Chapter Fifteen: Where the Foe's Haughty Host in Dread Silence Reposes
“Are you sure about this, Twilight?” Sweetie Belle said, shuffling her forelegs nervously. Twilight laughed at that; the way Sweetie Belle was acting, it was almost a flashback to the days when she was a preteen searching for her future and her cutie mark. A far cry from the thirty-one year old mare standing in front of the Archmagus of the Mage Guild.
“Sweetie, you’re an accomplished mage in your own right,” Twilight assured her. “You graduated from apprenticeship ages ago and went above and beyond mine, or anypony else’s expectations,” the lavender mare assured the white one. “You should have had an apprentice of your own years ago, but you’ve been so busy helping me with Project SANDALWOOD that you haven’t had time for your own, and that’s not fair to you.”
“Really, Twi, I don’t mind,” Sweetie told her mentor. “It’s just that….”
“You’re afraid to screw up, aren’t you?” Twilight said and Sweetie looked at her oddly, wondering how the older unicorn had read her mind. “It was the same way when I took you under my metaphorical wing, Sweetie – doubly so, because you were the younger sister of one of my best friends, and if I screwed up that, well….” Twilight chuckled softly at the memory, then continued. “It’s only natural to feel that way. I’m sure if you asked Celestia, she’d even admit to some nervousness about training me.”
“Well, if you’re sure about it,” Sweetie said.
Twilight nodded and then whispered in her protégé’s ear, “One word of advice, though: since your apprentice will be living with you, don’t pick someone who wets the bed.” When Sweetie looked at Twilight with a look of pure horror, Twilight grinned and said, “Harmony Grass will never admit it, but from what Hickory Smoke said once, Harmony’s first night living at Hickory’s did not go over well.” Sweetie could see that; unusual for a unicorn, Hickory was overly large, as big as Apple Bloom’s brother Big Mac, but didn’t have the easygoing temperament of the russet farmstallion.
“Well, I’m heading into the room now,” Sweetie said, still looking somewhat nervous. “Wish me luck.”
Twilight grinned. “You don’t need it.”
The ivory-coated mare entered the room and saw this year’s crop of Guild students, ready for their apprenticeship: bright, eager nine- and ten-year-old fillies and colts. The first thing that went to Sweetie’s mind was: Was I ever that young? She then laughed; of course she’d been. She had the two best friends in the world who had all the blackmail-worthy details of how the trio searched for their cutie marks. Sure enough, a few of the foals present didn’t have them.
“Going to be interesting this year,” a mage who had just walked into the room himself said to Sweetie.
“Why’s that?”
“Some of this year’s class are from legacy bloodlines: Star Swirl, Clover, Wisteria, Kimono, Lulamoon, just to name a few,” he stated. “Personally, I’m hoping I end up with the one from Clover – seeing how powerful the Archmagus is and she’s a Clover, it’d be interesting to shape that sort of young mind, you know?”
Though the stallion was trying to be nonchalant about it, the thought filled Sweetie’s mind with ice water. The Clover bloodline was one of the most powerful out there, suborned in power only by the Star Swirl line and, of course, the alicorns. A distant relative of Twilight’s could turn out to be as limited in power as Twilight’s own mother Twilight Velvet…or as powerful as Twilight herself. She would have to choose and choose wisely.
Throughout the day the unicorn walked through the hall, talking to a few fillies and colts, interviewing a few but accepting none. The majority of them already had their eyes on other potential mentors; the ones that were smart enough to recognize who she was had some ulterior motive – probably coming from families who hoped to be as big as the legacy bloodlines someday – and Sweetie steered away from those. The more she thought about it, maybe having gotten Twilight’s relative wouldn’t have been as bad, but Strawberry Fields had already met and apprenticed Holy Bell an hour ago. In fact, most of the potential apprentices were already gone, having been chosen. There were only a few prospective mentors left, and for a moment, Sweetie sympathized with the foals who hadn’t been chosen – those who weren’t would have to repeat the same year of pre-apprenticeship classes, and anypony who failed a second time would be dropped from the Academy, a crushing blow to any pony’s dreams of becoming a mage.
It was then that she saw the foal, a filly sitting in the corner of the room, looking very lost. Her coat was similar to Twilight’s, though a bit lighter, and her mane was shades of magenta and pink. Her facial features made her look a little like Rarity did when she was younger. There was something about her that made the mare head over to her.
“Hi,” the filly said, somewhat dejected.
“Is there something wrong?” Sweetie asked. “You don’t look like you’re trying too hard to get a mentor.”
“I don’t think anypony wants me,” she said, looking at the others who were still present and appearing to accept their mentors. “I’m not confident, and I….” She looked lost – was she a repeat that would be kicked out of the Academy if she didn’t get a mentor?
“Are you….?” Sweetie began, but stopped. She then flashed a comforting smile – the purpose of any apprenticeship would be to help the next generation grow. Sweetie had been mentored by Twilight due to her relationship with Rarity, but would it have been the same if she’d gotten somepony, say, like Raspberry Blast? “Nevermind – don’t worry about that now. I’ll be your mentor, if you want.”
The filly looked at her with wide, grateful eyes. “Really?”
Sweetie nodded. “Do you know who I am?” When the filly shook her head, Sweetie sighed inwardly in relief; she’d made the right choice. Offering a hoof to bump, she said, “I am Commanding Mage Sweetie Bell.”
The filly’s mouth suddenly opened in an o of surprise. “The Archmagus’ protégé?”
Sweetie blushed. “Yes, though I won’t lean on my mentor’s accolades. And your name, learner?” Sweetie said, formalizing the relationship.
“My name, learned one,” the filly said eagerly, “is Star Swirl.”
In her office in New York, Apple Cobbler looked exhausted. On the other side of the planet, a very important meeting between the US, Syria (on behalf of Iran) and the Netherlands (on behalf of Equestria) was about to take place. It riled her that ponies weren’t invited to the table directly, though she understood that was hardly the fault of their American allies.
Across from her, a reedy, balding man sat, drinking tea. “AC, I understand how you feel,” he said in sympathetic tones, “but you’ll have to let my country handle this. We will not steer your people wrong, I assure you.”
“Thanks, Anders,” she said, relaxing. Anders Brejik was the Netherlands’ ambassador to the UN and a friend she could count on. Both had opted to watch the proceedings, via closed-circuit television, in her office. It was as close to the action as the Syrians would allow the ponies to come, and as the senior pony diplomat on Human-Earth until Lyra returned from Equestria, it was AC’s job to keep a close eye on things.
There was a sudden phone call and AC reached for it. “This is AC,” was all she said.
“AC, this is Lemon,” was the voice on the other end; Lemon Sorbet, the Equestriani ambassador to the Netherlands and one of the two ambassadors that would be on site. “We had an idea how we could participate. I’ve been in talks the past day with the Dutch Foreign Ministry, and they’re willing to sneak in one of our people, using the amniomorphic, as a human.”
That caught the earth mare’s interest. “Who’s the one going in? Oh, also, I’ve got Dr. Brejik, the Dutch Ambassador to the UN here, so I’m going to put this on speaker phone.”
