The Conversion Bureau: The Other Side of the Spectrum (The Original)

by Sledge115

In The Pale Moonlight – Part 1: 'In Purgatory's Shadow'

One by one their seats were emptied.
One by one they went away.
Now the family is parted.
Will it be complete one day?
– ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken’, by Ada R. Habershon

“I've been a fool. Let this be a lesson to you, doctor – perhaps the most valuable one I can ever teach you. Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all.”
“If that's true, it's a lesson I'd rather not learn.”
– Elim Garak and Julian Bashir, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: ‘In Purgatory’s Shadow’

Dear Cheerilee,

God, that sounds stupid. “Dear Cheerilee”. Makes me sound like I don't fucking know you. Truth is, I’ve been thinking over the last couple of days that maybe you don't know me. If you did, how could you stand to be around me? How could you

I’ll start over.

You’ll have seen the classified report of what happened by now. All dry facts and bullshit. The sort of thing I used to think my superiors pulled out of their asses to cover their shit, instead of owning up to their mistakes. The kind of thing that got me assigned as an embassy guard in the first place.

Maybe I judged them wrong. I've pulled a lot of shit out of my ass over the last couple of days. Now, I… I don’t know if I respect them now. Understand them, maybe... I… I need to get this off my chest. I need to talk about it, not like Colonel Renee of the PHL, but like Marcus, the man from Kentucky. And the only person I can do this with is you.

You know, by now, that events in Ponyville have created a potential PR meltdown in the works. It was… scary. Sunny Equestria felt like a miracle, a whole world of helpfuls, ready to back us up against the Solar Empire. I’ve heard it called a deus-ex-machina, and now, all I can see after hearing the news is all of it crashing down around our heads, back to square one – having nothing.

In Lyra’s absence, the worst thing I’ve had to relearn from this war, one war where we thought right and wrong were clear-cut, no lingering qualms about American imperialism or any of that shit, is that sometimes, there are no good choices. Sometimes, there are only bad choices and their outcomes, the worst and the least awful. Back in New Hampshire, Lieutenant Ze’ev told me she understands that. She hates herself for it, but she understands. Or so she says. Frankly, I’m not sure how far I’d trust the opinion of anyone who’d shack up with Viktor Kraber.

But I trust you.

Cher, I made a bad choice, even if it was for the right reasons. Because I don’t have whatever Lyra had, whatever would let her make the good choice.

God help me.

Leaves blew in the wind, catching the faintest, most fragile specks of starlight past the canopy, as the Everfree’s restless activity continued well into the night at its darkest. In this lonely, distinct corner of the Forest, a very old being slumbered, right as it always had for millennia. Time and time again over its long life, it had refused to yield to any outside force.

The Tree of Harmony, as it was called, stood silent in its grove, a cavern lit by the various stalactites and stalagmites that dotted the walls and the ground.

It would not sleep for long.

The ancient tree began to pulse, residue of the day’s events reaching out through all corners of the Forest, reuniting the Elements with its once-host for a brief yet pivotal moment, when a certain orange earth pony had shattered a terracotta abomination into fine dust.

When morning came, the first PHL researchers to arrive would scramble to decipher its meanings, what it meant when it awoke for the first time in centuries.

They would not have their answers.

Not yet, at least.

Night-time in Equestria was unlike anything on Earth. See how the stars twinkled throughout the purple-blue sky, subtle differences of shade turning it into a pristine tapestry of colour.

‘It was meant to be cloudy. Huh. Celestia must have put in a request for clear skies.’

If only everything else could be so clear. Marcus sighed as he turned back to his desk. By rights he ought to be sleeping, the last day’s events had certainly been exhausting enough, but much as he wished otherwise, there was a war on. Not to mention something called “ascension nights”. From what he understood, those who received the blessing of ascension tended to need less sleep than regular mortals. In fact, he’d been stunned to learn they had a name for it, and Tia, his own personal Celestia, had explained it would take some time for him to adjust into a decent rhythm.

It helped either way, allowing him to work without worrying about passing out at his desk and keeping the nightmares that plagued him at bay, even without Luna.

Still, it had been far too many long since he’d seen anything resembling sleep, and it was due any day now. He figured it wouldn't help to pass out during briefings or walking, so it was best to get work out of the way now. Especially at this moment of time. His attention was torn. He had received intelligence reports from Earth in the latest mail-packet, and it contained some rather disturbing reports. Military buildup in Imperial territory, according to their agents, was increasing rapidly. Their own buildup was going well, but…

Marcus shook his head. He tried focusing on the numbers and other details, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the PR nightmare facing them.

‘And not a single thing which can be blown away by Luna, either, he thought sourly. ‘The problem is, all this political shit is just that... shit.’

“True,” the familiar voice of Tia whispered in his mind, sounding vaguely amused. “But unfortunately, you're left with little choice but to deal with it.”

“Please,” he said aloud, “don't remind me how inevitable it is. If I could palm this shit off on some flunkie, I would.”

There was a pause. “Can't you?”

Marcus frowned. ‘Can’t I what?’

“‘Palm this off on a flunkie’, or at least get one sent to assist you,” Tia clarified. “The PHL and UN have experts, don't they?”

‘They do, but...’

“No ‘buts’,” Tia whispered in his mind. “You need help. So ask for it.”

He tried to think of a decent rejoinder, but he could find none. After a moment, he sighed.

“Fine,” he said, sitting down at his desk. “‘Help’. I can do that.”

Didn’t get any sleep overnight. I felt some kind of foreboding, and as it happens, I was right. The morning brought with it the first inkling of just how bad this political fallout could become…

It was a bad time for all of this mess to be happening. We’d been here for over two months now, working our asses off to make the best of this Alliance, and before the shit hit the fan I dare say we’d been doing well. Better than I had any right to expect a year ago.

As misfortune seldom comes alone, it’s around the time this business went down that I received those intel reports you sent on to me. And to think, here I was, thinking the worst to expect for Bauer would be breaking the news to him on his return from vacation.

The Solar Empire, assembling an army. Not an expeditionary force. Not a probing assault. A full-blown invasion force, the likes of which, I can tell you, haven’t been seen on Earth’s soil since WWII, if not earlier.

I won’t lie; this is the worst moment for our Alliance to be at risk. By the end of this letter you’ll know how we delayed at least some of that risk. And I’m sorry for that.

Nurse Redheart pulled the curtains open, just a crack, to let dawnlight enter the room.

Grown dragon though he might be, recovering slowly from his ordeal, Spike was still in such a vulnerable state. Even after two months in her care, he could barely stand sunshine, and for more reasons than having been locked away in darkness for so long.

“Good morning, Spike,” Redheart warmly greeted the massive figure curled up on the king-sized bed.

Like every morning, she tried to inject some cheer into her words. After all, here they were. Perhaps there wasn’t as much time to savor it as one would like, yet though the initial shock of the miracle had worn off, the mere existence of this place gave her worn-down heart a flutter every time she awoke.

Or perhaps that was just caffeine withdrawal. In any case, the drake merely let out a noncommittal grunt and rolled over on his side, facing away from the sunshine. Redheart bit back a groan.

“And how are we doing today, young fellow?” she asked, still aiming for good cheer. “What are your thoughts on Vera’s loving care?”

She deliberately left the word ‘tender’ out of that phrase. Having seen him flayed, Redheart never wanted to hear it used in conjunction with skin, ever again. Besides, she didn’t know what memories it would trigger.

“It’s… loving,” Spike replied indistinctly, “Yeah, real loving.”

He pushed his face further down into the mound of pillowcases.

Redheart took a cautious step towards him. “Listen, Spike. I’ve got promising news. In another two months or so, both your wings should be fully healed. Doesn’t that sound nice? You’ll get to fly.”

“Never flown before…” he muttered.

“Well, um, there are other dragons here. One of them, a really big fellow, looks a lot like you. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was related to you,” she chuckled. “Ah, I’m pretty sure you’ll find someone willing to teach you. Yeah, I know, dragons can be a, uh, pushy lot, but in these strange times–”

“Don’t know any dragons,” Spike said flatly. “All dead. Never got to fly. Spent too much time in that hole.”

Redheart chewed her lip. “Please,” she begged. “Don’t talk like th– I mean, please don’t talk in monosyllables that way. You’ve been making progress, you really have. You can’t let yourself slide like this.”

