When I arrive at work Wednesday morning, there’s a package sitting on my desk. There’s no return address. My name and office is barely legible.
Clear Code is already there that morning, working on the secret internet and muttering quietly under her breath. I walk over. “Do you know where this package came from?”
“I’m guessing North Koltrea.”
I frown at the package. “Why would any of them send me something? How did they get my address?”
“They’ve been doing a lot of weird things lately,” she says, gesturing at the computer. I have a look. It’s green numbers slowly falling down a black screen. I’m pretty sure she’s messing with me. Clear Code doesn’t have many jokes, but smug superiority is one of them.
I humor her. “What’s it say?”
“They’re rolling armored units to the border and stockpiling supplies. They might be bringing more nuclear weapons online.”
Trying to sound smart, I ask, “Is there a historical precedent for that kind of thing?”
“Well, they threaten a lot of things. I’m a little concerned because they haven’t threatened much this time but are moving quite a lot.”
“What if they’re just training?”
Clear Code shrugs. “Then they’ll go home in a few days and won’t invade.”
“You’re just a bundle of Celestia’s sunshine.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She may not have intended it that way, but I laugh.
Turning around, I head for my desk, but Rhyme intercepts me as she comes into the office. “Hey, I saw some weird guys hanging around our apartment building this morning. They must have just missed you.”
“What do you mean weird?” I ask.
“They were all in trenchcoats, sunglasses, and trilbys.”
“What’s a trilby?”
“Not a hat pony, huh? Broadly, they’re the cheap felt hats you can get at discount stores that are often confused for fedoras.”
I think about that for a moment and realize the point of the conversation has gotten lost in the clutter. I steer back to the prime topic. “So what was so suspicious about these suspicious ponies?”
“They came up to me and asked me if I knew you, when they could expect you to be home, where I worked, where you worked, and if I had some base guest passes.”
Definitely suspicious. Surprisingly blatant. I ask, “Did you talk to them?”
“Buck no. As a matter of fact, I’m going to go report them to CID.”
It takes half a second for me to remember that CID is the Army version of NCIS. “I’ll go with you,” I say. “Some weird things have been happening to me, too.”
The CID pony is surprised to see us walk into his office. Honestly, that doesn’t surprise me too much. I’m kind of used to wading through a constant stream of surprised faces around base. Sailors are about as common as alicorns around here. Me and a Coastie showing up at the same time must be like seeing an analogy so rare that I couldn’t even come up with it.
Rhyme tells the CID guy about the mysterious questioners and I tell him about my mysterious package. He asks me the obvious question, “Why were you specifically targeted? Where did they get your name?”
I think about it for a moment and then facehoof. “Yesterday, I went to a meeting up on the border. A general asked my name and I told him. In front of the North Koltreans.”
“That’ll do it,” he said. “They don’t really have the internet up there, but they sure can use the phone book.”
Great. This was worse than telemarketers getting ahold of my contact information.
Having done our duty of reporting suspicious things, we head back to the office. When we get there, everypony is watching the news.
The news ponies are talking about a super-secret plan that the allied coalition made to stop the North Koltreans from crossing the border.
I’ve seen this plan. It’s classified super-secret. Somehow, the news got ahold of it. So now the Norks know our super-secret plan.
“Who leaked it?” I ask.
“Most likely my government,” says Kimchi. “They do that.”
“What?” I ask, flabbergasted. “Why? You guys helped write that plan, same as us.”
“What good is the plan as a deterrent if the North Koltreans don’t know it exists?” says Kimchi. “Now that they know we have a plan to stop them from crossing the border, they won’t try to cross the border.”
“But they know what the plan is,” I point out.
“At least they didn’t leak the one plan to feed President Butterball until he’s too fat to move,” Rhyme says, upbeat.
“That’s barely secret,” I say.
This morning has been more unusual than usual. Norks at the border, possible Norks here in town, leaking plans, suspicious packages.
I pause. The package is gone from my desk.
“Hey, has anypony seen my package?” I ask. The words are out of my mouth before I decide if I meant to say it that way or not.
Fortunately, Clear Code is the first to respond. “Colonel Tweak took it.”
“I guess I don’t mind, because it was probably from the North Koltreans, but...isn’t taking somepony else’s mail illegal?”
“Yeah,” confirms Clear Code.
I think about it for a moment, but then decide that I don’t want to know. I sit down at my desk.
The daily videoteleconference takes place. Other units on the VTC talk about what they have going on. A couple of them note the worrying developments north of the border.
It comes time for our report. “Equestrian Administrative Command of Koltrea, do you have any comments?”
“No.”
Maybe I should say something about the suspicious things happening. Would anypony care? EACK never does anything worthwhile.
Nothing happens for a couple of hours. I surf the internet. The news agencies are still talking about the leak, but now a couple of them have picked up on North Koltrean movements.
I take a sip of my coffee and think about it. Are we really heading towards war? I don’t believe it. Maybe because I don’t want to, or maybe because I can’t. I feel extraordinarily calm, which weirds me out.
“Anypony want to go to lunch?” Line Scribe asks.
