died before he was born. Big Mac gazed at his grandpa and his mom in turn, comparing the two. They both had thick, curly hair, but there weren't many other similarities that Big Mac could see. His ma must have taken after her ma more.

“Aren't you gonna say anything?” The lines in his grandfather's forehead deepened as he searched Big Mac's face. “What's your name, son?”

It took a second for Big Mac to remember the name he'd told his pa. “McBiggen.”

“Now we're gettin' somewhere,” said the older man with a nod. “I'm Grand Pear, and that's my daughter, Pear Butter.” He jerked his head toward the teen girl scrambling out of the sedan.

For an instant, Big Mac froze, and so did everything around him. “What!?”

“Are you okay?” His mother moved toward him and pressed wads of tissues into his raw hands to soak up the blood. “Stupid question. I mean, do you need to go to the hospital?”

Cautiously, Big Mac flexed his fingers, and then bent his arms. Suddenly there was a sharp pain in both elbows, where before they had felt merely sore. Wincing, he brought his arm toward the front of his body and saw the torn, bloodied elbows of his new hoodie.

“Here, let me help you,” his ma said at once, tugging off his hoodie. Since he was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt underneath, the skin of his arms was exposed.

“Oh, my.” She bundled the hoodie under one arm while her fingers gently prodded the skin around his right elbow, her movements efficient. “You're bleedin' like a stuck pig, but I can't tell if you're gonna need stitches or not.” His mom – Pear Butter – held another wad of tissues against his elbow.

Big Mac wasn't particularly concerned about his injuries. How could he be, when faced with an existential crisis? His mom was a Pear, which meant that he was half Pear. After a moment, his shock morphed into indignation. Why hadn't anyone ever told him? In a way, he could understand why his parents didn't tell him about his family history when he was eight, but he wasn't a little kid anymore. He was a legal adult, and yet his Granny, Cousin Apple Rose, Cousin Goldie Delicious, none of his many older relatives had bothered to tell him and his sisters who their mother truly was. Instead, he'd had to travel back in time to find out the truth.

“I'll keep pressure on your elbows and you press the tissue on your palms, okay?” asked Pear Butter in a kind tone.

Big Mac nodded, feeling like he was eight again, coming home with scraped elbows and knees and having his mom clean them.

“I'm sorry about this,” repeated Grand Pear. “You just walked out suddenly from behind those bushes,” he added, pointing, “and I couldn't stop in time.”

Big Mac heaved a sigh. “It could've been worse.”

“So stoic!” Pear Butter gazed up at him, her turquoise eyes full of . . . admiration? What exactly was happening? Big Mac felt like he was leaving familiar ground and stumbling into the wilderness. He turned his head to direct his eyes somewhere in the vicinity of Grand Pear's head.

“I reckon I'll be fine once I get to my friend's house,” he added, remembering his main goal.

His grandfather nodded. “Is that where you were headin'? I could drive you the rest of the way. It's the least I could do after I hit you with my car. Where does your friend live?”

Big Mac hummed, searching his memory for the address without checking his phone. “Uh, he lives on Stone Street. I think the house number's 1082.”

Pear Butter carefully lifted the tissue on Big Mac's elbow. “The bleedin's slowin' down,” she reported.

“Good,” said Grand Pear. “But if you get blood on my car seats, it'll be a fitting punishment for my crime,” he added, giving Big Mac a wry smile.

More than anything else, that statement made Big Mac decide that he liked his grandpa. Big Mac returned the smile and shuffled toward the silver sedan. His ma slid one hand onto his back and kept her other hand pressed against the bloody tissues on his palm. Once again, he wondered what was happening between them. She opened the rear door and climbed inside, moving all the way down the bench seat before gesturing for Big Mac to sit next to her. After he complied, she wrapped her arm around his, her puffy, purple jacket sliding down to reveal one bare shoulder.

The car radio was tuned into the only country music station in the Canterlot area.

She's in love with the boy, and even if they have to run away, she's gonna marry that boy someday.

The song was one of his mom's favorites.

Grand Pear sat down in the driver's seat and eyed the two teens. “Well, Pear Butter, it's good to see you finally showin' interest in a boy besides that gods-damned apple farmer.”

Suddenly Big Mac was keenly aware of how dry his throat was. “What?” he rasped. Was that what was happening with his mother?

With a nervous laugh, Pear Butter looked down, her bangs hanging over her right eye. “Eyup,” she answered simply.

Squirming away from his ma, Big Mac said, “Can we get goin', Mr. Pear? My friend's waitin' for me.”

Grand Pear chuckled and pulled the car away from the curb. “All right, McBiggen. You'll get there much faster this way than walking, that's for sure.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and spared his daughter a quick glance over his shoulder. “Pear Butter, are you sure you don't still have feelings for the apple spawn?”

Pear Butter stiffened. “I still think Bright Mac is a good guy, but, like, we're too different. I mean, a Pear and an Apple? What was I thinkin'? You're right, it would never work out.”

“Ha! Different?” Grand Pear shook his head. “You're giving him way too much credit, girl. He's conniving and manipulative just like his mother.”

Big Mac's heart hammered in his chest as he clenched his fists. This man was insulting his father and his grandmother!

His mother folded her hands in her lap. “Why do you think that, Pa?” she asked, her voice perfectly neutral.

“Come on, don't be so naive, girl. He broke my water silo on purpose so he could have an excuse to spend more time with you while he took his sweet time fixing it on our farm.” He tightly gripped the steering wheel. “How convenient for him.”

Big Mac narrowed his eyes, trying to think of a way to challenge Grand Pear without revealing himself as an Apple. “How do you know he broke it on purpose?” That certainly didn't sound like something his pa would do, even when he was young.

“He had the motive,” answered Grand Pear. “His farm has been our biggest competitor for a long time, so he would have reason to sabotage us by temporarily removing our emergency water supply. And he could make himself look good for Pear Butter by fixing the water tower and cozying up to her without sneaking around.”

“Isn't it just as likely that it was an accident, and Bright Mac just wanted to do the right thing?” asked Pear Butter. “I mean, you thought I knocked down the silo till he came forward.”

“You're still defending him!” Her father flung a hand into the air. “Look, even if it was an accident, he still used his clumsiness to take advantage of you.”

Pear Butter's mouth fell open, her pale peach face tinged a dark pink. “He didn't – we didn't do anything physical,” she stammered. “We just talked, that's all.”

“Only because I watched you like a hawk! I know exactly what that punk wanted from you.”

“Okay, Pa! I get it. You don't have to convince me.” Pear Butter crossed her arms.

Her father glanced back. “If you say so.”

“Well, I do say so. Let's just drop it.”

“Fine.” Grand Pear's head turned from side to side. “We're gettin' close to number 1082, McBiggen. Anything I should look for?”

Before he even read the numbers, Big Mac knew which house belonged to Dr. Discord. “It's that purple and yellow one,” he answered.

Grand Pear did a double take and gaped at the house with vertical purple and yellow striped siding. The front yard featured evergreen bushes that were cut into spheres on the right side and cubes on the left, and the lawn itself contained a smattering of weeds and mushrooms.

“I'll bet his neighbors love living next door to him,” Grand Pear said drily.

“Eyup,” said Big Mac and Pear Butter simultaneously. Then they glanced at each other and chuckled.

“Um, McBiggen, before you go, here's my – our phone number.” She handed him a receipt with the number written in ink. “Just in case you have any injuries that we didn't notice right away, or if you need anything else, just call.” She smiled and lightly bit her lower lip.

Big Mac didn't know what to say or how to feel, although mortification was working its way to the forefront.

“Oh! And here's your hooded sweatshirt back. I don't know if you'll wanna wear it again, but you might could use it as part of a scary Samhain costume.” As she passed the hoodie over to Big Mac, his cellphone fell out of the pocket.

“What's this?” She picked it up.

“It's, uh, my pager.” That was a thing in the Nineties, wasn't it?

Pear Butter blinked. “Really? I thought only doctors and business workers had pagers.” She pressed the button on the back and gasped when the lock screen flashed.

He snatched the phone and the hoodie out of her hands. “Uh, my family's rich,” he said lamely. “Gotta go!” He scrambled out of the vehicle, his feet and legs aching from walking all day and getting hit by the car. As he jogged up Dr. Discord's walkway, he attempted to look like he wasn't escaping from the most uncomfortable car ride in history. His mom had put the moves on him, his grandpa hated his pa and grandma, and Big Mac didn't even know who he really was anymore. Nor did he know who his mother was. The mom he remembered was Buttercup, the kind woman who loved apples and baking and music and, most importantly, loved his dad. This Pear Butter girl looked and sounded like his ma, but she was a different person. Or maybe he was simply telling himself this so he would feel less revulsion. He peeked over his shoulder at Pear Butter and Grand Pear and gave them a wave and a wince that he had meant to be a grin. Then he hustled up the steps onto the front stoop and rang the doorbell. He waited for what seemed like a minute while Grand Pear stayed in place, possibly to make sure someone was home and Big Mac was, in fact, welcome there.

At last, the door opened, and Dr. Discord loomed in all his glory. He looked like he hadn't aged in the past 25 years, except that his hair was black. His eyebrows and goatee were as white as they were in the future, however. He sported a brown vest over a yellow shirt, and a helmet with thick metal cables twisted and bundled together like horns on both sides.

