Melody of Downpour

The following is based on the setting of Mankind Triumphant by Chatoyance

http://www.fimfiction.net/story/14351/7/The-Conversion-Bureau%3A-Brand-New-Universe/New-Universe-Seven%3A-Mankind-Triumphant!

Melody of Downpour

WESTERN HYDROPONICS
GLASS HOUSE – L 79 (SECTOR 13)
WORKERS – ONE (1)

...I have a greenhouse and its number is what?
Dum dum da da dum, da dum, da dum

Walk around the edges, clean all the dust from wedges
One, two, three, four...
Turning certain switches, working ‘round the itches
One, two, three, four...

Springtime singin’ and the joy it’s bringin’
Just jammin’ with the Queen of the West Side, love
Dum dum da da dum

Not really like the others, so why should ya bother?
Just bringin’ back the color to these dull, green walls
Dum dum da da dum

And I have a greenhouse and its number is what?
Dum dum da da dum, da dum, da dum
…

One pony, a lone mare, doing the job that had once been given to her. It had been so for a long time, and, under normal circumstances, would have continued indefinitely. But the bright yellow-coated pony with white, long mane wasn’t to be like many others of her kind, the ones who’d enter a corporate complex never to walk out again.

...like the others, so why should ya bother?
Just bringin’ back– BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Break time!”

Two hours of work, fifteen minutes of break – a Western Hydroponics policy that had been proven efficient over the years. Ponies learned quickly not to spend any time wondering, when they heard the beeps. The door to the break room was always open for fifteen minutes and not a moment longer. Working during breaks didn’t contribute to anything; no extra gain, no pats on the back. Swiftly, the mare headed through the doorway.

“And for the twenty-third time this week, I’m first! I’m first, I’m first, Troy’s first again.” Every once in a while the teal-maned pony would come in panting, drops of sweat dripping off the rusty orange coat. Everypony had their own way to stay relatively high spirited, “winning” was Troy’s. “Aaaaaand it’s Springtime to be the close second. Y’know, somehow you keep gettin’ closer and closer. You’re not... up to anything, are you?”

A frail smile crept onto Springtime’s lips as she sat down on a flat cushion at the table in the middle of the room, opposite Troy. The pearlescent gray table was pleasant to look at even when empty. If it had been a food break, the meal would’ve already been waiting for them – not even Troy ever got a glimpse of where it came from.

“No, not that I know of. Just that it’s a big greenhouse and I’m usually pretty close to the door, when break time starts.” She drew an imaginary layout of the glass house into the table with her foreleg. Two other ponies joined them, and two more a moment later, but Troy paid no attention.

“But I’ve looked, and your 79 is no different from my 81. The only clock in our sector is right here on the wall of this room, and you don’t look like the kind of girl to count seconds.” Omitting complete loss of sense of time was a relatively new approach from Western Hydroponics. Most other divisions didn’t let their low-tier workers see a time device of any kind – even daylight was often artificial.

“No, of course not... I sing. Each song has its own length, and it’s not like I can’t count.”

“So, by your singing, you know when break time starts, and then you move near the door when it happens?” Troy’s eyes were wide of amazement, and though Springtime answered with a nod, he still didn’t relax. “I know now. You used to be a singer. Why haven’t you told me? I know you never talk very much, but you haven’t told me what you used to do? I’ve told a lot about me.”

Springtime took a quick glance at the bright orange eyes that were practically begging her for more, and she couldn't really blame Troy for being curious. ”Yeah, I used to sing a little.”

”I knew it! Show me, show all of us! Please, it's been a good while since I've heard any. And I really can't sing.” Troy caught the attention of the other four ponies, directing it all straight to Springtime, who clearly was out of options. She checked the break time they still had left and instantly found a fitting piece. She gave a coy smile to her audience and began singing a relaxing tune.

You're smooth like silk resting on my lap
Of all the nice things I never thought of that
In that small tree we both got a branch
Don' wanna miss my chance

You flow like silk resting on my lap
Of all the good things I never thought of that
Cut the tree down but we won't forget
Good life together that's it
…

The room's security camera focused its lens on the scene and followed closely until the alert indicating end of the break. It was the first time it witnessed such an event, but it wasn't to be the last. The others wanted to join in right from the start but instinctively decided against it, just listening and watching. Nonetheless, during the following weeks they steadily got more and more brave, together earning Sector 13 its new name among Western Hydroponics employees: The Singing Sector.