I raise my hoof immediately.
The two of us leave work and walk out the front gate. I live out in town, but Line Scribe has the hookup for everything and knows all the good places. Speaking the language helps.
We get seats at one of the little restaurants that have a grill built into the table. The waitress brings over a platter of things to cook. It’s a good thing that Koltreans don’t expect tipping at restaurants, what with making us make our own food.
“So, tell me again what happened yesterday,” says Line Scribe, stringing together a kebab.
I give him an overview of how Kimchi and I stumbled into a top-level meeting and may have prevented a war right there.
“That sounds like one of the meetings General Park Avenue coordinates between the coalition, the South, and the North,” he says. “I got to know Park Avenue a couple years ago. He always seems to have things under control. Good guy.”
“I’ll take your work for it,” I say. “The meeting yesterday definitely wasn’t under control.”
Line Scribe shakes his head. “The Northerners and Southerners hate each other. Sometimes I wonder if they’re just looking for an excuse to have another war.”
“Sounds a lot like Ponbekistan,” I reply. “When I deployed over there, I couldn’t keep straight who wanted what or why and for how many cookies. Of course, flying off the ship it didn’t really matter, I just dropped the bombs.”
“Did it ever bother you to be stuck on an aircraft carrier and not making friends among the locals?” he asks.
I blink. “My wingpony was Rainbow Dash, of the Elements of Harmony fame. If she didn’t seem to care, I don’t think it’s a big deal. You must be special.”
No sarcasm, by the way. Line Scribe was good at what he did, which was interfacing with locals, apparently.
He shrugs in response to my comment. “You just have to find a group. I got to know Park Avenue at the golf course. You may have nothing in common, but once you have a group, you’re good.”
“I think the hard part is finding the group in the first place.”
“Yeah,” he concedes.
No idea where I was supposed to find a group. The closest thing I had was coworkers. We sure had nothing in common.
After lunch, we walk back. Even being in Koltrea, there are all the usual shops that appear as you get close to the front gate of a military base: clothing stores, tattoo parlors, military surplus.
I practically give myself whiplash spotting a sword in the front window of a junk shop. Line Scribe hears my hooves practically screech to a halt. “See something you like?”
“Uh huh.” I walk closer. It’s a Navy Officer’s Sword, with a thin, elegant blade and a brass hoof guard. It’s not new, but the patina only gives it character. I have no way of knowing if it’s quality, and I’m completely confused how it came to be here, but I want it.
The price is a problem. That’s beer money for at least a month.
On the other hoof, if war broke out tomorrow, I’d feel better about treating myself, and having any weapon - even a blunt show blade - would be better than the government-issued desk pens.
Though, I don’t think a naval sword has been used in combat for at least a century.
Line Scribe helps me negotiate with the shopkeeper and I walk out carrying my prize. I can’t wait to show...who am I going to show? I am exactly the only pony on base who would care.
I don’t think that’s the same as buyer’s remorse, but I’m still feeling it that afternoon. So much so that Sergeant Drill Bit actually asks me if something is wrong when I come to get the daily report.
“I bought a sword earlier today,” I say. “A proper Navy Officer’s Saber.”
His lips purse and he nods. “Not bad.”
Well, that’s one vote of confidence. I have that happy thought to balance out the impending dread of walking into Colonel Tweak’s office.
As I approach the door, I can hear voices from inside.
I’m putting my penis in you now.
Oh yeah, baby, give it to me.
That gives me about five seconds of pause. It seems really weird to narrate sex. Is he in there watching porn? Even for porn, it seems weird to verbalize step by step.
I tentatively knock on the door. Tweak swears. “Come in!”
I open the door, eyes already averted. “Sir, here’s the daily report.”
There’s a ham radio sitting on his desk. The package addressed to me is open and discarded on the floor. The Norks tried to send me a radio? And now Tweak’s using it for...radio sex?
I put the paper in his inbox, on top of yesterday’s report that is still sitting there, and scoot for the door. He calls me back, though. “Hey!”
I swear under my breath and turn. “Yes sir?”
“Is this yours?” he says, pointing at the radio.
“Never seen it before, sir.”
“Then why was it in a box with your name on it?”
I shrug. “I didn’t order it. It just showed up. I don’t know who sent it.”
“Sir,” he corrects for me.
“Yes sir.”
“I don’t believe you,” he says.
“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s the truth.” I continue on before I can stop myself. “But if it was my radio, which you think it is because you don’t believe me saying it’s not, then why do you have it, sir?”
Have you ever been really bored and decided to siphon a jug of jet fuel out of a plane and then toss in signal flare? Yeah, okay, bad analogy, but you get the idea. That’s how Tweak’s face looks.
“I’m going to write you a demerit for that comment!” he bellows. “No, actually, you’re going to write it, because I don’t have time to look up the Navy permanent record format. I want it on my desk tomorrow.”
He pauses for breath and then demands “Where’s your security badge?”
I’d forgotten to put it back on when entering the building following lunch. I pull it out of a pocket and put the lanyard on around my neck.