Big Mac sighed with relief. Dr. Discord would help him. In the back of his head, Big Mac realized how far he must have fallen down the rabbit hole if he was looking to Dr. Discord for hope and comfort.

“I know what you're thinking: Why am I wearing this fabulous helmet?” The taller man pointed unnecessarily at his headgear. “Well, in addition to looking snazzy, it makes it possible for my brain to pick up on your brainwaves! And I'm sensing that you've come from a great distance.”

“Eyup.”

“Ha ha! All right, then, let's try a harder one. You want me to invite you inside.” Dr. Discord opened the door wider and made a sweeping gesture into his living room.

“Eyup.” Big Mac stepped inside the house.

“Marvelous! And you want to use my phone.”

“Uh, nope.”

“Damnit.” The older man frowned. “Hold on, not phone. You want to go home.”

Big Mac smiled. “Eyup.”

“And you came to me because . . .” He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

“Doc, my name is Big Mac, and I'm from the future. You know that Flux Capacitor you thought of today? Well it worked, and I came here from 2018. Only I don't know how to use the time machine, and I need your help to figure it out.” He drew in a deep breath, unused to giving such a lengthy speech.

Dr. Discord opened his eyes wide. “Shit, this brainwave helmet doesn't work the way it's supposed to. Instead of letting me read your mind, it's letting you read mine!”

Big Mac blinked. “What?”

"You knew about the Flux Capacitor even though I haven't told anyone about it yet." The taller man took off his helmet and held it under his arm. “I just came up with the idea today.”

“Like I said, it worked.”

“So the very day I thought of the Flux Capacitor, someone uses it to travel from the future to this moment in time?”

“Exactly!” Big Mac was so excited that his usual “eyup” wouldn't do.

Dr. Discord glanced up at the ceiling. “I don't know, I liked my reverse mind-reading hypothesis better. Besides, where's the time machine, Future Boy?”

“I left it at the mall parkin' lot. It's a bus, and I was paranoid about drivin' it and accidentally gettin' myself more lost in time.”

“Then how can I be sure you're really from the future, hm?”

At once, Big Mac held his cellphone toward Dr. Discord. “This is my phone. It's like a mini computer. In the future, everyone carries one of these, even my granny. And look, the date still says 2018.”

Dr. Discord took it in his hand. “Incredible! This is the most sophisticated touch screen I've ever seen! And the graphics . . .”

“Uh . . .” Big Mac held up his hand. “Please don't remove any of my icons.” He'd forgotten that even little babies could use cellphones just enough to mess up a layout.

Dr. Discord glanced over at Big Mac's palm. “Your hand is disgusting. I have a first aid kit in the bathroom.” He went across the living room toward the hallway, pointing at a door that was covered in floral wallpaper. “Go clean and bandage your hand in there. Don't worry, I'll keep your mini-computer safe for you.”

Big Mac washed his hands and arms in the sink. The water made him realize that he hadn't had anything to drink since the coffee, so he was likely dehydrated. He filled one of his host's little paper cups from the tap and downed it in one gulp. Then he chased it with five more cupfulls.

While he rehydrated, Dr. Discord chatted animatedly. “Does everyone in the future write in hieroglyphics, or is it just this Snips person?”

Big Mac set down the cup and picked up a packet of gauze. “Not everyone uses emojis, but a lot of my friends do.”

“And some people use abbreviations, it seems. Trixie says, 'LOL.' Ooo, that must mean 'lots of love'!”

“Laughin' out loud,” corrected Big Mac.

“Laughing out loud . . . Let's see, she's replying to 'Can't be worse than the friendship games.' I don't understand why this is humorous.”

“You had to be there.” Big Mac unwrapped the gauze while Dr. Discord grew quiet for a moment. Big Mac didn't mind silence between friends and family. It was pleasant just to be with a friend, even if that friend was staring at a device.

Dr. Discord broke the silence as Big Mac finished wrapping his hands in gauze. “Are there mutants with wings and cat ears in 2018, or is this a special effect?”

“You're in my gallery now?” Big Mac stared through the bathroom doorway at Dr. Discord, who held up the phone to show him the screen.

“What in Tartarus is going on in this picture?” asked Dr. Discord.

It was the group selfie that Pinkie Pie had sent Big Mac after the Rainbooms’ defeat of Wallflower Blush (a student he had no memory of).

“It's complicated. You know the myths about monsters and sorcerers and whatnot comin' from magical worlds? Turns out there's some truth to 'em.”

“You're referring to the Magic Portal Theory, although calling it a theory is a bit generous.”

Big Mac gaped at him. “You know about magic portals?”

Shrugging one shoulder, Dr. Discord replied, “Theories about 'magic' portals have been circling around for hundreds of years. Some say that yetis and the Loch Neighs monster came through these portals, and the World Tree itself was one such portal. As a scientist, I think that if there are creatures from other worlds, they might have technology so far beyond our understanding that it seems like magic to some people.”

“Huh.” Big Mac thought for a moment. “That's an interestin' idea, Doc, but Sunset Shimmer is from another world, and she calls it magic.”

Dr. Discord flipped the phone around to view the screen again.

“She's the one with the hair that looks like bacon,” elaborated Big Mac. “She brought a crown from that world, and used it to turn into a flying she-demon and force the rest of us to become her brainwashed army . . .” He paused and massaged his forehead. “Damn, this sounds insane when I say it out loud.”

“I'll say!” agreed Dr. Discord. “This girl doesn't look like a she-demon at all!”

“She got better.”

“Are the other cat girls from this other world, too?”

“Nope. One of them's my sister. They got powers to respond to new magic threats, or somethin' like that. No one ever gives a straight answer.” Big Mac taped gauze to his elbow.

“Your sister's the blonde one, isn't she? The freckles give it away.”

“Eyup, that's Applejack. I got another kid sister, too, but she ain't in that photo.” Big Mac finished bandaging his other elbow and began to put away the first aid supplies.

“You and your sisters were born after this year, correct?”

Wrinkling his brow, Big Mac eyed Dr. Discord. “Eyup. Why do you ask?”

“Well, not that it's any of my business,” said Dr. Discord while thumbing through Big Mac's phone, “but why are you paranoid about getting lost in time when you should be paranoid about erasing yourself from existence – and your sisters, for that matter?”

Big Mac shook his head. “You can't prevent your own birth. That would create a paradox, right?”

“You're smarter than you look, kid,” said Dr. Discord, tilting his head back. “Yes, I'm well aware of the time travel paradox. But I propose that jumping to the past would produce enough flux to alter the timeline. Of course, it's only a hypothesis, and even if it's correct, you're likely safe as long as you don't have any direct contact with your parents.”

“Actually, those folks who gave me a ride here were my ma and grandpa,” said Big Mac, hunching his shoulders, “and I ran into my pa at McDonalds this mornin'.”

Dr. Discord smacked his forehead. Then he smacked Big Mac's forehead for good measure.

“Hey!” yelled Big Mac.

“Well, you deserve it for being so careless! How could you accept a ride from your mother? Don't you know you might have doomed yourself?”

Big Mac backed farther into the bathroom and turned his head away. “It's worse than that. My ma . . .” He trailed off, muttering out of the corner of his mouth.

Dr. Discord tilted his head to the side. “What was that?”

Big Mac sucked in a breath. “My ma made a pass at me, all right?”

The older man's jaw dropped. “Great Highlander, Big Mac, this is worse than I thought! Your only options are to make sure your parents get together, or become your own father!”

“I'm not my own father!” Big Mac clenched his fists, wincing as his fingertips dug into his raw palms. “I know who my father was, and I would never–!”

The taller man held out his hand in a placating gesture. “Relax, man, it was just a joke! A little gallows humor, so to speak.”

Big Mac calmed down a bit. “Fine, but is it as bad as you say? I'm still here, aren't I?”

“For now.” Dr. Discord began pacing back and forth. “If the Flux Capacitor functions the way I designed it to, it will have created a sort of protective 'flux bubble' around you and anything else that you brought back. The bubble would gradually weaken the longer you stayed with any part of the time stream, until it would be as if you never existed.” Dr. Discord spread his hand. “If I'm correct, your sisters would disappear first, since they're outside the flux bubble.” He stared at the phone screen. “Sister One looks fine. I assume you have a photo of Sister Two stored somewhere on this device.”

Dr. Discord passed the phone to Big Mac, who quickly found the fall sibling photo. Apple Bloom's head was missing. It wasn't cropped out of the frame – it was just gone, with empty space above it.

Big Mac gasped. “Apple Bloom!”

Dr. Discord sighed, sounding uncharacteristically glum. “Just as I thought. Your best bet, Future Boy, is to find your mother again and tell her to go out with that nice Mr. Mac fellow, or whatever your dad's name is.”

“Actually, my ma gave me her number,” said Big Mac, tugging the receipt out of his pocket.

Dr. Discord's eyes opened wide. “Oh.” Then he perked up, returning to his typical energy level. “Well, that's convenient! Just use that high-tech phone to call your mom and get this mess straightened out, and then we can be on our way to the time machine.”