“Slide?” Finally, he turned to face her. There was no gleam in his remaining eye. “Redheart, I never got out. I’m still down there.”

His nurse adamantly shook her head. “No. It’ll feel like that, yes, I can’t pretend it won’t, sweetie. You’ll feel that way for a long time. But I promise you, you’re safe. We won’t let it ever happen again.”

The two of them remained silent for a while, not a word passing between them. Yet at last, Redheart dared speak again.

“Spike,” she said, “Someone’s here to see you.”

He moaned. “I don’t want to see anyone.”

“I know, but…” Redheart took a deep breath. “Lad, to get out of that awful pit, first you need to work up the courage to leave this room. It’ll be hard. It won’t feel good, at first. But it’s been two months. You are healing, and if you hope to fly, you must relearn how to walk, for starters. Now, I won’t ask you to go outside if you don’t want to. Still too early. But it’s vital you start letting people in again.”

“Oh, just leave me alone,” Spike grumbled, turning over once more.

“Please, Spike. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“I don’t want anything to do with Twilight,” the young-grown dragon hissed. “Or Rarity, or the rest of them.”

“It’s someone else.”

Spike raised his head. “Who?”

Redheart allowed herself a smile. “Let me show you,” she said, backing up to open the door, careful not to let in too much sunshine.

A mare entered, moving at a steady pace, as she delicately carried two steaming mugs within her telekinesis. She also wore a saddlebag over her shoulder.

In the dim half-light of the room, the newcomer looked a pallid grey, not unlike Redheart, though her coat was of a finer sheen. Her mane was a dual shade of red-and-purple, or, to use the fancy term, amaranth and heliotrope – not that she’d ever insisted on using those, Spike suddenly recalled as the memories came flooding back to him. It was something her friends had dreamt up, and the words just kind of stuck. And that beautiful mane, which once had been long and flowing, was now cut a severe military length.

“Thank you, Redheart,” said the mare. “By the way,” she added, magically passing one mugs to the tired-looking nurse. “I stopped to pick up some mocha from the canteen on my way here. It occurred to me that you may like some too. This is your favourite kind, am I correct?”

“Yes,” Redheart smiled wearily. “Thanks for that. I’ll leave you both now, but I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

With the precious mug balanced in one hoof, she exited the room at a brisk trot, purposefully leaving the door ajar.

Spike watched without a murmur as the newcomer paused to carefully lay her own mug on the bedside table, simultaneously pulling up a chair for her to rest on. Seated, the mare kept a respectful distance from him, allowing him time to get his bearing. For some reason, Spike felt very small all of a sudden, even though he towered over his visitor. Perhaps if he said something, this would feel more right, more real.

“M-m… Moondancer?”

“Hey there, Scales,” she said gently. “My, haven’t you grown.”

On her flank, he saw the familiar sight of a crescent moon and five red stars. An image which, for a while, had been supplanted by three blue diamonds in his mind, before that too got buried in his mind, buried as deeply as possible, though he could never bury it any deeper than he himself had been…

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Moondancer gave him a sad smile. “There are times we think we’ll never see someone again, Scales. You and Twilight left in such a hurry that day, without even leaving a note behind… After Nightmare Moon showed up, I wondered what’d happened to the pair of you. It would be just like Twilight Sparkle, to go and fight ancient evil on her teacher’s behalf, all on her lonesome, but surely, I told myself, she wouldn’t drag you, a child, into such peril! Oh, Spike, I thought it was the end for all of us. And poor Twilight… I swear, no dawn was so sweet as the morning of Luna’s return.”

Spike shifted to face her better, blinking back tears. “Moondancer… wait, which one are you? What are you doing here?”

The small mare pointed at her saddlebag, which lay slung over the back of the chair. It was embroidered with the Royal Canterlot Seal.

“This world's Moondancer. I’ve yet to meet my equivalent, whom, I'm told, is busy with an ecumenical conference... funny to think my strange little schoolmate would move so far up in another world, practically worshipped by some...”

“Who’s the conference… oh,” Spike smacked his lips. “You knew Lyra Heartstrings?”

“How can one go to Celestia’s School and not know Lyra Heartstrings?” she replied ruefully. “I did, Spike. And let it be told, Lyra was the best friend a pony could have. Oh, what stories I could tell you! Once, I went to drag her out of bed – a little like what I’m doing to you now, only all the more awkward as she wasn’t alone in there, may I add – to tell her it was nine o’clock, with half an hour to go before an important test, and she thanked me for taking care that she hadn’t overslept. Completely unperturbed, as if there wasn’t a stallion in the bed. It was old Professor Shriek, even! It was like… like she was above it all.”

An odd buzz made its way along Spike’s stomach. At first, he thought it might be vermin crawling in the bedsheets, and prepared to reel away in disgust. Yet when his lips began to twitch, ever so slightly, he realised what it was. He was smiling. Faintly and crookedly, it was true, and the laugh which so obviously wanted to escape him didn’t have the strength to, not yet. Still, the single ray of sunlight in the room suddenly seemed less of a hateful thing.

It did not last. The ghost of a laugh died in his belly, replaced by the usual gaping void he felt nowadays. But for one, tiny instant it had been real.

“Overslept,” he said glumly. “Dunno if I’ll ever sleep again. Not properly. I just lie here, can’t tell if it’s day or night half the time. Ponies come and wash me down, but afterwards I can always feel… the dirt… cold metal… my own dried blood and shit… If Redheart didn’t come in every morning and tell me what day it was, I could spend years in here without a clue…”

Moondancer cocked an eyebrow. “Nonetheless, it seems you’re more aware of your surroundings than you think. You’ve picked up human expletives very quickly.”

Spike grimaced sheepishly. “Sorry, Moondancer, I know it ain’t good manners, that I’m horrible to look at, and you a proper lady…”

Awkwardly, the small mare began to raise a hoof toward his shoulder, then thought better of it.

“Whatever you do, don’t beat yourself up for that, Spike. From what I hear, there are people fighting this war with far, far greater regrets...” She paused thoughtfully, moving her hoof away to pick the mug and take a sip. “But… you followed your heart, and even in this country, few can truthfully claim...”

A bitter, mirthless chuckle escaped Spike’s throat. “If only you knew.”

“No,” she sighed. “Guess I probably never will. Everyone's got to bear their own X-marks-the-spot... that’s how the human saying goes, I think? Yet given the chance, maybe people can let past wounds reshape them, so they may stand strong and proud...”

“Strong and proud? What good is that?” growled the dragon. “Rarity… the real Rarity, when I last saw her, she stood tall, on that boat, promising me they’d never change her like they did Twilight, Applejack, Dash, or Fluttershy!”

“And Pinkie Pie?” Moondancer asked, part afraid of what Spike would say next, part curious.

“Pinkie is…. was...” Spike stuttered, rage subsiding in favour of confusion. “Pinkie. Whatever happened to her, it didn’t take at first. So it had to happen to her more than once. Trixie told me when I was in the hospital that… she found a letter. Pinkie mouthwrote it like a typewriter, but somehow she managed to write ‘RUN AWAY!’ all over it in pink crayon. Poor Maud...”

“Maud?”

“Pinkie’s sister,” Spike explained. “One of them, anyway. Ask… ask someone else about it, nobody’s really sure what to make of her by now. Anyway, when they had Rarity in hoofcuffs, horn in a ring, she screamed they’d never change her! Till they gagged her, anyway. Except they did, Dancer, they did!”

Spike sighed. “They got her. My whole family, taken away from me and turned by that… that fiend… Never thought I’d see the day I’d be glad for Trixie to pick me up...”

That gave Moondancer some pause.

“Yes, I assume we’re talking about the same Trixie you once called a ‘braggart who’d never give a guy a number twenty-five’.” She blushed slightly. “I’ll admit, I’m glad you explained about the moustache spell in your next letter. Anyway, brought you something. Perhaps it’ll help you sleep. I know you’ve technically, um, outgrown such stuff. But there’s no shame at all in seeking out the comfort of softer, less cruel times.”

“Maybe…”

The two of them were silent for a moment before Moondancer then stood up on her hindlegs and softly clapped her hooves together, a small ‘ah’ exiting her lips. She quickly reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a small box. She handed it over to Spike. “Come on,” she gently urged him. “Open it. I think you might like it.”