Work and life in Western Hydroponics glass houses didn’t offer much, but now every single detail in life felt enormously better for the six occupants of The Singing Sector. Springtime had changed the routine. The whole scene had been turned upside down despite work still being the same work – but their job wasn’t their life anymore, it was just a chore. Weeks passed by like nothing.

Springtime woke up at 6 o’clock like every other morning, had breakfast at 6.20, and trotted through the break room to her door at glass house 79 at 6.45, when it opened. It was strictly forbidden to use the break room for anything else than a pass-through in the morning; work was to begin immediately.

Springtime let the door close up behind her and greeted the all too familiar green interior with a hopeful sigh. She'd already met Troy and others briefly on her way there, like any normal day. Just like the day this wasn't going to be.

A human was waiting for her in the hall. It was a man leaning against the wall: wearing a minimalistic microphone headset, a white shirt with a blue tie and a pair of dark brown, smooth trousers made of wool. When Springtime didn't dare to take another step after noticing him, the man took the necessary initiative and walked to Springtime.

”April Ascari, also known as Springtime, nice to meet you.” The man tried to come off as gentle and compassionate despite his deep and dark voice. Springtime's ears perked, but otherwise she remained still as did her dumbfound expression. ”I'm Zander. It’s been awhile since you last saw a human, hasn’t it? But you have to trust me, even a little bit. I'm nothing special, I work for Western Alliance just like you do.”

After some hesitation, Springtime gave a tiny nod and shook the man's hand with a foreleg. ”Just like me? Do you grow plants too?”

”No, I'm a staff manager.”

”I knew it. Ponies work, you just manage.” Zander quickly straightened himself and wiped both his fake smile and a few lone strands of his black hair off his face. He proceeded with taking out a touch pad notebook from his back pocket. He tapped it a few times and turned back to Springtime.

”Okay, Ms. Ascari, I'm here to–”

”No, sir, please don't use that name, nopony does.” Springtime lowered her gaze away from Zander for the first time.

”Well, now that you mentioned it, I am no pony.” Zander made a quick note as Springtime frowned at him, and continued. ”People have heard a lot of good about you, April, and I'm here to assess how true those rumours are. Up until the first break you will work like you do normally, then we can begin some more dialog, but be prepared to answer a lot of questions. All clear so far?”

Springtime seemed a bit baffled by Zander letting her ask anything despite just claiming the opposite, but shrugged it off. ”Don't you know my routine already? Surely you have cameras. Secondly, what’s in this for me?” Zander made another note before answering.

“You’d be surprised how few cameras we have here. And I’m not promising anything, ultimately it’s not my decision, but your life can change for the better, April. Significantly better.” He gave Springtime a second to contemplate. ”If that's all, then off you go, clock's ticking.”

Some two hours later the door opened to the break room, and Springtime slowly walked in. As usual, Troy was already at the table but so were the other four. “Springtime’s the last to arrive. That’s weird.” The others muttered something in acknowledgement of Troy’s comment. Springtime sat down opposite him.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she said in a neutral tone, seemingly hoping that Troy wouldn’t bother any longer.

“But you never talk about anything! C’mon, really, don’t you remember, when I told you about my first day on this job? Or the day before, when I got the job?” Springtime turned slightly away from Troy, his wide-eyed stare being too much for her at the moment.

“Can’t I just have my privacy? Is that too much for you, Troy?”

“No...” Troy’s composition sunk with disappointment, but he wasn’t going to start arguing back. “But I have something new to tell you, Springtime. I’ve been working on it.” He cleared his throat and corrected his posture.

It was time for the sun to set
Shadows got longer as darkness spread
But the last beam of the sun never left

Crawling dusk it’s dark, it’s cold
Sunbeam with her wings of gold
Was just about to take the last flight home

Then she saw a goblin just risen out from his cave
Boldly stepping to her with squinted eyes
From dawn ‘till dusk the goblin must stay inside his little home
As he’s a creature of the dark

Troy’s voice was far too jovial for the song’s gloomy lyrics, but he had definitely improved. The five ponies cheered – Springtime a little less enthusiastically than the rest – and Troy bowed in return. “So, what do you think? The next part will have dialog between the sunbeam and the goblin. I don’t have to sing it alone then! Really cool if you ask me.”