“I can't make calls now,” said Big Mac with a sheepish smile, “on account of my service provider doesn't exist yet, among other reasons.”

Grinning, Dr. Discord looked at him out of the corners of his eyes. “Ah, I was right: you do need to use my phone!”





“Hello?”

“Hey, this is McBiggen.” Big Mac's hand sweated against the phone receiver.

“Oh, wow, I didn't think you'd call so soon!” exclaimed Pear Butter. “Everything okay?”

“Eyup.”

“Awesome. How's your hands and elbows?”

“Not too bad. Listen . . .” He swallowed. “Pear Butter, I just wanted to tell you that I don't like you the way you seem to like me.”

“Oh.” His mother's voice was pained. “I see. I reckon I didn't make a good first impression, huh?”

“No, it's nothin' you did, it's just that I can tell from the way you talked about P–Bright Mac that you still have feelings for him.”

For a moment, there was only muted shuffling on the other end of the line. “Is it that obvious?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“Eyup.”

“I gotta talk quiet so my pa doesn't overhear. The truth is, I still care about Bright Mac very much. We've had a special connection for as long as I can remember. But, well, you heard my pa. He hates Bright's whole family, especially his ma, and the feeling's mutual. I'm afraid of what my pa would do if Bright and I became serious.”

“What do you think he'd do?” asked Big Mac, lowering his eyebrows.

“Kick me out of the house, most likely.”

“You really think he'd do that to his own daughter?”

“I'm afraid his hatred of the Apples is stronger than his love for anyone else, including me,” answered Pear Butter. “So I thought that maybe I could try to be happy with someone else. You can see how that worked out.”

“Don't give up. I'm sure that someday your pa will realize what a good guy Bright Mac is.” Big Mac didn't fully believe his own words, however. After all, there might be a valid reason his family had never kept photos of his maternal grandparents.

His mom laughed bitterly. “Fat chance of that happenin'. Apples could cure lung cancer and my pa would complain that they didn't cure other forms of cancer.”

“He seemed like a decent guy till he started rantin' about the Apples, aside from hittin' me with his car, but that was an accident,” mused Big Mac.

“Oh, don't get me wrong, my father has his good qualities. Gives everyone the benefit of the doubt unless they're an Apple. But he holds a grudge like no one else.”

“Well, what would it take to get him past it?”

“I'm not sure. It'd have to be somethin' personal and meaningful. Maybe if . . .” She paused. “The Fall Formal's comin' up this Friday, and my pa is gonna chaperone. If he saw Bright Mac do somethin' noble to help me, it might change his mind. I'm gettin' an idea, and I'll need your help to pull it off. But I wanna tell Bright about it first. We'll work out the details and call you back. We have caller ID – is this a good number to call you?”

“Eyup.”

“Cool. So, what do you say? I know it's askin' a lot.”

“I'll need to know exactly what your idea is, but if you really think it'll help end the feud, then I'm in,” replied Big Mac with a little smile.

“Awesome! Thank you so much! Talk to you later.”

Then came the dial tone.

“Bye, Ma,” he said softly. His throat and stomach felt like they were being squeezed from within, and tears pricked his eyes. Pear Butter was his mother. A less mature version, certainly, but she was the same person who had bandaged his wounds, cared for her family, and loved Bright Mac.

Dr. Discord cleared his throat. “What's this about ending the feud between the Pears and Apples?”

And so Big Mac relayed Pear Butter's half of the conversation to Dr. Discord, whose eyebrows rose higher and higher.

“Well, well, well. The Apples and Pears are like the Hooffields and McColts without the murders. It's a wonder you were even born!”

Big Mac checked the picture on his phone. The lower two-thirds of Apple Bloom's head were visible.

“Look, Apple Bloom's comin' back!” He showed Dr. Discord.

“That is encouraging, but you're not in the clear yet. If I were you, I'd follow through with your mother's plan, just to be sure. In the meantime, I'd like to recover the time machine bus from the mall parking lot. I'll feel better if it's in my driveway.”





Big Mac felt himself being nudged awake. “We're here! Get up!” Dr. Discord hopped out of his car and bounded over to the bus. Then he tore a fistful of fliers from the windshield. “Really, now! Do these ever work? Who's going to buy something from someone who obstructs their view when they're trying to get home?”

One bold canvasser had stuck a two-foot long poster on the side of the bus. Dr. Discord crumpled it while Big Mac unlocked the bus, and then they both climbed inside.

“Oooo, this is classy!” said Dr. Discord, admiring the interior's gold accents and mood lighting. “I can see why future me chose this to be the vehicle for the Flux Capacitor. Ah, and there it is. Isn't it beautiful?” His scarlet eyes shimmered.

“Doc, what do you make of this?” Big Mac pointed to the LED display with the sequence of letters.

BB-AF-BJJD AGAA:AA
BA-BA-CABI ABDA:FE
BA-BA-CABI ABCF:AA

“Hm?” Dr. Discord stared at the dashboard and stroked his beard. “It's a code. It must represent dates and times – there's no other display that would show that data. Did you come back in time today, Big Mac?”

“Eyup.”

“Of course, the top row is for setting your arrival time.” Dr. Discord toggled the arrows next to the display, changing the first letter before carefully putting it back the way it was. “That's it! B is one! See, this has to be eleven, and that's the one in 1993.” Dr. Discord pointed.

Then he smoothed out a flier and took a pen out of his pocket. In about a minute, he deciphered the code.

“Each letter is a number, and they go in alphabetical order starting with A as zero. I think future me made this a little too easy, if I really wanted this to be a safeguard.” He leaned over the dashboard. “And I'm guessing the other two rows are either the previous two setpoints, or the previous times that the bus left. At any rate, I don't see a way to change them.” Standing up straight, he added, “Now that we have the settings, let's figure out how to activate the temporal displacement. Can you remember what you did when you went back?”

“I didn't really do anything. It was radio controlled, or at least the engine and steerin' were.”

“Really?” Dr. Discord knitted his brow. “I kind of assumed you took it for a joyride. You mean I sent you back via radio control without teaching you how to use the time travel controls?”

Big Mac didn't feel like explaining about Coach Iron Will and his goat – Dr. Discord probably didn't even know who Iron Will was, yet. “One of my teachers did it. We was just messin' around,” he said evasively. “The bus went really fast both times it traveled through time – I reckon it was doin' ninety.”

“This old bus did ninety miles per hour?” Dr. Discord opened his eyes wide. “Impressive, although it was quite careless for a teacher to do that.”

Big Mac laughed.

“So then what happened? Did you see your teacher or the bus do anything else before it shot through time?”

“First sparks flew off the wheels, and then the bus, and then there was a wall of electricity in front of it. That's how you know it's workin', I reckon.”

“Well, I think that's enough information to take it for a spin.” Dr. Discord placed his hand on the steering wheel.

Big Mac arched an eyebrow. He tried to make it as expressive as Applejack's eyebrow, but he wasn't certain if he was pulling it off.

“I meant to my house, of course, in this present time,” clarified Dr. Discord. “I want to look under the hood before I attempt to displace the bus in time, and I don't feel comfortable doing that with so many people around. I'll just drive home and you can follow me in my car.”

“What if I get pulled over? My driver's license says I haven't even been born yet.”

Dr. Discord snorted. “Like any cop is going to notice my car when there's a psychedelic antique bus driving in front of it.”

Big Mac couldn't argue with that logic.
> Mac on Track
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Big Mac slept on Dr. Discord's couch that night, and the next day he talked on the phone with his mother. He was nervous about his part in the plan, but he wanted to follow through with it. And so when his mom called a meeting for everyone who was involved with the scheme, he brought Dr. Discord with him. They gathered in the mall food court, which had the advantage of being neutral ground.

“Okay,” said Pear Butter as the motley group sat down at a table with their hamburgers and club sandwiches, “now that we're all here, let's go through the introductions. I'm Pear Butter, this is Chiffon Swirl, and this is Cookie Crumbles.” She gestured toward the two curvy teenage girls whom Big Mac recognized as the future Mrs. Cake and the future mother of Rarity, respectively.

“We're in a band called Pear Jam,” Chiffon swirled the straw of her milkshake. “I'm the drummer,” she added with a modest smile.

“Y'all are in a band? I never knew that,” said Big Mac. Applejack took after their mother more than she realized.

“Oh yeah, sure. Pear Butter's the guitarist, and I play the keytar.” Cookie Crumbles pantomimed pressing keys. “I don't give a flying fart if it's not cool anymore – I'm gonna keep playin' it till it's back in style.”

Big Mac wondered if Chiffon Swirl was destined to have a daughter who would become a drummer. Or perhaps Mrs. Cake would never have children, and Pinkie Pie was her spiritual successor.

“Good for you, Cookie.” Bright Mac nodded in approval. “I don't care what's in style either – otherwise I'd never wear a cowboy hat in Califoalnia.”

“You should've been here a hundred years ago, dude,” said Burnt Oak. “Why, you'd fit right in.”

Smiling softly, Pear Butter and held her hand toward Bright Mac. “This here is my . . . very good friend, Bright Mac.” She swept her arm along, tipping her soda and nearly spilling it. “And his friend, Burnt Oak.”

