At long last the group went on to start the first activity of the week after what felt like an hour or two of lecturing by Arrow, and not to mention the subsequent disturbances incited by a few rather unruly members of the class who were for the most part completely unwilling to cooperate with anypony let alone the instructor. A flight race covering the entire length of the runway - in which three ponies selected completely on a whim by Arrow would participate - was the first, and perhaps only activity the group would partake in that day, the minutes slowly ticking away towards the end of the session. In retrospect, the lecture probably did last for an hour, if not, then longer, for at that point, the sun was already nearing its highest point of the day. By the looks of it, it must have been around eleven at that point, maybe twelve even—or at least that’s what it seemed to Storm. As time went by cloud cover over Vanhoover also increased somewhat, although to nowhere near a point where rain was likely. The westerly wind atop the summit also picked up, whistling through the trees atop the summit in tandem with the shifting clouds, clocking in at perhaps thirty miles an hour and not dying down for a while, and thus making the flight race difficult to proceed with as planned.
And yet, it did eventually.
After some delay caused by the weather, Arrow made his first picks for the flight race. Much to his surprise, despite not attaining the fastest time during the practice runs, Storm was chosen to race alongside Buck and some other stallion he couldn’t quite catch the name of. He didn’t know how, but perhaps through sheer will and determination, and with some luck he’d overcome the wind despite initially struggling against it as he trailed them down the slope. Despite initially being in second place, Buck appeared to have gotten highly distracted at one point by something, at least from Storm’s point of view, allowing the stallion to catch up to him and thus leave him in the dust; it was harder catching up to the other flyer though, also a transfer by the looks of it, but at the very least he’d gotten to second place - by no means was that bad, at least not in Storm’s eyes, but it did leave ample room for improvement. Once the final three ponies in the group had raced each other, the individual times of each group member for the flight race were compared; Storm ended up coming in fourth place, whereas Sand Scraper, his newfound friend of sorts, came eighth out of the eleven ponies who’d raced that morning. Exhausted out of their minds following the race and craving something to eat at the factory cafeteria, the group made their way back down the hilly path leading back into town, Arrow tailing them and still watching the entire class like a hawk despite not a word being uttered by anypony along the way. As he worked his way down, all Storm could think about was how underwhelming and frankly strange their first flight lesson was; although this was only the first day he felt that much more could have been done had there been no distractions along the way. That, and he was also somewhat frustrated with Arrow himself and his rather questionable methods of teaching - which seemed to consist mainly of long, drawn-out lectures regarding every single mechanic driving flight punctuated by fierce, hellish rage directed at members of the class who were acting up.
Instead of actually getting anything done aside from a flight race Storm was forced to bear witness to his classmates acting up and doing everything in their power to irritate the instructor as much as they possibly could, whether it'd be through making decidedly bad, and perhaps even somewhat tasteless quips about him and his military background or through rebelling against his instructions altogether. That didn’t excuse Arrow’s response to it though, which for the most part seemed somewhat fitting of the context considering his high-ranking position of authority in the Air Force, but at the same time was a bit too harsh in his opinion. Had this been anypony else they’d probably have reacted in a similar manner, but Arrow seemed to take things a tad bit too far in all honesty, breaking into a fit of unadulterated rage at even the slightest blunder by the looks of it. Although by the looks of it Storm was still on his good side, he had no idea how long he’d remain there, or if he’d last through the whole week.
At the very least the jocks who had been pestering him throughout his time at Vanhoover had either completed the course by then or dropped out of it and gone back to their original factories; he assumed that the latter option would probably be more likely since he hadn’t seen them at all that morning when making his way to the briefing room—but he couldn’t know for sure in the end. Part of him still also questioned the logic behind such a course, especially the fact that transfers from other weather factories around the country - who were highly skilled and experienced without any reasonable doubt - were expected to take part in it. He could completely understand if it was for the factory to see whether or not the transfers they’d accepted were fit for the job, but at the same time, to be eligible for the transfer lottery at the Cloudsdale factory at least weather ponies had to be consistently performing at their best.