“Sure, go ahead.” AC set the phone to speakerphone mode and after a quick exchange of pleasantries between Anders and Lemon, the latter continued. “Clockwork Cog, our ambassador to Belgium will be going in, since he’s a unicorn and can use the amniomorphic with little problem. I’m somewhat notable, so I can’t do it, and I’m not a unicorn besides. With Clock’s expertise and his low profile, the Dutch diplomatic team will be relying on their expert in charge of Equestriani knowledge, ‘Dr. Klok Radertje’.”
“Lemon, that’s a brilliant idea!” AC said, smiling; from the look in his eyes, Anders agreed as well. “But is there a contingency plan in case something goes wrong?”
“Yeah, we have that covered. In the event something starts to go wrong, Clock will step out and be replaced by the Dutch government’s actual expert, who will also be on hand just in case.”
“Well, best of luck with that, ambassador,” Anders said. “I know it won’t be easy.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “Well, meeting starts in thirty minutes, AC, so I’ll talk to you as soon as it’s over.”
“Best of luck, Lemon,” AC said as Anders’ phone suddenly went off. He fished it out quickly, looking at it before putting it back in his pocket.
“AC, apologies, but I have to head back to my own office. There’s something that came up unrelated to today’s meeting that I must attend to, but I assure you once that’s done I’ll be watching the proceedings with rapt attention.”
“Thanks for all your help, Anders. Yours and your government’s.”
“We both come from royal nations, AC. As my king would probably say to your princess, ‘we gotta stick together,’” the man said with a laugh.
“How did the uniform inspection go, Mike?” Bryson asked as the naval officer arrived to give his report.
“I’d recommend you get someone at least chief petty officer or above on your staff, sir,” Mike pointed out. “There were a few uniform discrepancies. They’re clearly keeping up their military bearing, but they also know what they can get away with and so they are. Comparing this to the last inspection that Maj. Hartsman did with them, well…at least he looked through the Uniform Regs, but didn’t catch anything.”
“We actually do have one, a master chief, but he’s on leave until tomorrow. But it also doesn’t help when one of my own senior officers is out of uniform.” Mike looked at the general oddly, but the flag officer merely gestured to a chair. “Have a seat, Mike.” As Mike sat, Bryson began. “Commander, are you aware that this country, the Principality of Eque….” The general laughed and shook his head. “Of course you’re aware – you’re married into the Goddamn Royal Family. Under normal circumstances that would make you nigh untouchable as the Royal Family here, unlike, say, their British counterparts are given a fuckton of leeway. Someone like Prince Harry or Princess Louise sneezes, press is all over it. Someone in the Equestriani Royal Family does something that would get a normal man arrested? ‘They’re just having a bad day,’ quote unquote.” Bryson leaned back in his chair. “Unfortunately for you, you’re still an American officer, which means you play by the UCMJ’s rules.”
“Am I in trouble for something, General?” Mike asked.
“Only if by being in trouble you mean constantly being in the center of it. You know, when I was an Army liaison officer back in the late 2020s, I had the chance to serve for a couple of years on the USS Blue Ridge. Was the command ship for Seventh Fleet back then before it got replaced by the USS Sommerset. Anyway, the Blue Ridge picked up tons of nicknames during its time in the fleet, one of which was ‘Typhoon Magnet,’ because wherever she went, there was always a typhoon within twenty miles of her – hell, I even heard that when they sailed her to Hawaii for decommissioning, she ran into the first hurricane near the islands in a decade.” The Army officer’s eyes took on a nostalgic cast as he remembered the ship. “Yeah, I can see why you Navy guys get all misty-eyed about your gray buckets. One of the best posts I ever served at.”
“Not sure how this ties into anything, sir,” Mike started.
“You, Mike, you’re a typhoon magnet. If even half of what you’ve told me about what your past three weeks have been like, you’ve been in more engagements – and a wider array of engagements – than just about anyone outside of a SPECWAR environment and possibly even more than a couple of those. You’ve seen shit that some of my own roughboots haven’t. You’re bright, calm, you’ve got connections and experience up the Goddamned wazoo and as far as I can see, it’s a damn shame you’re not wearing ACUs.”
Mike grinned at that. “Lost me generations back, sir. My family’s been fleet as long as there’s been an ocean.”
“Hell, we’re just the Army, we’ll make do,” Bryson chuckled. “But speaking as someone who did time in boots on the ground back in the Gulf War way back in the 90s, I can tell you that this country is going to be in hell soon. They might be meeting with the Iranians today, but the current government isn’t the same as when I was your age. Back then they were full of bluster and taunting – true believers, but not stupid. The ones of today? That’s the scary part. They know they’re stupid and they don’t care. They’ll happily start a war to kill ponies and they won’t care a whit.”
“Well, the fact that they hit Cloudsdale made that pretty clear, sir,” Mike answered. “Plus, it wouldn’t surprise me if we find out that they were somehow behind the Singaporean incident.”
“CIA says that a Kayin independence group claimed responsibility for that and that they thought they were hitting Burmese officials who had planned to dine there that night.”
Mike shook his head. “Sir, I’m not an N2 kind of guy, but I’m going wave the bullshit pennant on that one. Those were mercenaries and changelings. And while I’m figuring that the changelings were against Celestia somehow, that still leaves where the mercs came from. The Kayin don’t have that kind of cash – but Tehran does.”
“That’s classified information, Commander,” Bryson said coolly. “How did you come by that?”
“Because I put a few bullets in one of those assholes while he was trying to kill me – and he and his buddies nearly killed my wife and the princesses. Furthermore, I was with Rodenkov and the guys with the Malaysia 15 office.” Mike looked evenly at the senior officer, a look of annoyance on his face. “And between you and me, if I didn’t have my job to do, I would have personally executed every single of those sons of bitches. But my personal feelings fall behind the mission first.”
“Well, I guess Admiral Singh was right: you are one cool player, Mike.” Bryson opened a drawer on the desk, pulling out a manila folder and putting it right in front of Mike. “This, by the way, is a letter of commendation from Colonel Rodenkov and a recommendation for an MSM via the Admiral.” He pulled out another folder, this time a blue one embossed with the Department of the Navy emblem on it. “I should mention that BUPERS approved that medal – and the Combat Action Ribbon for you as well, so this is only part of the reason you’re out of uniform, Commander.”
“Part of the reason?” Mike said, surprised – he wasn’t looking for a medal when the fighting started; all he wanted to do was save DJ. But it was the way the general had made his last statement that really caught Mike’s curiosity.
“That’s correct, Commander,” Bryson said. “There’s this as well.” Another folder came out, this one a hardbound one and embossed with the Royal Seal of Equestria. “You were strongly commended by the three princesses as well; Princess Celestia, especially. According to this, you will be knighted by Princess Celestia at a convenient time.” He sighed. “Now, realizing the marital tie between you and the Royal Family, I understand SECNAV was quick to discount the recommendations, but apparently another friend of yours – does the name Lyra Phillips ring a bell? – spoke to SECDEF and informed them the Crown would not take it well that your heroism was disregarded. Furthermore, two members of the Royal Guard and one member of the Singapore Police confirmed the report independently of any official action taken by the Equestriani government.
