//------------------------------// // Chapter VI // Story: Corvus // by Delerious //------------------------------// VI Canterlot Palace, 12:45 P.M. local time The Palatial Gardens had played host to a wide variety of inhabitants for almost as long as Celestia and Luna had ruled Equestria. Some of its more exotic flora included the Amarephophallus titanum, which was large enough for a fairly large colt to hide inside, and a few young visitors would surely have tried that one time, if not for the fact that it smelled like a vulture’s idea of Hearth’s Warming dinner. Then there was the sprawling banyan tree that took up one whole acre of the gardens; it was also a favorite with the foals, who loved to try to climb the many lower-hanging trunks and thick branches of this tropical wonder. The fauna that called the Gardens home were just as diverse; while most of the animals were the standard woodland creatures native to Equestria (and, incidentally, the descendants of a very kind donation from the previous caretaker shortly before her retirement some years ago), there were the shocking pink flamingoes of tropical Zebrica, so named for the electrically nasty surprise in store for anything stupid enough to try and make a meal of them. There was even a nest of rare golden eagles (with twenty-four carat plumage, no less). Today, for one day only, a new attraction was coming to the Gardens, and not very many of its occupants—or, for that matter, a great deal of ponies—were happy about it: the dreaded equus intrepidus, or as it was more commonly known, the freelance reporter. Of the sixty ponies or so who were currently waiting on the lawn that led to the Gardens’ exit, only half of them represented a legitimate news organization. Most of the remainder represented their own amateur news reporting agencies, which were mainly sponsored by various nobles and well-to-dos in order to either further their own agendas or undercut those of their opponents. The television was just beginning to become a fixture of Equestrian civilization; the nobles had noticed this, and recognized its potential. So they created their own miniature media empires, with the ostensible purpose of creating mass awareness in current events—but it was common knowledge to anypony who kept up with their programming that the results of its slanted presentation were more akin to mass hysteria. Unfortunately, the legal system of Equestria, as was oft the case, was slow to keep up with technology, and as long as the scheming nobility found loopholes to circumvent—and had the clout to do so—they were free to weave whatever twisted webs they wished. These five dozen ponies currently occupied five dozen cushions, each embroidered with the Equestrian coat of arms. These were currently splayed on the lawn in two sections of thirty each, leaving an aisle in between wide enough for a carriage to snugly fit inside. To underscore the implicit animosity between the freelancers and the “legitimate” reporters, each group had taken a section for their own. A neutral observer could clearly see which side was which; while equally sour looks were traded between both sides every so often, the freelancers would so do more often among their own kind. It was a metaphorical flexing of muscles, the first shots fired in a silent, subtle war—but at the end of the day, it was just as petty as the nobles that pulled the strings. The far-off bang of a heavy oak door closing provided an immediate, though inevitably temporary cease-fire, as everypony turned and stood as one to greet their regal hosts. Princess Celestia led the way, flanked by two stoic members of the Royal Guard, and followed by four of Equestria’s five Joint Chiefs of Staff (there were some murmurs here; apparently there was some truth to the rumors of Fleet Admiral Aegis operating in the field after all). The expression on her snow-white face radiated the calm serenity that always helped to put her little ponies’ hearts at ease. A closer look, though, might have revealed that the diarch looked rather anxious as well; her eyes were slightly downcast, and gave the impression that she was very worried. Whether this was due to recent events—or, as the nobles constantly maintained, that she was finally starting to get on in centuries—nopony could tell for sure. Last to arrive was Princess Luna, likewise accompanied by another pair of guards. Unlike her elder sister, however, she had dispensed with any body language that so much as hinted at calm. Though the Midnight Mare was mature enough to keep the worst of it under control, a practiced eye could see the signs of somepony who was obviously troubled: her trot was brisk, filled with purpose, and her countenance was like a statue, unmoving and unblinking, never daring to stray an inch to the side. Once a pony could put two and two together, there was fair reason for this disparity between the Sisters. Not only had Luna organized this conference to begin with, she was also the commander-in-chief of the standing forces of Equestria (Celestia, who had historically preferred peace to war, had relegated most of those duties to Luna upon her reinstatement as Princess of the Night). Add in the knowledge that this conference would certainly involve military matters, and most ponies might agree that right now, Princess Luna looked every inch a general. The Sisters now trotted to the podium that had been erected in the middle of the lawn, Celestia taking up a position behind and to her sister’s left. The Joint Chiefs took up spaces around them, two on either side, while the guards split off to oversee the reporters on both sides, just in case order would need to be maintained. Once everypony was in his or her proper place, a well-dressed stallion at the front row nodded, and stood up. “Your Highnesses,” the moderator said deferentially, “esteemed