“And another demerit for that,” he says.
I have to hold my teeth shut before I can finally get out, “Yes sir,” without screaming something else.
Back in the office, I can tell by their faces that the others heard the outburst, though perhaps not the actual words.
I sit down at my desk. Skyray slides over. “What happened?”
“He ordered me to write myself a demerit for having the gall to receive an unsolicited package,” I summarize.
“What was inside?”
“A radio. Which he was using for tele-sex.”
Skyray does a poor job of hiding a laugh. “Really?”
“That’s horseapples,” says Clear Code. She was right there, so she couldn’t help but overhear.
“Major Winchester was the horseapple filter,” I say. “He had more patience, and the advantage that Tweak seemed to like him. Or at least like him more than the rest of us. Unfortunately, he hasn’t contacted me since getting to his meeting, so I don’t think he’ll be able to help.”
I sigh and turn to my computer. I’d better get started.
Writing the demerits takes most of an hour. Granted, I’m taking it slow to kill time, but a lot of the work is just looking up examples online and following the Navy administrative manual.
I’ve never been good at writing about myself, usually letting adoring fans take care of it. Not many of those around here, though. Trying to tell the story of what happened fairly while still making myself look as innocent as possible is another challenge.
I print it off and head for Tweak’s office. He said he wanted the document in the morning and he’s just the type of guy to get angry at me for being too early. What’s he going to do, make me give myself another demerit?
I frown. Maybe.
I knock on his door. There’s no sound. I hesitate, but then abruptly open it.
Tweak’s not there. The radio is still on the center of the desk. I put my demerit in his inbox, on top of everything that’s already there.
I look around. His hat is gone. His computer is logged out. I guess he’s gone for the day.
My eyes go back to the radio. It looks like a small shortwave rig. A label on the side has a callsign, K7J4VZ.
I look around again and then turn on the radio. A gentle hum of static comes out of the speaker. I key the mic and say, “This is Kilo Seven Juliet Four Victor Zulu, over.”
On a whim, I throw my voice deeper, trying to sound like Tweak. Apparently it works. An accented female voice purrs, “Ah, Colonel, you have come back to me.”
My mouth hangs open for a few seconds before I spontaneously say, “Please identify and observe proper communication standards, over.”
She sounds hurt. “This is X-ray Three Delta One Charlie Mike...over.”
I spot a pad of sticky notes and write down X3D1CM. “Thank you. So what would you like to talk about, over?”
“Well, after speaking to you earlier, I just couldn’t wait to hear more stories about your bravery, over,” she gushes.
What is going on here? I try to think of a way to continue the conversation. “Did I ever tell you about the time I went for a joyride in a tank?” I blurt. “Over.”
“Oh, what kind of tank, over?”
“It was one of the, uh, new M63A7’s, over.” I think that’s a real tank. I’m not in the Army.
“Is that the model with the electronic gyro stabilization and hyper-crypto secure communications, over?”
“Oh, I’m afraid that’s classified, over.”
“You’re such a tease,” she giggles. “I’ll give you my encrypted codes if you give me yours.”
I’m tempted to keep talking. I’m also tempted to go straight to CID. Yeah, probably better do that instead.
I grab another sticky note and start crinkling it. “Okay, are you ready to copy the codes, over?”
“What? I can’t quite hear you.”
“Are you breaking up, over?”
“What?”
I turn the radio off.
Dear Celestia, Colonel Tweak is giving away secrets to the North Koltreans in exchange for radio sex.
I look at the sticky note with the radio callsign and walk back into the office. I go right over to Clear Code and say, “I need to find out where this radio is located.”
“Is this the radio that came in the package?” she asks.
“No, it’s the radio that one connects to.”
She frowns, but turns to her computer and punches buttons for a few minutes. “It’s registered to the North Koltrean Intelligence Service.”
“Buck,” I mutter.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
I hesitate, but there’s no way I can keep this secret. And why would I want to?
“I think Colonel Tweak was talking to them,” I say. “Maybe unwittingly, but still.”
Her eyes widen. “We have to report this.”
“I know.” I turn and call, “Rhyme.”
She comes over. “What’s up?”
“We think that radio that came in the mail is spy equipment and Colonel Tweak may have used it. Lieutenant Clear Code and I are going to talk to the investigators. You’re in charge until we get back.”
Rhyme’s face goes more serious than I’ve ever seen it before. I can’t blame her. Aside from the situation, I know what she’s feeling. I felt it too when Major Winchester left. Surprise responsibility!
Clear Code and I head to CID. When we arrive, however, the investigator pony is packing up his desk.
“You again?” he asks, spotting me. “You’ll have to come back when my replacement arrives.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was unexpectedly relieved and reassigned,” he explains.
“Like...today?”
He nods. “By your boss, in fact. He has the authority, which surprised me. I just can’t figure out why.”
“So who are we supposed to talk to about suspicious activity?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Sorry. I’ve been ordered elsewhere. I could get in a lot of trouble for doing things off-duty. Hopefully my replacement gets here soon. Maybe next week.”
That isn’t going to be soon enough.