“Good to see y'all again.” Burnt Oak raised his sarsaparilla and tipped his hat.

“And this is McBiggen, who my pa hit with his car,” continued his mother, gesturing carefully at Big Mac. “And you must be his friend, Dr. Discord,” she finished as she pivoted toward the older man. As Dr. Discord had not yet become a teacher at Canterlot High, this was their first time meeting.

The man bowed his head with exaggerated humility. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Bright Mac tilted his head. “How old are you?”

“Let's just say I'm in my twenties and leave it at that.”

“How do you two know each other?” asked Chiffon before chomping on her cheeseburger.

“He's an old friend of the family,” Big Mac said smoothly.

“So, Pear Butter, would you mind tellin' us about this plan of yours?” Burnt Oak leaned his elbow on the table. “No one has told me what it is yet.”

“We're gonna try to end the feud between my family and Bright Mac's,” explained Pear Butter. “My pa and Bright's parents will be chaperones at the Fall Formal.”

“As will I,” Dr. Discord cut in. “Principal Faust is my foster sister, so it's not weird,” he added, picking the toothpick out of his sandwich and throwing it on the floor.

Frowning, Big Mac muttered, “It's only weird if you don't dance, Doc.”

Dr. Discord folded his arms. “My sister already made that abundantly clear, believe me.”

“That's fine and dandy,” said Burnt Oak, “but where do the rest of us come in?”

“I'm gettin' to that,” answered Pear Butter. “So, McBiggen and I are goin' to the dance together as a couple. I'll play a set with Pear Jam and then we'll take a break. I'll go over to McBiggen and we'll get within sight of my pa. We'll start arguin', I'll say somethin' insulting about his mother . . . Why are you two laughin'?”

Big Mac and Dr. Discord were both shaking with mirth.

“Oh, Pear Butter,” said Dr. Discord with a grin, “if you knew anything about McBiggen's mother, you'd understand.”

Pear Butter shook her head. “There's a lot of things about McBiggen that I don't understand.”

“Someday you will,” Dr. Discord replied with a wink.

Big Mac stepped on his friend's foot under the table, and Dr. Discord grunted and bit into his sandwich.

“Maybe you could, like, argue about something else,” suggested Chiffon. “Like which fruit is the second best.”

“Totally. It doesn't matter what we argue about as long as it gets heated. Then McBiggen shoves me and I fall to the ground. Dr. Discord, you'll keep my pa from comin' to my rescue so that Bright can come and punch McBiggen in the face.”

Burnt Oak leaned toward her, raising his eyebrows. “Does it have to be so violent?”

“It's not violent. It's extreme!” Pear Butter held up both hands with only her pointer and pinky fingers raised.

Everyone stared at her.

“What?” she asked, lowering her hands as she glanced around. “It's the Nineties. Everything's extreme these days. Besides, it's just actin'. No one's gonna get hurt.”

“This extreme thing isn't really us, though,” said Bright. “Won't your pa notice you actin' out of character?”

“That's why McBiggen has to be the one to start it, hon. My pa doesn't know what's normal behavior for him.” She took a sip of her soda. “Now, Oak, your job will be to keep any of our classmates from interferin'. Bright Mac has to be the one to defend me, so my pa will see what a wonderful guy he is,” she finished, reaching across the table to hold Bright's hand.

“It's a good plan, Buttercup,” said Bright. “There's one problem, though. If your pa finds out we pulled a fast one on him, he'll kill me. That's if my ma don't kill me first.”

“What about your dad?” asked Cookie Crumbles, brushing bits of food off her red shirt.

Bright snorted. “My pa only cares 'cause my ma cares.”

“Well, I for one don't see what could possibly go wrong with this plan,” said Dr. Discord. “I have complete faith in you, Pear Butter.”

She released Bright's hand and shrugged, glancing around the table. “Hey, if anyone has any better ideas, I'm open to suggestions. But we've gotta do somethin', 'cause I'm sick and tired of this feud, and I know Bright is too.”

Chiffon put her cerulean hand on Pear Butter's shoulder. “I know how hard this has been for you and Bright Mac. And if I ever find Mr. Right, I'd do anything to be with him. Is there anything I can do to help besides play in the band?”

Pear Butter smiled at her. “You can help Burnt Oak keep everyone else out of our way.”

Burnt Oak frowned. “I hate that your families are feudin' – we all do. But Bright has a point. If y'all get caught in a lie, it could make things much worse.”

“But that's what makes it exciting!” Dr. Discord waved his arm. “Extreme, even! Besides, no risk, no reward!”

It seemed to Big Mac that this was easy for Dr. Discord to say when it wasn't his life on the line. Still, even if this plan failed, maybe his parents could elope. Perhaps that was what they did in the original timeline. It made Big Mac all the more frustrated that no one had ever told him how his parents got together, because it would be much easier to figure out how to make it happen again. Still, he buried his doubts and gave a grim smile.

“Eyup,” he said, nodding at Dr. Discord.

“Well now, how about this,” said Bright, spreading his hands, “we do a practice run, and if we all feel comfortable with it, then we agree to go through with it at the dance.”

“Agreed.” Dr. Discord stretched out his arm and put his hand in the center of the table. “Well? Aren't we having a moment of amity in which we put our hands one on top of the other?”

The teens smiled and, one by one, put their various pastel-skinned hands on top of the doctor's.





On the night of the Fall Formal, Big Mac and Dr. Discord loitered on the front steps of Canterlot High. Big Mac's mind went back to the last Fall Formal he'd experienced. It felt like a lifetime ago. He hadn't been able to get a date, so he'd arrived in his regular clothes just so he could keep an eye on his sisters, not that he ended up having any influence. Vice Principal Luna had taken one look at his tattered jeans and threatened to send him home to change, until he pointed out that she was wearing her standard outfit, too.

And then, of course, the whole she-demon brainwashing event had occurred.

For this night, however, Dr. Discord had bought appropriate attire for Big Mac, saying that he could pay him back later, making Big Mac wonder how much of this his friend would remember in 25 years. His outfit was presentable, but not fancy: mint green dress shirt, dark red necktie, charcoal gray slacks, and black loafers. Dr. Discord, meanwhile, stood out in his orange zoot suit and wide-brimmed fedora.

“I predict that these are going to come back in style any day now.” The tall man straightened his purple bowtie. “And as soon as that happens, I'm putting this suit back in the closet. I don't like to blend in with the crowd.”

“I reckon you won't have to worry about puttin' it away,” said Big Mac. “I don't think you'll ever have to worry about blendin' in with the crowd, either.”

“I suppose not.” Dr. Discord glanced down at Big Mac. “Is your cell phone charged?”

Big Mac covertly checked the device. “Eyup. Thanks for rigging up a plug to fit the port, by the way.”

“Are you kidding? It was the only way I could keep playing with it,” said his friend.

The corners of Big Mac's mouth quirked up. “You can't even text or use the browser. I don't know how you're gettin' so much entertainment out of it.”

“I don't know either, but there's something comforting about staring at a screen. Perhaps future psychologists will study the way computers affect our mental functions.” He straightened his hat. “By the way, how is Sister Two doing?”

Big Mac viewed the photo. Apple Bloom made a full appearance, but Applejack's hat was missing.

“Put that away,” hissed Dr. Discord. “Someone's coming.”

Hastily, Big Mac slid his phone into his back pocket.

A now-familiar silver sedan pulled up to the curb. The passenger door opened, and Big Mac trotted over to meet his mother. She wore a bright blue satin dress and a matching jacket. The neckline was a little too low cut for Big Mac's comfort, but at least the ruffled hem went down to her knees.

“McBiggen!” She wrapped her arms around him, and he returned the embrace. “Good to see you, hon!”

“You too.” He gazed down at the family sedan. “Y'all didn't wanna take a limo?”

She stared at him like he'd turned into Dr. Discord. “Only preps take limos to school dances.”

Big Mac could only shrug. It made sense that hiring a limousine wasn't expected before social media existed. Besides, this was his mother – she'd never liked making a big spectacle.

She walked around to the trunk and got out her guitar case. “Help me set up for the performance?”

“Eyup.”

With a wave, Grand Pear said, “I'll see you in a bit. I just gotta find a place to park.”

Big Mac and his mom waved at him as he drove off. Then she angled her head to peer at the school. “Where'd Dr. Discord go?”

“Probably inside somewhere.” Big Mac shrugged. “Can't be that hard to find a six and a half foot man in a zoot suit.”

His ma giggled and took his hand. “A zoot suit? Seriously? This I gotta see.”





Thirty minutes later, Pear Jam was on stage performing one of the greatest hits of the decade.

But I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more just to be the girl who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door.

Chuckling to himself, Big Mac watched from the side of the dance floor. He had never seen his mother quite like this, playing her guitar while singing such a goofy song. She and her friends appeared to be enjoying themselves, especially when they got to the “da lat da da's.”

“Bright McIntosh! Don't you listen to that Siren song, boy!”

Big Mac spun around to see Granny Smith. Her hair was styled in a flattering bob that framed her fairly smooth face, and she was dressed in a short-sleeved burgundy gown. Next to her was a brown-skinned man about her age, with green eyes and brick red hair that was starting to turn white at the temples.