He didn’t seem that enthused, but took it anyway, knowing it would be pretty rude of him not to accept it. He opened it and raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. “A teddy bear? Don’t you think I’m a bit old for one?”

“Not just any teddy bear,” Moondancer pointed out. “It’s… well, it’s the same one you were going to give me that day. I saw that it was damaged and decided to patch it back up.”

“Moondancer…”

“Yes, Scales?”

“Do you think… there’s still good left in them? Twilight, Rarity, Celestia, any of them?”

She peered out the window, past the parting in the curtains, the thin beam of sunshine creating a sharp yellow line across her eye. “What can I say to that, Spike? People do bad things, and they do good things, but I... don’t think people are either good or bad. They’re like, how to put it… like a chef’s salad, with different ingredients chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict.”

“Funny, when you put it that way, it makes me kinda hungry.”

“Oh, that's right. I’d forgotten you could cook.”

Seemingly, out from nowhere a solemn look came upon his face.

“Twilight... she… she… used to make me pancakes for breakfast,” he spoke in a low voice, looking down at his claws.

Spike lifted his head to look at the mare before him, staring deeply into her eyes.

“I never thought I would have fantasies about killing my friends,” Spike said, not sighing, not blunt, not unkind. If ‘blankness’ was an emotion, he could truly be said to be expressing it.

Moondancer opened her mouth in reply, caught aback by that sentence, before he continued.

“Yes, I know the Queen has twisted their minds, but I still imagined myself breaking free from my restraints and tearing them to pieces. It’s not how we were, but how we should’ve been.”

“Spike, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of. If anything…”

“I was ready to kill my friends in this Equestria. Just because they wore the faces of my own.”

“Do you want me to…”

“No!” he stomped his foot. “Not yet. On my own time.”

Moondancer nodded wordlessly in answer, before turning around and walking out the door, closing it gently with a flick of her magic.

“I’m off to get some spare sheets for him,” Redheart told her. “How about you?”

Moondancer looked at the nurse dully. “Well, I am expected back at the barracks’ lab, where I know someone else who’ll be praying a safe meeting for Ana with the Commander. Miss Sparkler says she’s worked out how to extract the right substance from the crystals. She’s been as giddy as a schoolgirl, even without taking the stuff, now she’s got a large supply to work with again. It’s lovely to see, but it’s made her demand more from my field of expertise.”

Redheart pulled a face. “Ugh… Honestly, I don’t care what the higher-ups might say about Doctor Salonen’s ‘psychoactive boosters’ and all the rest of it, that is still foul stuff and it’ll end up messing with your heads.”

“As if they weren’t messed up with enough already, do you mean?”

“Take my professional advice, and stick to opium, little lady.”

“Did you know, he was like an adopted son to her,” Moondancer commented as they walked. “Those scrolls which Twilight Sparkle used to write all the time? Princess Celestia had them custom-made, just for him, sent with his flame. That is, before he turned his fire against her.”

Redheart stared dimly at the wall. “How could anyone do what she did to him? But especially to their own… family. I mean, he… Him. Her boy.”

“Princess Celestia’s never had the easiest of histories with family,” Moondancer said simply. “We all know that.”

“Yes, but still…” Redheart breathed a deep sigh. “My father, he’s all I’ve got left now, Miss Dancer. And he’s loyal to the Tyrant. Still, he’s my father. As a medic, I may be sworn to protect life, yet circumstances have forced my... my hand, many times. And still, still, I don’t know if I could do it, not if it was my own father…”

Moondancer walked alongside her in stony silence, a shadow cast across her brow.

The former Prince Blueblood sighed as he packed the last of his gear away, ready to begin his new life and serve Equestria in the war to come.

‘How grandiose that sounds,’ he thought, a wry smile making its way unconsciously onto his face. ‘Let’s be honest with ourselves, Bluey. We’re scared witless.’

He shook his head. Scared or not, this was an important cause. If all went well, he would have helped save not only his beloved homeland, but another world as well. A slight frown passed over his features.

‘I suppose…’ he thought, ‘that it would be worth it if… if…’

“Blueblood?” a quiet, familiar voice spoke from behind him. He turned at once, eyes wide, as he saw his aunt, Princess Celestia, standing in the doorway of his chambers, a small, sad smile on her face.

“Auntie!” he said quietly. “I wasn’t–”

“Please, Blueblood,” she cut him off, still smiling. “Relax. I came here to say goodbye for now.”

He nodded once. “Yes, I… I suppose I won’t get much chance to see you, after this.”

“I suspect not,” she said, her smile fading. “Blueblood… I wanted to say good luck.”

“Thank you,” he said gratefully, inclining his head. “I suspect it will be fine... ideally they’ll use me as a navigation officer, which should keep me from being–”

“Blueblood,” she said again. “Please, let us be honest with one another, here and now.” She paused. “You may not return.”

He sobered. “No, no, I may not. But…”

“But?” she prompted.

“Well, it wouldn’t be all that much of a loss, would it?” he said with a shrug. “I don’t suppose there are many, pony or otherwise, who’d mourn for me.”

Celestia shook her head, a frown settling onto her face. “I won’t hear you speak like that, Blueblood. I simply won’t.”

“It’s the truth,” he said, trying not to sound bitter. “I–”

“No,” she cut him off. “You listen to me. I have known you for a very long time. Certainly, you have been a… less than stellar individual in the years I’ve known you, but so many have refused to give you a chance, so many ponies have looked at your exterior and refused to see what I, too, failed to see until now. That you were more kind, and more scared, and more damaged than they could ever have imagined.” She snorted. “It’s strange, so many see us ponies as the epitome of harmony, and yet we are so quick to judge, to condemn, to dismiss, and abandon. Even the greatest of us.”

“Auntie…” Blueblood said quietly.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I have been harsh to myself over these last few months. No doubt, this has been a trying time. But I do know that I was doubly so to you. I failed you, Blueblood. I don’t wish to fail you again.”

“You never failed me, Auntie,” he said softly. “And I can’t blame you if you did. I became what my father wanted, even though I didn’t want to.”

“Perhaps you did,” Celestia agreed. “but you also did something your father never did.”

Blueblood frowned quizzically. “What?”

“You became better,” Celestia said. Suddenly, she straightened, and her tone became more serious. “I have a special executive order for you, Blueblood, from both myself, and Princess Luna, and Princess Cadance.”

Blueblood straightened reflexively as well. “Anything, Your Highness.”

“Come back alive,” she said simply.

Blueblood blinked, his eyes watering slightly. “I…”

“Come back alive, and whole, and with all the joy I know you still have,” she continued. “Come back to your family, be a part of our family again. If you do that, all will be forgiven… just please. Do not die. We will lose much, and I will give all I can… but I cannot bear to lose you, not now that you have returned. I can only wish you good luck, my dear nephew.”

Blueblood paused, before nodding once, not trusting himself to speak. Celestia reached over and hugged him, closing her eyes, and for a moment, they were not Princess and soldier - they were Aunt and Nephew. They may as well have been mother and son.

For a moment.

“No! No, this… this wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Catseye heaved and bellowed, but the newspaper headlines remained unchanged. There they were standing stark, the black, all-capital words of the morning paper, a dreaded phrase etched into her mind.

PONYVILLE IN THE GRIP OF FEAR – AGAIN!

There were no details, though. Nothing said of Short Fuse, nor of the captured human, nothing. No doubt, the PHL’s grip on the press had only tightened with each passing day.

“Look at this… look at this!” Catseye snapped, pointing to the accursed article, yet keeping an eye on the only other person in the room with her, who was busily scrutinizing the pages without giving away emotion. “Maybe they’ve shoved it down on the bottom-right corner of the third page, but it’s clear as rain. One of our own is dead. How could we let this happen?”

And still that damned Royal Guardsmare looked unfazed.

“Constants and variables, Doctor,” Exit Strategy said, her tone even and calm. “We knew the risk going in that something like this might happen, and... Fuse triggered it in the end. Should have seen it coming, honestly. But, well, strange times make for strange bedfellows, and we’d figured when the law can no longer protect you, you turn to those outside the law. I don’t like it either, but there you have it.”

“Unbelievable. Unbeli... I knew this would happen, knew this would happen and… and... I called her! I called her and this whole mess unfurled.”

The unicorn massaged her temples, setting aside her glasses.