Wouldn’t the progress reports from Cloudsdale have sufficed? Storm pondered over the course as they arrived at the foot of the hill, entering a middle-class housing subdivision located on the very fringe of Silverwood shortly thereafter, the brick façade of weather factory’s south wing coming into clear view of the group as they made their collective way towards it. Why is any of this necessary? I already know how to fly; that, after what happened those few weeks ago...
The whole thing confused Storm to say the least, although he wasn’t exactly willing to show it especially seeing as he’d gotten so far through the course at that point. Neither Clear nor High Wind had explained the course in much, if any, detail to him beforehand, but somehow he’d soldiered through it with only flight week left to go. Although he wasn’t enjoying the course at all at that point and was growing somewhat desperate for it to come to an end, at the very least he was being paid by the factory to participate in it; as far as he was concerned there was no sign-on bonus for transfers, but the 250 bits that hit his bank account every week wasn’t bad money, at least not for somepony who’d just left high school and was trying to make it out in the world on their own. It was probably better money than what he earned first starting out in Cloudsdale, that much was certain.
“Alright folks,” motioning for them to stop at an intersection after leaving the initial cul-de-sac, Arrow walked to the front of the group, each member standing at attention and awaiting his instructions. “For your first flight lesson that wasn’t half bad, but I expect much better times from each and every one of you tomorrow, especially from the ponies I had to speak to earlier on. Remember what I said about the classes being integrated tomorrow? Good...”
“You know,” Sand Scraper walked up to where Storm stood, leaning into his ear. “I’m surprised he isn’t yelling his ass off at us right now.”
“He can’t,” Storm cast him a sidewards glance, scooting over to the right slightly and allowing him to enter his space. “There’s probably noise laws preventing him from doing so, especially seeing as this is a pretty swanky area of town by the looks of it.”
“I guess,” Scraper shrugged his shoulders somewhat, the two being out of Arrow’s earshot. “He’s so full of himself by the looks of it.”
“Yeah, he definitely comes off as such, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Scraper nodded in response. “Like, he seemed like a pretty cool guy at first but then he just started lecturing us about random shit; oh, and just the way he demands everypony’s utmost respect while not giving any back.”
“It’d probably be exactly the same in the military, dude,” Storm replied. “I mean, tell me you wouldn’t react in a similar way if you were in his position.”
“I know, but I guess what I’m trying to say is that he’s overstepped a ton of boundaries by the looks of it,” Scraper mused, also arousing Storm’s suspicion - at least for a moment. “I know he’s not employed by the factory, but he should at the very least behave as though he is. How did you think that went by the way?”
“Exhausting,” Storm chuckled somewhat, following his statement with a yawn, as if on cue. “But then again I haven’t really been sleeping well lately so I guess that might be what’s causing it.”
“Yeah, same,” Scraper nodded in response. “I just hope I can do better the next time, you know?”
“Yeah, I mean this is only the first flight lesson of the week,” Storm replied, somewhat startled by the group moving on once Arrow had finished talking in the background and almost being tailgated by a mare. “You’re bound to improve, dude.”
“I hope so,” Scraper nodded, a decidedly nihilistic edge to his response, indicative of intense doubt. “My dad would kill me if he found out I came eighth..oh man, I don’t know about you but I’m starving, dude.”
“Yeah, me also,” Storm grimaced somewhat, stomach rumbling for a few brief seconds as the two stallions followed the others in the group down the street, much of the weather factory coming into full view shortly afterwards. “Do you know if we’re doing anything after lunch?”
“I doubt it,” Scraper shrugged. “From what I could tell it was only just this one session we were doing today, and then we can just go home.”
“That’s reassuring,” Storm smirked somewhat, the group arriving at the final block along the street before reaching the weather factory.
“You got anything going on later?”
“No, not really,” Storm shrugged his shoulders. “What about you, man?”
“Probably gonna go home, down to Bayview,” Scraper replied, smirking somewhat. “You should honestly drop by sometime if you’ve never been before. It’s a couple of miles south of town right down the coast with a big, beautiful beach and some of the coolest views around. I used to surf when I was a kid, me and my brother both did actually, and I’d say that I got pretty good at it...and then...I gave up on it, pure and simple.”
“Why man, what happened?” Storm raised his eyebrows somewhat.
