Twelve-Thirty.

It was Twelve-Thirty in the afternoon. Already. In reality, that was not true. But in my mind I was already late. Sure I had fifteen minutes to spare to get to work and it only took ten to get to the airport and use my badge to pass around security, thus eliminating a long wait in line, but to me that only left me with five minutes to spare. Which was inappropriate. My mother and father had taught me better, before they’d passed away, leaving me with a small fortune that I had purposefully denied myself access to until I was at least thirty, telling no one about it. As an only child, I had received everything they’d owned, including a home that was fully paid for and the library of legends that they had amassed in their, as unfortunate as it was, comparably short life spans.

So I kept their memory alive by doing as they’d taught me: Be professional, be punctual, and never put your pen-... pen in the wrong pocket. I grinned, thinking back on the first time my father had told me that saying. I hadn’t understood the innuendo until years later, and even now that I did, I still heard it the way my father had first said it. After last night, I was certain I’d found the RIGHT pocket to put my pen in and her name was Aurora Bright, a light-blue pegasus mare who had quite literally fallen out of the sky onto me as if out of a storybook. She was sleek, she was fast, and she was very, very kind. I think my father and mother would have been proud. Because not only was she kind and easy on the eyes, she was smart and loyal, and kept me out of trouble. Not that she didn’t have her own quirks, including a mischievous streak a mile long. We’d had to run from the local town guard more than once for one of her-... our pranks on some of the residents. They were typically harmless and, if anything somewhat annoying, but our neighbors and the people in town found us being chased by the town constables to be quite entertaining, and we suspected that the guards only made chase to keep up appearances because, if we managed to get out of town and stay out for a day or two, we were always pardoned unofficially and allowed to continue living without having my door busted down and arrested.

Of course, reminiscing could be done later. I had a job to get to!

So, throwing on my non-slip hoof-boots, part of the standard blue-and-red uniform of my trade, and a high-visibility vest, I dashed out the door and out into the cool, Autumn air. It was the beginning of the season, where only the trees more susceptible to cold had begun to change color and lose their leaves and the temperature remained a pleasant and fresh temperature. Being the weekend, there were fillies and colts playing hoofball in the streets, climbing trees, and generally enjoying the sunshine under the watchful eye of both their parents and the owners of those outdoor shop-carts that so many ponies preferred to sell their goods from.

I remember those days as if they had happened only a week ago.

As the air hit my lungs, as the smells and sounds of what would eventually lead to the Running of the Leaves graced my being, I found myself running faster than usual. It was in weather like this that I thrived, and the colder it became the more it was true. As my Earth Pony legs pumped away against the ground, a shadow crossed my path, which I ignored. After all, the birds were heading south for the winter, so in all likelihood it was just a dense flock of any of the various jays or finches that populated the sky above Ponyville. Heck, it might even be Flamingos which were, oddly, not as rare as they should have been in the Ponyvillian climate.

I was somewhat surprised when, out of the blue, my soon-to-be fiance' zipped in front of my vision, forcing me to stop out of sheer surprise. Like a bird of prey, she has stopped me in my tracks, her ice-blue eyes flashing before me as if time itself had warned me of her presence by burning the image into my head in a single dramatic moment. She was just that kind of mare.

“Hey!” she smiled, fluttering around me and lightly hooking her hoof around my neck to flutter in a circle around me once and coming to rest in front of me after letting go and folding her wings up.

My face flushed a little, “What’s up?” I asked, a little worried that I’d be late for work, “Is something wrong?”

In retrospect, it was a silly question. How could anything be wrong if she was smiling like that?

“No, not at all, dearest. I just wanted to remind you of our date tonight.”

I stopped, as I’d nearly forgotten. She caught onto that.

“So no accepting offers for more hours tonight.” Aurora purred before kissing my cheek teasingly and lazily taking off into the sky above Ponyville, “Don’t be la~ate.”

Did I mention that she evoked the best feelings that a young stallion could have in me?