Granny started when she saw Big Mac's face. “Oh, I thought you was my son! You look just like him from the back.”

“Damn tootin',” said her husband. “You look like him from the front, too, except your hair and skin tone are different.”

Nodding in agreement, Granny said, “Sorry about the mixup.” She put her hand on her husband's arm and turned to leave.

“Wait!” Big Mac couldn't pass up the chance to talk with Grandpa Apple Core, who had died before Apple Bloom was born. Who knew when he'd have another opportunity?

His grandparents stared at him in confusion.

“Uh . . .” He rubbed his palms on his slacks. “Y'all are the owners of Sweet Apple Acres, right?”

Granny beamed. “Sure as sugar. Do you know our son, Bright Mac?”

“Eyup.”

“Well, if you see him, tell him not to pay any attention to that Pear's Siren song.”

Grandpa put his arm around her shoulders. “Darlin', these kids are here to have fun, not yell at our son.”

“I ain't askin' no one to yell.” Granny wagged her finger at him. “I'm just askin' this nice young man to correct our son.”

“The entire school don't need to worry about that,” countered Grandpa Core. “This is our problem, and we'll deal with it.”

“Uh, actually . . .” Big Mac took a deep breath and went a bit farther off script. “I'm Pear Butter's date tonight.”

His grandparents gawped at him. “Oh,” said his grandpa. “Well now, this could be a good thing! We raised Bright to be a gentleman, and he wouldn't chase after a girl if she was with another boy.”

Granny pursed her lips. “We also raised him to listen to his elders, and he never does that.”

“Well . . .” Grandpa frowned. “Well, yeah, but that's different. He's a teenager – of course he ain't gonna listen to us. But you know Bright. Do you really think he'd go for a girl who liked someone else?”

“No, I suppose not.” A grin gradually stretched across her face. “Well, it's been very nice talkin' with you, uh, what's your name?”

“McBiggen.”

“McBiggen, thank you, and good luck. You're gonna need it with that Siren.” Her amber eyes flicked toward the stage before landing back on Big Mac.

He wondered if he should feel insulted that Granny Smith had compared his mother to a mind-controlling monster, but he decided to let it slide.

As his grandparents strolled to another part of the gym, the song came to an end. Big Mac focused his attention on the stage, where his mom put her hand on the microphone.

“We're gonna slow it down for one more song before we take a little break,” she announced.

“It had better not be another country song!” boomed Iron Will.

Cookie Crumbles flipped her indigo hair. “Whatever. We only played one country song, and my keytar pulled it off really well, you know.”

“Mr. Will, stop heckling the band,” called Principal Faust over the crowd of students. “I'm sure Pear Jam will take requests if you ask nicely.”

“Eyup, we'll be takin' requests in fifteen, twenty minutes,” said Pear Butter. “But first, grab your sweetie and head out onto the dance floor.”

She picked the mic off the stand as Cookie began to play her keytar.

Look into my eyes – you will see what you mean to me. Search your heart, search your soul, and when you find me there you'll search no more.

Big Mac inhaled and exhaled, knowing it would soon be showtime. Gazing around the room, he noted the positions of all the key players. His dad was leaning against the front of the stage, staring up in adoration at his mom. Burnt Oak had initiated a conversation with Granny Smith and Grandpa Core. He kept gesturing in the opposite direction of the band, seemingly trying to divert their attention from Bright Mac. Dr. Discord was chatting with Principal Faust. The only person who remained unaccounted for was Grand Pear. Big Mac hadn't seen him since he'd driven his car out of the drop off circle. He walked the perimeter of the gym until he discovered his grandfather in front of the refreshment table.

“Hey there, McBiggen.” His grandpa gestured vaguely toward the stage. “Pear Butter has the voice of an angel, doesn't she? Takes after my side of the family,” he said with a proud smile.

“Eyup,” agreed Big Mac, taking Grand Pear at his word for the last part.

“How's your hands?”

Big Mac held up his palms to show his grandfather.

“They look much better. Glad you didn't get hurt too badly,” said Grand Pear.

At that moment, an idea struck Big Mac like a bolt. He realized that if he threatened Grand Pear and Bright Mac came to his defense, it would make an even better impression than if Bright defended Pear Butter. That way, Grand Pear would have no reason to accuse Bright of merely trying to get with Pear Butter. But Big Mac didn't know if his parents would clue into his improvised strategy. If his dad stood there baffled and let Grand Pear fend for himself, Big Mac could back off and then try his mom's plan, but it might not be as effective. On the other hand, in his O and O campaigns, he would plan an epic story that the players would derail, and often the game turned out better for it – or at least more fun for the players. Besides, his mother did say that she was open to better ideas, although she most likely would have preferred for Big Mac to consult her first.

You know it's true, everything I do, I do it for you.

There was polite applause as his mother sang the final note.

Big Mac made his decision. “Well, Mr. Pear, now that you mention it, my neck ain't feelin' so hot.”

Grand Pear had turned his back to him, taking Big Mac's silent stretch to mean that the conversation had ended.

He whirled around to stare at him, his forehead creased. “Really? You sure about that? You didn't even hit your neck or head or anywhere near it.”

“Nope. But it could be that the force of the impact messed up my joints.”

His grandpa narrowed his brown eyes. “What are you implying, son?”

As a recording of “Jump Around” by Pain's House began playing over the speakers, Big Mac replied, “I'm implyin' that I should've called the police right after you ran me over, like Pear Butter said.” He stepped closer until he was a foot away from Grand Pear while subtly glancing around to see if Bright Mac was watching. His dad was standing next to the stage while his mom gestured toward him.

“You said it was fine!” said Grand Pear, refusing to back down. “You said it could've been worse!”

Big Mac raised his voice. “I said it could've been worse, but it could've been a lot better too. My friend had to drive me to the emergency room to get stitches, and the chiropractor told me it'll be at least three months before my back is right again! I could sue you for the cost of my medical bills and pain and suffering!”

Big Mac read the room. A few people were eyeing them, including Granny Smith and Grandpa Core. But it wasn't enough. He had to use more words at a louder volume.

“You said your parents were rich!” Grand Pear jabbed a finger toward him. “Why would they care so much about an ER bill? Either you were lyin' then or you're lyin' now!”

His grandfather had him there.

Big Mac thought quickly. “Actually, my father is a lawyer,” he said with as much bravado as he could muster. “He makes a livin' takin' people like you to court.”

“What do you mean, people like me?” Grand Pear got up in his face as much as possible for a shorter man.

“I mean reckless hicks who are too damn ignorant to follow traffic laws.” Big Mac was getting a bit personal here. He would've been tempted to smack anyone who talked that way to Granny Smith.

“Hey!” Bright Mac stepped toward them. “You leave him alone. He didn't do nothin' wrong.”

Grand Pear's jaw dropped. “Are you talking about me or him?” he asked, pointing to Big Mac.

“I'm talkin' to this punk right here,” said Bright, pointing at Big Mac.

“You stay out of this!” Big Mac gave him a light shove, if only so some people weren't disappointed that things didn't get extreme.

“No,” said Bright Mac. “I've known Mr. Pear for years, and he's a good man. Even if you think he did somethin' wrong, you need to talk to him with respect, instead of insultin' him in front of all these people.” He stretched out his arm to indicate the crowd.

“You think I'm a good man?” asked Grand Pear, still in shock.

Big Mac knew that his dad was as bad at lying as Applejack was, and he could tell that Bright Mac's words were genuine.

“I do,” answered Bright Mac. “I know you hate my ma, but that don't make you evil. Truth is, I think the reason you and my ma don't get along is 'cause you're too much alike.”

Granny Smith squawked in protest.

Grand Pear was instantly on his guard once more. “You think I'm a good man because I'm like her? You're crazy, boy!”

Big Mac thought he heard the sound of a forehead being slapped. It was likely Dr. Discord, but he couldn't be sure. In any case, Big Mac had to make his grandfather hate him the most at this moment.

“Uh, well, I'll bet this guy's mother is a better driver than you are, old man!” He folded his arms triumphantly over his chest. “I mean, she'd have to be!” There, that ought to push his buttons.

“She is not!” Grand Pear clenched his fists. “Why, she ran into my mailbox ten years ago! Probably did it on purpose, too.”

“Well, at least she didn't hit a person, so she's still better than you!” yelled Big Mac.

“You look fine to me, chief,” said Bright Mac, narrowing his eyes. “Why don't you quit your bellyachin' and man up?”

“I said stay out of this!”

Bright Mac got in his face, eye to eye with him – the same height. “Or what?”

Big Mac shoved him harder this time, forcing him to stumble back a step.

“All right, break it up, you two! Miss Swirl, please get out of my way,” said Principal Faust.

“What do you mean 'you two'? McBiggen's doin' all the shovin'! Wait, what am I saying?” asked Grand Pear, scratching his head.

The principal gently pushed Chiffon aside and positioned herself between the two boys, facing Bright Mac. “In that case, Mr. McIntosh, I'll let you off with a warning.”

Big Mac had a mental lapse. “Who, me?”

“No.” Principal Faust looked askance at him. “Your name is McBiggen, isn't it?”