“So based on all the overwhelming evidence, the Secretary of Defense made a decision and well….” Bryson stood up, fished for something in a pocket and pulled out a small box. “Congratulations, Commander – that’s full commander now, O-5. Now, I know sea service silver oak leaves look slightly different from the military ones, but unless you can have one of your wife’s relatives gen you up a copy, you’ll just have to deal with it for the time being, Commander. As it is, you can just let her pin the new ones on you and then go see the liaison office so they can issue you a new ID card.”
Mike sat there, slack-jawed, unable to say anything. Finally, after a few minutes, he said, “What’s the catch?” It had been a feeble attempt at humor, but somehow it felt right. Besides, there was the off-hand chance that there really was something going on.
Bryson sat there, a wide grin on his face. “And I see you already caught on. Yes, there’s a catch. Because you’ll be too senior for your present posting, as of now you are detached from the USS Konetzni. Fortunately, I’ve spoken to a few senior officers at BUPERS and if all goes well, we’re folding you into a little special project that we’ve been cooking up here in Equestria – a little something NATO’s been planning just in case things ever went south.”
Mike looked bemused at that comment; he’d rather have been at sea for the fight like any Sailor would, but at the same time by being at a deskjob he had a better chance of ensuring that his family was safe. And though DJ might not like the fact that they were about to be stationed in the place she least wanted to be, Canterlot was much better defended than anything short of back home in Winchester – and certainly moreso than Yokosuka.
“So I’m getting a desk job as your naval attaché?” he asked, readying himself for his fate.
“No, Mike.” Bryson leaned forward, the grin of the Cheshire Cat on his lips. “I’m offering you a command.”
Meanwhile, in a different yet somehow similar military meeting, a mid-grade naval officer was having an interesting conversation with a flag officer from another service. The fact that they were ponies instead of humans made it all the more fascinating.
“Rumble, good to see you back,” Soarin’ said to the naval officer as he entered the EQMILCOM watch room, where Soarin’ was the day’s senior officer present. “I just read the report from the Americans regarding the whole situation. You did a lot of good there, Captain.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rumble said, standing at attention.
“Have a seat,” the REAF general said, gesturing to a chair that the REN officer quickly filled. “Now, here’s the interesting part of the whole thing: I have a strong recommendation from Rear Admiral Himura that you need to take some leave?”
The younger pegasus looked at the older. “He said it, Genera—”
“You can go off the record, Rumble.”
“Thanks. Look, Soarin’, he’s the one who insisted on it, and at first I agreed, but during the flight I had some time to think about it and honestly? Now I really don’t think I need any at all.”
“I see,” Soarin’ stated. “Unfortunately for you, we generals – or admirals, in his case – tend to take the longball view and so we generally listen to each other when one is saying something. So if I’ve got an admiral from another country saying that you look like crap and are in dire need of leave before you self-destruct, it wouldn’t be very good for either me or Admiral Seamist if we didn’t take the advice, understood?”
A resigned look crossed Rumble’s face. He’d thought about taking some leave after all, but now that he was here, he realized all he had was his older brother and his family, and while he thought the world of Thunderlane and Pinkie and their two foals, he wasn’t exactly the family stallion type. He just wasn’t a white-picket-fence kind of pony, never would be. “Soarin’,” he said, beginning his carefully-prepared statement.
“Can it, Rumble. From just the sound of that alone, that tells me you haven’t been home in ages, so Himura’s probably right.” Soarin’ produced a piece of paper. “Do you know what this is? This is a pre-filled leave chit, listing you as being on leave for the next thirty days. Seamist has already signed it; now all I need is for you to scribble your name and then for me to countersign to put you on an obviously much-needed vacation.” He passed the paper to the other side of the desk, where Soarin’ was. “Now sign and let me get back to work.”
“Soarin’….”
“Sign, Captain. This isn’t up for discussion.” With a grumble and some muttered curses that Soarin’ obviously was ignoring, Rumble signed the paper. As the older pegasus took it back, he said, “Look, it’s clear that you’d rather be out there doing your job, and I appreciate that. But we also want to make sure that there’s a you to get back to the job, got that?” Soarin’ then picked up a pen and countersigned, adding, “Now, I don’t want to see you anywhere near a base for the next thirty days, unless it’s at the Royal Exchange Service, understood?”
“Aye, sir,” Rumble spat.
“Dismissed, Captain. And on a personal note, I already called Thunderlane. He says they’ll be waiting for you at his place.” There was a flicker of anger in the younger officer’s eyes, but Soarin’ ignored it; taking care of the troops was more important than popularity contests. “And to be honest, they need you now – you’ve had a rough time in the Middle East, but it’s been hell for Pinkie. And me,” he said, without clarifying.
Rumble looked as if he was going to ask, but instead saluted and departed the room. As the younger pony left, Soarin’ remembered when Rumble had been just a small colt decades ago. Now, he was a battle-hardened warrior, but the light of joy and adventure that the colt had once had was all but gone now, replaced by the cold, calculating stare of a military stallion who’d seen far too much. Rumble had clearly changed, and not just in age, Soarin’ noted. Now, it was a matter of how deep that change had gone.
You screw this up and I will visit every horror upon you that has ever existed, Blood Armor had said to Twilight Sunburn that morning before kicking her out of the bedroom. Those words continued to echo in her mind hours later as she now stood, in human form and business attire, looking no different than the other security personnel from various nations that had been brought in to protect the VIPs: Americans, Dutch, Syrians and the Belgians. Thanks to her magic, she’d been able to look like someone different to any human that approached her; just a few minutes ago one of the senior security officers from the Belgian side had done a round of inspections and when he looked at her he found a member of the Dutch AIVD, standing ready to protect her own people.
It was all that Twilight could do to keep herself sane right now. Last night had been the final straw. There was no belief in her body anymore that she had any value other than a tool. A true foal of Chrysalis wouldn’t have been treated as she was. A true foal of Chrysalis, it seemed, was more like Blood Armor, who could do anything with impunity and feared no repercussions whatsoever. A true foal of Chrysalis, as he’d pointed out to her, wouldn’t be just a compliant tool waiting to be broken.
Maybe I am broken, she said to herself, remembering the previous night. Blood Armor could not by any stretch of the imagination be considered a gentle individual. She’d been slammed against walls and floors, bound and held down while he…. She blocked that thought from her mind. She knew what he’d done and there was no sense of romance or intimacy in it at all. Furthermore, since they were partly mammal…well, there were certain taboos that changeling culture didn’t have that abounded in pony ones, she knew, and last night he’d violated a major one, making her feel like trash the whole time. Trash. Broken.
“Remember, your mother loves you.” The words came bidden in Twilight’s mind, and she tasted the bitterness of that lie. Her majesty, the queen, laid her egg, hatched it and then had used magic to accelerate her growth over the past five weeks to what she would have been in another fifteen years. She’d been briefly tied to a monster of a human, only to be reassigned to an even bigger monster, and now here she was in human lands once more, pretending to be one but clearly not a part of their world – nor of the pony or changeling ones either.
A tool doesn’t have to worry about a home, she thought glumly. A tool has a place until it is used up, and then its final place will be where it’s discarded. I wonder where my grave will be?