Grudging that I could not dwell on those feelings, I decided I’d just have to look forward to that night. It was a full moon which was something we both, as somewhat nocturnally-prone ponies we had become, enjoyed quite a bit. So off I went again into the fields, across the verdant hills which were still green from a wet and warm summer. The airfield, a new addition to the outskirts of Ponyville, was a large expanse of flattened land, hoof tamped into a runway with a few buildings along the stretch. The machines that occupied the runway were as birds, and used loud, magically powered motors to produce the lift that was necessary for flight. Massive rotors lifted the craft from the ground, while the wings that they DID have rotated along joints to provide thrust. At speed, they could reach Canterlot from Ponyville in less than 30 minutes.

The technology itself was of Earth Pony design, as odd as it sounded, and rumor had it that the original craft was used to fly into the clouds in search of Rainbow Dash, a local celebrity and bearer of the Element of Honesty or something.

I was never really into celebrities, although my marefriend followed Rainbow Dash in tabloids and newspapers. She wasn’t infatuated with the rainbow Pegasus like a lot of ponies were, but I suspected that Aurora hid her interest sometimes.

Back to the fact of the matter, was that the aircraft were ungainly, odd-looking, and not the safest thing in the world. Failure rates were low but still occasional, and while nopony had ever died on one, there had been a few injuries. That fact alone was why the Princesses had insisted that the devices be for official use only as an emergency delivery service and way for officials and important ponies to get from one place to another.

Apart from that, there were the “Wingsuits.” Wingsuits, like the one I was looking at right then and was filled with a fiery-maned Pegasus pony who I would later come to find out was a Wonderbolts Flight Lead, was dressing herself in the contraption as I approached. I had learned about them on-the-job, and it was my duty to make basic checks and do minor maintenance on the devices when it was required. Making sure that the slips where a Pegasus’ wing went would stay locked in flight once the RAMJ activated (Rotary-Activated-Magical-Jetstream) was essential to the performance and survival of the pony in question. If the wings didn’t lock, a pony could die in a crash due to the instability of the airframe.

The Pegasus in question was checking her tail-fin-assembly and making sure that the flaps worked properly when she turned to face me and asked, “Hey, kid. Can you tell me if I’m getting the full range of motion out of that tail rudder?”

Nodding simply, having done this many times, I approached the rear of the fire-maned Pegasus and signalled with a hooves-up to go ahead and do the test. With a flick of her tail, which was not something I could see because it was encased in the assembly itself but I knew was how the rudder was controlled anyways, the rudder turned completely to the left. I gave her the “checkoff” signal for the left side, moved to the right side and gave her the hooves-up again. Nodding in return, she complied and activated the rudder, which this time was unable to reach the desired angle. I shook my head, signalling it was no good.

“Just give me a second to fix it, Miss.” I offered, “Just need to grab my tools.”

Trotting off towards the shed which held my locker and those of my co-worker ponies, I eventually reached the door, only to be stopped by my supervisor “Smokes” as we called him, even though his cutie-mark was an aircraft prop. Smoking was a new thing to Equestria, a habit that had come from the far west, and while it as warned as unhealthy, a lot of ponies still caught onto the fad. Especially those with a naturally nervous demeanor who worked blue-saddle jobs like ours.

“You’re late” Smokes told me, “Do you have any idea what that means?”

I frowned, “No, I don’t. And I’m not late.” insisting forcefully as I began to explain, “That mare over there in the Wingsuit required my help as I walked in. Rudder’s stuck.”

The supervisor glared at me, “And if I go over there and ask if you’re telling the truth?”

I smiled like a smug rabbit, “Then she’ll probably say you’re wasting her time and ask why you were holding up a repair.”

He snorted, but had little else to say. He knew what I knew: That was a Wonderbolt, the flying icon of the Princesses and their air corps. To hold them up was to delay the will of Celestia and Luna, which was not too well looked upon by one’s peers, nor any promotionary board. Musing on that fact, and allowing myself to relish just a little in the idea that he would get in trouble if I just dallied a little longer, I decided it would look even better if I just did my job and did it right.