“Eyup,” he said quickly. “That's my name, all right.”

This time, Big Mac was sure Dr. Discord slapped his forehead.

“Right,” said the principal, sounding uncertain. “I expect to see you in my office first thing Monday morning, Mr. McBiggen.”

The joke was on her – there was no way Big Mac was going to stay in 1993 until Monday. “Eyup,” he said with his best poker face.

“Now, are both of you going to behave yourselves?”

“I will if he will.” Bright nodded toward Big Mac.

“Eyup,” agreed Big Mac.

“Good.” She turned and regarded Grand Pear. “Now, Mr. Pear, I trust you'll keep your promise to be civil to Ms. Smith and Mr. Core?”

“Absolutely.” He nodded. “I guess they're not the worst.”

Granny Smith's eyes were wider than Big Mac had ever seen them. “You really mean it?”

Grand Pear thought for a moment, lowering his eyebrows. “Yeah. Reckon so.” He pointed at Big Mac. “He's the worst. Oh! And you can forget about dating my daughter,” he added as an afterthought.

“Fine.” Big Mac narrowed his eyes. “I never wanna see either of you again unless it's in court!” He stomped toward the doors for dramatic effect, struggling not to glance back. He wanted to see what happened, but he felt that things would go better between his parents' families if he disappeared for awhile. Maybe he would wait a few minutes before attempting to sneak back inside. But first, he checked on the sibling photo. Both of his sisters were whole, and Applejack was still missing her hat, and was currently holding a bushel of pears.

For the first time, Big Mac felt the impact of his actions. He wasn't simply preserving the timeline and his sisters. He was changing history . . . At least until someone changed the time stream again. Was anything truly permanent anymore?

“Dude!”

Big Mac jumped, fumbling with his phone and almost dropping it. Hiding his phone as best as he could, he turned to see Burnt Oak stepping out of the doorway behind him.

“What are you lookin' at your pager for, McBiggen?” asked Burnt Oak.

“I'm, uh, waitin' to hear from my family.”

“Well, come on, you're missin' all the excitement. They're about to announce the Fall Formal Princess.”

“What about Grand Pear and Gran–Ms. Smith?” asked Big Mac.

“I don't think they'll be best pals any time soon, but at least they're finally on speaking terms. I reckon that's the best we could've hoped for.” He gave him a sincere smile. “You got creative with Pear Butter's plan, but I expect everything still worked out okay. Shoot, you even kept my friend from gettin' in trouble with the principal. I respect that.”

Big Mac peered at Burnt Oak as if seeing him for the first time. “We should keep in touch in the future.”

Burnt Oak lifted his eyebrows. “Why? You goin' back where you came from?”

“Eyup.”

“Well, look us up the next time you're in town, ya hear?”

“Eyup.”

The shorter teen opened the door to the gym, and they saw Dr. Discord standing on stage in front of the drumset and behind the microphone.

“May I have the envelope, please?” he asked. Principal Faust sauntered across the stage, envelope in hand.

As Big Mac and Burnt Oak slunk alongside the bleachers, Big Mac caught sight of his grandparents and parents in front of the stage, as well as Chiffon and Cookie. Pear Butter and Bright Mac stood with their arms around each other, while Granny Smith, Apple Core, and Grand Pear engaged in a whispered conversation.

Taking the envelope, Dr. Discord extracted a slip of paper. “Oh, my! This is fantastic! The winner of the Fall Formal crown is . . . me!” He threw his fedora into the crowd and took the crown out of its box. The crown differed from the one that was used while Big Mac attended CHS. This one had three points and a single purple rhinestone in front. Dr. Discord set the crown on his head, and some of the students laughed, while others applauded uncertainly.

“Psych!” shouted Dr. Discord. “The real winner is . . . Chiffon Swirl!”

Louder applause resounded through the room as Chiffon climbed the stairs to the stage.

“Congratulations!” He lifted the crown off his head and placed it on Chiffon's pink curls. “I bestow this noble crown about thee, my worthy successor.”

The crowd laughed.

“Give your princess another round of applause!” The students clapped, and Chiffon reached for the mic in Dr. Discord's hand.

“I believe your new princess would like to make a royal proclamation,” he said, handing the microphone to Chiffon.

“Thank you, everyone,” she said, beaming from ear to ear. “Are you ready to party!?”

“Yeah!” cheered the teens.

“All right!” She grabbed her drumsticks and held them above her head. “Come on up, Pear Jam!”

Cookie Crumbles ascended the steps to the stage, while Pear Butter grabbed Bright Mac's hand and followed her. Bright kissed her hand, and Pear Butter grinned at him, her teal eyes shining.

“Bright McIntosh!” Granny Smith actually shook her fist. “No hanky panky!”

“That much we can agree on,” said Grand Pear with a nod. “We said that you could sing one song together, and that's it!”

“Lighten up, it's just a kiss on the hand,” said Apple Core.

“No one asked you, Core.” Granny Smith swatted his arm.

“Yeah, no one asked you,” said Grand Pear.

Pear Butter took the mic from Chiffon, who moved back behind the drumset. “We're gonna sing a song that's near and dear to my heart.”

Cupping his hands around his mouth, Apple Core yelled, “Free Bird!”

Pear Butter sighed. “As you all should know, 'Free Bird' is on the banned list, along with other nine-minute songs. And anyway, we're not takin' requests yet.” Letting go of Bright Mac's hand, she grabbed her guitar and began to pick out some notes. Chiffon and Cookie softly played their instruments.

It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart. Without saying a word, you can light up the dark.

Apple Core held out his hand to Granny Smith. She took a fleeting glance at the stage before taking his hand and swaying to the music.

“Well, looks like our work here is done.” Burnt Oak touched the brim of his hat.

Big Mac frowned in thought. “Nope, there's one more thing I need to do. I gotta find Dr. Discord.” Keeping close to the bleachers, Big Mac made his way toward his old friend, who stood to the left of the stage with the principal.

“There you are, McBiggen,” said Dr. Discord. “Are you ready to go?”

“Eyup.”

Dr. Discord placed his hand on Big Mac's shoulder, and the two of them headed toward the doors. After they entered the hallway, Dr. Discord said, “It seemed like the plan went sideways for a minute, but overall, I think it went reasonably well. I had no idea you were so nefarious!”

Big Mac quirked an eyebrow.

“You wielded the law as a weapon,” his friend clarified with a shudder. “In my opinion, laws were meant to be warped beyond recognition. It’s one of the reasons I became a physicist, in fact.”

“To see how far you could push the laws of physics,” said Big Mac.

“Totally, as the kids say.” Dr. Discord put his arm around Big Mac’s shoulders. “I don't suppose I could go on the time traveling bus with you, just to take a quick peek at the future,” he said with a hopeful smile.

Big Mac considered this. “I don't know if the universe is ready for two Dr. Discords at the same time. Besides, someone would have to give you a ride back.”

Dr. Discord's expression hardened into a shrewd stare. “It almost sounds like you're just looking for an excuse not to take me with you.”

Big Mac opened his mouth to object, but Dr. Discord kept talking.

“No, it's all right, I understand. I am a bit much for most people to deal with for a long period of time. I just thought . . .” He withdrew from Big Mac, hunching his shoulders. “Well, I've never had a real friend before, besides Laurie, and she's more like my sister. And then you arrived with your handheld computer and my time travel machine, and you showed me what my Flux Capacitor can do. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's going to be hard waiting for you to be born so I can talk to you about everything that's happened.”

Sighing, Big Mac brushed his hand through his hair. “I was wrong about you, Doc.”

Dr. Discord straightened his back and raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“In the future, I said I was always the one givin’ you things without gettin’ anything back, but here you barely know me and you gave me a lot. You let me stay in your home, and you showed me how to use the time machine, and you helped my parents’ families get along. My sisters and I might have faded out of existence if it wasn’t for you. So, thanks.” He took a deep breath. Sometimes he felt exhausted when he talked too much, but perhaps it was all in his head.
“You’re welcome,” said Dr. Discord with a smile. “I mean, you were bleeding when you came to my house, and you didn’t have anyone else you could confide in. It just felt like . . .” He shrugged. “Well, it felt good to assist you. And the cool toys were a bonus,” he added with wink.

Big Mac returned the smile. “You’re a good friend, and I know you’ll make other friends besides me. I reckon you've already got a decent start with some of the folks here.” He opened the door and nodded toward Pear Butter, Bright Mac, Chiffon, and Cookie.

The smile on your face lets me know that you need me. There's a truth in your eyes saying you'll never leave me.

Stroking his beard, Dr. Discord commented, “I suppose they have put up with me longer than most. And Chiffon took my fake winner announcement very well,” he added with a chuckle.

“Eyup. But Doc, there's somethin' I gotta warn you about.”

Dr. Discord sobered. “Oh? What's that?”

“In the summer of 2008, there's gonna be a wildfire in Canterlot.”

“It's Califoalnia,” said Dr. Discord with a shrug. “I could have predicted that.”

“This one's gonna be a disaster. And it's gonna burn through Sweet Apple Acres.”

“Oh.” Dr. Discord's eyes darted to Bright Mac. “I see.”

“The farm will recover, but . . .” Big Mac watched his parents. “My folks will die savin’ Apple Bloom from the flames.”