members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, we’re ready for you to make your statement.” As he sat down upon his cushion, there was a further fifteen seconds of silence, broken only by the shuffling of notes and the odd click of flash photography. Then, Princess Luna’s horn glowed for only a split second, and then she cleared her throat, her voice magically augmented (albeit slightly) to reach her audience. “Good afternoon, everypony,” she began, speaking in an even contralto that nevertheless caused a few vibrations in the bones of the ponies closest to her. “Earlier this morning, at eleven o’clock local time, we received reports of abnormal activity from the Aquastrian Empire, chiefly within the boundaries of their capital city of Delfin. These reports state the activity was hydrodynamic in nature, and was suggestive of a large cluster of vortexes, or whirlpools. We have confirmed that this is a part of the Aquastrian Empire’s defense network, however”—here, Luna raised a hoof—“further intelligence suggests that this action was not taken as a prelude to war.” Luna turned away, and glanced at her sister while the reporters were busy putting quill to paper. There was a few seconds of silence between the two before Celestia nodded once. Luna, apparently bolstered by Celestia’s act of reassurance, continued on. “Less than half an hour ago, we—that is to say, myself and Celestia—intercepted a message that we have good reason to believe comes from the Aquastrian Empire.” Ignoring the muttering and clicking of cameras that had suddenly resurged, she went on, “The message consisted of only two words: Save us. “Subsequently, we now have word from our Chief of Naval Operations, Fleet Admiral Blue Aegis, that an unknown sea creature did engage in open conflict with members of the Equestrian Royal Navy that were stationed in the west Aquastrian Ocean at the time. We are still waiting on a full report from the Admiral, although we have been informed that the carrier Dream Valley was damaged in the skirmish, and that several smaller vessels had been sunk. Admiral Aegis also suspects that this creature has been responsible for several incursions in Aquastrian territory dating back to approximately two years ago.” More murmuring. The clicking of cameras, and the scratching of quill on notepad appeared to grow louder, and the flashbulbs brighter. “Lastly,” Luna continued, “Admiral Aegis has confirmed that the creature has set a course for the city of Manehattan, and that its estimated time of arrival is in approximately half an hour. In response to this,” she had to raise her voice in order to quell the swell of mutters and whispers of surprise, “in response to this, we have declared a pre-emptive state of emergency for the greater Manehattan area and all surrounding settlements until further notice. To all of you here, and to all of you watching or listening, we urge everypony to please remain calm until this situation has been resolved in its entirety.” She stepped back from the podium, and then, for a seemingly infinite instant, there was absolute quiet. This was the first round of the pundits’ silent war; each side was now daring the other to make the first move, to set a standard of measure by which everypony else’s questions could be answered. Inevitably, the questions would become more and more outrageous; even now, in what was fast looking to be a tense situation for Equestria at large, sensationalism was likely to reign supreme over the cold, hard facts. Then, one of the “legitimates” finally stood up from her cushion, a toffee-colored mare with her blond mane tied back in a bun. “Inside Track, EBC,” she introduced herself. “What measures have you taken to ensure the safety of Manehattan’s residents in light of this information?” “An order of evacuation was put into effect fifteen minutes ago,” Luna answered. “All able-bodied and non-essential sapients are currently being directed to shelters stationed outside the evacuation zone. If you wish to hear the details, I will refer you to General Home Tree, our Chief of the National Guard Bureau. He is in charge of the operation.” An olive-green stallion behind Princess Celestia inclined his head in response. “Able-bodied and non-essential, Princess?” one of the freelancers mused audibly, and not without a hint of condescension. “Can you clarify?” Luna frowned. “As you know, Manehattan is among the largest cities of Equestria,” she explained. “Therefore, even the most efficient of evacuation plans will take time to carry out. Police and rescue authorities must see to it that nopony gets left behind.” “And ‘able-bodied’?” The smug freelancer ignored the acidic glares he was getting from every direction. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he (or, more to the point, the noble who was likely bankrolling him) was looking to fabricate a story of triage on the part of the Sisters. “A catch-all,” Luna said simply. “Able-bodied, in this case, means anyone who is not currently residing in hospital, whether for short- or long-term. In the event of evacuation, hospital residents are relocated to secure, reinforced facilities beneath the hospital that—and I feel this must be stressed—that have the means to keep. Them. Safe.” Her volume augmented a notch or three at this last, causing a brief gust of wind strong enough to undo Inside Track’s bun. She punctuated her statement further with a glare at the freelancer, who sank back to his cushion, scribbling furiously on his notepad. “Blue Kite, Trotters,” announced a stallion whose coat was almost the same shade of midnight blue as the Princess he was addressing. “Based on what you’ve said, Princess, there’s a lot we’ve yet to know about this monster. How prepared are the National Guard to confront it?” Many of the freelancers glared at him with a mixture of grudging admiration and pure venom. This was a loaded question, one