Opening the door, my locker was on the right, third one down. Hoofprint locks were installed for quick and secure access, which I was thankful for. Spinlocks were annoying and common enough to be easily broken by anypony with enough force, but these were as easy as slinging your hoof in and pressing down, and doing just that, I accessed my locker and nabbed my tools. But before I locked it down, I checked my appearance for any foodstuffs in my teeth. Why? I had no idea.

But it might have had a little bit to do with working around a female Wonderbolt. I wasn’t unfaithful, especially not to Aurora, but I still wanted to make a good impression.

My blue-black coat was already smudged from the treck over, and my deep-red mane was a dishevvled mess. But hey, no tooth-food. So I was good.

Yeah. Sure.

Quick to shut the door and rush out of the shed, I made for the runway, and back to the waiting Wonderbolt.

“What was that about?” she asked, not at all angry about the wait, which I was very thankful for.

At first I had no idea what she was referring to, but after a short pause I managed to put two and two together.

“Oh, that… just my supervisor. He thought I was late.” I explained with a shrug, digging out a caliper and a few drivers.

She seemed to think a moment, “He seemed pretty aggravated.” seeming to consider, “You sure that’s all?” her eyes rolled a little as a slightly devilish smile crossed her face. When a Wonderbolt drops a clue as obvious as that, you spill your guts.

“We don’t get along too well. Just enough to get the job done.” I admitted, pulling out my calipers, a wrench, and a driver, “But even then, sometimes the guy’s just looking for a reason, you know?”

She nodded, “Well, why do you work for him?”

“Service to the Princesses?” I suggested, then adding as my hooves went to work on the tail-rudder, “I just want to do my job, do it well, and keep things moving along. Do my part, and all that.”

She smiled, “So you’re a hard worker?”

Nodding, “There’s nothing worth doing if you don’t do it the best way you can.”

It didn’t take long, the repair. We didn’t speak until I was done with her wingsuit’s tail-mounted rudder. She seemed to be thinking about something during that time, judging by the look on her face. When I had finished, I took a step back and looked over the tail once more.

“Give it a shot?” I asked.

The Wonderbolt nodded, “Roger.”

The tail rudder worked like a charm. I put my tools back in the bag, and mounted the bag upon my saddle.

“Not bad, kid.” she began, walking closer to be almost in my face. She squinted at me, as if looking for something, “You know you’d be pretty cute as a Bat-Pony. You’ve got the colors for it.”

I was dumbstruck. She just grinned, put her readout helmet on, and started her gallop and took off, the RAMJ kicking in with a low thud. I shook my head as I watched her break into the sky above the airfield, almost not believing what I’d heard. But, there was little time for thinking about the event because a few moments later one of the massive cargo-craft came down from the clouds. I broke into a hard gallop and made my way across the somewhat muddy-green field. The rain from earlier that week was still fresh in the ruts where some of the heavier craft had sunk slightly into the ground during landing, and I nearly tripped at least once as I crossed the field towards the loading/unloading area.

“Hey, brother!” a gravelly voice called out as I approached, “This one’s loaded from one fuel-tank to another. It’s a big load!”

Crater Run, an old Equestrian Royal Guard Earth Pony, light brown and scarred down his side from a previous battle in the past, waved me over with one hoof.

“How long do we have?” I asked him, yelling over the rotors.

“Thirty!”

“Got it!”

I knew the drill. It was a drill I was well versed in, and considered myself the best at in our shift. The old pony smiled in a way that asked if I was ready. I nodded, grinning in return.