“One day I went out a bit too far to say the least,” Scraper chuckled in response to Storm’s statement as they crossed the street onto Factory grounds. “I ended up getting dared by one of my friends from school to go as far out as possible from what I can remember; I think I went out almost a mile or something, I’m not sure. Then all of a sudden this huge wave comes out of nowhere, I panic, and just fly back to shore, not returning to the beach for a few weeks out of fear; it must’ve been a month before I came back as a matter of fact, right after we had one of the worst storms in our town’s history.”
“Damn.”
“Keep in mind I was only about eleven or twelve at that time,” he mused, following the group into the factory gym where it dispersed, Arrow having left them by the looks of it after dismissing the class. “I know this story sounds silly, but I honestly thought I was going to drown back there. Thank god I have a pair of these, right?” He then glanced back at his right wing, smirk glistening across his face.
“Yeah, I didn’t say anything,” Storm shook his head, Scraper chuckling nonchalantly following his statement as they both walked through an open door and made their way towards the locker room, trailing behind the rest of the group. “I’ve had actually something similar happen to me before, but it’s not something I really like talking about...since it kinda happened here.”
“What...do you mean?” Scraper cocked an eyebrow.
“I...almost drowned at the training pool a couple of weeks back.”
“That...was you?” his eyes widened all of a sudden.
“Yeah,” he shrugged his shoulders, narrowly avoiding a collision with an oncoming weather pony. “You’ve heard of what happened?”
“Damn,” Scraper sighed. “A lot of ponies have, to put it short. It was on the six-o’clock news and everything.”
“I’d imagine it was...”
“I mean,” he began, arousing Storm’s suspicion somewhat as they passed through more crowds of ponies making their way towards the cafeteria for lunch. “They didn’t reveal your identity to the press, but they said they’ve got ‘everything under control’.”
“Sure they do,” Storm scoffed, eyeing the stallion closely. “That sounds really sketchy in fact, like, the way you’ve worded it especially.”
“You know, speaking of ‘sketchy’, they still haven’t fixed that thing, nor have they gotten rid of it entirely,” Scraper explained, shrugging his shoulders. “Just thought you should know.”
“They haven’t?” Storm raised a suspicious eyebrow, heart leaping into overdrive.
“Nope,” he shook his head, to Storm’s utmost surprise. “I’ve been on them last week.”
“Really?” Storm maintained his facial expression. “What was it like?”
“It didn’t look as though much had changed to be honest,” Scraper shrugged. “The simulator you were on was closed off for about a week for ‘inspection purposes’, but all they really did was put in a new pane of glass and that’s about it.”
“Sheesh.”
“Dude, you should talk to Clear about this when you have the time, but come to think of it now I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re going to have to redo the weather simulators.”
“Hell no, I’m not going back on that thing,” Storm stared daggers at Scraper, the stallion flinching somewhat in response as they finally reached their lockers. “I almost died there a couple of weeks back, and they expect me to do them again? What the hell?”
“I don’t know dude, it’s a possibility you’ll have to redo them next week or this week even,” Scraper sighed, keying in the code for his locker as did Storm. “I honestly don’t know...just..just ask Clear about it when you have the time, she’ll know exactly.”
“They know what happened though,” Storm sighed, trying to maintain a hold of his emotions before they slipped out of hand. “It would be really cruel of them to force me through that again. How do you know about this?”
“I think I ended up overhearing something this morning, I’m not sure. Like, just before the briefing Clear was talking about an accident that happened here a couple of weeks back with one of the high-ranking suits that work here; I legitimately had no idea it was you.”
“And I’m guessing they were discussing what you said?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Scraper nodded. “Clear wasn’t too happy with it herself by the looks of it, but I think she had no other choice but to comply.”
“This isn’t right,” Storm shook his head in anger as he dumped his saddlebag in the now-open locker, removing his sandwich bag from it before slamming the door to it shut. “Man, I thought the course was bad enough already, and now they want me to redo the simulators?”
“Dude...I’m sorry,” Scraper replied, also throwing his saddlebag into his locker. “As much as I hate to say this you’re probably lucky they even gave you the time off.”
“I’ll talk to Clear about this,” Storm replied, breaking into a fast stride down the corridor. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t know…,” Scraper, holding his sandwich bag in his hooves, followed Storm’s tracks down the corridor towards the factory mess hall, Storm frantically looking around the hallway for Clear’s office as his anger festered deep within. “We should find her as soon as possible, dude.”