"... Where is she now, soldier? Where is Weaver?”

“Gone, without a trace.”

Both Catseye and Strategy turned to face the newcomer. Catseye’s felt her breath catch. It was Icewind. The handsome stallion stepped in, and hung his coat.

“Just got off the night train from Canterlot. Sorry, the door was open and... I took the liberty of stepping in right here, right now.”

“Thank Celestia you’re here, Icewind.” Catseye said with relief, while Strategy and the Sergeant exchanged respectful nods. “How did your conversation with this… Miss Chamomile, go? You did tell me her father’s still got quite the influence in the Guard?”

“Sympathetic, as ever, but she won’t sway her father to our cause. Neither would she sway Winter... even if I did plant the seed of worry in her over his possible… passing. It’s a shame, he knows the human war strategies and tactics well.”

He shook his head.

“Enough of my own worries. What happened, Ma'am?”

Catseye froze, hesitant to say more of that quaint, accursed, disaster-prone, little town. But Strategy came to her rescue, speaking on her behalf.

“We’ve lost one of our own,” Strategy said simply.

The Corporal threw the newspaper over to Icewind, who caught it in his mouth.

At the sight of this, a little something tore up within Catseye. A simple, ordinary gesture on the handsome’s stallion’s part. It had to do with being a unicorn, yes, a unicorn, no matter what the world may say, and how one grew more accustomed to using one’s TK. Sometimes, seeing how a pony from either other tribe got around their limits for basic everyday tasks in what, to a unicorn, was a childlike fashion, felt just so endearing.

Why, oh why, did Icewind have to act cute now, of all times?

Not that the effect lasted once he started reading. His brow fell as he skimmed the article.

“Alright,” Icewind began, clearing his throat. “Gather the others; we need to prepare for our strike. Sooner, rather than later.”

“Wait, but–”

“Now’s not the moment for ‘but’, Miss Cat,” Icewind continued firmly. “We… we need to act quick. Corporal!” he snapped, and Strategy stood to attention. “It’s more urgent than ever that you sway Lieutenant Winter Truce, and as many Guards as you can from the city, to our cause. This event will have created more doubters we can call up. Make sure you start from the lower end first, climbing slowly towards the officers, are we clear?”

“With due respect, sir,” Strategy interjected. “It would be much more effective if I rally others, and not Lieutenant Truce. Would it not be better for you to personally recruit Lieutenant Truce? You and he are friends, aren’t you?”

Much to Catseye’s worry, a shadow of doubt passed over Icewind’s face, as he looked over Strategy with those steely eyes of his.

“Were you there, Corporal?” Icewind said slowly. “Were you there, when the roaches stormed Canterlot? Seen them fight, with murderous intent?”

“No, sir. I’m afraid I joined after the… occasion.”

“Then you know nothing, Strategy,” Icewind replied, with a cool that’d make his name proud. “You don’t know how it felt like to be pursued by one of those… things. And the Queen… she’s the worst of them. And this friend of mine... his unit, all of it, is crawling with those leeches.” His teeth clicked. “Find Winter, Corporal. Bring him on our side. Make sure he goes willingly.”

“Why him, though?” Catseye inquired curiously. “Why not someone else? You could try for Green Fields, again, or maybe Lucky Card? You said she was alright by her friends, starting low and all. And that she might have second thoughts about fighting fellow Equestrians.”

Despite the tension rolling off him, Icewind took the time to catch his breath.

“May I have a seat, please, Miss Catseye?” he asked her. She nodded, and so he pulled up a nearby armchair to face her across the desk. “Winter Truce is… not a people person, not like Card. But he fancies himself a fine tactician, a skill we could really do with, now our numbers are cut down by a third, and we haven’t even finished planning what to do at the factories. And...” He shrugged, wings and shoulders sagging. “Well, he’s just Winter...”

“Very well, Sergeant,” Strategy said. “In the evening, I will return to my unit to begin preparations. I will not fail you.”

“You won’t,” Icewind agreed. “Good luck, Corporal.”

With a respectful salute, Strategy exited the room, and closed the door behind her. But Catseye, looking at Icewind, had more pressing concerns on her mind. For the first time since they’d met, his bearing, of habit lively and upbeat, seemed forlorn, distant. Tentatively, she approached the troubled-looking stallion.

“Sergeant?” she asked, wincing at the sound of her own voice. “Something troubling you?”

He looked over to Catseye, and gave a weak smile.

“Just… well,” he slowly said. “With everything so unclear now, I can’t say for sure…”

The newspaper landed on the desk gently enough that Marcus didn’t notice it at first. He looked up from his paperwork and stared at the paper, in the grip of a soft yellow TK field, as though it was mold, before looking up at the one holding it. Princess Celestia.

“Have you seen this?” she asked quietly.

Marcus sighed and looked down at the paper, reading the headline printed in bold.

PONYVILLE IN THE GRIP OF FEAR – AGAIN!

“Great,” he muttered. “Kind of surprised it didn’t take the entire page.”

“I’ve read the story,” Celestia said. “For now, we’ve prevented the details from leaking out at by claiming that we will be releasing the full story shortly. That usually works to prevent the more inquisitive of my subjects from trying to piece things together.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I’ve been the trusted monarch for centuries,” Celestia said in a matter-of-fact tone. “One advantage of it is that when you say ‘things will be fine’, they usually believe you.” She sighed. “It still leaves us with the problem of precisely how to break the details.”

“Yeah,” Marcus said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Hoo boy, this is gonna be fun. Except it isn’t, and I would literally rather be shooting something.”

“I understand your sentiment, though personally, I’d prefer to be out on a balcony drinking tea and enjoying a cake,” Celestia said with a wry, mirthless smile. “But as they say, here we are.”

“Yes, here we are,” Marcus sighed. He checked his desk calendar. “This isn’t something we can decide on a whim. If we handle this the wrong way, the entire Alliance could fizzle out. Ponies could start questioning why they’re exposing themselves to these risks, what the gain is for them. The Exhibition went a long way to showing the stakes, but…”

“Even the most vivid pictures pale next to blood at your doorstep,” Celestia said softly. “Yes, it is a worry. And you are right, we cannot decide this lightly.”

Marcus sighed. “We need to talk this shit out. I’ve got an opening tomorrow, midday until sixteen-hundred. Was going to use it for training times, but this takes priority. We need to get our top brass together, figure out a plan of action.”

Celestia nodded. “A sound plan. Myself and Luna will be available, and I can ask Fancy.”

“Stephan should be ready as well,” Marcus said softly, “assuming we can tear him away from Trixie for any length of time.”

“We would effectively be discussing her fate as well,” Celestia pointed out. “I suspect you will have a hard time keeping him from this meeting, rather than the opposite.”

Marcus chuckled hollowly. “Yeah.” His smile faded. “Shit. Shit. I hate this. I hate this political bullshit. This is exactly the sort of shit I promised myself I’d keep the hell out of.”

“War asks more of us than the physical risks,” Celestia said sagely. “It asks for moral compromises, as well.”

“I know,” Marcus sighed. “Just wish it wasn’t like this.”

“I understand,” Celestia said. She paused. “Marcus… when was the last time you spoke with Cheerilee?”

“Cheerilee?” Marcus repeated, frowning. “I… I send mission reports, but...”

“I don’t mean professionally,” Celestia said. “I mean personally. When was the last time you sent her a message?”

Marcus sighed. “With the excitement of the last few days… ah, shit, I don’t remember. I guess it slipped.” He grinned ruefully. “Besides, it’s not even been a week for her yet.”

“That isn’t the point,” Celestia said softly. “The point is, you are under a lot of duress, and you cannot always deal with it alone. Nor should you.”

Marcus whistled in amusement. “Are you mothering me?”

Celestia raised an eyebrow. “I am over two thousand years old. Believe it or not, I’ve learned a few things.” She sniffed. “And yes. I am mothering you. Deal with it, Colonel.”

Marcus shook his head, still grinning. Between the two of them, Tia in his mind and Celestia in front of him, he was being mothered more than he’d known in a good decade.

“Whatever you say, Ma'am,” he said. He sobered. “I guess I’d better start contacting people for that meeting.”

“Indeed,” Celestia said softly. She turned to go, before looking over her shoulder. “Queen Chrysalis will need to be there, you do realise this.”