She watched as people walked by in the distance or stopped and gawked as limousines came repeatedly during the course of the next few minutes, a variety of diplomatic personnel from the four nations involved got out of their cars and went into the building. She saw humans, snapping photos for their news outlets. She saw so many things. All of them, even if they were human, had something that she lacked: a life. None of them were tools. They were all free stallions and mares, with lives and loves…and families, no doubt.
A tool can be replaced, she said to herself. But…I don’t want to be a tool. I want….
Not caring if anyone or anypony was looking, tears began to race down Twilight’s cheeks as she began truly crying for the first time in her life. She no longer cared about anything. She wanted to die, because if that happened, as least it would prove that she’d had a life, that she’d been a living being, and not just a tool.
Inspecting the rank before him, Pip walked up and down the line, offering advice when necessary, praise when appropriate, and a critical eye at all times. “I understand you are all used to magic and fighting in methods very different from what I am going to teach you,” he told the assembly, “but those are outdated tactics and outmoded strategy, and it is my insistence that you learn modern warfare in order to protect yourself from the outside world, understood?”
At his side, Peppercorn looked at the selected group of flutters that stood in formation, something that would never have occurred mere days ago. “Look, Pop, you sure about this? I mean, yeah, you’re a military stallion and all that, but isn’t your unit supposed to be stationed by the gateway at the top of the valley?”
Pip nodded. “That’s true, but what I’m going to be teaching you – and it won’t be just me – is police tactics. You’re the constable of the town, Peppercorn, but there might come a time when my forces will be tied up with other things. What happens if an enemy breaks past us and gets down here with guns? Or fires a missile straight at Dream Castle? Yes, magic protects a lot, and I’m not denying that. But you have to have reaction times built into the mix, or else it’s moot. A hoof on the trigger will always be faster than the pony casting the spell, and modern human-based weapons allow precious little time to come up with a magical counter.” He also added, “Plus, if flutters are supposed to be part of the modern Equestriani society, that means you’ll have to perform police duties as well.”
“But…guns?” the flutterdrone asked. “They feel weird, and….well, they’re so alien,” he said, shaking his head.
“Maybe, but they’ll kill you just as fast as a powerful magic blast or a boulder bucked your way,” Pip pointed out. “I’d rather not have any of my colts injured. Besides, as a human told me once, it’s because they’re so dangerous that you want to find a way to avoid them. By learning about them, you understand their threat and makes it clear that you should only use them when all other options have failed.”
“Okay, I can see that,” Peppercorn said, appreciating his father’s words.
“I see you’re with our sons,” Imago said as she approached the assembly. The flutterdrones stopped, but a quick glance from Pip got them back to focusing on the dummy rifles he’d provided for familiarity. The flutterqueen went over to nuzzle her mate, saying, “You’ve fit in so well with the foals. Our family is finally together.”
He was about to respond in kind when an all-too-familiar blur attached himself to his foreleg. “Daddy daddy daddy when do we get to Canterlot is it really fun there are there princes and princesses there like me are there going to be parades and candy and other colts and fillies to play with when are you and Mommy getting married and I wanna be the flower filly an—”
Pip picked up Rosedust, chuckling as he nuzzled her. “One thing at a time, little bliss, one thing at a time.” Then turning to Imago, he smiled. “Are you ready to go?”
Maggie seemed a bit nervous. “This will be my first time being there, undisguised and representing the Flutter Nation. I hope that ponies will understand the difference between us and changelings.”
“You’ll be fine – I’ll be there and Princess Cadance is looking forward to your visit. Plus, you’ll have time to meet with Princess Celestia and you two should be able to come up with some way to fully integrate flutters into Equestriani society. Plus,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her, “I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
She flashed him a fond smile, but her next words carried an unintentional pain: “Do you plan to talk to Sweetie Belle while you’re there?” The sudden downturn on his face indicated he hadn’t. “You can’t hide from her forever, love. You two need to work this out and you promised me you would.”
“That’s assuming she’ll speak to me,” he pointed out.
“She will. She loves you just as much as I do. It will hurt, but she’ll listen.”
One of Pip’s Destriers came down the hill; he’d already been briefed on the difference between flutters and changelings, and followed protocol accordingly; if there was anything to be said about the change in Pip’s relationship status, he kept it to himself. “Colonel, your majesty, helo will be landing in five minutes. You may want to make your way to the landing pad.”
Pip nodded. “Thank you, Major. I want you to work here with the Constable and ensure that the flutters are as trained as we can make them in case things go south. And with the latest reports of the changelings solidifying their base in the Southern Continent, I expect problems to be imminent.”
“Ah, Dr. Brainwell, Dr. Happy Thoughts,” the guard said with a pleasant smile; over the past few days the two REAF medical officers had come by repeatedly to check on the health of the human prisoners. “And I see you’ve brought a third doctor, uh….”
“Dr. Feelgood,” the unicorn mare replied in a scratchy voice. “Unlike the other two, I’m a specialist.”
“I see,” the guard said, looking over her documentation since she was a new arrival; both Brainwell and Happy Thoughts were already on the whitelist. “And what’s your specialty, doct—” The guard never finished his question as a small black bore went right between his eyes, killing him instantly. The guard crumpled to the ground, gone, as blood from the small hole in his head started to ebb out slowly.
“Okay, we have seconds,” Blue Velvet barked in her true voice to “Feelgood” as the latter transformed into a nearly black Twilight Sparkle doppelganger. “Extinguished Sparkle, I want you to get rid of the body – cleanly,” the mare in charge said. Then turning to Overcast Night, she said, “You’re going to replace the guard until his shift is over in a few hours, got it?”
Overcast Night’s body shifted from his Happy Thoughts disguise until he was a copy of the familiar guard, a malicious sneer on his face. “I hope I don’t have to spend forever looking like this dolt,” he answered.
“You’ll do it until I say otherwise,” Blue Velvet commanded. Meanwhile, Extinguished Sparkle had already teleported away with the corpse of the guard, off likely to “dispose” of the body. In truth, part of that disposal involved something that BV found repulsive, but ExSpark’s particular talents with murder likely allowed Chrysalis to give her some bit of freedom, even if on a tight leash.
“Now let me go talk to our allies,” she said, switching back into her disguise as Brainwell, “and extract them as quick as can be.”
Brainwell entered the highly secure prison space, where most of those present were the humans that had been captured. A few other high-level REAF prisoners were here as well, the result of bad decisions that had gotten them in trouble with their commands.
“Hey, baby,” one of the stallions said to her as she walked past, “you got time for a stallion like me? I bet I cou—” he didn’t finish his statement as she suddenly reached up and with a perfectly calculated blow, brought her hoof down on his horn, enhancing the buck with magic. The damage was done, and the prisoner’s horn snapped off at the base, a fatal strike. His eyes rolled up into their sockets while he tongue lolled out, his body jangling from convulsions until he flopped on the ground, dead. The prisoner across the way saw everything that happened, but could not react as a blast of gray magic tore from “Brainwell’s” horn and wrapped around the victim’s head. All it took was for BV to imagine the gray ball of magic shrinking into non-existence, and a sickening crunch later indicated that there would be a second body the investigative team would have to clean up. Fortunately, they’d all be gone by then.
