//------------------------------// // Dark Start // Story: All-American Girl: The Third Law of Motion // by Cody MacArthur Fett //------------------------------// His name was Macaroni, though that wasn’t his original name, or maybe it was, and he was too young to remember. His parents had been members of the Weather Underground, though he would never admit it even to them, and he had grown up in the commune called the Bastion. One day, though, his parents told him that they were leaving, changing their names, and that they could never speak of their old lives again. That was until one fine Unidecimus day when Macaroni’s life would change forever. He was giving the local nerd his daily swirly when his friend came in and told him that he was joining the Guard. They might have left the Weather Underground, but his parents had still been clear that joining in on the Sun Tyrant’s orgy of oppression and suppression was out of the question. So he dropped the nerd into the toilet and tried to convince his friend to reconsider his obviously insane decision. Macaroni’s friend was adamant, however. He was going to see the world, he said. He was going to snag all the cute mares, he said. He was going to earn money for his education, he said. Nothing could be said to sway him from his path. So instead, Macaroni joined it to make sure his friend was safe. His parents weeped when he told them what he was doing, as if his death warrant had just been signed. Macaroni wondered if they weren’t right to cry, but he knew that he had to do it. Before he left the house for the final time, he promised to write when he could be certain that his letters would not be intercepted. Two days later, the pair had arrived at a training camp. Twenty days later, Macaroni found himself without a friend after the bastard had gotten caught in bed with the centurion’s daughter and a pile of salt, but during that time, he had found himself. He had been a lost foal ever since they left the Bastion -- they all had been -- but in the Guard, he found himself part of a greater purpose that in turn gave him meaning. He still didn’t know if it was the right one at that point, but to him, it didn’t matter. After getting out of training, though, he was flung right into the fray along with the rest of his cohort, purging a changeling outpost on the border, and then another, and another. Each one seemed to blend into the other as the months passed. It was just one big blur of downtime interspersed between some of the most brutal and disgusting events of his life. As a unicorn, he was tasked with casting spells that blew changeling drones apart, or burned them alive, or simply crushed them between two rocks. But sometimes, they got in close, and when that happened, he drew his gladius and slashed and stabbed them, sending blood and ichor everywhere. It was surprisingly calm when it happened, though, and to him, just one more part of the life he loved. Together with his unit, they formed one purpose until the day the cohort’s leader changed. The old man left the stage, and in his place was a noble pony. Muscle knew what would happen when they made their next attack, and he was right. They were led into a trap, unit cohesion broke down, and it was a massacre. He was sure that he would die that day, but Celestia had been there. She swooped in from the sky, scorching the earth with power that they could scarcely comprehend.  In mere seconds, the battle had been turned and the changelings were in full retreat. The cohort was stunned: some were bowing, some were infatuated, but as for Macaroni, he was disgusted. With his telekinesis, he grabbed a standard and held it high, and with his voice, he bellowed as loud as he could. “What are you? Cowards? Charge! Charge!” With that, he started running towards the retreating changelings as fast as he could, not looking back. The changelings were focusing on Celestia, either running away from her or trying to attack, but without any of the coordination of a fighting retreat; whoever was commanding them was in a panic. His sword came out of its scabbard to join the standard in his magical grasp. He slammed in the changeling line, blood and chitin splattering everywhere as the sword he was carrying lodged itself into one unfortunate drone’s neck. Some of it got in his eyes, and Macaroni found himself tripping over the body of a second changeling while still going at full speed. With disorienting swiftness, he found himself pinwheeling through the air, his hooves cracking against bone and flesh. He hit the ground with a tumble, rolling along until his body slammed into another. Blinking the dust and blood away, he looked around with tear-filled eyes to find himself surrounded by the retreating swarm. To his eternal surprise, the standard was still in the air above him, held aloft by his telekinetic aura. Macaroni grunted, digging his hooves into the ground as the swarm pushed past him, emaciated bodies alight with terror. They splashed against him like water, but eventually, they broke. Behind their rushing current was a wave of armored stallions three ranks deep. The rabble that was the guard had somehow rallied and were now pushing the rout of the changeling forces. Macaroni decided not to waste the opportunity and magically grabbed a naginata off the back of one of the advancing guardsponies. He turned and then rejoined the advance. He ran to the forefront, and the naginata came down. A drone’s spine fell victim, and again, the air was filled with blood and bisected neurons. This time, he