that a number of freelancers were no doubt hoping to ask themselves. That a respected news organization like Trotters would dare ask something so laden with subtext could only mean the old expression “two can play at that game” was now in full effect. They were starting to play hardball. Fortunately, Luna seemed to have anticipated this, as she coolly parried, “As always, I would expect that they are as prepared to defend Equestria just as equally as they would the lives of anyone who lives there. Please speak with the General if you have any further questions on the matter.” “Can you elaborate on this message from the Aquastrian Empire, Your Highness?” asked another freelancer, a unicorn mare who looked as if she had slept, not worked, her way to where she was now. “Why is it that, after all this time, the sea ponies chose to send a message not to all of us, but to you specifically?” The moderator cleared his throat. “Ms. Scoop, that is a personal question, and therefore one that the Sisters Royal are not obligated to—” “It’s all right,” Celestia spoke for the first time. Her normally peaceful, motherly voice was only the tiniest bit shaky, but it was enough for everypony to give her their undivided attention. She motioned for Luna to stand aside so she could take the podium. “Ms. Scoop,” she asked kindly, “How was your trip to Canterlot?” The façade of the freelancer faltered slightly. “Excuse me?” she asked, a genuinely puzzled expression on her face. “How was your trip?” Celestia repeated. Hesitantly, Scoop answered, “Well … fine, I suppose, Y-your Highness. I had a bit of a headache on the carriage from Trottingham. I chalked it up to nausea—I’m not usually one for flights, Your Majesty.” If she was lying, Celestia didn’t acknowledge it. “Quite understandable. About when did you have this headache?” Scoop scrunched her brow, thinking. “About half an … ” Her face suddenly gave way to utter shock. “Half an hour ago … ” “The Aquastrians tapped into an ancient magic to relay their message,” Celestia explained. “More I fear I do not have time to say, but this message resonated in all magically attuned species. Some may have heard it clearer than others—for instance, Luna and myself—but in most other cases, unless you possessed a very high aptitude in magical theory and practice, their call for help would not have manifested as more than a particularly bad headache.” There were murmurs on both sides now, and the other unicorns were seen to nod their heads in understanding. Scoop, for her part, had sat back down, her face now totally expressionless. “And on that note,” Celestia added, all pretense of worry purged from her voice, “I have been assured that their plea will be answered. Thank you for your time.” She nodded curtly to the moderator, who produced a small bell from beside him. He rang it once, signifying that the press conference had ended. Here, the climax of the reporters’ war took place. Any modicum of subtlety went out the proverbial window, and both sides closed in around the aisle in which the Sisters and the Joint Chiefs proceeded out the gate and into the palace. The guards moved to intercept them, but despite their best efforts, they were outnumbered fifteen-to-one, and the entourage had not even made it ten paces before chaos set in. “Why was the Navy so close to Aquastrian territory?”—“What did this monster look like?”—“Why weren’t the Navy prepared to deal with this monster when it attacked them?” By the time the great oak doors to the Palace banged shut, the steady stream of questions had morphed into a giant, indistinct waterfall. The guards formed a barricade in front of the babbling press, and began the slow process of shunting them away from the grounds. Within the castle, two royal sighs of relief were heard by everypony inside. Manehattan, East River dry docks “Hey, what’re you doing here?” a burly policepony asked bluntly, unable to believe his eyes at the scene before him. “Don’t you know we got an evacuation going on?” The stallion shifted his body, and the guitar case resting on his overcoat hit the wooden dockside with a thud that sounded quite heavy for a string instrument. “Do ya now?” he asked, not a hint of worry in his voice. “And here I thought all them pretty mares was just runnin’ from my ugly mug.” The officer skeptically glanced at the colt, splashing his hooves in the shallows as if he truly did not understand the severity of this situation. That these shallows happened to be inside one of the dry docks was odd enough—he’d arrested thrill-seeking colts and wannabe stuntponies with more sense than to swim here. What was even odder, however, was the colt himself. The policepony could not find words to describe the colors of his coat, let alone his mane and eyes—mostly because they simply would not stop changing. “Is there a problem with your friend, sir?” asked the officer, maintaining his gruff, no-nonsense exterior, but adding a dollop of subtle concern for the colt as he pointed a hoof at him. “Poison joke,” said the stallion hesitantly. “His ma was nine months with ‘im when she got a whiff by accident. Couldn’t stop talking in burps for three days, and he … well, I still dunno which of ‘em ended up better off in the end, but he don’t seem to mind much,” he added, jabbing a hoof at the polychromatic pony. The policepony privately admitted he’d heard more bizarre stories from less savory ponies than this one in his time—and historically, those stories had proven both true and false in equal measure. But he’d learned to read between the lines over the course of his career, and he had to admit: between the stallion’s unwillingness to explain himself, and general aloofness of the situation at large, this story was holding less water than his granddad’s old rowboat—Sisters rest his soul. Even so, the officer knew, there were bigger problems right now. He