Ten minutes later Springtime returned to her glass house mentally exhausted from ignoring the company that tried its best not to be ignored. Zander was expecting her and walked up to her as soon as the door closed. “There’s little surveillance in the glass houses, but we have certainly got the break room covered thoroughly.” Springtime raised her brows a bit, but was already looking to get back to her work. “That means I’m disappointed in you, April. You didn’t do what I asked.”

“I don’t wanna cause any trouble.”

“I see,” said Zander and tapped his notebook a few times. He sighed before continuing “But I’m afraid we can’t reallocate our time, so we must continue on.”

”Why can't you interview somepony else? Somepony more... willing. And leave me to do my job!” She stared at Zander, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, but took it away as soon as Zander began staring back at her. ”You could ask Troy, for example, he'd be all joy to tell you his life story – it even changes every month.”

”So you think he's lost it?” Springtime threw a sharp glare at Zander again.

”YES! The others don't even pick up on it! First he's a family man working the stock market, then he tells he's been a lowly pickpocket all his life, and next he says he's working undercover for some huge bust.” Zander remained calm and neutral, tapping his device once again. ”I don't wanna end up like Troy.”

”I see, but your duty as a Western Alliance employee is to do what I ask. And remember that I'm only middle management myself.” Springtime nodded, she understood the situation: whether Zander could tell it outright or not, it was clear that there were worse states of being – even within Western Hydroponics – than the ones Springtime and Troy had. Things could rather easily go from bad to worse.

Whatever the circumstances, work had to be done in the glass houses like every other day, so Springtime answered Zander's queries while doing what she always did. Aisles had to be swept and the seedlings checked upon. Other than that she just pushed buttons to send newly matured plants away and guide in a new batch of seeds to replace them. Springtime never got a chance to see what species of plant she was actually cultivating.

The questions Zander asked we're simple and mostly objective, though it wasn't always easy to answer them. ”How long have you worked here, April?”

”Long. Years, but I've stopped counting.” She pushed a hoof-sized green button at a panel in front of an aeroponic scaffold with 50 mature seedlings. An on-rail robotic arm sped from the middle of the glass house to the specified scaffold, lifted it up near the ceiling, and transported it to the other end of the hall, where an empty cargo lift was waiting. After the lift with the seedlings disappeared through a hatch in the ceiling, Springtime pushed the red button next to the green one to send the arm to fetch a fresh scaffold from the opposite end. When the metal apparatus had whirled past them, the two continued as if nothing had happened. Minutes passed, and the next break, the 11 o'clock food break, was drawing near.

”What's your relationship with other employees? Besides Troy.”

Springtime snorted, not loud, but notably. ”These four... I know their names. Not much else.”

”But you moved here from another sector, didn't you, April. Sector 9. How were things back there?”

”Not much different,” she snapped impassively, but as the memories resurfaced, she abruptly regretted her words. ”Well, it used to be different. They were some nice ponies, but...” Springtime looked attentively at Zander, who just held his notebook closer to his face and returned a similar look. ”But when they told about their past lives outside the greenhouses, I got really confused and afraid. They used to be really bad people. And I don't want any trouble.”

”It's all fine April. That was the last answer I needed.” Zander pocketed his notebook and checked the time from his silver watch. ”We still got a few minutes before the break, so, if there's anything more you wish to know, April, ask away. It can be personal. I don't mind.”

Springtime looked at the man leaning against her green wall for a moment before coming up with a question she deemed decent enough: ”Do you ever sing Mr. Zander?” He chuckled a little.

”No, but I used to play the flute. Can you believe it? I wasted a lot of time with that one.” Springtime's expression turned puzzled.

”How come it was wasted?”

”The flute is a sorry excuse for an instrument.” Right after Zander finished, the all too familiar alert sounded, and the door swung open. Springtime gave Zander one last look before turning towards the break room. ”I'll be in touch, April.”

Using a staff exit unknown to the ponies, Zander made his way into a long hallway that ran in-between two sectors. He drew out the device from his back pocket and made a phone call.

Yes.

”Mr. Grey, I think we finally got one, but there's a problem, she has family, a husband.”

It was to be expected. I'll deal with it.

______________________________________________________________________

If ignorance is bliss, then half-knowing is torture, a fact that Springtime had to experience herself. She didn’t know when, she didn’t know if; she only knew there was a chance. Springtime didn’t tell the other ponies about Zander, nor did she ask if they’d ever been the target for anything similar. Springtime waited tenaciously, for this was the first proper thing to wait for in a long time.