It was silver and oval-shaped, with what I assumed was the cockpit sitting in the front. Large wheels kept it from impacting the ground, while massive rotors spun down which kept it (at least partially) aloft when it flew through the air. The craft slowed as it approached the ‘docks’ as we called them. Massive in size, its presence alone was great and powerful in a way that never failed to inspire awe and reverence. That a machine of the size that it was could fly seemed impossible, even more-so when I realized that it was not completely powered and lifted by magic alone. The cargo bay door opened, dropping down from the rear of the craft and creating a ramp for myself and the cargo that would soon be coming out of it. The insides of the craft were covered in train-track like sets of rollers that guided cargo along the floor onto the belt. Bars lined each track to help guide the cargo even better than the tracks alone.

Crater Run had gone and returned with a similarly sized, tracked vehicle with rollers in both the back and the front, which flattened the ground as it drove forward and back, so as not to damage the runway any more than it already was. The vehicle had a massive “belt” strapped across a set of motors and rollers that allowed us to transport cargo off the craft and safely onto trucks that would bring the items to their distribution centers.

Said ponies in their distribution carts pulled up and prepared for movement. So it was just me, and hundreds of crates.

In my mind, the words “begin” were shouted above the noise.

Understand: In that business, speed was everything. Time on the ground meant time that a craft was unable to spend moving cargo. And so, staring up at the cargo, I smiled into the grey, slightly rusted interior of a craft that was powered by crude fuels and magic.

This was MY area of expertise, MY domain.

Breaking out into a a gallop, I encountered my first opponent, a stack of roped-together boxes that, according to its data-scroll, weighed no less than 500 lbs. Easy. Behind it I went, ducking a pipe that hung from overhead, and bracing myself against the next pile of cargo that was to come after it. Moisture form the pipes dripped down onto my snout, sending a wave of surprise up my spine, just as it did every time just before I bucked the box with my hind-hooves, sending it careening down the line and onto the belt just fast enough for it to tip, but not fall over. I glanced up, the box in front of me looming above my head. More water, but this time I was not surprised, and yanked the rpes with my teeth, whipping myself sideways and using my momentum to slip it by my face just inches away. It too went sliding down the rollers and onto the belt-loader. The next few crates I tackled the same way, and soon one row out of many was complete.

I huffed, taking a breath of the acrid air. Magical fumes graced my nostrils, smelling semi-sweet, the telltale sign of heavy equipment on the airfield. I relished in it for a moment, then set to work on the next row, one that was made of no less than a hundred boxes.

Once more, I smiled. Easy work, as this time it was my front hooves, well trained in the art of moving the small but heavy boxes in a single swipe. Straddling the bars that kept the boxes on the track, I began what could only be described as ‘windmilling’ the boxes one hoof over the other, each one sending a box sliding onto the conveyor some 20 feet away. Again and again, until I was out of breath and sweating with the exertion of repetitive motion, and the final box was loaded onto the carts below.

I breathed with a decisive purpose, keeping my lungs full with a pattern well versed so allowing myself to maintain optimum efficiency and speed. Like running, but with more than one pattern, my breaths came at even intervals, depending on the task at hand.

More crates, like monoliths, stacked neatly in the row behind the one I had just finished, further to the back of the craft were ready to be offloaded. This time, a green light gave the signal, releasing the locks that held the boxes in place on the tracks, and opening the way for me to push them slowly towards the belt. These crates were full of materials that nopony knew, except for whoever packed them. Even the Equestrian Empire held its secrets I assumed. Wedging a hoof between the first lithic box its sibling behind it, I separated the neatly packed and carefully packaged crates and managed to fit myself between the two. With barely-held back control, I began pushing the crate towards the belt loader, where a team of ponies wearing the standard armor of the Equestrian Royal Guard sat awaiting the transfer. They would take over once the box reached the edge, making sure the object did not tip over and damage whatever was inside. Once I had pushed it, I returned to the row, awaiting the green light once more so I could repeat the process until the boxes were fully offloaded from the belly of the great silver beast that had brought them.

The unloading of the craft continued in that manner, with crates and monoliths and small boxes each being cared for in a manner specific to their contents. Speed and agility ruled inside the machine, and I was a master of just that while inside it.