raised a nightstick in his teeth, deciding the time and place for arrests was his future self’s problem. “Gentlecolts, for your safety, I’m gonna have to ask you to come with me,” he said, as authoritatively as he could with his mouth wielding the wood. “My carriage is at the entrance to the docks, I’ll drop you off at the nearest shelter.” The stallion considered this for a moment. “Sure,” he shrugged. He held up his guitar case. “You wanna take this for me? The kid don’t take to strangers real well—no ‘fense.” And truthfully, the colt had stopped playing in the water the minute the policepony had singled him out, and now looked quite scared. After studying the colt for a few seconds, the officer eventually nodded, and reached out his hoof. What happened next was very fast. The stallion swung the guitar case around his hoof in a downward arc, catching the policepony square in his jaw. The impact caused him to bite down hard on his nightstick, turning the toughened wood to kindling in less than a second. The policepony groaned dramatically for a few seconds, and finally slumped to the wood, spark out. “Sorry,” said the stallion as he tucked the policepony into a closet. “Better if I’m out here than in a shelter. Better for everyone. “Right,” he said to the silent colt. “Playtime’s over, kid. This place’s gonna start poppin’ real soon. An’ if I don’t say anythin’ ‘bout it, ‘s gonna start poppin’ a lot. So I’d get someplace safe if I were you.” It wouldn’t do to send the colt back where he came from, he knew. Granted, if the colt so desired, then he could do it under his own power. Problem was, creating a portal of that magnitude left a lot of residual magic. If a powerful enough creature was aware of it, that magic could be traced. And no one on Equestria knew better than he of the kind of magic this particular creature could do. The colt scurried into a locker, and peered out from a knot in the wood at the stallion as he opened the clasps to his guitar case. “Hey, one more thing!” the stallion hollered. “Hold onto your ears, and don’t let go ‘til I say so!” As the colt obeyed, the stallion opened his guitar case. Even from what little the colt could tell from his peephole, he knew that the contraption he was pulling out of it was most assuredly not a guitar. The device was massive and tubular, nearly half as wide around as an average hoof, but more than half as long again as the pony who was holding it. It was a golden, brassy color, and shone with all seven colors of the rainbow. The stylized profile of a full-grown bear in mid-snarl had been expertly engraved on both sides into the metal, with miniscule rubies inserted where its eyes ought to be, glowing like hot coals. In another lifetime, the stallion had fashioned this weapon himself, but now it felt just like yesterday. Though he had made others, this had been his first real success, and he had never made another like it since—not even before the one time in his life where everything had changed. Ready to meet the folks, big bro? He patted his gun several times, and then stepped onto the water. Not into—onto. While all creatures living in Equestria had some form of magic to call their own, his was particularly unique—from a certain point of view, anyway. The leading experts in theoretical arcanics called it “proto-magic,” an exceptionally old energy said to be the origin of all magic in Equestria, both ambient and applied, and for which the search for any modern equivalent had turned up nothing thus far. It was this magic that allowed the stallion to do the many things he could do—stop time, walk on water, among others. But, he reflected, he had had to pay a very, very high price for this power, and so he had to be very, very careful about letting it get to his head. Some of this magic was now directed at his hooves, keeping him high and dry. Now, he siphoned off a little more, creating an invisible ripple that radiated outward from his body at speeds that even he would be hard pressed to match. In less than three seconds, that magical pulse detected what he was looking for. Fifteen seconds later, he’d detected quite a few other things. Quite a few thousand, as it turned out. «Well, how about that,» he thought, quite a bit more loudly than usual. «Guess I’m not the only one who’s been a busy little bear.» He waited a few seconds. Then, «Who are you?» The telepathy was low, coarse, and primal, just as much so as the creature whose mind was speaking it. The stallion gave a little mental laugh. «Not even five years, an’ you’ve already forgotten me? That hurts, buddy. That hurts me bad.» Another laugh. «But not as much as I wanna hurt you.» He slipped a magazine into his rifle. The rounds inside it carried black tips that seemed to suck the light out of their surroundings. «I know what you’ve been doin’ out there—the hell you’ve been puttin’ all those thousands o’ ponies through. And I gotta tell ya right now, you should be lucky I found ya first.» It was the creature’s turn to laugh; it was a deep, bilious, gurgling sound, like water circling a drainpipe. The stallion could feel it coming closer and closer, faster and faster. «You don’t know what you’re dealing with, foal. I am older by far than anything that has ever existed on this world.» The stallion saw the beginnings of a crest forming in the water, and quickly cocked his weapon when he realized the creature was about to surface—and that it would do so right on top of him. «Does that include dwarf-star materia?» he asked. «What?! How—?» The stallion aimed his gun at the water, braced himself against the edge of the dock, and fired once. Dwarf-star materia was one of the most mysterious substances known to Equestria; it did not naturally exist anywhere in the land, very few papers had been published on the subject, and the only known recoveries had taken place in impact craters from meteorites. In