“I’ll find her myself,” Storm grimaced, feelings of resentment and confusion brewing within him. “I just hope she’s still at work.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, you just go eat and I’ll go talk to her,” Storm turned towards him in mid-stride, reaching a fork splitting the hall into two. “I need answers from her about this. Do you know if she’s in, dude?”
“She should be,” Scraper replied, although Storm could tell by his expression that he was uncertain. “If I were you I’d take a look in the transfer office. That’s where she usually is. I mean, she was in this morning, and besides, from what I know she usually has her lunch there.”
“Alright,” Storm nodded satisfiedly as the two arrived at the t-shaped junction, Storm turning towards the right and Scraper towards the left. “I’ll see you tomorrow, dude.”
“Sure, see ya.”
“Come on in!”
This must have been the third time he’d been to Clear’s office in the space of an hour or so, his initial search for her throughout the factory being ultimately fruitless in spite of what Scraper had told him earlier. In all honesty, Storm was just glad to have finally found her office occupied, much of his anger from earlier having completely subsided with time; yet, he still felt somewhat hollow and empty inside, especially after Scraper’s sudden revelation, yearning to have the questions on his mind answered by her as if she was some sort of oracle. Anxiety embracing him whole as he pulled the handle down, Storm nudged the door ajar and tread into the office, glancing up at Clear with an unnerved, yet anticipatory expression on his face, one that she picked up almost immediately and responded to with some concern. He didn’t go there as often as he perhaps should, but today was a different occasion than usual—much more different in fact.
Little did he know just how how much it might end up changing everything.
He needed to be there today, pure and simple.
“Hi Storm, is something wrong?” Clear asked, closing the lid to her laptop and shifting it along her desk to her immediate right, tracking the stallion in her gaze as he made his way into the office. As he made his way in towards her desk, his gaze skimmed across the photographs she had on her office wall. “I didn’t expect to see you here today. What can I help you with?”
“Can I have a quick word?” Storm approached her desk, the mare motioning for him to sit down in front of her; almost immediately the anger he’d thought had largely dissipated earlier on had returned to him, slowly bubbling up deep within as his mind pondered over what Scraper had told him earlier.
“Of course, of course,” Clear smiled, motioning for him to sit down in front of her desk. “What is it that’s been bothering you?”
“Just out of interest,” Storm paused to clear his throat. “Do you know if I’ll have to...redo any parts of the course?”
A long, awkward silence ensued shortly thereafter, Clear’s smile turning into a concerned frown and arousing Storm’s suspicions.
“...what?”
“I asked if I’ll have to redo any parts of the course that I’ve...missed,” Storm replied, his suspicions elevating as he furrowed his brow at the mare, who stared at him with a mostly blank expression on her face. I genuinely hope he’s bullshitting me at this point. “You know, the weather simulators? Would I have to redo them at any point during this week?”
“How was training with Arrow…?” she asked, attempting to derail the conversation before it had even fully started.
“It’s going alright,” Storm nodded, not wanting to tell her about Arrow’s temper—although part of him could tell that she was aware of it. Was this one of the reasons why she hired him? “That’s...not why I’m here though.”
“Storm…?”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Storm, listen, about that...accident,” Clear suddenly interjected, taking on a decidedly more serious, yet also nervous, tone than before. “I have something to tell you, and I'm not too sure that you'll like it.”
“What is it,...Clear?”
“Storm, I'm..,” she began, sighing somewhat, Storm raising a slight eyebrow at her initial response. “I know I promised you this before, but I'm really sorry for not being able to sort anything out with the factory about trying to accommodate the course to your needs. Any injuries that take place during training are usually dealt with swiftly and seriously, but these days it's hard to get anything across to upper management to say the least. I tried to negotiate shortening the course for you in some way or another, or even having you skip it altogether, but the upper management were pretty adamant that you finish the whole thing like everypony else does once you recover—either that or drop out of it altogether.”
“Really?” Storm inquired, raising his brow somewhat in sheer disbelief. “I'm guessing this is why a lot of the trainees I've never seen before.”