Changing into her true form, she approached Col. Khalid, who was apparently praying or some other ritualized thing humans did. “Colonel, I am here, as promised, to free you,” she said, blasting through the lock on the cell.
“Thank the Prophet, Peace Be Upon Him,” the man said, getting up off the floor. “I had every faith that you would.”
Willing into existence a hooded robe, she said, “Cover yourself with this. It will make you temporarily invisible so we may get you out of here safely.” She also gave him a pistol, just in case. She then went and extracted the rest of his men, handing them each the same thing and leading them all to the main hallway, where there was enough room for them to meet.
As the group came together, Khalid asked, “And where is Mr. di Tacco in all this?”
“He’s planning the next stage of where we can get you all, as he promised,” BV answered, as she bade them to follow her. They all slid on the hooded robes and the magic embued within them took effect; they could all see one another and her, but no one would be able to see them. “However, if you are interested, he does have another proposition for you.”
Khalid nodded; so far the man had been one for his word. “I will hear him out once we are free,” he decided.
Sitting in the uncomfortable human position, very unused to the amniomorphic spell, Clockwork was feeling a bit testy, moreso than he should be. The amniomorphic spell was taking out a lot of his magic reserves, far beyond the recommended for the average mage, and though his Guild days were long since behind him, the fact that he was using nearly all of his power to keep the spell up and add the illusion of extra mass – while Clockwork was very fit for a stallion, he’d decided that he’d make Dr. Radertje look a bit on the chunky side – meant that other than telekinesis, he didn’t have much magic to spare should he need to perform another spell.
Furthermore, these “negotiations”, as they were being called, were a complete and utter joke, a total insult to the memories of the ponies that had died in the attack on Cloudsdale. While the Dutch and the Americans deferred to his positions and recommendations, they couldn’t do it too much lest they let something slip, and so nohuman present could just ask the outright question: why did Iran attack Cloudsdale? But the Syrians, representing the Iranians, either did not have the answer or they weren’t going to be forthcoming with it; in fact, they seemed to be perversely entertained by spouting agitprop nonsense and running out the clock, as one American had put it.
“The Islamic Republic’s statement is clear,” the lead Syrian diplomat said, waving his hands in what could possibly be a threatening manner – Clockwork never quite got the handle on human body language. “The Global Arrogance and its Cosmic Lackey will both publicly apologize for their invasions of Iranian lands and will admit that they falsified the attack on the Cosmic Lackey’s city.” The Syrian diplomat crossed his arms in disgust. “I hate those demons, but firing on your own to perpetuate a lie? Shameful.”
“Wait jest one cotton pickin’ minnit!” an American diplomat said, his tone belligerent. “Fer starters, y’ attacked our people – Americans an’ Equestriani – while our troops were trainin’ in Iraq. Y’ brought th’ fight t’ us!”
“Furthermore,” a Dutch diplomat said, far less harshly, “the Equestriani Crown has pilots who have signed confessions stating that they are members of the Iranian Air Force and were given orders to fire upon the pony city.” The diplomat turned to Clockwork, asking, “Dr. Radertje, what’s your take on this?”
Clockwork thought about it a second. “I think that the Iranian government needs to apologize to the Equestriani Crown. Thousands of innocent ponies died in the assault and their response is to assume that w…the ponies faked it? I find that extremely abhorrent and sickening that it would be suggested!” Shortly after, the conversation broke down into several minutes of arguments as the two sides verbally jousted over whose fault it truly was.
Finally, a Belgian diplomat who had been there to “referee” the discussions essentially rang a bell and said, “Gentlemen, now is time for the regularly scheduled break. Since I understand you are all busy and do not wish to leave during such an important point in the discussions, we felt it prudent to bring everything to you.” With that, the man opened the door, letting a group of waiters from the hotel come in, all with trays carrying dishes covered by silver cooking domes.
Clockwork hoped there was something vegetarian he could eat. While he understood that eating meat was part of human culture and something he’d had to partake in more often than he’d liked – especially during the annual Oktoberfest celebrations that seemed to have migrated from Germany – if there was any way to avoid it, he would.
A second later, the contents beneath the domes were revealed, and as the waiters suddenly turned into changelings unveiling explosives, Clockwork’s last thoughts were that he would have preferred a currywurst sandwich at the moment as the first bomb blew.
Standing from the top of the building not so far away, Blood Armor saw the hotel’s top floor turn into a huge fireball. The detonation shook a lot of nearby buildings, and it was a signal that his forces succeeded. Furthermore, if all went well, it would get rid of the majority of the failures – especially her.
“You think she’s dead?” a voice said behind him; he didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
“I hope so – she was weak and she deserved to die,” he said, turning around to face Gloaming, who stood there in a human form, just like him.
“A shame,” Gloaming said, noncommittally. “I had hoped to run her through with my horn myself. But there are more than enough in Mother’s forces that must be dealt with – and we will, won’t we?” she said, flashing him a smile that could have been read by a casual onlooker as a girl flirting with her boyfriend, when the answer was far more hideous.
When the explosions above occurred, Twilight knew that part of her forces had succeeded, and that the battle was underway. At her command, the changelings around her transformed into trained approximations of members of the Iranian Republican Guard, and immediately started a firefight with the security services for the other nations, with orders to kill or be killed.
Moving to her planned location, she found the assault carbine that had been hidden earlier, and hefted it just as Ghino had taught her, not too long ago. Her mind swam through that memory for several seconds, mainly because she heard the screams of her fellow pepsis and their changeling drones as they started to die and kill. The grounds of the hotel started to stink with blood and carbon scoring, and in the distance sirens could be heard as emergency services started to react to the horrific attack.
She wanted to order the other pepsis, who seemed to somehow gravitate around her for leadership, to shed their disguises and fight with the full advantages of pepsis and changelings. But to do so would cue the magic spells engraved onto the collars each of them wore around their necks. The spells were designed to destroy them should they die, but were also meant to quell potential rebellion by doing the same thing if the wearer used their own magic. Fortunately that hadn’t been necessary; the explosion, combined by their sudden appearance as Pasdaran soldiers, tilted the advantage in their favor as American, Dutch and Belgian security services all fell to their guns (the Syrian guards had already been murdered the day before and replaced by several pepsis that Blood Armor had hoof-selected). But the Belgian military would soon be involved, and that was a whole different level of conflict.
Shortly enough, Twilight’s fears had proven correct just a few minutes later as the SPG – Belgium’s Special Forces Group, their military elite – got into the fray and started thinning the pepsis/changeling forces. Explosions started to dot the area as each pepsis or changeling’s life was taken, and each explosion in turn turned the hotel grounds into a hellpit. Nevertheless, the changelings and pepsis, who had long been trained in tactics to terrorize their opponents, were now receiving a stark lesson of their own in the difference between tactics meant to wage terror and tactics meant to wage war.
Diving behind the bullet-pocked remains of a retaining wall, Twilight glanced as another one of the pepsis looked at her. The pepsis had, strangely enough, chosen a form that was almost exactly like Twilight’s, and she wondered if that was a side-effect of being one of her “subsisters”, another one of the Twilight type of pepsis. The look in the mare’s eyes was gut-wrenching as she breathed in shallow gulps of air, knowing that the end was almost near.
