Frankly, Ms. Sparkle, I’m not sure how much I can tell you. I suppose I ought to start with an introduction and get that out of the way.
I go by Doctor Hooves—spelt with a W occasionally—but I much prefer to be known as the Doctor. You’ve seen me round Ponyville, though you’ve probably mixed me up with Time Turner. We’re the very image of each other. Even our marks—Cutie Marks, aren’t they called?—are identical. The only way to tell us apart is to hear us speak, since our accents are markedly different.
I’m something of a traveler. There aren’t many places I haven’t been. My business is to meddle in the affairs of other people—other ponies; sorry—and it’s quite an entertaining business, let me tell you!
I came to Ponyville after a longish trek across Equestria. It’s a lovely land, Equestria. The Everfree Forest is a wee bit rough-and-tumble, it’s true, but it’s quite pretty from a distance.
I was looking for something. A wooden crate with the letters DIN stamped on it. It was very important for me to find that crate.
Ms. Sparkle, I can already tell that it’s no use trying to be discreet. This case is confusing enough without me withholding half the facts! I’m going to lay out all my cards on the table. Some of the information you’re about to read is… delicate. Be careful to whom you entrust it.
To put it simply, I’m a time-traveler whose purpose in coming to Equestria was to track down a weapon of mass destruction misplaced across several dimensions.
That wasn’t very simple, was it?
Let me start over. I, the Doctor, came from another dimension in search of a device called a bomb. You probably aren’t familiar with bombs. All you really need to know is that they destroy things.
This particular bomb could have destroyed roughly three-quarters of Equestria. It was a Disintegration Initiation Node (DIN for short) left over from a vicious war in… well, another dimension. I won’t bore you with details. Someone misplaced this bomb, and it wandered from one dimension to another like flotsam drifting on a stormy sea.
By the time I arrived in Equestria, I’d been hunting the bomb for quite some time. Sooner or later it was bound to detonate. When it did, it would take quite a number of innocent ponies with it. I couldn’t allow that, now could I?
I hadn’t expected to become a pony, but it seems to have been a side effect of setting foot—or hoof, if you prefer—in Equestria. Not that I mind. Ponies are remarkable creatures. I rather wish I could have been a unicorn, but I won’t complain.
My journey began in Canterlot. I’ve heard you have family there, Ms. Sparkle. It’s quite a pleasant city, though I can’t say I care much for its criminal underworld. In retrospect, it may have been a mistake to ask the Canterlot mob for its help in tracking down the bomb. It seemed like a good idea at the time, you see. The Canterlot mob was, in fact, remarkably unhelpful.
(I thought I’d never get out of that alligator pit.)
Since the local mob was of no use, I settled for the next best thing and paid a visit to Princess Celestia. I generally find criminals to be more dependable than politicians, but I’m happy to report that your monarch is an outstanding exception. She listened patiently to my explanations, and served excellent cake.
In the end, she pointed me toward the Everfree Forest. “Everything dangerous ends up there,” she told me. “It’s a magnet for trouble. If it’s danger you’re looking for, the Everfree Forest is a good place to start.”
Your Princess was right, Ms. Sparkle. Everything dangerous ends up in the Everfree Forest, and I met most of it. A dragon, one or two wyverns, any number of wolves—everything dangerous, in fact, except for a wooden crate with DIN on its side.
As I began to lose hope, a zebra pointed me toward your little town. A zebra, of all things! She had heard rumours of a mysterious box arriving in Ponyville. After weeks without a lead, I didn’t hesitate to follow this one. I came to this town and renewed my search.
A full account of my searches would take quite a lot of ink, I’m afraid. I looked high and low and near and far and everywhere else I could think to look. The box eluded me, and I realized with growing panic that I was running out of time.
At long, long last, I succeeded in tracking the bomb to the Ponyville post office. How exactly it got there, I can’t say. (The universe is a funny thing, Ms. Sparkle; please don’t expect it to make sense.) I lost track of the bomb after the post office, but two ponies—Lyra and Colgate were their names, I think—helped me to find the blighted thing at last. It had wound up in the storage room in town hall, the very place where a concert was to be held that night.
This was a serendipitous turn of events. You see, Ms. Sparkle, the bomb could be deactivated by certain sonic frequencies—or to put it in simpler terms, certain kinds of sound. As it happened, the frequencies needed to shut off this particular bomb were exactly those emitted by a couple of instruments played during your concert.
The key instruments were a string bass and a music console. They had to be played simultaneously for the deactivation of the bomb to occur. A duet, you understand.
It turns out that both of the instruments involved had been damaged. Vinyl Scratch, to whom the console belonged, very kindly paid to have her friend Octavia’s bass repaired. I mended the console myself using my Sonic Screwdriver, which is—how shall I describe it?—a sort of magic wand. After telling Ms. Octavia to perform a duet with Scratch at your concert, I had some cider at the local café and waited.
Your concert was, may I say, a smashing success. It was grand to see Princess Celestia again, and I was happy to tell her I’d found the missing box. Ms. Octavia and Scratch concluded with a triumphant performance, the sound of which filtered up to the storage room and switched off the bomb.
One thing, however, didn’t quite go according to plan.
The bomb short circuited and threw out sparks as it switched off. The sparks set the wooden crate alight. By the time I arrived in the storage room, the whole place was a blazing mess.
I’m sorry to have ruined your town hall. At the same time, its destruction seems a small price to pay to prevent three-quarters of Equestria from going up in smoke and ashes.
Now that I’ve finished my business with the bomb, I suppose I should be moving on. My work is never done, it seems. It’s time for me to go be a nuisance somewhere else.
I leave you with my humblest apologies for the fire, and my sincerest congratulations on a magnificent concert!