“Precisely,” Clear sighed, head resting in her hooves. “It's just the way things are managed around here, unfortunately. The trainees you're working with for the remainder of this week are our final batch for this year; the ones you worked alongside before your accident have all either started full-time work here or have dropped out of the course by now.”
“Beats me why I'm not able to skip the course altogether,” Storm shrugged his shoulders in response, eyes shifting towards the clock on her wall. “I'd understand if it was budgetary issues the factory's facing, but you must be doing really well right now if you’re able to provide a training course like this.”
“They tell me they need to see how well you're performing as a weather pony before they take you on, which is why they're forcing you through everything,” Clear responded, a glare forming on her face. "I'll be honest with you Storm, your injuries don't matter to them whatsoever, although they've faded away by now, as long as they can still milk some sort of profit out of your service."
"Really?" Storm's pupils shrunk to pinpricks at that statement, anger boiling deep within. "Who pays you?"
"That doesn’t matter,” Clear shook her head in a swift response and in obvious disapproval. “What matters is that the factory is refusing to take responsibility for an on-site injury, which, in the best way of putting it, was the end result of years and years of neglect. We had a change in CEO not too long ago, and this one seems to be a lot more concerned with cutting corners than anything else.”
“Is that all, or is there more to this?”
“You know, when I told you that I’d personally pay for your medical care…,” Clear began, pausing for a sigh. “Well, I actually tried getting you on the trainee health insurance plan we have here, like, just before you arrived, but I soon realized that you weren't on any list, as were a lot of other potential weather ponies...put simply, you weren’t eligible for it, which is why I took it upon myself to pay your hospital bill, since 250 bits a week probably won’t cut it.”
“How big was it?”
“You really want to know?”
“Go ahead.”
“Initially it was roughly 60,000 bits, but there was some sort of computer error at the hospital’s billing department,” Clear explained. “We got a redacted version of it in the mail a week or so later. And the price tag on that one? 8,000 bits.”
"I honestly don't know what to say," Storm glared in her direction, completely stunned and bewildered and feeling somewhat hollow inside in the wake of Clear's sudden revelation. "I didn't even know there was an insurance plan I could sign up for."
"I'm so sorry, believe me," Clear lowered her head down in shame. "None of this is right, to say the least, but this is how things work around here. I was willing to go to the extremes to get your bill paid, believe me.”
“Clear, what else are you not telling me?” Storm raised both eyebrows, the hollow feeling within him omnipresent.
“That’s all I have to say.”
“How was I not eligible for it?”
“They don’t take transfers anymore, Storm,” Clear shook her head matter-of-factly, a succinct response on her part. “Pure and simple.”
“How?” Storm raised his voice by several decibels all of a sudden, growing more consumed by his confusion with each passing second. “They don’t take transfers anymore? The hell did I do to make me ineligible for it?”
“Storm, be honest with me,” Clear began, calming down slightly and maintaining a stoic composure, even in the face of Storm’s brewing rage—rage which she fully understood. “Why are you here?”
“Excuse me?” Storm frowned, pricking up his ears.
“I’ve been asking myself this question ever since I first caught a glimpse of your cutie mark. Why did you come here, to Vanhoover?” she inquired, watching intently as he glanced down at the mark emblazoned on his flank. “Did you sign up for the lottery at Cloudsdale? What happened?”
“You really want to know?”
“Simply put, I have to know if we’re going to do anything about this. What you’re going through isn’t right.”
“I didn’t,” Storm shook his head and sighed, his anger intensifying. “I was sent here. I didn’t sign up for anything.”
“Who sent you again, was it High Wind?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Clear inquired, a tinge of concern evident in her voice. “Did he give you a reason?”
“Nope.”
“This might be a strange question to ask, but…is High Wind anypony to you?”
“He’s my stepfather,” Storm grit his teeth, holding his breath. “Or at least was. This isn’t something I wish to talk about though.” Especially not with you, a complete stranger who has no need to know of my family life.
“Oo-kay,” Clear began, somewhat taken aback by Storm’s response. A moment of solemn yet tense silence ensued then before she finally continued. “I’ll leave this entirely up to you, but please, just tell me...do you want to stay on this course and finish it? Or do you want me to cancel your transfer contract and send you back to Cloudsdale?”