After a food break which much resembled everyone of its kind, Springtime met Zander again in her glass house. This time the man wore a dark blue felt hat covered with a thin plastic wrap and a dark trench coat that extended down to his knees. He stood in a doorway that hadn’t been there before, gesturing Springtime to come closer.

“Why are you all wet?” she asked as she got into talking distance.

“We have to take a step outside, and it’s raining.”

“R-raining?”

“I’ve got you an umbrella.”

Zander walked through the door into the hallway with Springtime following close behind. They walked some two hundred metres down the hall to reach a glass door. Zander picked up the pale red umbrella which was hanging from the handle and opened the door. The two stepped out into to the rain.

“It’s cold. And it smells so... wet.” Springtime moved from under the umbrella to the pouring rain, stopping on her tracks. Zander stopped too, looking at the yellow pony with a sad expression. No one knows how long Springtime would have stayed there, savouring the rain, reminiscing the ancient past.

“We don’t have forever, April.” Zander’s remark wasn’t angry or even annoyed – it was neutral to the point of being discomforting.

They made their way along the steel path that connected the 15 sectors of Western Hydroponics’ L district, Springtime smelling the air and following Zander, who just sauntered silently forward. They finally stopped in front of a taller building, though it still bore the same architecture from the opaque glass walls to the double door at the entrance.

The reception hall featured only a few chairs and tables, and a counter occupied by a blond receptionist woman. The woman greeted Zander with a professional smile, but it faded almost completely, when she saw the soaked Springtime with water dripping off her mane.

“It’s with you sir, isn’t it?” she asked, still fixated on Springtime.

“Yes, she is,” said Zander, and the receptionist nodded.

Zander led their way through another insignificant hallway into a lift and sent it upward. Springtime’s gaze was jumping around the cab, trying to find irregularity in the polished surfaces. Zander noticed this and tried to ease the tension.

I’m singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feeling
I’m zappy again

“That’s all I can remember. You’ve got to take it up, April.” Zander raised his eyebrows at Springtime’s solemn look.

“You got the... You got it wrong. It’s happy, not zappy.”

“Then never mind me,” said Zander, as they exited the lift and walked the last 30 metres to a door with a buzzer next to the handle. But instead of using it, Zander just knocked on the door.

“Let her inside,” a male voice answered, and the buzzer sounded.

“Off you go, and good luck.” Zander grabbed the handle and gave the door a nudge, opening it all the way. Springtime couldn’t hesitate any longer and entered the room.

The office was everything Western Hydroponics wasn’t: brown paneled walls with abstract paintings in place, colourful curtains depicting palm trees draping the windows, a blue oriental rug covering the boring tiles, and a chocolate brown sofa on the right, along with a multitude of other things. In the left there was a heavy wooden desk and a smiling man standing next to it. He wore a short-sleeved white shirt with thin, black, vertical stripes and a blue tie similar to the one Zander had on that interview day. His trousers weren’t too different either, but his hair was medium grey instead of black.

“April Ascari I’m so glad to see you.” The man’s smile widened even further. “Have a seat on the couch, on the rug... Make yourself at home.”

“Uh, can we look out the window? I’d like to–”

“Yes, yes of course.” The man moved around his desk to the curtains and uncovered the windows, revealing the rainy glass city below them. “The name’s Christopher Gray, but call me Gray, or Chris is fine too. I run the division that oversees the living conditions of ponies working for Western Hydroponics.”

“Uh-huh,” Springtime was too occupied by the scenery to come up with a proper answer, even though the visibility was barely a kilometre.

“I’m guessing you have some clue of why you’re here, right?”

“I’m not crazy. Like the others are,” she said, still watching outside.

“Yes, and I want to talk about it. You need to come here, April.” Springtime turned around to see Gray behind a holographic image projected from his desk. “Let’s take your friend, Troy, for example. You said he tells you a different story every month, but has he ever told the real one?” The holo-display showed a picture of a young man with crew cut hair. “That’s Troy Tanner before he went to war against The Solitary Departments. He returned victorious but only to be sent to The Conversion Bureau a week later, when Western Alliance found out what he had done.” The display switched to another picture showing some very unhealthy-looking people lined up against a concrete wall. Grey took it away before Springtime could take a close look.