As the last box reached the loader, my comrade smiled. I knew what that meant: We had offloaded with time to spare. Which meant the aircraft would leave earlier, which meant a better chance at commendations and a bit raise in the future. So the loading began shortly after the last exporting cart left.

I won’t bore you with the details. Loading the craft was the same as unloading, but in reverse. Ponies brought equipment and crates in carts, had them loaded onto the belt system, and I pushed them where they needed to go. By the time I was finished with my tasks, I was dirty; covered in grease, sweat and grime. However, satisfied as well.

After the last bit of cargo was loaded, the craft was ready to launch once more, which was an interesting ordeal beacause of the weight of the craft and the lack of a decent runway, the machine required a massive slingshot from a team of “Launchers” as we called them. These brave and rather powerful Unicorns were capable of lifting the vehicle with their minds and, on cue, forcing the craft to near rainboom speeds. Such power would not be necessary with a flat, hard surface where the gear couldn’t get stuck on tiny bumps, but I didn’t really mind the idea. It was amazing to watch.

Crater Run trotted over to settle next to me, his mane was a tangled mess as always, making him look the part of a veteran than anything else about him ever could. The old stallion was always just as amazed as I was, but not for the same reason, as he had explained to me once.

“I’ve been around since before the Trains were even a thought in some young engineer’s mind.” he had whispered one day at the cafeteria table, as he explained to me some of his past, “To think that we can transport more cargo on this thing than the entire delivery force ever could is… simply amazing. It’s wonderful that we’ve come so far, I like to think”

I agreed with him. We were very similar in the way we thought. Ruminations aside, we sat together and watched in pure amazement as the Launch Team prepared themselves. Horns began to glow, and a colorful aura of magical light, the combined effects of multiple ponies working to lift a single object, engulfed the great craft. Moments passed as the glow became brighter and brighter, until it lifted off of the ground. Landing gear retracted as it rose, collapsing into the bottom of the vehicle where flaps encased them to protect the equipment from the sudden rush of wind that was about to engulf the machine. Even the rotors folded up, settling in a more aerodynamic position along the engines.

The plane was prepared, its wings shining in the sun, the tail that jutted from its oval-shaped body glinting against the sky. It was time.

The began to blaze with arcane power, and for a moment it was too blinding to see anything besides the light. Moments later there was a loud crack of thunder, and the aircraft was a kilometer away, and rising into the air with cloud contrails following its wings. It had broken the rain-barrier, which was signalled by spontaneous droplets of purified water falling from where it once was. The taste was immaculate, despite the dirty smell of the vehicles internals that anypony inside the vehicle would experience. I imagined that the craft’s effect on the surrounding ecosystem was carefully monitored by the Princesses. industrial revolutions had gone unchecked in some of the neighboring kingdoms already, and it had ruined the green-ness of those kingdoms and filled their air with harsh smoke.

Or so I’d heard. I didn’t really keep up on those types of things. There wasn’t much point, I figured. I lived in Equestria, not Saddle Arabia or the Gryphon Kingdoms. What happened in places outside my little world didn’t really matter to me back then.

“Come on.” Crater Run motioned, “Boss wants to see you.”

My ears drooped a bit. What could he want me for, I wondered? Had I been too rough with the boxes, or had I violated some safety code? My mind reeled with possibilities. Muddy grass below my hooves squelched as Crater Run and I approached the office of Paper Plane, the administrator of our airfield. Crater knocked.

“Come in, come in!” A somewhat exasperated voice barked from behind the closed door. Crater Run entered first, his hooves clacking against the floor, tracking field-mud into the neat and clean room. It was a little too clean, I thought. From the polished wood flooring, to the spotless walls and exceeding-to-the-point-of-mania neatness of the unicorns’s desk. Everything in the room was exact and so. Despite his cleanliness our boss was effective. And purple. Purple with a cropped blue mane, to be exact.