“I do,” Marcus said, tight-lipped. “Problem?”

“More like a concern,” Celestia replied. “Today, she is our ally. It is convenient for her, and better than the alternative.”

“But?” Marcus asked.

“But,” she sighed, “what is convenient and helpful to Chrysalis today will not be tomorrow. If she ever sees a need to use this against us for her own convenience, she will.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “We’ll deal with that in the meeting. Here’s hoping she remains reasonable.”

Celestia nodded once. “I will defer to you in this regard. Until tomorrow, Colonel Renee.”

She exited the room, and Marcus let out a breath, before grabbing his iPad and drawing up a list of people to bring to the meeting.

“That political analyst you’re going to request should be there,” Tia suggested.

He nodded absently in agreement, before frowning.

“You still haven't finished the message.”

He sighed. “Fine, Mom.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

The chapel was, unsurprisingly, empty at this early time of the day.

Ana had assured the pastor of her intent to sit quietly in the makeshift place. The fact he recognised her as one of his few regulars when had helped tremendously. But the look which he had given her when he found her sprawled at the foot of Christ, fallen asleep from the previous day and night’s exhaustion, haunted the back of her mind. What small comfort she’d found under the watchful eye of God couldn’t make up for a simple fact – there was no-one whom she could tell about why she was here. Not even a man of the cloth.

Absent-mindedly, she fiddled her little crucifix, pondering what a certain military Englishman might have to say about keeping secrets. She chuckled at the thought, even as the reality of her situation continued to sink in. She was on leave. Essentially, forced leave. They all were. Thanks to the events of the last two days, events she had taken part in, the PHL was now facing PR fallout that could destroy it.

‘Well, all things considered, it could have been worse. Gotta give my thanks to Dula one of these days...’

With a sigh, she stood up, stretched a bit. And let out a gasp at finding out she wasn’t alone.

“Hi, Ana!” the purple-maned pegasus, who was resting against a chair in her row, exclaimed with a hearty wave.

“Oh, good morning... Morning,” Ana said, forcing herself to smile. “What’s up?”

It wasn’t that she minded having Morning Glory, the Vanhoover unit’s resident prankster, to keep her company. But the fact her only companion in this difficult moment happened to be an unapologetic funbag only did so much to help matters.

“Thought you’d be back here, Ana,” Morning said, hopping off the chair. “Guess I was right!”

“How’d you find me?” Ana asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean... oooh.”

“Yep!” Morning replied with a giggle. “I mean, it’s not so hard to follow your trail, jeez, Ana.”

“Oh really?” Ana scoffed, crossing her arms. But the mare simply nodded energetically.

“Mh-hm!” said Morning. “I mean, you’re barefoot and all. You left your boots outside again.”

“Alright, alright!” Ana said grumpily, but she couldn’t hold back that ghost of a smile, and Morning knew it. Sneaky little mare. “Don’t you pull that card on me, Missy. It was Prasad who told you where I’d gone, wasn’t it?”

“Got me there, Ana. She didn’t look too happy.”

“Why should she?” Ana said evasively. “You should be back at the barracks in New New York. What’re you doing here in Canterlot? Sneaked out on training again yesterday, didn’t you? I’ll bet you were out buying cake.”

“What, me?” the mischievous pegasus blurted, hoof over heart, as though hurt. “No, did not! Well, I did ask, but that doesn’t count.”

An innocent smile brightened those wide green eyes of hers. Ana stared right into them, hoping to catch her friend off-guard in her lie. Alas, Morning was too good at hiding things. With a sigh, Ana broke eye contact and dropped onto the chair next to her, but stared ahead, having decided that the Christ was a more interesting view than the comrade who was currently still gazing up at her.

“Something happened, didn’t it?” Morning asked softly. Right on the money. Her usual impisj tone was missing. Instead, she sounded concerned.

‘No use holding back, I suppose.’

“I’m on leave,” Ana said softly. “Enforced leave. I don't know for how long.”

The mare opposite was clearly taken aback, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“But… but that…” Morning replied. “Why? What happened?”

“It’s not something I can talk about freely,” Ana said. “All I can tell you is, I can't go back to Earth with you, all of you, for the moment.”

“Well, that’s not fair!” Morning exclaimed grumpily. “Can’t you do anything about it? The guys won’t be happy to see me return with nothing to show for it.”

“To be fair,” Ana replied carefully. “I’m… not sure I can pull any strings this time.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

"... Forget about it,” Ana hurriedly answered. For one, the memory of the artificial-hoofed mare in Indonesia, peering at her from behind those ever-present bangs, frightened her.

“Ana, please, you can trust me.”

“Careful there, Morning, she gets a little feisty about things,” spoke a familiar, youthful voice.

Ana whipped around so fast, the whoosh nearly toppled Morning off her chair. Ignoring her friend’s irritated grumbles, Ana waved ecstatically towards her other friend, one she’d dare even call her best friend. The elder daughter of the Whooves clan, Sparkler.

With a bright smile, the amethyst mare trotted over to Ana, embracing her warmly.

“Oh,” pouted Morning. “Now when she’s here, you’re all happy fun times again. Hmpf.”

“Relax, Morning,” Sparkler told her cheerfully. “Pretty sure Ana Bjorgman’s always happy to meet one of her own, ain’t that right?”

“Yeah, about that...” Ana tentatively replied, mindful of the offense she’d just committed against Morning. But Sparkler was already speaking up again.

“Listen, thanks for leading me to her, wouldn’t know where she’d gone otherwise.” Sparkler told Morning gratefully. Morning nodded briefly, before sticking out her tongue at Ana.

“Sure, sure, no prob,” Morning replied, mock-saluting them most carelessly with a wing. “Gotta leave soon, anyways.”

“You’re not staying?”

“Nah, sorry, Ana,” she said, ruffling her purple mane. “Got some errands to take care of. You two lovebirds better take care of yourselves.”

“Sparkler and I aren’t an item, please!” Ana retorted, blushing flusterdly.

“Sure you’re not, heh,” Morning said teasingly, but her tone turned serious. “Listen, Ana, Go talk to Harwood. I’m sure you’ll feel better with him around. Know what I’m saying, eh?”

The wink she added made things worse, if anything, for Ana.

“No... I...” Ana hesitated. Inwardly, she wondered whether or not she should explain that Harwood’s whereabouts were unknown to her. “I need to take my mind off things”

“Hey, c’mon, you know how much he cares ‘bout ya. Lend it some thought.”

She gave Ana a quick pat.

“I gotta go back soon,” Morning said resignedly. “Heard some prince’s being assigned to us, I think the Lieutenant’s not gonna be happy ‘bout that. At all.”

“Prince?” Ana echoed. She felt a bit groggy still. “Which Lieutenant?”

“You know the one. Winter Truce,” Morning said, patting Ana on her back. “Take care, will ya? The guys’ll miss you back there.”

She made for the door, but not before Ana caught a few more grumbled words.

“Guess I’m gonna be running a few more chores for Mother…” Morning muttered, probably more loudly than intended, not taking into account how acoustics worked wonders with whispers inside a chapel.

“Mother?” Sparkler repeated, in confusion.

“Nothing.”

Eyebrows raised in askance, Sparkler looked to Ana, who shrugged.

“That’s Morning, for you, heh.” Ana said fondly. “Always in a hurry, the sneak. You should see her back in the Company. She slacks off sometimes, but that mare can be dedicated if she wants to...”

She held back a yawn, stretching out her arms before looking over to Sparkler.

“So, uh, you up for a walk? I’m… technically off duty now, gotta, gotta tell the Sarge… eventually. But hey! That comes later, so, you up for it?”

To her great disappointment, Sparkler shook her head.

“I’m needed down over in the Castle, Ana,” she stated regretfully. “Got a bit of tinkering to do, runes and all…”

“Okay,” Ana said, aware of how disappointed she sounded. “That’s okay, well, I’ll… just be on my way, Sparkler, it’s fine...”

“Of course, that doesn’t mean I can’t drop off a friend afterwards,” Sparkler added with a twinkle in her eyes. “Tell you what. That girl’s sassing about you and Har, it brought something back to mind. Remember the time when you’d sussed out my dad’s fireworks?”

“Oh… oh, yes, I do.”