Dr. Discord frowned. “Not while I'm around.”

Big Mac turned from his parents to gaze at his friend. Then he pulled him into a hug and thumped his back.

Eyes wide, Dr. Discord said, “Normally I don't mind invading personal space, but I'm not much of a hugger.”

“I know. Neither am I.”

“Hmm.” His friend awkwardly patted Big Mac's back. “Well, let's get you home.”





After Dr. Discord said his goodbyes to everyone at the dance, he drove Big Mac to his home, where the tour bus waited in his driveway. Dr. Discord handed his decoding chart to Big Mac before they climbed inside the bus.

“Let's get you all set up, first.” Dr. Discord pressed the arrow keys on the console. “Do you want to go back to, say, a minute after you left your time?”

“Eyup.”

Dr. Discord toggled the letters in the top row.

BA-BA-CABI ABDB:FE

“That looks right. Now, you drive the bus to the mall this time, and I'll follow you in my car. I want to watch the bus spark and disappear.”





Before long, Big Mac was in the empty mall parking lot once more, revving the bus engine. This time he observed that the shield of blue light appeared when the vehicle was traveling at less than 90 miles per hour. It looked like 88 miles per hour, to be precise. He peeked out of the driver's side window and waved at Dr. Discord, who waved back, beaming. Then, with a crack, the windows glazed over with ice, and Big Mac pushed the brake pedal. He shifted the bus in park before opening the bus door.

“What the hay just happened!?” shouted Iron Will. He was still holding the goat under his arm, but he no longer had the radio control.

“You sent me back in time,” Big Mac said honestly.

Coach Iron Will gave Dr. Discord an incredulous stare. “That's what your experiment was?”

The physics teacher coughed. “I tried to tell you when you had the controller, but you wouldn't listen,” he said, his voice raspier than normal.

“Well, why didn't you tell Iron Will before you took Chompy?”

“Because you wouldn't have listened then, either.”

“So you thought it was okay to send him back in time without Iron Will's permission!?” asked the coach, flailing his free arm to the side.

“Actually, I sent him a minute into the future. Big Mac went to the past,” explained Dr. Discord. “Do you still have the video, Big Mac?”

“Eyup.” Big Mac walked toward the coach and pulled his phone out of his pocket. After starting the video, he held out the device so Iron Will could see the screen. The coach watched the video, is expression fluctuating between surprise and anger.

“Now you know everything that happened to your goat,” said Dr. Discord after the video ended. “And Big Mac, you just came from November 8, 1993, correct?”

“Eyup.”

Dr. Discord leaned toward him and said, in a low voice, “What do you remember? How many parents do you have?”

“Right now?” Big Mac’s brow creased. “I'm not sure. Two, I hope, unless they're in the ground.”

“If you're not sure, that means you're probably still in the Flux bubble,” said Dr. Discord, lowering his voice to a mutter. “The bubble will lose strength the longer you stay in the flow of the time stream. If I were you, I'd write down everything that happened before you traveled through time. That way you'll have a record of the way things used to be.”

Big Mac gaped at him. “You mean my memories are gonna be erased, like what's-her-name did to Sunset?”

“Not erased. Replaced.” Dr. Discord rubbed his chin. “Of course, I could be mistaken, and you'll retain the memories of the original timeline for your entire life, and your memories up until this point in time won't match those of your loved ones.” A smile began to stretch across his face. “Won't it be exciting to find out?”





It was 2:30 when Big Mac rolled home. After a three nights of crashing on Dr. Discord's couch, it would be nice to sleep in his own bed. But would it be the same bed in the same Sweet Apple Acres? The old pick-up truck was unaltered – it even had the distinctive smell of old fast food and moisture from leaving the windows open during too many downpours. The drive from the mall to the farm had also looked identical in the dark. The farmhouse was unchanged on the outside, and as Big Mac opened the kitchen door, he switched on the light and took in his surroundings. It was the kitchen he'd always known, but on the counter sat a fruit bowl filled with apples and pears. It couldn't have been more perfect if his mother had left a calling card. He picked up a yellow pear and took a bite. It was sweeter than a honeycrisp apple, and incredibly juicy. Still munching the pear, he wandered into the living room.

And then he heard the stairs creak as someone descended them. Judging by the mass and cadence, he thought it might have been Applejack, but then he heard the voice.

“Junior? What are you doin' up?”

Big Mac paused mid-bite. Only one person was ever allowed to call him Junior. He craned his neck to peer up the staircase.

And there was his ma, looking the way he remembered from his childhood, albeit with deeper crows' feet around her eyes. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek.

“What's wrong?” she asked, squeezing him tightly. “I heard the truck – it woke me up. What were you doin' out so late on a school night?”

“Where's Pa?” he asked suddenly.

“He's still asleep in bed. You know I've always been a lighter sleeper than him.”

“Good,” he said with a relieved smile as a light feeling unfolded in his chest. Dr. Discord had done it. His parents had survived the fire.

Withdrawing from the embrace, his mom searched his face, her expression more worried than angry. “I know you're eighteen, but you're still in school, and livin' in our house rent free. You can't just sneak out at two am with no consequences.”

Big Mac chuckled. “Eyup.” It was difficult to decide how much he should tell her about what he'd been up to. She probably didn’t need to know that she had once thought of him as boyfriend material. He wished he didn't know that. And if he told her that he went back in time to 1993, she would surely figure out that he was McBiggen. The best course of action was to keep her guessing.

She sighed. “If you don't wanna tell me now, fine, but we're gonna talk about this tomorrow.”

“Eyup,” he said reluctantly. He reasoned that if he got his entire family talking about it in the morning, they would draw their own conclusions that would be far less crazy than what actually transpired. And he would let them think they were correct. It wasn't an ideal plan, but it was all he could think of at the moment.

His mother patted his shoulder. “Go to bed, son.”

Big Mac took a big bite of the pear. After chewing some, he said, “I wanna finish this pear first.” He swallowed. “This is really good.”

“You act like you've never eaten a pear before,” she said with a laugh.

Frowning, Big Mac swallowed the mouthful of fruit. “I feel like I haven't,” he said vaguely.

“That's ridiculous. It's like sayin' you feel like you haven't drunk water.”

“Eyup,” he agreed. “It is ridiculous.” But it was still true.
> Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was still dark when Big Mac's alarm awakened him. He groggily switched on his bedside lamp and dragged himself out of bed. As he went through his ordinary routine, part of him wondered if he had dreamed the conversation with his mom. However, when he descended the stairs, he heard more voices than usual.

“And then – get this – he said he felt like he'd never eaten a pear before. Can you believe it?”

“He wasn't drunk, was he?”

“No! Trust me, I would've known.”

Big Mac stepped into the kitchen, eyes wide, and observed the people within. His ma leaned with her back against the counter, holding a glass of apple juice, while his pa buttered a slice of toast and added it to a pile of food on a platter. Applejack and Apple Bloom sat at the kitchen table with plates of bacon, eggs, and toast. AJ's head was noticeably bare, since she'd started wearing a hat like her father to honor him after he had died.

“There you are!” His mother set down her glass and picked up her phone. “I checked your location from last night. You were at the mall.”

His father crossed his arms. “What were you doin' at the mall at two in the mornin', son?”

Three thoughts battled for Big Mac's attention. The first was how to answer his pa, who had craftily asked a question that didn't allow for a simple yes or no answer. The second was that the chat with his ma had not been a fabrication of his subconscious mind. The third was that not only did he have two parents, but he had two parents who understood modern technology.

Big Mac rubbed his eyes, stalling for time. “Need coffee first.”

Apple Bloom stared up at him. “When did you start drinkin' coffee?”

“Last year.”

His mother and father shared a look.

“Did you know that?” he asked her.

“Nope,” she answered.

Big Mac noticed that Granny Smith was not only absent, but a place had not been set for her at the table. “Where's Granny Smith?” he asked as he poured a mug of coffee.

“She's probably at her house gettin' ready work,” said Apple Bloom, furrowing her brow. “Why do you ask?”

“This might be a dumb question, but isn't this her house?” Big Mac pointed down for emphasis.

“Not anymore,” said Applejack.

“You know Granny and Grandpa live in the retirement community.” Their mother put her hand on Big Mac's shoulder. “You feelin' okay, Big Mac?”

Big Mac's eyes virtually bulged out of his head. “Granny . . . and Grandpa?”

“Maybe Big Mac is under some kind of mind control or memory wipe. It happened before, it can happen again,” said AJ, chewing on a strip of bacon.

Big Mac stared around the room without really perceiving anything. “Grandpa Core is alive,” he whispered. “He had a heart attack.”

His father's frown deepened. “He had a heart attack a long time ago, but he survived.”

Big Mac thought for a moment. “He must've gotten to the hospital in time.”

“Dr. Discord drove him to the hospital, Junior. You've heard the story,” said his ma, scrutinizing his face.

“But does he remember it?” AJ asked pointedly.

Big Mac took a sip of coffee, his mind spinning. He owed Dr. Discord more than he had realized.

“Eyup,” he said. “Guess my brain's still fuzzy from not gettin' enough sleep.”