It was a mystery as to how he managed to keep everything running with as neat as he kept things. After all, he seemed to spend most of his time cleaning and straightening things. At the moment I walked into the room, in fact, he was cleaning a spot off the floor. Straightening up to meet us both at eye-level with a cloth hovering next to his head, suspended in unicorn magic, he frowned a little.

“Good that you’re here.” he said, his voice shaking a little, as if nervous. This was normal for him, however, “Crater, please leave. I need to speak with Air here in private.”

Crater nodded simply and exited without a word, leaving me alone to whatever fate our boss had to bestow on me. I did not take a seat. I knew better. A situation like this called for standing, even though I had no idea what I had done wrong.

Seeing the look on my face, the frown on Paper Plane’s face softened.

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”

I managed a slight sheepish grin, “Then why does it feel like I’m about to be?” I asked, a nervous laugh escaping my lips.

Paper Plane sat at his desk, a large mahogany and red-fabric chair at his back. His hoove crossed in front of him, on which he leaned his head partially on, looking over his glasses at me.

“Air, you know we value your work here.”

Here it came.

“And I know that you weren’t late today, even though your supervisor said you were.”

Fired. I was about to be fired.

“Ms. Spitfire came by, in fact, and congratulated me on hiring such a great worker, but…”

I knew that I shouldn’t have pushed my luck as many times as I had by being a smartass to Smokes.

“... You really should take a vacation.”

My ears drooped. I hadn’t expected that.

“Alright… let me pack my things. My locker will be cleared out by the end of tomorr-”

My boss was looking at me like I’d lost my mind. Backpedaling quickly, I adjusted my demeanor.

“-I mean… uh… there are things in my locker I need to get. Yeah! I left some clothes from last week in there… don’t want them stinking up the place!”

I forced what I thought was a convincing smile, and let loose an odd squeaking sound.

“...Okaaaay…” my boss began, “Well… that’s good. I’m glad you’re going to… wash clothes.”

We stood there in silence.

“I… I’ll get going.” I said laughing, the awkwardness of the situation stung the air, “... to… uh.. get my things, I mean.”

My boss didn’t respond to that, instead reaffirming what he’d said earlier, “I really do appreciate the hard work you put in, you know? Crater does too. Even Smokes, but… you know how he is…”

I snorted a little, remembering back to earlier that day, “Can’t say I do…”

“Regardless… You deserve some time off. You haven’t taken a day off since you started, and it’s been a year now. Don’t you have that spry little pegasus mare to look after?”

At the mentioning of Aurora, my ears perked.

“Actually, boss… this is perfect. I was meaning to ask off. I’m planning to propose.”

He chuckled, “Well, I’m giving you about a week off then. Hope you’ve been saving up. A spell to get you to Cloudsdale, at least one so you can walk on clouds, is expensive. Even moreso if you’re planning to live up there.”

I blinked.

“Yes. It’s possible. Daily spells are expensive, though. You could do it if you were a Unicorn, or if you had a Unicorn friend who knew the spell.” he paused but held up a hoof as I opened my mouth to ask, “And no, I do not know the spell. Sorry, kiddo.”

With that, he wished me luck, and sent me on my way. I don’t think it had really occured to me before, but Aurora was… well, a flyer at heart. She loved being up there, in the clouds. In fact, I don’t think that I could remember more than ten times that she’d ever touched the ground unless she was inside.

Could I really ask her to stay on the ground with me? Could I really trap the Pegasus I loved and ask her to give up her home in the sky just to marry me? By the time I was at my locker, sticking my hoof in the lock, I was frowning at myself. I looked in the mirror.

What if I had wings?

I tried to imagine it. At first it was hard, but… after a few minutes, I could imagine the feeling pretty well. I wanted to fly, but without wings that was impossible, even though we had flyers back then. None of them were personal, and none of them were small or offered any kind of freedom. I closed my locker, grabbing a pair of wet socks and my slosh-filled hoofboots from the day prior. I crinkled my nose in disgust.

They DID smell bad.