And she did. Half-conscious of how her mouth fell agape, Ana felt her mind drift back to that ethereal evening aboard the TARDIS, on the same day which had been marked by a mass transfer of clerical and ecclesiastical figures galore from Earth, invited to Canterlot Prime, or ‘Sunny’ Canterlot, for a very special debate.

“The night they asked the question of who Ambassador Heartstrings truly was,” Ana sighed most dreamily, slipping back, as she did so, into that weird mental state wherein she felt part of some greater whole, sharing her being with an Ana Bjorgman who was more than just Ana Bjorgman. “When they opened that oecunemical council.”

“Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter...” Sparkler recited dutifully, for the second time in as many months.

"... And love is no myth, after all,” Ana finished, quoting her own side of their conversation from many weeks past.

“Yeah,” sighed Sparkler. “Still wonder about that freak snowstorm, though.”

“Don’t think about it too much, Amethyst,” Ana chided her. Even if that little voice in her head told her otherwise. “We did enjoy it, right? C’mon, the Castle awaits us both!”

Sparkler smiled warmly. “So does your booth, milady…”

I mean, sure. Why not? We had one streak of good luck, what was one more? I thought we’d win. This is the other Equestria, the one where they solve problems easily. And quickly. I figured that I’d probably dealt with worse.

There were all the times we had to keep the higher-ups from playing politics even during the apocalypse and starving our funding. Trying to explain Defiance. Things like that. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. It’s not an easy thing to explain.

For one minute, one brief moment, I actually thought this would be easy. That we could deal with all of this and still come out clean.

I have never been so wrong in my life.

‘I can only wish you good luck, my dear nephew.’

He should have felt more comfortable aboard one of the airships he loved so much. But, as he looked around the near-empty compartment, clutching his bags tightly, biting back the urge to chew his lip, Blueblood was already second-guessing his means of travel. Even when he told himself he’d chosen first-class on a third-rate day journey from Canterlot to ‘New New York’, a time and trip where he knew the upper-crust would rather idle away luncheoning above deck on a luxury cruiser, the worry never left him that he’d be spotted.

At least one intuition of his had proven correct, for the most part. The only other ‘privileged’ passengers riding this train, so to speak, were an old grey mare wearing a yellow sunhat, a middle-aged red, moustachioed pegasus fellow leafing through some magazine or other, and last but not least, a rather tall, ivy-green female unicorn in a kimono, staring languidly out the porthole as she fanned herself.

Watching her, Blueblood suddenly found himself envying her the breeze. This airship had poor air circulation, and at noon in the middle of summer, the light through the portholes made for more than just a pretty sight, which didn’t help him any with his current anxiety. He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow.

“Hey, pal,” someone called from behind him. “Turn off the waterworks, will you? You look ready to start pouring down Neighara Falls.”

Hearing the voice, a female’s, Blueblood tried not to groan.

“You okay there?” the mare asked concernedly, drawing level with his row of seats. She was a little pegasus, with a rather fetching purple mane, Blueblood saw. “What’s with the raincoat in this heat?”

Since, unwilling to forgo old habit completely, he’d convinced himself he couldn’t make an entrance without clothing – a reminder that, destitute or not, he was still heir to noble Equestria, and counted knights amongst his ancestors – he’d opted for a simple grey raincoat. Following the surprise snowstorm a few weeks ago, the chill which he’d felt even through the petrified surface of his skin, Blueblood had no more faith in Equestrian weather than anything else since the humans had arrived.

“I’m…” he began, staring dead ahead as he searched for some excuse, before giving it up. “I… I’ve been outside for too long.”

The purple-maned mare wrinkled her snout slightly. “Well, unless you take that silly thing off, you won’t be wanted outside again for a while. C’mon, you’ll ruin your health that way.”

It all got too much for him. Blueblood began to giggle uncontrollably. The mare stared at him, looked around and left, if only for a minute. When she came back, she was holding a glass of water on her left wing. Gratefully, though still stiffling back giggles, Blueblood took it.

“That’s better,” she said after he’d had a good, long sip. “Now, what was all that about? You take it from me, you were going a little cuckoo, there.”

Blueblood wiped his mouth. “Figures. It’s something you said.”

“Oh? What was it?”

“Ruin my health,” he said, with a last titter. “I’ve heard going to war is bad for your health.”

She gave him a curious glance, a twinkle in her green eyes. But all she said was, “First step, lose the rags, it’ll save you from getting sun-touched. Here, I’ll help.”

“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he said quickly, hugging the coat tighter.

The little mare sighed. “Then at least let me help you fan you down,” she said. To Blueblood’s confusion, her wings twitched once, twice, three times, before she checked herself. “Ah…” the mare mumbled, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, forgot. I’m sure it’d be preeetty awkward if a perfect stranger offered to cool you down with her wings?”

Uncertainly, Blueblood nodded. “Um, yeah?”

“Ah, ya don’t know what you’re missing, pal,” the little mare sighed. “No matter. I’ll just go and borrow something, if Mother’s willing.”

All this only heightened his confusion as, without another word, the enigmatic little mare trotted over to the ivy-green, kimono-garbed, bored-looking unicorn, and mumbled a few words he couldn’t catch. He noticed the unicorn throw a glance his way. Was that a smirk on her face? As it was, the unicorn soon looked back away, ruffling the little mare’s purple mane fondly.

In the space of two minutes, the mare had returned carrying the unicorn’s handheld fan. Blueblood realised she must be an attendant of some sort.

“That oughta to do the trick,” she said kindly, holding it out for him.

But as, thanking her, he reached out for it, in a move of startling speed, the little mare suddenly yanked it away and, curving with deadly elegance, drew the fan’s abnormally sharp pivot up the hem of his coat, slashing it open in a neat line to reveal his compass-shaped mark.

“Just as I thought,” the mare said smugly, admiring her work while Blueblood gawped at her, mouth wide open. “Peak of summer, stallion wearing a fancy raincoat, he’s either an idiot, or hidin’ something, or was born with a silver spoon, or all of ‘em… Your Highness.”

It took several lumbering, heavy breaths for Blueblood to get his voice back. “How…”

Without invitation, the mare seated herself next to him, patting his shoulder patronizingly. “Sussed you out soon’s you mentioned the war, pal. You’re gonna be in my unit.” Letting the handheld fan drop, she held out her forehoof. “Morning Glory. Vanhoover Company.”

Not knowing what else to do, Blueblood shook hooves with her. “I’m…” he stumbled. “Blueblood. Um, that is, Astron Blueblood, fifth of his name.”

“As-tr-on?” Morning repeated, peeling the world savouringly. “As-tron. Huh, I dare say the name suits you, princeling.”

Blueblood wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. “Um, thank you.”

“Word to the wise, though, pal,” Morning said with good cheer. “Once we get there, you really want to do something’ll help you cool down, like, a lot. I’d suggest a dip in the pool. Fillydelphia Company’s pool, I mean. We ain’t got no pool at Vanhoover.” She leaned in closer to his ears. “Between you and me, they haven’t got a clue ‘bout it. But we’re usually the ones who’re littering the pool, and they’ve been blaming Baltimare.”

Blueblood blinked. “But, but–”

“Nah, don’t worry too much about it,” she said dismissively, moving away. “Cookie Batch usually takes Ana’s excuses at face value, and even she doesn’t know. Just worry ‘bout yourself, eh?”

“...but why?”

“Feh, always nice to have some rest between training this and that and whatnot,” she said. “So, well, you can expect some fun in our neighbors’ pool.”

Her eyes fell once more upon the exposed mark on his flank, an glinted, as though she’d just had a funny thought.

“Say, ‘Prince’ Blueblood,” Morning said slyly. “Getting a closer look at you now, I do notice a certain resemblance to your aunt. How much would you say you’d match her in grace?”

“Um?” Blueblood stuttered, caught off-guard by the weird question. “Well, we’re not exactly blood relatives, if that’s what you’re asking…”

“Huh,” Morning smiled. “Coulda fooled me.”

“No, no, really,” Blueblood said, still weirded out, but at the same time, glad of a chance to bring himself closer to mere mortals by distancing Celestia. “It’s all down to time-old… family habit, or, um, tradition, you could call it. My father and his father’s fathers, when the chance arose, they’d like marrying a certain type of mare, to get a certain type of coat… though they weren’t mares of your caliber, ma’am.”