I knew there was a transfer contract I needed to sign...why didn’t I ask to see it before I left? I guess I was just so caught up with what was going on at the time I didn’t even consider asking for it...but if I did, would he have let me see it?
“Wait-”
“Storm, I can’t let you get screwed over like this,” Clear fixed his gaze on him, her voice firm but also concerned—motherly even. “If you’re wanting to continue this course, you need to understand the consequences of your choice...that, and get yourself a good lawyer also. You’re gonna need one.”
“A lawyer?”
“Storm, what happened--this-this is extremely serious,” Clear shook her head. “You need to understand what you’re going to get yourself into. The sheer mismanagement of this factory has resulted in what could have been an on-site death but fortunately resulted only in serious injury. The weather simulators—these had a lifetime of eight years and were meant to be replaced earlier this year, but they put that on hold due to ‘budgetary issues’ and we were ascertained that they work perfectly fine even after countless uses..since you’re the primary victim of this, you’re liable for compensation, as this is included in your transfer contract. You can take this factory to court and sue the hell out of us...and I will wholeheartedly support you throughout all this if you choose to take this path.”
“I’m lost for words,” Storm blinked thrice, the hollowness within him combined with the immense, widening scope of the situation gnawing at his very soul. “How many secrets can one weather factory be keeping away from its workers?”
“As am I,” Clear sighed. “And you’d be surprised, honestly—this isn’t the first time we’ve landed in hot water like this. I’m honestly so sorry this happened.”
“This wasn’t your fault,” Storm glanced at her, sympathy in his eyes as he looked on at the sad mare—although his curiosity was piqued by her cryptic revelation. Had something like this happened here before? When? “You helped me through a lot, and I couldn’t be more grateful for what you did.”
“I did what I could,” Clear replied, a surprising lack of emotion evident in the tone of her voice. “You need to make a choice, Storm...I’ll give you as much time as you need for it, but the choice you’ll make will be final—there will be no going back from it, you understand?”
“This..is all incredibly overwhelming.”
“I understand that, believe me,” Clear sighed, resting her head in her hooves. “But something needs to be done about this...and what happens from this point on lies very much in your hooves.”
“Clear, I…”
“If you want to file a lawsuit against the factory and the company that manages us, now would be a good time to start proceedings,” Clear responded, staring him straight in the eyes. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you through this process, I can assure you. I can get you the names of the ponies that deal with the insurance companies, the details of a couple lawyer friends of mine, help you with a lot of your legal fees, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Don’t overcomplicate this for me, please,” Storm groaned, frustration with the situation at hand overwhelming him. “I’m already struggling to grasp this—I’m not even sure if I want to go through with a lawsuit.”
“Storm, know that what happened wasn't your fault...you deserve some sort of compensation for that accident, and the fact that they've been..exploiting you, forcing you to go through everything again…I can't let you be treated like this all in the name of bussiness.”
“...how much...am I liable to get?”
“I'm not sure, but I’d assume it’s somewhere in the thousands of bits,” she replied, flipping open her netbook and logging on. “20,000 bits in compensation, maybe? 35,000? I'm not too sure. I just need to run through your file really quick, bear with me a moment. Storm…?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you..like me to cancel your contract here?”
This was it, the moment Storm had been waiting for deep down inside—and dreading also.
A potential ticket back to Cloudsdale.
“I mean,” she heaved a sigh, hooves resting on her desk as she momentarily stood up out of her chair, Storm listening closely to every single word she had to say. “I’ll be honest with you, there are so many better things you could be doing right now instead of being forced to do this course.” She then cracked a small smile, an attempt at lightening up the mood.
“This is the...final week though.”
“I know,” Clear sighed, sitting back down at her computer. “But still…something needs to be done about your situation—I can’t let you get exploited like this."
"You sure?"
"Of course," she nodded. "I've got your contract up on screen by the way. Based on the rank you transferred at you're liable for $26,000, which is really about as much as we can offer anypony. I’ll give you time to think this over, alright? I’ll get in touch with High Wind about your situation in the next few days, and whenever you’re ready, I’d like you to come straight to my office...and then we’ll talk our plan of action through.”
“Alright.” Storm muttered under his breath. ”What the hell have I gotten myself into?”