older, less civilized times, when it was discovered that the ultra-high density of the materia made it extremely resistant to magic, it was sought after in the forging of weapons and armor, but its rarity made any sort of mass production impractical. The materia, however, was in far greater supply where the stallion came from, but it was also far more dangerous to obtain. It was formed from the remains of “black” stars, celestial bodies that had been tainted as a result of passing too close to the Nothing. The taint had stolen their light, and would always continue to do so—but the Nothing had not stopped them being able to generate the reactions that produced it. It had taken a very, very long time filled with trial and error before the stallion had learned to harness these reactions; he had started by combining an agitation spell with an arcana-electrified amethyst that served as a rudimentary battery. Then, he’d miniaturized and streamlined the process to the point that he could fit everything inside a single, tapered tube of magically reinforced brass—a tube exactly like the one he’d just fired at the monster. Several things then happened in rapid succession: a misshapen form the size of a house broke through the surface of the East River with a mighty, gurgling roar. That roar immediately turned to a howl of pain as the bullet connected with the creature with a noise like metal on crystal. Then, at the exact moment when the bullet impacted, a massive explosion of light and sound tore through the dry dock, smashing the adjacent piers into matchwood and severely cracking the concrete berms of the dock. Every single drop of water in the dock at that time was either instantly evaporated into a billowing cloud of steam or displaced into a great column of foam, high as an apartment building. Something large and metallic impacted the remains of the pier behind the stallion, narrowly missing the door through which the colt had been watching the whole time; he immediately leapt back with a panicked shout. The monster, meanwhile, had fallen (or, wondered the stallion, had he simply retreated?) back into the water, continuing to growl in pain and only pausing to hurl foul oaths aplenty at the stallion. «Aw, give it a rest, would ya,» thought the stallion, as he trotted to the pier; now that the creature was this close to him, he no longer needed the water to communicate with it. «I didn’t even hit ya that hard. ‘Sides, ‘m sure all those little fishies you got locked away’ll give you a good meal. Few dozen or so of them, you’ll be right as rain, won’t ya?» «My master will hear of this!» rumbled the monster in his own telepathy. «You’ll wish you’d been strong enough to kill me, you senile old crow!» The stallion laughed at this, long and loud. “Funny you should think about crows,” he said out loud. He walked over to the object that had nearly razed the locker containing the colt. It was almost as big as he was, bluish-gray and pitted with corrosion, and resembled a giant, elongated lobster’s claw. “Even if I could kill ya, I don’t have the kind of authority they do,” the stallion conceded. “And to be honest with ya, there wouldn’t be any need for me to kill ya now. I’ve already said what I wanted to say.” «You’re not—?!» He rested the gigantic claw beneath his hoof, and pushed down once with a hidden burst of strength. The severed appendage briefly sparked magenta, and then exploded into scrap metal—which in turn, by some unknown magic, degraded further into a clear, light red liquid. The substance ran in rivulets towards the dock, where the monster still lay. «The crow’s callin’, Praesepe,» the stallion thought cryptically, a smirk creeping along his face. «Tattle to daddy all ya want, but if I were you, I’d make sure ya get a nice, big dinner right about now.» «How the hell do you know my name?!» «The crow’s callin’!» repeated the stallion with a jovial wave towards the monster called Praesepe. «An’ unlike me, they ain’t scared to fight a sea monster under the sea!» Though nothing could be made of what approximated for the creature’s face, anyone who could have seen it might also have seen a flicker of understanding illuminate it at that time. Praesepe loosed a low growl of pure malice at the stallion, and then he finally turned around. For a moment, there was a spiked, spaded tail of shiny, metallic chitin breaking the surface of the water, turning around in a circle. Then it slipped beneath the water, and was gone. The stallion watched the rapidly retreating shape of Praesepe a while longer before he finally turned to the locker, forcing it open with a single buck from his hooves. Out tumbled the colt, who looked very shaken indeed, but otherwise unhurt. “Welp, ‘s only a matter o’ time till he finds me now,” mused the stallion, half to himself. “ … ” “There’s an old switchyard near the outskirts of the city, mile or so to the west,” the stallion explained as he disassembled his gun, replacing the pieces in his guitar case. “Hasn’t been used in decades. We’ll get some supplies on the way; hole up there for a few days. The more we keep out of sight, the better.” The colt gave a look at the closet where the unconscious officer still lay, then turned back to the stallion. His wide eyes, continuing to shift a thousand colors, almost looked pleading. The stallion frowned, considering. “Guess we could drop ‘im off near his carriage,” he shrugged, opening the closet and tugging at the policepony’s collar, dragging him along. Twenty minutes, a length of rope, and much swearing later, he had tied his tail with that of the downed officer. “I hope he don’t remember too much ‘bout today. I don’t need anypony else on my case right now.” He hoisted the guitar case onto his back. “Let’s go,” he said to the colt, motioning him to climb on. When he did so, he froze time around him once more, then—with some difficulty, owing