By finishing in this manner, he hoped he’d now be closer in her good books. But instead, Morning’s smile just grew more rapacious.

“Well,” she said with a crafty grin. “Please be careful when trying out our pool. If it’s true blood’s thicker than water, then in our humble body of water, if your royal butt’s anything like Celestia’s, you’re set to make quite a splash.”

Blueblood felt his cheeks heat up, not so much from outrage, nor from how she had the gall to mock Aunt Celestia, no, but from his own embarrassment. He’d have given anything at that moment to sink into his seat, right past it and tumbling into the void below, if this teasing mare was anything like the rest of his future comrades.

Then, giggling, Morning leant over to pat his shoulder. Again, except this time, with a wing. There was reassurance in her touch.

“Eh, if anything, I can help ya with a couple things,” she said good-naturedly. “Mistress Moondancer won’t be happy to hear it if I keep tormenting her new charge.”

Upon the mention of that name, Blueblood’s ears perked up.

“Mistress Moondancer?” he said, full of hope. “Pardon me, miss, but, is... is she around?”

His newfound comrade tilted her head, an expression of curiosity marking her face.

“Aye, she be around, alright,” Morning finally said. “What about ‘er?”

“I… I was hoping I could meet her first, you see,” Blueblood said tentatively. “I can... I can assure you I was quite familiar with her back in the day. And… Green Fields too. Is the venerable Captain, or Lord Protector, still around?”

For a moment, there was a pang of recognition in the little mare’s eyes. But Blueblood’s expectations were dashed when she laughed heartily.

“Buddy, where we are, titles don’t matter no more,” Morning said, smirking. “I mean, you had me at Green Fields, Lieutenant Winter talked ‘bout him, but titles don’t mean much to us.” She smiled at him. “Besides, we’re on the same boat ‘round here. Who you were before, that there don’t matter, most of the time.”

And Blueblood, a weight on his chest he hadn’t known was there easing, felt somewhat relieved to hear this.

“I’ve got an errand to run today,” Morning said, nodding towards the ivy-green unicorn, who’d been joined by what appeared to be a sky-blue crystalpony. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around the Company, pal.”

Equestria was nice enough, Ana decided. Even as the proverbial Mordor back on Earth, well, come to think of it, until now, no-one had an idea of what Equestria really was like, apart from various photographs taken in controlled conditions in the other side. But of course, she hadn’t missed the footage of the test researcher who had... melted in Equestria. Due to lacking the protective charms placed by Queen Celestia, it had been claimed. Another lie, no doubt.

Even so, that image wasn’t going to stop the warier officials from insisting access be given to photographers and journalists, demanding protection here and there. So the Tyrant gave them exactly what they wanted, a few cunningly placed wards and spells. Of course, there were still the inherent sickness of the place, suffocating and bearing down onto the few envoyees brave enough to do things their own way…

… Or, as Ana’s old friend Dimitri had put it, “For science, and everything in-between.”

It definitely wasn’t the first time Ana had wanted to convert. Being a pony would be a nice, and certainly a thrilling experience. But, quite simply, the voice inside her head had said no, and that was the end of it. And as she paced around the room, the bag of fireworks safely in hand, Ana wondered about what might have been, if everything had gone differently. A better Earth. A better Equestria. A better everything, really.

She was interrupted from her thoughts when she nearly tripped over Dinky.

“Oof!” she grunted, deftly avoiding the filly with a hop. “Sorry, I...”

“It’s alright, Ana!” Dinky cheerfully replied, even if she did scoot closer to the TARDIS console. That brought a good-natured chuckle from Sparkler.

“Careful round there, Ana,” Sparkler said. “Kraber got stuck there last time around. It wasn’t too pretty with all the noise.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” Ana replied, breaking her pace to sit down at a corner of the time-machine’s central console. Trying to relax, she took out one of her fireworks, to contemplate it as if hoping to decipher some greater meaning.

‘Gotta, gotta keep my head straight.’

She could stay here. Live a long life. Wait out the war. Equestria did kind of remind her of Norway, with its rural landscape, easygoing folk, and all…

Slowly, she began to hum a tune to herself.

“Ja, vi elsker dette landet, som det striger frem...”

She wondered when they the anthem had been adopted, or had who voted for it, as she began to closely examine the little firework she held in her hand. It was a funny one, an odd flurry of colors compared to the others. Yes, she remembered...

“Furet, værbitt over vannet, med de tusen hjem...”

When or how Doctor Whooves had got ahold of the age-old formula for the coveted fireworks was a mystery to all in Ponyville, but the voice in her head knew. She did know these funny little things, whether from experience or whatnot.

“Elsker, elsker det, og tænker, på vor far og mor...”

The firework began to spark, but Ana chuckled softly, extinguishing it with a touch. Harwood would have scoffed at such a concept. After all, flameless fireworks were, frankly quite ridiculous as a concept. But Ana would show him.

“Og den saganat, som sænker, drømme på vor jord...”

It’d be fine. He’d be awed. He’d be cheered up a bit from that gloom he always seemed to carry over his shoulders. And it’d all be fine...

But Ana remembered. How the child had wept. How it reminded her of her own losses.

“Og den saganatt som senker, senker drømmer på vår…. jord.”

She didn’t get to close off that sad thought when one of the accursed fireworks ignited, and promptly zoomed across the console room. Dinky dodged, Sparkler shouted, and Ana jumped, fingers reaching out for the thing. Too late, for it detonated like a brilliant kaleidoscope, showering the room in vibrant colors.

The younger of the two unicorns gaped in awe, giggling as she bounced and bopped each harmless rainbow flake floating away, while her older sister smiled and shook her head, earring jangling, removing her attention from whatever new wonder she’d been working on.

“Heh, glad to see they still work,” she said, trotting over to sit by Ana. “I was hoping you’d figure out how to set them off so… easily?”

She cleared her throat, catching Ana’s attention.

“So sorry, I was, I was...” Ana’s fumble was silenced when Sparkler held a hoof to her lips.

“Hey, don’t let it go to your head, Ana,” she said softly. “Whatever the Commander said, well… point is, it wasn’t your fault or anything.”

Ana kept silent, examining another firework in her grasp. The friend besides her persisted.

“Did you… you know,” she said slowly. “Meet the other me?”

All was silent, for a moment, but Ana relented. "... Yes.”

“Oh, good!” Sparkler cried, followed by a curious poke from Dinky, who somehow had managed to sneak up on both of them.

“You did!?” Dinky said gleefully, to a nod from Ana. “How did it go? What was she like? You talk to her? Did you meet the other me?”

Ana laughed, feeling a touch mellower than she had for the past few hours as she picked up the giggling filly, giving her a warm hug, and the room was filled with their laughter.

“Ja, I did!” Ana replied cheerfully. “You were as cute as ever,, and Sparkler was just as pretty as she is now, eh?”

She gave her friend a wink, rejoicing in her reddening face.

“Was she happy to see you?” Dinky enquired. “I mean, she probably was! But I gotta know. Pip’ll never believe it.” The filly trailed off, before a small blush tainted her cheeks over her own mention of her coltfriend. “Did you meet the other Pip too?”

“Of course I did!” Ana laughed. “He, and the other colts, and fillies, they were all there. The whole bunch....”

And she felt her smile waiver. Gently, she set Dinky down on the floor.

Before the tears could spill out of her eyes, the face on the little unicorn in front of her scrunched up strangely. Without a word, Dinky trotted away, into the forest of junk littering the time machine. Both Ana and Sparkler watched as they heard her rummage about, yet not for very long, for she came back with a pen and paper.

“Here,” Dinky said quietly. “Write to Marcus. He’ll bring you back. Then you’ll be better. Please?”

Ana reached out for the pen, her fingers tracing the paper in contemplation. It would be easy. Ask the Commander for a quiet assignment, somewhere where she’d be as out of the way as he liked, but still be doing something useful. Everything would be alright. She wouldn’t have to focus on any of it...

But then she was struck by memories.

Memories of a child begging for her mother, of an equally grieving aunt, who had lost a sister, of the day the world collapsed around them all. She remembered another girl, all set to make her way in life, when the ruinous news had reached her doorstep, and how she and her grandfather had waited for a letter they thought would, somehow, assure them everything would be alright… and how it was all for naught, leaving a girl without her parents, and an elderly father without his daughter, with scarcely a word of comfort.