“Don’t die on me,” Twilight said, lifting up just enough to put a bullet into one of the SPG attackers. “I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”
The other Twilight smiled. “You’re just like him, aren’t you?” she whispered in a barely audible voice.
“No! I’m not like Blood Armor!” she insisted.
But with her flagging strength, the other Twilight said, “Find your fate, sister. Be like him. Protect u….” The voice vanished into a death rattle as the pepsis breathed her last. On death, her true form appeared, and Twilight was horrified to see that, with the exception of her orange stripe being replaced by a bright green, the other Twilight looked exactly like her.
And then the collar went off and the body exploded.
Thrown by the blast, she slammed against a wall, the wind knocked out of her. Her head spinning, she had just enough time to fire again, taking out another soldier drawing a bead on her. As her gun fired its last round, she felt herself slammed back into the wall once more, as her side suddenly exploded into mind-searing pain. She knew she’d been shot and she slumped to the ground, gasping for life just as her counterpart did. In her mind, Twilight could see the face of that sister, having died with a demand for her.
Her body started to go numb and Twilight’s mind started to wander. Was she dying? Would anychangeling care? Would they even notice?
“Remember, your mother loves you,” the memory flashed, unbidden, in her mind.
No, because I don’t have one, the pepsis thought to herself as her vision grew cloudy. But it would have been nice to have one, were her last words as darkness claimed her.
The moment Mike arrived home, the first person he sought out was DJ. He found her in the company of her parents, and wasted no time in telling her everything.
“Oh, sweetie, that’s wonderful!” DJ chirped as she leapt into her husband’s embrace, kissing him with all her love. “I’m so proud of you!”
“Easy, hon – bear in mind that accepting this position means that we’ll have to move here,” he pointed out. Part of him felt like slime for mentioning that part, but a quick look at DJ’s parents revealed their sympathy for his situation as well as their pride in him – he was, after all, part of this family as well.
That realization stopped the humanized pony dead in her tracks and poured ice water into her veins. Of course she was more than proud of her husband’s accomplishment – he was now offered a command of his own even before he’d done a stint as an executive officer – but…his sobriquet was now going to be her cage. She’d be trapped here, having to spend every day in this technicolor gulag. So far, she’d been able to deal with it because this was just a trip to visit a very sick relative, one that she had yet to see since she’d arrived in Equestria. But now, with the realization that a couple of weeks would now turn into a couple of years, that made things go from merely inconvenient to her worst nightmare.
Mike knew that and reacted. “Would you mind if she and I spoke in private?” he asked her parents.
“Was just about to suggest that,” Matt said, better at taking a hint than his wife was. Suggesting that they should make lunch for everyone, they sidled off to the kitchen to leave them in peace.
With that, Mike led her to the nearest seat. No doubt both Matt and Anna would speak to him later; since both were prior military they’d offer their advice on difficult assignments such as this one. But for now, he had to focus on his wife. “DJ….” he began.
But to his surprise, she cut him off with a gentle shake of her head, waving her hands animatedly. “No, Mike – I’ll deal somehow. Yes, I don’t have to tell you how uncomfortable I am with this place. Even here in Twilight’s home, where I know it’s ‘safe’, and surrounded by family and loved ones, I still very discomfited and the dark memories always seem to be foremost on my mind. If we’d lost so long ago, you could have escaped this place, one way or another, but I’d have been trapped here, forced into a life that wasn’t mine.”
Mike caressed her cheek, seeing the fear in her eyes. Once again, he read her like a book, always knew what was at the core of her heart. “DJ, things are different now. You’re an adult woman and can leave here at any time. There’s nothing legally tying you here. Plus, Luna would never stand for you being forced here against your will. You know that.”
DJ smiled slightly even as the corner of her eyes started to moisten; Luna’s position in her personal pantheon of aunts was now very much near the top of the list with Twilight and Sweetie. “Yeah,” she said, reaching up to keep his hand by her cheek and feeling his warm strength, “you’re right.”
“Look, if you’re that worried about it, love, I can do the geo bachelor thing again. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
She shook her head immediately. “No – you did that once and I don’t ever want to be separated from you again, Mike. We’re a family: you, me and the boys. You deserve to have your family with you.” She took his hand in hers and brought it to her lips, kissing it tenderly. “You’ve sacrificed so much for me already. It’s my turn to do so for you, love.”
He smiled softly. “I knew there was a reason I married you.”
She grinned, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Besides, how would it look if the Old Man didn’t have his wife around? You’d never hear the end of it at the O Club.”
A thoughtful look etched itself onto his face. “You know, I have no idea if Equestriani bases have military clubs. I know there’s the Royal Exchange Service, but….”
“You know what I mean,” she giggled, feeling in better spirits. “But seriously, I did take a vow: in better or worse, in sickness or in health – and you had to be pretty sick to marry me,” she teased. “But my parents knew the risk when they got married, and so did your mother when she married your dad. Every military spouse ever has to go through this at some point or another – I’m not walking in blind. Sure, none of it’s going to be sunshine and French vanilla, but I said it before and I’ll say it again: I will be with you until the end of time, Mike. You are my one true love and soulmate and I will never let you go.”
“I know,” he said warmly. She gave him that smile that said volumes and told him everything that was ever meant for him. There was an unspoken signal sent, and they kissed, once again sharing their love for each other.
Watching from a distance, Anna carried a plate with a couple of sandwiches meant for them. “How much time do you think we should give them?” she asked Matt.
“As much time as they need. Besides,” he said, leaning towards her lips, “young folks aren’t the only ones who get to practice kissing.”
Stunned, Apple Cobbler had departed her office, needing to clear her mind. She’d just witnessed, via closed-circuit camera, the deaths of dozens of innocent humans, ones that had attempted to solve the problem between Equestria and Iran before things got worse. And instead, somehow magically, they did. She didn’t have to turn her TV to CNN to know what the headline story was right now; all news channels around the world would be reporting on the grisly events that had occurred in Belgium. She could even guess at the headline: Dutch and American Diplomatic Team Murdered by Iranian Terrorists. Doubtless, however the papers in Tehran and Syria would be pretty much saying the opposite and the attempt to avoid war would now plunge the nations into it.
But it was worse than just what the story had told. The Syrians would now believe that it had been the Equestrianis that had committed the dastardly deed and would shore up their ally’s defenses, bringing an extra nation into the already spiraling conflict. And if she recalled her geopolitics correctly, that would also potentially bring Russia and China into the background for Syria and thus also Iran. NATO would, of course, follow through its commitments, but it would be a grave tragedy if ponydom, trying to bring peace to their fellow sapients on this Earth, ended up starting a new, bloody war as a result of their presence.
And yet that wasn’t the worst. The worst was that Clockwork was dead in that attack. He didn’t even have to be there; Lemon Sorbet had been assigned to take the lead on this issue. But Belgium was his responsibility, he’d once said, and as a Guild member and ambassador, he would serve the Crown’s interests no matter what. But now “no matter what” had meant until his dying breath and he would be buried with a hero’s funeral in Canterlot. AC knew Clockwork’s brother Time Turner and knew that the earth pony would be torn apart by the death of his unicorn older brother. But worst of all was that someone was going to have to tell Clockwork’s fiancée, Pristine Dream. She was part of the Equestriani political mission to NATO, which was where they met. The two had planned for a wedding next fall in Vanhoover, a wedding that would now never occur.