to the officer bumping around behind him—galloped off from the ruined pier with the speed of somepony truly fearful for his life. The Dream Valley En route to Manehattan, 133045Z “News from the Admiral?” Captain North Star’s face looked harried. “His convoy just arrived at Manehattan Downtown, sir,” Lieutenant Mareze said as she looked up from the fresh Tailex in her hooves. She frowned. “Only one report of damage from the monster so far—looks like the East River dry docks got hit pretty hard. No details as of yet, but it doesn’t look like there were any casualties.” “That’s odd,” Star mused. “Usually, monsters like that just go about wrecking anything in their path.” “Maybe there’s a reason it only attacked that one place?” Mareze offered. “Maybe,” thought the captain. “Or … or maybe something turned it away?” Mareze was incredulous. “Captain, this creature destroyed three of our best submarines in seconds—and two of them were Hurricane-class! With respect, no body of law enforcement in Equestria, let alone Manehattan, has that kind of power!” The words had barely left her mouth when the navigations officer cried out, “Bogey One incoming! Bogey One is incoming!” North Star was by her side in a flash. Sure enough, a familiar shape had appeared on the sonar feed, approaching from the west. “Report!” “Bogey is heading east by northeast,” the officer said frantically. She tapped her screen with a hoof. “Depth two hundred, pulling seventy knots and rising!” “Signal the fleet, all stop,” North Star ordered. “All hands, battle stations!” For the second time today, klaxons began blaring across the ship, and everypony aboard—already on edge from the first alarm—rushed to their stations. “Itchy!” Star called out. “Status on depth charges?” “Last of the net was deployed ten minutes ago, Cap’n,” responded the lieutenant commander. “We’re lucky we didn’t have enough time back then to cast that net, otherwise this might not have worked.” North Star knew Itchy Hoof was right about them being lucky—not only for this second chance, but also for the monster causing (as far as he knew) only minimal damage to Manehattan. But luck could only go so far before it ran out—and he suspected that this was the last time they’d be able to make use of it. If something went wrong now, then there was nothing stopping this beast from terrorizing Aquastria again. “Bogey depth?” he asked the nav officer. She checked her readout. “Four hundred feet, sir—and dropping,” she frowned. “I think it’s diving away from us. It must be in a pretty big hurry if it wants to avoid another battle with us.” That enraged North Star, though he didn’t let it show. “That ‘battle’ cost us more than two hundred lives,” he said in a low voice. “I am not about to let that stand! Lieutenant, detonate on my mark!” Itchy nodded, and punched a few buttons. “Charges primed, sir. Once the monster reaches a depth of five hundred, I’ll detonate them all. If we play our cards right, that monster won’t even have time to react.” “Four fifty!” cried the nav officer. “It’s passing right under the fleet!” “Steady,” North Star said, as calmly as he could. The tension was almost unbearable. There was a low, rumbling noise, and the Dream Valley seemed to bob just a few inches higher in the water, and sway just the tiniest noticeable bit more from side to side. “It’s passed,” said Mareze, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Four seventy-five.” “Steady … ” Finally, after a moment of time that felt like hours: “Five hundred!” “Now, Lieutenant!” North Star barked. Itchy Hoof slammed his whole hoof onto a bank of switches, and roared, “Order’s up, mother—!” The rest of his impromptu battle cry was lost in a full fifteen seconds of muffled explosions that North Star suspected would make even the most ardent of movie directors in Applewood salivate like a foal in front of a candy store window. He looked aft toward the horizon, and saw the many telltale plumes of water spewing into the air—nearly blocking out the sky outright in the process. The Dream Valley rumbled long and loud as the shockwaves passed over the fleet, but unlike last time, the damage, if any, was much more minimal. When the chaos had subsided, North Star walked over to the nav officer. “Report?” The mare frowned for a few seconds, listening intently on her headphones. After a few seconds, a smile split her muzzle. “Nothing,” she said triumphantly, fighting the urge to cheer. At least for a few seconds, anyway—though to be fair, everypony else had broken into raucous whooping by that time. Itchy was hugging Mareze, who made a show of trying to break free of his grasp before giving up completely, North Star was stamping his shod hooves on the floor, unimpeded by the aching soreness he was likely to be feeling in the morning. It took a minute or so for the jubilation to die down. When it finally did, North Star turned to Mareze. “Lieutenant, contact Admiral Aegis with the news, and request permission to return to base.” “Yes, sir!” Mareze smiled. Manehattan Downtown Hospital “ … Despite reports that the monster has ceased attacking Manehattan and retreated into the ocean, the city remains in a state of emergency. The Princesses are continuing to enforce the evacuation order placed on the surrounding area until these reports are confirmed. Inside Track, EBC News, Canterlot Palace.” Nurse Vita groaned inwardly as she shut off the television. The hospital had been in bedlam ever since that thrice-cursed order; the second it had been announced, she and the rest of the staff had had to safely transfer every last one of the patients to the sublevels of the building, a process that took more than half an hour even in drills—oftentimes, there were simply too many patients to effectively streamline the process. Vita worked in the geriatric ward of Manehattan Downtown; in this hustling, bustling