Ana gripped her pen tighter, and looked at the siblings with resolve.

“Actually, Sparkler?” she spoke up, and the elder sister looked at her curiously. “Think we can make a stop at Ponyville?”

“Sure, what about it?” Sparkler said, nodding towards Dinky to readjust their course.

“Because… I think there’s someone else who needs the letter.”

The brown earthstallion called ‘Doctor Whooves’ by most, a pun he had learned to appreciate over the years, was talking to himself. For most people, talking to oneself was something done while doing a task on one’s own. ‘Where did I put X’, one might ask oneself. It is, safe to say, usually a rhetorical exercise.

Not so for Doctor Whooves. Not that he didn’t go for the traditional kind of talking to himself. Actually, he was the sort who had always found ‘talking to himself’ to be useful, to the point where he’d practically transformed it into an art form.

In this case, however, talking to himself was a far more literal affair. More specifically, he was talking to his selves. More specifically than that, he was in a meeting with the Doctor Whooves of this Downtime, ‘Sunny’ Equestria, and with an auburn-haired man in a green, knee-length tweed coat, corduroy trousers, black waistcoat and an off-white shirt, who went by the name of “Doctor Richard Bowman” - he, too, however, was the Doctor.

That, Whooves realised, sounded odd even to his own ears. He found it strange that this tall, lanky humanoid could be any version of him, even though “tall, lanky humanoid” was a very good description of many of his past faces.

‘I’ve been running around here too long,’ he thought to himself.

The three of them were sat in a small cafe in New New York (“Is that really what they call it?” Bowman had asked), drinking tea. Actually, the two Whooves were drinking tea. Bowman had secured himself a six-pack of Diet Coke, and had already gone through half of it.

“You know,” the Downtime Whooves said, “that stuff’s terrible for your teeth.”

Bowman shrugged. “I can regenerate my teeth.”

“If you say so,” the Downtime Whooves said with a shrug. Unlike Doctor Whooves, who had a big labcoat on over his usual tie, the Downtime Whooves had elected to wear a long, colorful scarf today, which was wrapped around his neck several times. “I still think I have fillings from my second body in these teeth.”

“Does that even work with equine teeth?” Bowman asked, frowning.

“Best not to think about it,” ‘Scarfy’ said with a knowing smirk.

“Gentlemen... gentlestallion,” Whooves said irritably. The two looked to him. “A little focus, please.”

Bowman inclined his head. “By all means, lay on, MacDuff.”

“Thanks,” Whooves said shortly. He leant forward in his chair slightly. “So... Doctor,” he said to the Prime Whooves. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” ‘Scarfy’ said. “I’ve a sneaking suspicion we’re going to need all three of us.”

“We’re going to need more,” Bowman said, his cheery manner gone.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Whooves said, frowning at his colleague. Bowman had approached him a few days ago, while he’d been working in his office on Earth. It had been…something of a shock, to say the least. “I don’t suppose you have anything useful to add?”

“That would depend greatly on your definition of ‘useful’,” Bowman replied, looking around. “D’you know, I’ve never been here before.”

“New York?” Scarfy asked.

“No, this Sunny Equestria,” Bowman clarified. “I’ve literally never had the time to come here. Things usually go to pot before I have the chance.”

“What do you mean?” Scarfy asked.

“Yes, Doctor,” Whooves added, still frowning. “Do you want to start sharing with us precisely why it is you came here?”

Bowman sighed. “Alright.” He glanced at Scarfy. “They sent me.”

It took Scarfy just a moment to realise who Bowman was talking about, but when he did, his eyes widened.

“They... why?” he asked.

“Well, I say ‘sent’,” Bowman said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m really just meant to be observing, cataloguing potential multiversal threats, preventing any of them from becoming real problems, that sort of thing. I just have so much carte blanche with this mission that it’s not even funny.”

“As in, carte blanche to hop hither and thither along the timeline like a space hopper,” Whooves said, slightly scathingly.

Scarfy frowned. “Wait, you change history?!”

“I prefer to think of it as… hopping to a preferable alternative,” Bowman said tightly. “Since when I go back, the old history still exists. Somewhere.”

Scarfy blinked. “Still, it's a lot further than we ever used to go. You can't really have their permission for this.”

“Carte blanche, especially the kind I have, goes a long way,” Bowman said with a smile.

Scarfy shook his head. “I dunno how you wangled that out of them, and I don't think I want to. One does wonder why, though.”

Bowman shrugged. “As it happens, I’ve become rather attached to this little neck of the multiverse. I want to see this war business concluded the right way.”

“Why?” Scarfy asked.

“A lot hinges on it,” Bowman stated simply.

“Which is a good reason to bring the three of us together,” Whooves put in. “We can put our heads together, try to come up with a way to help.”

Scarfy grimaced. “I’ve… been keeping away from the military side of things. I don’t want to have anything to do with weapons.”

“I understand that,” Whooves said grimly. “Under the circumstances, though…”

“Under the circumstances, I don't like guns and weapons and I don't have anything to contribute that you can't,” Scarfy said testily. “Though I’d have thought...”

“These are dark times, and sometimes, moments like this call for extreme measures,” Whooves retorted.

“Weapons aren’t the only thing we could contribute,” Bowman said with a wry grin, forestalling further argument. He looked to Scarfy. “Unlike our illustrious counterpart here, you have a fully working TARDIS.”

Scarfy coughed. “I… yes, but I don’t see–”

“Transport purposes,” Whooves said simply. “You can fit more in your fully functioning TARDIS than I can in mine at present. You can go faster, do more. Yours also has better defences.”

“And I can help fit better ones,” Bowman added. “I’ve been hopping for a while, picked a few things up.”

“Which means yours can stand up to more in a tight spot,” Whooves finished.

Scarfy nodded. “Alright then, transporting things I can definitely do.”

Bowman smiled, before taking a swig of his Coke. “We’ve been fortunate in many ways.”

“In what sense?” Whooves asked.

“Things on Earth aren’t quite as desperate as they were,” Bowman said. “The HLF are being unified and purified to be on our side, thanks to some friends of mine. The PER are being hemmed in, and the defences at New York and Boston are about as sturdy as they can be.”

Whooves sighed, before pulling a tablet out of his pocket with a concerned expression, laying it on the table.

“It might not be enough,” he said softly. He pulled up a satellite image and turned the tablet so his colleagues could see. Scarfy’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized it, while Bowman’s widened in shock.

“This is accurate?” he asked.

“It was a few days ago,” Whooves said softly. “I suspect it’s only gotten worse.”

“Well,” Scarfy said softly. “That is… a lot.”

“It’s the Tyrant’s final assault,” Whooves said grimly. “It seems she’s pulling out all the stops.”

“She’s not just pulled out the stops,” Bowman said with wide eyes. “Great Equestrian class, Fillydelphia class… I’m half expecting to see a kitchen sink amongst that lot. Those ships can’t have shields strong enough to withstand assault, not at the rate she’d have had them built. There'd be no time to install the correct defences.”

“With that many, does it matter?” Whooves asked.

“Well, I guess quantity has a quality of its own,” Bowman murmured. “But still… this is … troublesome.”

“That,” Whooves said, smiling mirthlessly, “is a word.”

Bowman sighed, shaking his head, before taking a glance at his pocket watch.

“Well, nice as this has been,” he said, “I’d best be off. I’m doing a favor for a friend.”

“What sort of favor?” Whooves asked with a frown. Bowman simply grinned.

“Taxi service,” he said in a Mockney accent. “For one Mr. U.Man.”

“Heh,” Scarfy chuckled. “‘U.Man’, I get it...”

Whooves frowned. “Bringing someone here?”

“Yup,” Bowman grinned.

“The Commander isn’t going to be best pleased,” Whooves pointed out. “He prefers people to carry official passes.”

Bowman shrugged. “Yeah, well… I don’t care.”

Whooves sighed. He had been people that irreverent before, but in his current, responsibility-laden body, he found it somewhat vexing. It was more vexing that he could see Scarfy smirking too.

‘Was I ever like that?’ he wondered. ‘Actually, when did I stop?’

“When you're done, come find me,” he said. “We need to see what else we can bring to the table.”

Bowman paused, before nodding. “Agreed. Have a nice confab, fellas.”

He stood up and walked off, leaving Scarfy and Whooves alone.