She told her staff she was going to take a walk to clear her mind. No, she wasn’t going to need a driver or anything; she just wanted to get away from the carnage she just witnessed. In truth, she wanted to get down to her husband’s workplace and just hold him tight while she bawled in the comforting safety of his forelegs. Antiquity always knew the right things to say and how to make things better – it was one of the things she’d loved most about her husband.
A few minutes later, she found herself outside, in the shadows of the Twin Towers. The two buildings stood as symbols of financial might and strength, and based on that, it wasn’t hard to believe that once madmen had wanted to destroy them. But that was forty years ago, and humanity’s world had changed since then. Humans had other priorities now, and now humans had the other species of Alter-Earth to share the ups and downs with. And currently things were very down, and the only positive thing that could be said was that humans weren’t shooting at other humans, yet.
Stopping in the Starbucks in the bottom floor, she ordered a large hay-and-chocolate chai. The barista, a gryphoness, obliged and whipped one up for AC almost instantly. The earth pony at first wondered why a gryphon was working the counter, but then remembered that Griphonica’s Mission to the UN was in the other building. Someday she was going to have to take up her counterpart Glengary Grayfeather up for lunch to discuss what they could do together to improve their two nations’ goals in the UN.
She was so lost in her thoughts, staring out the glass pane window, that she hadn’t heard the voice next to her. Finally she turned and found a pony standing there, looking incredibly staid. “Can I help you, sir?” she asked.
He nodded, adjusting his glasses. He looked very much like a sad-sack stallion, the kind who was henpecked by his wife and a virtual embodiment of all the metaphorical meaning of the insult gelding. “Are you Apple Cobbler, ma’am?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, for all the good it does me.”
“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into a coat pocket for something. Apple Cobbler’s mind at that moment wondered who the earth pony was. He wasn’t attached to the mission, and most of the ponies that lived in New York were attached to the UN, her husband and some others being notable exceptions. He didn’t look like he’d be one of the exceptions; his suit was too rumpled for a banker, and he didn’t have that artist or celebrity vibe that so many of that stripe did.
But the answer became clear as he faced her with a sad look in his eye as he said, “I’m sorry.”
And then he drew a pistol, pointed it at her face, and pulled the trigger.
The pony teleported away after he’d committed his assassination, to a nearby alley a half-mile away, where he dropped his disguise and looked in a broken mirror lying in the alleyway, it was cracked and spiderwebbed, revealing the ugly look of a pepsis that just murdered an innocent mare. In the end, he’d succeed in the mission assigned to him by Gloaming, and he knew he could not live with that success.
Emptying the clip as he’d been shown how, he placed the second one in. This one was for him to use to get away, she’d told him. But he’d committed an atrocity, one he couldn’t live with, and one he didn’t deserve to. He would get away, all right – but not in the way he intended.
Forgive me, Ms. Cobbler, he mused, putting the gun in his mouth. I wish I didn— He pulled the trigger before he could finish his thought.
The resulting explosion and fire completely destroyed both buildings framing the alleyway.
With great difficulty, Twilight opened her eyes, seeing everything as blurry. From the change in perspective, she could tell she was somehow in her normal form, with bandages around her waist. Her wings had been torn off, but thankfully like those of changelings, pepsis wings grew back in a matter of days. Gingerly, she reached down and touched the bandages; pain roared through her mind with sudden clarity and a voice screamed out in agony – it took a few seconds before she realized it was her own. She suddenly blacked out again.
Several more minutes passed before she came back to consciousness, and this time, instead of courting disaster, she focused past the soreness and looked around her environs. She was on a very comfortable bed in what definitely did not look like a hotel; it didn’t look like the apartment that Blood Armor had procured for their base. If anything, it looked like what she imagined a regular home would look like. Wherever she was, it wasn’t the battleground that had been a hotel just earlier in the day. She might not even be in Antwerp.
After a few minutes, she reached towards the bandages again, wondering if it was safe to do so.
“Don’t touch your wounds; they’ll get infected,” a voice said. The pepsis blinked her eyes and found herself staring at someone she’d never expected to see again: the redhead she’d met in the airport the other day, the one that had told her that her mother loved her – a lie if there ever was one. Chrysalis was the complete antithesis of love, and thought of her foals as nothing more than tools to be used to further her own power.
But that couldn’t describe this woman before her. There was something calming and placid about her, a feeling she had that she couldn’t describe. It was, if she forced herself to do so, kind of like the genetic memories she carried of her father: warm and kind.
“What I said was true,” the woman voiced, a beatific smile on her face. “Your mother does love you.”
At that, Twilight was shocked. How did the woman know what she was thinking? “H-hhow did you…?”
The redhead flashed a smile. “That’s not important right now,” she assured her. “The important thing is that what I said is true: your mother does love you, and she will with all her heart.”
At those words, bitter tears stung in Twilight’s eyes. “It’s not true,” she countered, “it’s not. Chrysalis doesn’t love me – to her, I’m just a tool.”
“That’s because she’s not your mother, Twilight.” The redhead pulled up a chair and said, “You are Twilight Sunburn, a pepsis. Half-changeling, half-pony. For all your life, you’ve been shown nothing but your changeling heritage. But what if I told you there was another way?”
“How do you know who I am?” Twilight asked. Instinct should have said that a being with this much knowledge on her would be dangerous beyond comparison, and yet…Twilight wasn’t afraid; she didn’t feel afraid at all, as if there was no reason to. Somehow, she knew this woman, this human – if she really was one and not merely inhabiting the shape – was more powerful in magic than Blood Armor, possibly even more so than Chrysalis. But, looking at those deep blue eyes, Twilight knew that the force this being could wield was used for nothing more than nurture and protection. She might have been a primal force, but it was a guarding one.
“Because it’s my job to know,” the woman said with a simple smile.
“How did you save me? Why did you save me?”
“As to how, I had a friend retrieve you. Had she been a little later, it would have been too late,” the woman admitted, “but thankfully that didn’t happen. But as to why, it’s because you deserve to be loved, Twilight. I won’t lie: you have done some terrible things, nightmarish acts. And yet…the humans have a word for what you are – ‘child soldier.’ Innocents drafted into an army, forced to do the unspeakable, but not really aware of what is happening to them. You’ve been forced into atrocities under duress that no one your age – your true age – should even be able to comprehend, much less experience.” The woman reached down and stroked Twilight’s mane; it was a tender, warm touch the pepsis had never known before, and she found herself craving it. It was so strange, so alien, that the emotion could only be one thing – love.
“You look as though you are a filly of sixteen, Twilight Sunburn,” the woman continued, “and yet you are only weeks old. You’ve been made into a monster, and while you have yet to really experience life, you already carry scars. It hurts me just to know that, just to see what they have done to you.”
“Why do you care?” Twilight asked. The fact that anychangeling would care about her was as foreign to her as her pony ancestry.
“Because I am a mother who loves her daughters and can do nothing to help them while they face a challenge of an order of magnitude they have never seen before, and like a mother who truly loves her foals, I would do anything to help them. So too would I help a wayward foal to her mother,” the woman said, and Twilight somehow knew that last foal in question was her.