world-unto-itself of a hospital, she had set herself apart as a mare who liked to stop and smell the roses (or occasionally eat them as a treat during payday). Most of her extended family had served in the changeling campaigns from before she was a foal, and the stories of their exploits both in and out of battle always left her awestruck as a filly. For Nurse Vita, everypony had a story to tell, and the little notepad that she carried both under her medical hat and on each of her flanks was symbolic of her wish to save the stories of the past for the generations of the future. The geriatric ward was the perfect place to find these kinds of stories, and no matter how tedious they often were, Vita always enjoyed keeping her patients company. Unfortunately, she grudgingly reminded herself that there was no time for storytelling today, and she rose up from her space near the television, she grabbed a sheaf of papers and resumed her patrol of the hospital’s subbasement, where many of Manehattan Downtown’s residents lay. The light was no less abundant fifty feet below the earth’s surface than it would be in the normal wards. But it was noticeably harsher on the eyes; the peaceful rays of the sun filtered through half-open blinds had been replaced by long, fluorescent tubes. These, combined with the overall whiteness of the level—the tiled floors, the painted cinderblock walls—lent a very stark, sterile feel that Vita felt contrasted very poorly indeed with the needs of the patients within. As well as their guests, she noted, as she saw the uniformed stallion in the middle of the room, who was just finishing a hushed call on a portable earpiece, looking quite out of place next to all the sapients who were resting, coughing, or murmuring to themselves in various states of deliria. Fleet Admiral Blue Aegis had arrived just as the hospital staff had begun to put their emergency plan in effect. Guests were admittedly a gray area in said plan; for the most part, today’s guests had to be escorted off the premises—including those who had been visiting long-term residents. But one did not simply turn away a Chief of Staff; Aegis had not even had to use his position of authority to persuade Vita to stay with the mare he and his retinue had towed over by cloud. “How is she?” the admiral asked Vita, pocketing his earpiece. Though Vita could tell that whatever news he’d just heard had been positive indeed, it was painfully clear that it was not where his mind was at right now. He was looking at the nurse with an expression that made him look about thirty years older than he ought to be. Not because he was effectively stuck here with all the other patients and staff until the crisis had passed—and Vita had no idea when that would be. She did, however, know genuine sympathy when she saw it. These two ponies must go way back, she decided. Vita glanced at the papers she brought with her. “We’ve managed to stabilize Ms. Pie’s condition,” she told Aegis. “There’s a hairline fracture in her skull where her head hit the floor. Fortunately, preliminary tests showed no sign of internal bleeding, which will make it that much easier to treat.” Aegis frowned. “And the bad news?” Vita couldn’t help but bristle a little bit at those words in indignation. For a species that (for the most part, anyway) valued friendship, love and tolerance as much as it did, ponies could be so pessimistic at times. Nevertheless … “We want to run a CT; a mare as old as Ms. Pie is more susceptible to concussions than younger, tougher ponies. Unfortunately, we won’t be able to know the extent of that for sure, considering our … present situation. We don’t keep any equipment like that down here, I’m sorry to say.” Aegis was slowly deflating like a teething puppy’s old squeaky toy. “Between us, though, I think she’ll be fine,” Vita soothed him. “She may be old, but she’s also an earth pony—and she’s a Pie at that. If even half of her sister Pinkie’s exploits have any truth to them, I’ll wager a full dozen of roses that dear Inkie will be right as rain in a week’s time.” For the first time since he’d entered the hospital, Fleet Admiral Aegis cracked a little smile. “I’ll take that bet,” he chuckled weakly. “She could use something nice to eat.” Before Vita could respond to that, a sudden sound distracted the two ponies—a rough, grating caw-caw. The noise was faint, but unmistakable—and all the more perplexing for it. Vita immediately bustled down the hallway, towards where she thought the noise had come from. “Was that a crow?” Aegis asked, hurrying after her as quietly as he could, so as not to wake any of the sleeping patients. “I thought there weren’t any windows on the sublevel. How could a bird have gotten in?” “It could have been the ventilation,” mused Vita, flinching slightly as the caw-caw noise came again. Which raises even more questions, she added privately. How in Celestia’s name could a bird find their way down an air duct—never mind one that went to the lowest levels of the hospital? As they rounded corner after corner, narrowly missing a startled nurse or two, the cawing continued. It was getting closer, Vita thought. Definitely here—somewhere off to her right, she thought. Then she realized where her hooves were taking her, and immediately threw out a hoof to stop Aegis. “What’s wrong?” the admiral asked. The hallway had opened up into another room full of beds. Vita’s voice was a whisper. “This is where we relocated our long-term residents,” she said. Her voice was not quiet out of fear, but respect. “Some of them haven’t woken up for years, so we need to be very quiet.” Another caw; Aegis didn’t notice until after the impudent birdcall had faded away just how quiet it was here. He noted that there was a strange lack of machinery in the room—including machinery that could keep them alive, if only just. Moreover, he noticed that a number of the