“Well, you got your coffee.” His mother put her hands on her hips. “Why were you at the mall, Big McIntosh?”

Uh oh, she was calling him by his full name. He was in for it if he didn't give her a satisfying answer.

“Dr. Discord asked me to meet him there,” he said truthfully.

“Why?” asked his mother.

“He's . . . he's usin' the tour bus for an experiment, and he figured that it would be a good place to test it.”

Applejack clenched her fists. “Dang it, Big Mac! Y'all better not have messed up the paint job.”

“Never mind the paint job, AJ,” said their dad. “What did Doc do to the bus, son?”

“Uh, I don't think he wants me to tell no one.” Big Mac took a drink from his mug.

“Big McIntosh, don't make me go through your phone, 'cause I will,” his ma said sternly.

“Y'all are gonna ground him, right?” asked Bloom with a hopeful expression.

“Yes, Bloom, now finish your breakfast,” their father said patiently.

The youngest Apple grinned, clearly happy that her brother was getting punished instead of her.

“Why don't you just call Dr. Discord and ask him what he was doin'?” suggested Applejack.

“I’ve got an even better idea,” said their mom. “Big Mac, you call Dr. Discord and put him on speaker.”

Big Mac sighed. “Eyup.”

“Yo!” said Dr. Discord after Big Mac called his number.

“Hey, Doc,” Big Mac said reluctantly.

“It's funny you should call me, Big Mac. I'm on my way to your house right this moment with the tour bus!”

“Oh, good,” said AJ with a relieved smile.

“Am I on speaker phone? Good morning, Applejack! Yes, I'm returning your bus with a few improvements.”

“Hold on, Doc.” Their mother waved her hands. “If you're drivin', you shouldn't be talkin' on the phone.”

“Don't worry, Pear Butter, I'm talking hands-free,” said Dr. Discord. “I'm not that irresponsible.”

“What were you and Big Mac doin' with the bus, Doc?” asked Big Mac's dad.

“I used the tour bus as a vehicle for my temporal displacement device,” said Dr. Discord, “and I invited Big Mac to come and watch.”

“Time travel?” Apple Bloom asked at once. “Seriously?”

“I rarely do anything seriously, but yes, Apple Bloom, I built a time travel vehicle,” answered the physics teacher. “I just returned from the year 2049, in fact.”

Big Mac raised his eyebrows before putting on his best poker face (or, to be more accurate, his best game master face) and gauging his family's reactions. His youngest sister tilted her head, looking incredulous, while his middle sister smiled in amusement. His pa frowned in disapproval, and his ma rubbed her forehead as if she were developing a headache.

“You went to 2049?” Applejack’s grin grew broader as she nudged her sister. “Is Apple Bloom right about Gillion takin' over the world?”

“Ah, I don't want to spoil the future too much for anyone, but let's just say that a certain company wouldn't let me return to this time without a tracking device on my person,” answered Dr. Discord.

“Doc, stop pullin' our chains and tell us what really happened last night,” said Big Mac's father.

“I'm not pulling your chain, Bright!” replied Dr. Discord. “We certainly weren't taking this sweet 1949 bus for a joyride, I can tell you that.”

Ah, his friend was telling the truth in a way that sounded like a lie. How very like him.

His mother lowered her eyebrows. “Well, Big Mac is grounded, and I have half a mind to tell your nieces what y'all did.”

“And what does the other half say, Pear?” asked the physics teacher.

Big Mac's mom shared a meaningful stare with his dad, who nodded slightly and pointed to a card stuck to the fridge. She turned her head to peer at the card, which featured blue and yellow balloons, and she nodded back to him.

“You're doing that fake-telepathy with Bright, aren't you.” It wasn't a question.

“Eyup,” she replied.

“You know, when I said the other half, I meant the other half of your mind, not your husband.”

For the first time all morning, Big Mac's mom cracked a smile. “I know.”

“We've decided to let you off the hook if you Pinkie Promise never to do it again,” said his father.

“Eyup,” said his ma, her orange curls bouncing as she nodded.

“Pinkie Promise, hm?” said Dr. Discord. “I suppose you'll tell Pinkie if I break the promise. Oh, very well. I promise not to go on another joyride with Big Mac. Cross my heart, hope to cry, stick a cupcake in my eye.”

Suddenly, Winona began to bark from the living room.

“Hey!” yelled Big Mac's pa. “Brandy, hush!”

Big Mac arched an eyebrow. The bark certainly sounded like Winona's bark. If Big Mac's memory served him, the family dog had been named Brandy for a day before AJ had decided she looked more like a Winona. Evidently the family had agreed that she looked like a Brandy in the revised timeline.

Turning to walk into the living room, Big Mac spotted the same brown Sheltie that had been the family dog for nine years, her little white paws on the front window sill.

Shushing her, Big Mac petted her head and gazed out the window. Something shiny and blue cruised up the long gravel road to the house.

“Dr. Discord's here,” he announced.

“That's right! Incidentally, I'll need to ride with you to school,” added the teacher.

Big Mac's mom, dad, and sister headed into the living room and joined him and Winona – Brandy – making the space feel crowded.

Apple Bloom stayed in her seat with a “whatever.”

“Eyup. We'll meet you outside, Doc,” said Big Mac before ending the call.

The family, sans Apple Bloom, filed out the door to the side of the driveway, where the tour bus rolled to a stop in all of its glitter-finish glory.

Dr. Discord opened the door and stepped out. “Ta-da! The tour bus is tuned up and ready to go.” He held out his arm toward the vehicle. “I installed a new engine and defrosting system, and I added a rear view camera. Why don't you have a look?”

Brandy ran in circles around Dr. Discord, wagging her tail. He reached down, and she paused long enough for him to rub her head.

Big Mac's father tipped his hat. “Mind if I check under the hood, Doc?”

“Be my guest.” Dr. Discord waved his arm.

“I wanna go inside and take a gander at that camera,” said AJ.

“I'm comin' too,” said their mother, and the two of them stepped into the bus, AJ sitting down in the driver's seat.

Dr. Discord leaned toward Big Mac's ear and whispered, “I removed the Flux capacitor. That way your family won't accidentally travel through time.”

“Good idea,” said Big Mac. Apple Bloom was pretending not to care, but Big Mac was positive that his youngest sister would come poking around after everyone had left.

“I know. By the way, I was telling the truth about visiting the year 2049. I thought it would be nice to see the bus's centennial birthday.”

“And you didn't invite me?” Big Mac raised his eyebrows.

“Well, you know, I figured the universe couldn't handle two Big Macs at the same time,” answered his friend with a smirk.

Big Mac smiled and shook his head. “I walked right into that one.”

“You certainly did.”

“Did you really go thirty-one years into the future?”

“Of course!” Dr. Discord put his hand to his chest. “Why would I make that up?”

“I'm almost afraid to ask what's gonna happen,” said Big Mac.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.” His friend held up his index finger. “Except for one teensy little thing. If you ever accidentally eavesdrop on your future wife and she says she needs to part ways, don't jump to the conclusion that she's leaving you. She's just talking about quitting her job and starting her own bakery.” He shook his head. “I'm sure she means well, but she's terrible with phrasing.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Then Big Mac hesitated. He hated to sound shallow, but he was still a typical teenage boy in some ways.

“Is she pretty?” he asked.

“See for yourself.” Dr. Discord raised his wrist, where a smooth stud was embedded into his gray skin. “Okay, Gillion, show my holos.”

Big Mac's eyes opened wide. “You let yourself get microchipped?”

“Oh, everyone's microchipped in the future. I wasn't kidding about the company wanting me to have a device on my person.” A cluster of three-dimensional images projected above his wrist. “It's not a big deal. See?” He dug his fingernail at the stud, and the holograms disappeared. Then he pulled off the stud like a scab.

Big Mac cringed.

“I can take it off and deactivated it any time I want.” Dr. Discord prodded the stud back into place in his skin. The images reappeared, and he poked a hologram of a violet-haired, pink-skinned woman. The other holograms disappeared as the woman's image grew larger. She wasn’t unattractive for a woman in her late forties. For some reason, she was holding an upside-down wedding cake. A moment later, the cake disappeared, and an older version of Big Mac phased in, his arm around the woman.

“Care to explain, Doc?” asked Big Mac.

“Again, I don't want to spoil your future for you, but if you really want to know, the upside-down wedding cake is your wife's clever idea for a divorce cake. But now it looks like you're back together. Crisis averted. You're welcome.” He chuckled. “For a moment I thought about taking you to the future so you could talk some sense into yourself. But it looks like all I had to do was warn you about the problem, the way you warned me about the wildfire.” He rubbed his chin. “Although, if I did bring you to the future, you could get a Gillion chip. That way we could facetime in 3-d.” He grinned. “What do you say, friend?”

Big Mac considered the proposal for a moment. It could be quite an adventure to travel to the future, but on the other hand, he'd just gone on an adventure. He wanted to spend a week or so in his own time before jumping to a different one. Besides, if Dr. Discord was correct about Big Mac's memories being preserved by the Flux bubble, Big Mac wanted to write down his life story before it was replaced by the alternate version.

“Nope,” he answered. “Maybe some other time.”

After all, like his friend had said, he had all the time in the world.