“Did he hurt someone?”

“He was overzealous,” Gray retorted while turning off the holoprojector, “tortured four people to death over unnecessary information. And now he’s a farmhand for the rest of his life.” Springtime turned to look outside again. Ignorance is bliss, knowing only adds to the pain.

“How can anypony do that!?” Springtime yelled out to the rainy cityscape. She flinched as Gray brought his hand on her withers. She looked up to see the man’s sad expression.

“No, a pony can’t. Man does – as long as there are humans, this planet will bear the scars they’ve made. War is just a part of the trade anyway. But with the likes of you we can bring it all to an end.” Springtime didn’t need to say a thing, her face conveyed the message: how, and why me.

“April, you’ve outlasted a generation! That’s incredible news!” Springtime was taken aback by Grey’s sudden change in spirit. He was almost dancing around the room, held back only by the reputation he had to keep. “Ever heard of Equestria? Ever heard of magic, the real kind of magic?”

Springtime looked everywhere for an answer but couldn’t find one. Gray just stared at her expectantly, his face gleaming.

“N-no... what are those things?” Gray sighed profoundly, while his face changed from happy to desperate, and finally back to looking content with the situation.

“The knowledge is somewhere out there, but in you, there’s magic. Your seedlings mature over five times faster than average. Right now, your sector is the all-time most productive by a threefold! April, I’m quite sure that you must sing to us.”

“How will my life change?”

“For the better. You won’t be tending to seedlings. That I can promise.”

“Mr. Gray, can I see my husband?” It was the question Gray had been expecting, not that he wouldn’t have happily evaded it if possible.

Robert Ascari had once been an honest citizen of Western Alliance, working for Western War Industries. His efforts had earned him a good position too: he had managed the orders for machine parts to the departments that manufactured them. In other words, he had made sure that Western Alliance war factories never lacked the right materials.

But of course it couldn’t last. For when man realises the scale of destruction he himself can either cause or prevent, he always takes action – whether it’s his job to do so or not. When he got the order for a new pre-emptive strike unit under his management, Ascari used his authority to lobby outdated technology to be built into them. After their baptism of fire ended up in disaster, it didn’t take long to find the one to blame. His troubles didn’t end there: with that one reveal a huge pile of wasted war efforts – none of which his doing – was brought upon him. Ultimately it came to both Ascaris being found guilty; Robert of treason and April of being a cover-up.

“Robert Ascari...” he muttered while moving back to behind his desk and toggling the holoprojector, “I hope you’ve already figured out how it is. Know not to expect too much.” Grey opened a video file on the display.

It showed a viridian pony with a faded purple mane sitting on a marble-like surface. Its dark brown eyes made it difficult to make out the pupils from the irises. “Mr. Ascari, this is not a joke,” Zander’s voice called out from the loudspeakers in the desk, “it really is your wife I’m talking about.” Robert sat still, his eyes locked onto the supposed face of Zander slightly away from the camera.

Zander’s hand came into view and snapped its fingers a couple of times near Robert’s eyes and ears – getting no more reactions than the instinctive eye bat and flick of ear. Zander tried talking again: “Robert, April wants to see you, but I can’t make that happen unless you talk to me.”

Small, darker spots began appearing in the oriental rug that adorned Christopher Grey’s office. Springtime couldn’t hold back her tears seeing her husband ignore Zander’s communication attempts one by one. And even though the video could’ve been fabricated in a number of ways, Springtime knew it was Robert just how he currently was. After the video ended, she quietly lay down on the rug.

Grey exhaled, making an emphasized “aah” sound. “He works as an on-call deliverypony in the wartime tunnels. The work isn’t dangerous or very demanding apart from the extremely flexible working hours, so to say. Many ponies that can no longer socialize end up in on-call delivery.” Grey’s voice now had the same uncanny neutrality Zander had in his, when the two were out in the rain.

“But he’s still alive...”

“Technically, yes, his heart’s still beating, but–”

“Then I want to see him. For real this time.” Springtime stood up, not bothering to wipe away the tears still rolling down her muzzle.

Grey continued in his bleak tone despite raising his voice: “There are more important matters! I’ve worked my ass off in preparations for this, putting my career on the line, so I’m counting on you to deliver. We’re dealing with ancient history here, something that the big bosses are hiding from us. It can be pleasant, cruel, terrifying, anything, but that history has to be rediscovered!”