sleeping patients seemed to be emitting a faint pink glow from their bodies—or at least, the parts that weren’t covered by their bed sheets. “Temporal stasis spell—a last resort for our most severe cases,” Vita explained in a whisper. “Only a handful of ponies in Equestria are qualified enough to even cast it. It freezes the subject in a time bubble, and that completely halts the spread of any damage, be it injury or disease. Nothing gets in, nothing comes out.” “How do you treat them, then?” Aegis asked, momentarily forgetting about the elusive bird. “That spell doesn’t seem like more than a stopgap to me.” Vita considered this. “Perhaps,” she admitted. “But it’s a perfect stopgap. The only way the spell can be undone is the magician who cast it. Even then, they only do so when we have sufficient preparation to treat the patient.” Aegis had been walking around the room, looking at the ponies sealed away, and felt a pang of pity for them. How long had some of them been sealed away? Years, Vita had said. How much longer would they remain frozen in time, all the while unaware that while they were essentially immortal, their friends and loved ones lived and died? And how would they react to all this news, when they finally woke— The crow cawed again, and Aegis jumped—it had felt like the sound had come right in front of him. Instinctively, he looked at the beds nearest him. Both were occupied by two ponies—one an athletic-looking earth mare, another a male pegasus who looked much smaller than he ought to. The glow of the stasis spell made it hard to get much more identification than that; their cutie marks, the color of their coats and even their manes could not be determined. He heard Vita sigh next to him. “Oh, dearie me. I’d nearly forgotten about those two,” the nurse said sympathetically. The admiral frowned. “Why? What happened?” Vita turned to him. “Do you remember the night the Bucklyn Hoofbridge was destroyed?” Aegis said he did. “That was a few years ago, though, wasn’t it?” “These two ponies were admitted that same night,” Vita said, to mild surprise from the Admiral. “Both of them looked like they’d been fighting a whole pack of rabid Diamond Dogs, so I was told. The mare came in first—punctured lung, half her ribs broken, paralyzed from the withers down. Nopony knows who brought her in—the story goes she just appeared in the lobby. Like she just popped up from the floor.” She paused. “It’s a shame, really. So young, and yet she chose to waste her life the way she did.” At Aegis’ look, she clarified, “She was dressed like the Mare-Do-Well.” Aegis nearly lost his balance then and there. “The Mare-Do-Well?!” he asked incredulously. “You’re saying this mare is actually—” “There’s no way to know,” Vita shrugged, readjusting the mare’s covers. “Hardly anypony here thinks she is—it’s more likely she was just another imitator. It’s not the first time one of those has come through our doors, either. Besides, even if there is a real Mare-Do-Well, nopony’s seen her in years.” Aegis turned to the pegasus. “And what about him?” Vita thought for a moment. “He came in not two hours after she did. If memory serves, a weather patrol found him on top of the Sun & Moon plaza. Like he'd just fallen from the sky.” That surprised Aegis. “What was he doing up there?” “I wish I knew,” Vita said sadly. “Because there’s no way a fall could have caused his injuries.” Very carefully, she pulled back the pegasus’ sheets. Aegis blanched visibly at the sight. The pegasus was no longer a pegasus; both his wings were nothing but bandaged stumps. There was nothing of his left foreleg past the elbow, and the position of his remaining limbs looked too contorted to be natural. He opened his mouth, but found he had nothing to say. “The strangest thing about these ponies?” Vita said as she replaced the covers. “We still don’t know anything about them at all. No immediate family, no previous medical records on file, no ID of any kind.” “What about cutie marks?” “Not even that. Nothing matched.” There was a moment of silence. “What do you think?” Vita asked. “About the Mare-Do-Well? You’re somepony who helps to keep Equestria safe. What do you think about a pony that supposedly wants to do the same thing?” “Well, assuming she’s still alive, and if she keeps her city safe from behind a desk … ” Aegis chuckled hollowly. “But in all seriousness, I think her heart was in the right place. Maybe the police don’t see eye to eye with her all that well—one is doing the job of the other and all. But she must have called Manehattan home at one point, same as every other pony in the police, right? If that isn’t an incentive to protect your home—and anypony who lives alongside you—then I don’t know what is.” Vita gave a thin little smile. “I hope you’re right about that, Admiral,” she said in a soft voice that had little to do with her surroundings. “Because I think we could really use some protection right now.” There was another long moment of silence. Finally, Vita looked around, and stretched her legs. “Well, wherever that crow was, it’s gone now.” she said, a wearied finality in her voice. “This room’s a dead end. Probably flew back up the air ducts.” She checked her watch. “I ought to head back to my rounds before my boss notices where I’ve gone.” “Do you have a spare chair?” asked Aegis. “Since I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere else for the near future, I’d like to stay with Inkie awhile, if you don’t mind. It’s the least I could do for an old friend.” Vita smiled. “Of course, Admiral.” Aegis smiled back. “You can just call me Blue, Nurse.” The two made their way back to the makeshift ward, not noticing the soft flapping of wings behind them, at the end of the room. Nor did they notice a pair of jet-black hooves alight upon the tile floor without a sound, and stride up to the foot of the very beds they had just left.