The What and Whatiful Who

by cosby7

CHAPTER TEN: What Kind of Pony Has a Mustache?

“Doctor Hooves!” Trixie yelled angrily. Only just did she catch sight of the brown stallion’s cutie mark vanishing amidst the crowd. Wincing in consternation, she took off after him, avoiding the looks of the gentleponies staring at her funny. She lost him a couple times, at one point going so far as to magically lift herself up for a second, so she could see above the ponies milling about her path. Finally, she spotted him running down the hallway leading away from the central podium. By the time she caught up to him, he had already caught up to his own target.

“Doctor Hooves! Why would you just—”

“Menlo the Mustachioed!”

“Excuse me,” the unicorn with the drooping hairs below his nose said, turning to eye this new interruption up and down, “sir. There will be plenty of time to discuss matters when we reconvene.” Even as he said this, Menlo must have seen something that interested him, because he turned to meet the Doctor’s gaze in earnest then. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met. You are . . . ?”

“The Doctor. Hooves, if you like. I’m trying it out. Seems to fit for some reason, but I want to talk about you, Menlo.”

“I see,” Menlo replied, allowing his gaze, one of curiosity mingled with frustration, to linger only a moment longer. “As I said, Doctor, we will have due time to discuss any arguments you may have when the conference resumes. Until then.” And once more he was storming off. Just not quick enough.

“When are you from, Menlo?”

He froze. Dead in his tracks, Menlo the Mustachioed turned back. His stride, as he made his way back to the Doctor, close enough to whisper, was far too casual. His smile was far too friendly. Trixie was confused, but even she could tell by now that there was something off about this unicorn. Her qualms with the Doctor faded away as she piqued her ears, not wanting to miss what either stallion might say.

“I’m sorry, you asked ‘where’ I was from?”

“No,” Doctor Hooves returned, a bemused sideways smile across his face. Clearly, this had been the response he had expected, but for some reason he seemed almost to be trying to keep his distance from Menlo. Always ready to run, Trixie thought to herself, half in mocking, half in fright. “I said ‘when.’ A time traveler can always spot another and I’m a time traveler from way back.”

“Heh,” the mustachioed stallion chuckled, all pretense of friendliness fading. “Time travel, you say? Yes, I had heard our Star Swirl had been working on something like that. Most of the ancient scrolls are not known to one such as myself, but, as I understand it, I would have to be an exceedingly powerful unicorn to travel anymore than a day or so, though. Wouldn’t you agree, Doctor?”

“Well,” Doctor Hooves began with a shake of his head, seemingly forgetting Menlo was even there as he began his lecture, “I suppose that’d be true. But we both know you are quite the powerful unicorn. Of course, you are right, even the absolute most powerful unicorn would reasonably only be able to travel, say, a week or so under his own power.”

“Heh. As you say—”

“Unless!” he shouted, making a point of the interruption. “Unless, you weren’t just traveling under your own power. If you had help, a great deal of help, then you could easily magnify your power enough to go back even further. And, of course, there’s different kinds of help. More unicorns would be one thing. But a machine, some sort of chrono-amplifier, fueled by unicorn energy, technology from, oh, I don’t know, say, three thousand years in the future, maybe. That’d do the trick just fine, I think.” Now that the Doctor’s triumphant grin was not focused at her, Trixie found that she quite enjoyed it.

By the look on Menlo’s face, he certainly did not.

“I know the history of the Elements. They don’t come into existence for years yet. Decades. Star Swirl knew the risks and the Equestrian councils listened. There was no grand summit. There was no Menlo the Mustachioed. When. Are. You. From.”

“You know the history, you say?” Menlo asked through gritted teeth. It looked like he was trying to force the same cocky smile the Doctor had mastered, but it just wouldn’t come. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. How much history do you know, Doctor?”

“Oh, like I said, I’m a time traveler from way back. Working history though? Thousand years and change.”

“Impossible! There’s no way you would be able to from those dark ages! You’d at least need to be from . . . .”

“By all means, keep going,” Doctor Hooves said sympathetically. “Tell me. Prove me right. Or wrong. How close was I?”

“Not as close as you’d like, I’m sure,” the unicorn said, allowing himself the small victory. “I am from three thousand eight hundred and fifty one years in the future.”

Apparently, those were the magic words.

“Brilliant! That’s all I needed to know. Let’s go, Trixie. We have a meeting to finish.” Without another word, he turned from the unicorn he had ferociously hunted down, nearly skipping back the way they had come. It took Trixie a moment to even notice he had spoken to her.

“You might as well skip the debate, Doctor. Perhaps you know when I am from, but I have already won this day. I have been planted here for years, building connections, gaining influence. Besides, no matter what you do, you cannot stop my ace in the hole.”

Doctor Hooves stopped so abruptly, Trixie nearly skidded past him.

“You mean the psychic message you’ve been sending while you speak? Using your horn’s abilities to hide it subliminally beneath some form of perception filter. Who taught you how to do that by the way?” The Doctor’s voice dripped with suspicion and countless unvoiced claims.

Menlo the Mustachioed remained silent and fuming.

“No matter,” Doctor Hooves finally said with a shrug. “Point is, I’ve seen a technique like that used before. Means I know how to intercept it. Make no mistake, Menlo,” the name made mockery on his tongue, “you have won nothing this day. Whatever it was you planned, sorry, whatever it was your master has planned, your part in it has already failed. So, when this day is done and you’re resigned to live out the rest of your days in this time or find some way back to three thousand eight hundred and fifty one years in the future, should you ever reminisce about the glory days when you harbored the naive notion of bending reality to your will, remember this: I’m the Doctor and I’m the lord of time. Trixie?”

“Yes?” There were no other words.

“Let’s end this farce.”