Springtime saw the man’s desperation, even though she couldn’t understand the reasons behind it. She didn’t need to hear more words to see that Gray was pleading for a song. Pleading was the right term, as it was evident that he wouldn’t coerce Springtime to do it. She felt it was the right thing to do.

Tell me
If I have a purpose
I promise that I won't run
Away from my destiny
Don't say
That you haven't yet started
I fear it might break me
Tear me to pieces

They said I'd find my worth
Deep in my heart
They said that I have to die
Before death do us part

They said things stay the same
Deep in my soul
They said that I have to die
Before you go on
…

Grey watched and waited, balling his fists every five seconds or so, breathing intensively with his mouth open. But he couldn't distract Springtime, nothing could, she was focused on the song, on Robert, on Grey, on herself, on a future that no one could predict. The room suddenly got brighter, not illuminated by any natural source. Just before the light made them close their eyes, it was gone. Springtime stopped singing and turned to Grey, who had a stupefied smile across his face.

”Yes! I knew it! You did it, April,” Grey cheered, staring at Springtime's side, ”that's it, that's a cutie mark!” He walked up to Springtime and brought his face very close to her flank.

”Wha– what is it? What mark do I have?” Springtime caught her reflection from the window; her left flank had a picture on it, a small bird holding a flower in its beak. ”A Nightingale and a cyclamen.” Grey rose up and took a step back, still staring at the picture.

”Maybe... Yeah, how did you know?” Springtime knew exactly how but didn't answer. She had seen them both, the bird and the flower, on the day she said ”I do”. Cyclamens decorating the walls and the tabletops, here and there a few Nightingale holoprograms flying around and singing.

”It's supposed to represent your special talent, though I don't see how...” Grey said. He furrowed for a moment, but let go, shrugged and started laughing. ”It doesn't matter, not at all. You know what this means, April? Together we can make a better world, one that doesn't need war, or poverty, or misery to keep running!”

”That's quite a plan.”

”It's the best, friggin' plan there is! I've been making preparations for–” A sudden, loud buzz startled the both of them, but Grey recovered instantly and yelled at the door: ”NOT NOW!”

The radio carried a deep, male voice into the office, Zander. ”Mr. Grey, it's me. I've got some news.” Grey buzzed the door open, and Zander walked in the same hat and coat.

”We were celebrating April's cutie mark,” Grey said, though Springtime couldn't really agree with the ”we” part.

”That's nice,” Zander said indifferently. Two burly men in black suits and silver ties followed him inside – practically freezing Grey in place.

”What!? Who are these?” The men in suits took positions on Zander's sides as he handed a piece of paper to Grey. None of the three more than briefly noted Springtime, who backed off to the windows. ”What the fuck is this!? I can't be temporarily suspended!”

”Needless to say the order came from higher up.”

”Do you realise what this means, you fucking betrayer!? Do you have any idea what you’re about to wreck?”

Zander removed his coat and hat and placed them on the sofa. The two bouncers stood their ground. ”No, I don't. I'm just middle management.” He flashed a smile, but the effect it took on Grey was most likely negative.

As much as it hurt him, demoralized him, Gray couldn't escape the functions of the company he worked for. The simple hierarchical structure meant that one couldn't argue with higher authority. Careful negotiating was always possible, but something like an order signed by the head of Western Hydroponics left no room for arguments. He turned the paper around and again, closely reading everything from the printing date in the upper corner to the signature in the opposite one. Gray double-checked, but it only cleared all possibility for error, sealing his fate.

”April.” The abrupt turn of events had rendered Grey utterly devastated. His voice barely held a fraction of the vigor from five minutes ago. “I’m sorry... but I can’t. Unless I do what this says, I destroy my life, everything. And I couldn’t help anyone.” He turned back to Zander, even tried to take a step towards him, but the bouncers got in the way. “I will find you, and I will get you.” The bile-dripping words had no visible effect in Zander.

“I know.” Zander crossed his arms and watched Grey scamper out of the office with the two men close behind. Now it was just Zander the staff manager and Springtime the seedling tender in an office that wasn’t theirs.

“For every boss there’s another one higher up,” Zander said and strolled a small circle around the room, finally slumping down in the sofa. He let himself sink deep into the cushions. “I’d pay almost anything to have an office like this. Just look at it! The size, the view, this couch which, by the way, is real leather. Well not real real, the cow skin cells are cultivated much like the plants you tend to, April. Still... my whole office is just a single tablet computer.”