“But Chrysa—”
“Did you know changelings have a complex structure of family hierarchy that designates who is family and who is not?” the woman asked.
While Twilight shook her head no, the answer came ringing into her mind with crystal clarity: it was the reason why Twilight Gloaming, Blue Velvet and Blood Armor never considered her “part of the family” – because she wasn’t. “Is that true?” she asked.
The woman nodded. “Think about it: though changelings are pony-sized, they aren’t mammals, they’re arthropods – a very special type of one, but one all the same. As such, they don’t have families, they have broods, because it is within them to have the hive survive at all costs. And yet there must be leadership, which is why some must be rulers and some must be the ruled.” The woman looked at a mirror on the dresser across from the bed; the reflection was of both her and Twilight. “You are a chimera, half of each, born just as much of magic as genetics. You have Chrysalis’ blood in your veins, yes; you’ll never be able to avoid that. But you also have the blood of the gallant stallion she tricked, a nonpareil who engendered the best in what ponies could be.”
Twilight looked at the woman, hope in her violet eyes. She was just as much pony as she was changeling. Was there truly a way to escape the trap of being a pepsis? Of being a tool? She opened her mouth to ask, but she felt pain stitch through her side and that came foremost to her mind; besides, she dare not ask the question that would give an answer that could betray her.
The woman held out her palm and a ball of golden light appeared in it, as warm and bright as the sun. Gently pushing the ball towards the mirror, it melted into the surface, lending to the looking glass that heliotropic tone. “Twilight, look in the mirror and tell me what you see,” the woman instructed.
The pepsis gazed into the mirror as it briefly showed both hers and the woman’s reflections. But then the glass shimmered like water and revealed Twilight’s face, except…it wasn’t hers. The face was older, for starts, with slips of gray appearing and slight wrinkles on the visage. The locks of hair in the mane had two different colors, like hers, but these were pink and magenta to her own hot-pink and orange. The other mare’s coat was also lighter than hers, a soft shade of purple that contrasted with her deep eggplant hue.
But it was the look on the face that was most striking of all. The face showed bravery, wisdom, joy, and most importantly, love. She could feel the warmth and kindness radiating from the smile as if she were a flower reaching out to the life-giving warmth of the sun. For the first time in Twilight Sunburn’s short life, she ached to see such beauty and joy, knowing that it should have been her birthright. This was love, freely given and offered, the love of something more than just a tool. The love offered to a being like her, not as a changeling, not as a pepsis.
But as a pony.
“Who…who….” Twilight Sunburn could not complete the sentence. She felt a longing, a powerful emptiness in her that ached to be filled with love. To be loved. That’s what she wanted more than anything else – to be loved. She understood that now, and felt every iota of its absence. She needed to be loved, and she needed somechangeling to do so. She looked at the image again. “Who is she?” Twilight finally spoke.
The woman smiled as she looked at Twilight Sunburn. “Her name is Twilight Sparkle. She is the Archmagus of Equestria, Duchess Shetland, the Knight Commander Elemental of Magic, the most powerful unicorn in history, and the protégé of my oldest daughter. She is also your father’s younger sister. Which means she is your family.”
Family. The word thundered in Twilight’s mind as she comprehended the fact that she didn’t have to live her life as a tool – she had someone! She had somepony! Would she be loved? Would that Twilight love her, accept her?
And then Twilight Sunburn uttered the word for God inscribed on the lips of babes since time immortal:
“Mother.”
“Are you sure?” the woman asked.
Twilight Sunburn was never surer of anything in her life. She had never met this other Twilight and yet…she was family; even if it was a tenuous, threadbare connection, it was more than Chrysalis had ever offered her. “She’ll love me. Even if I’m nothing more than a tool, I’ll at least be a tool that will be loved.”
“Then you must stay and heal,” the woman told her. “You need your strength to be ready to fight.”
The look on Twilight’s face was briefly filled with horror, which then immediately changed to determination. “No. I won’t fight her. Even if she’ll want to kill me, I…I want to be loved!” She lowered her head, ears drooping, and she sobbed, “I just want to be loved.”
But Faust’s smile was gentle and kind. “You misunderstand, Twilight. You need to be ready to fight for her. Because very soon, she will be in terrible danger, and though she is powerful, she will be unable to withstand this attack.”
“Then I’ll rest and then I’ll fight,” Twilight said, her voice suddenly filling with an anger that surprised even her. But, she now realized, it was different from the dispassionate violence Ghino made her commit. This was…indignation? Yes, indignation for someone daring to raise a hoof against the only chance Twilight Sunburn had for happiness. “I will fight and I will protect her.”
“Then rest, young one.” The redhead placed a gentle spell on Twilight, pushing her in the direction of drowsiness. As the former pepsis fell asleep, Faust looked at the young filly and smiled sweetly, remembering the times her daughters had been so young and passionate. She then sang a lullaby to comfort the dozing youth. That pepsis would be different now when she reawakened. Twilight Sunburn’s legacy had changed.
In her own room, Screwball looked into the mirror there, seeing the serene face of an aged unicorn mare, mane far whiter than the misty-gray and plum it had once been.
“Safe. She is safe now,” Screwball told the image in the mirror as her body warped from a cubist view into living blobs of paint. “Your granddaughter is safe.”
“Twilight will care for her,” the image said back, smiling gently. “My son was used and his foal even more so, but my daughter will mend this foal’s wounds. Though I could say nothing to any of them, I saw it in my dreams when I lived.”
“Faust will protect her.”
“I know. And I am forever grateful to my queen. Please relay that for me.” The ghost of Twilight Velvet bowed in the mirror and vanished. Screwball smiled, and her body exploded into thousands of tarot cards once more, this time all of them bearing the image of The Star.
For those of you wondering about the title, it's a reference to last year's release of "At the Twilight's Last Gleaming", itself a reference to the Star Spangled Banner for Fourth of July. This one comes from the rarely sung second stanza to the song:
On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
And now you know. And knowing is half the battle. The other half is red lasers and blue lasers. 
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Here I am a in a hotel room a long way from home and family, unable to celebrate properly and unaware of where local firewords can be viewed. A double update of AAG on the 4th of July is probably the best thing that could have happened to me. Thank you very much.
Well happy fourth of July to you too.
Happy 4th of July
This is a great happy 4th of July present.
Happy Independence Day, y'all!
And to close the circle, the FN P90 is, of course, made in Belgium.
or a bolder bucked your way: boulder
Happy Fourth of July as well, but seriously, you rewrote the story to make things even worse for our heroes...? Well, at least it'll explain the "Why are these guys fighting them or having a difficult time trusting each other?" question.
Man, this rewrite is just flippin' amazing.
Awesome knowledge of the Anthem my fellow American
Poor Apple Cobbler, she didn't deserve to have to bite the dust like that, unless she somehow survived a shot to the chest....
Damn, look at the body count.
3575514
Naaaah, wait until I get into the body counts!
HE HAS LAZERS! TAKE IT ALL!
This is a Tom Clancy novel with ponies and changelings!
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Who in Faust's name downvoted this post?!?