Springtime stared at the sofa as well as Zander. “What happens to Grey?” Zander let out an annoyed snort.

“April, or Springtime as you like to be called, why do you care so much about others? All but everything today has been about you, can’t you realise that? You need to chill out, relax; don’t give a shit about others! You just got your cutie mark. That’s an awful translation I’m sure, but it still is a reason to celebrate, not sulk.”

“I can’t trust you.”

“You are a piece of work, aren’t you.” For a second, Zander’s tone slipped back to professional mode, but he got rid of the hint immediately. “Let’s do it your way then. Good ol’ Chris Gray will spend the next two days in his private residence as a supposed suspect. However, I know he hasn’t broken any laws, so there will no investigation of any kind and he’ll walk away free. He will also probably spend some time and effort to get hold of me and you, in which he’ll fail.”

“Chris is a good man, and I’m sure his time will come. But now I say it’s too risky; you saw him get mad like that, didn’t you. I’m guessing he would’ve used you as a ground-breaker, or maybe just as a trophy, when he would try to get more supporters for his big vision. He would’ve just drowned himself in bureaucracy, most likely taking you with. My plan is much more simple: your sector is relocated, your file scrambled, and you can continue doing what you did – just the way you like it, April.”

April craned her neck to take a look at her new ”cutie mark”. During the brief moment this strange picture had taken to appear, she had felt something affecting her in a way that was, in the lack of a better word, unearthly, alien, not welcoming.

”How can you know what I like? How can you even know me? This April you speak of isn't here. She is not here.”

”Do you really think so?” Zander's voice was deadpan serious once again, nevertheless Springtime didn't listen to him.

”You asked me if I had seen a human for awhile. I have: every time I see my reflection there she is, April Ascari, and I'm something else.” Zander saw that the constant strain of conflict both within and around her had worn her down.

”Don't tell me you believe what you say, April. I’ve seen you in your glass house. Do you know what people here call your sector? It's The Singing Sector, all because of you. And that cutie mark is much more than just that. The original word means “special talent”, but it has other meanings; intricacy, mystery. You can speculate with that image as much as you want, but it doesn't make a difference in what you actually do.”

”Then what am I? Springtime the pony, singing around her post and tending to her seedlings until the day she grows old and dies?” She walked towards Zander, who leaned forward so his blue eyes met her glistening, gray orbs.

”You are the first to experience true magic since anybody can remember.” Zander spoke slowly, giving strong emphasis to every word. ”I'm absolutely sure there are others too, but it's my job to find them. Starting with you, April, this world will change, and trust me that I'm not making you go back to the same old thing.” He stood up, grabbed his clothes, and gestured at the door. Springtime's legs were shaking as she trudged into the hallway.

“The trip’s gonna be a little longer this time. We’re picking up a certain somepony under Western War Industries tertiary complex.” Zander noticed the confusion in Springtime’s face, so he quickly added: “We’re picking up Robert.”

Could this man be lying to her? Could this be the final effort to lift Springtime's mood and then take her to an even worse place than before? She carefully reviewed the day's events in her head, coming to the conclusion that not once had she been lied to – just got thrown around like a pony rag doll. She could be happy, April Ascari could be happy again.

Three people walked on the steel skyway towards Western Hydroponics: a man in a trench coat, and a yellow and white mare with a viridian and purple stallion next to her. April kept up a constant stream of stories and memories she and Robert shared together while Robert had to keep his eyes mostly shut, for he had to get used to the brightness of the Sun.

After a long walk Zander brought them into a hallway and finally to the staff entrance of the glass house. ”I'm positive Troy is taking up the lead vocalist spot you left behind in The Singing Sector. I'm counting on you to do the same here, April.”

WESTERN HYDROPONICS
GLASS HOUSE – A 11 (SECTOR 2)
WORKERS – ONE (1)

April read the sign and turned back to Zander. ”Do what?”

”Inspire.”

Zander crouched down to receive a hug from April. ”Thank you, Zander.”

”Don't thank me, I'm just middle management.” Zander slid the door shut. He still had to finalise the Ascaris' transfer to district A, things like erasing their records from Western Hydroponics, so the day was far from over. The man heard faint lyrics coming through the walls and smiled.

”Just. Middle. Management.”

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