avoided the disorienting arc of fluids and carried on. This continued time after time until the enemy remembered that they could fly. They flew away, and even as the cheers went up, Macaroni knew his job was done for the moment. It was in the hooves of the pegasi and the Princess now. He slammed the supporting pole of the standard into the earth. The naginata followed. Then he turned and walked back to find his sword. A lone unicorn, rippling with muscle, sat on a rock outside of camp, polishing his sword. The dead had been cleared away, defensive positions had been set up, and now, they only had to prepare for the next engagement. For the young stallion, it was infuriating. They should have won this easily, but they were sabotaged from within by some imbecilic noblepony with more connections than sense who thankfully ended up as dead as his plans, and now, their once proud unit was lapping at the hooves of the Sun Tyrant for saving them. “Frustrated?” a calm, feminine voice asked from behind him. “Yes, but the maintenance helps,” he replied without turning around. There were hoofsteps, and then suddenly, the Sun Tyrant herself was sitting down in front of him. He didn’t dare meet her eyes. “I can sympathize with that. A repetitive task that requires some concentration can help refocus the mind. Though, mostly, my days are filled with meetings, public appearances, and other social events, so instead of weapon maintenance, I’ve taken up cooking. I’ve become quite good at it over the years, if I do say so myself,” Celestia bragged falsely, clearly trying to break the ice. “You performed well out there. It must have felt great to cut loose and get back in the fight instead of mingling all day,” Macaroni replied neutrally, trying to keep himself from screaming inside. Celestia went quiet and a sad look came over her countenance. “No.” The stallion's oiled cloth stopped halfway down the blade, his eyes wide with surprise and looked directly at her. “No?” he repeated. “You just smashed those bugs like they were nothing! You’re telling me that you didn’t enjoy destroying their horde?” “Those poor drones do what they do because they have no choice. That scoundrel Chrysalis crushes their spirits and ensures they’re dead inside for their whole life until all they can do is follow her orders; had they been raised with love and harmony by pony parents . . .” Celestia paused her mournful rant and shook her head. “But it’s too late.” She then turned her head and looked directly in Macaroni’s eyes. “I want you to remember this; if you remember nothing else, please remember this. We fight them because of who they are, not what they are. Our culture and nation is superior because of our principles and values, not because of any accident of biology. Maybe one day, the changelings will understand this and join us in the light.” Macaroni stared at her for but a second before a smirk cracked his lips. “You’re not a goddess, are you, Princess?” Celestia replied with her own smirk, far more mirthful than that of the guardstallion in front of her. “No, and I never claimed to be.” “Why go on letting ponies believe that then?” he asked with smug curiosity. Celestia shrugged her wings. “Because I must sacrifice my own personal dignity for the sake of the nation. If believing I am divine brings the nation together, then who am I to stop it? And if it gives the country an edge in diplomacy, so much the better.” Macaroni’s smirk disappeared and he shook his head. “Why are you telling me these things?” “To let your guard down so you’ll more easily accept what I have to say,” the white alicorn answered bluntly. “Put simply, that rally you pulled during the battle was impressive but foalish.” The stallion could feel his anger rising and clamped it down. Celestia dismissed it and continued on. “Your cutie mark is of a pen and paper. Am I correct in deducing from it that you are a writer?” “Yes, but I put that away to help a friend.” “A commendable sentiment.” Macaroni laughed bitterly. “Not really. He was a bastard, and we’re not friends anymore, but I still stayed in.” “For the nation?” she asked curiously. “For myself, but I can’t deny that feeling of . . . I don’t know what to call it. Camaraderie, patriotism, a sense of being part of something bigger? Whatever it is, I didn’t have it before I joined up,” he answered, trying to go back to polishing his sword. “Have you considered spreading that feeling through your writing when you return to civilian life?” “You want me out.” It was less of a question and more of a statement. “I’m offering you a way out when your enlistment term ends. The Guard’s current mission is almost complete, and it ill needs hotheads who will jump the chain of command as you did, but the nation does need writers who have the courage to unify,” Celestia explained. Macaroni stopped cold, his magic ceased to function, and his sword clattered to the ground. Ten thousand memories of time discussing politics with his family and life in the Weather Underground flashed through his head. “Something’s happened,” he realized. “Something bad has happened, and you’re trying to cover it up.” “No, there’s nothing that can cover up what has happened,” Celestia said with finality. “I just don’t feel like explaining it at the moment, but you and everyone else in the world will know what has happened soon enough.” “Why me?” Celestia straightened up. “Because I think you and I are a lot alike. You will keep your lips sealed for the good of the nation and sing like a lyrebird for the same, just like I will.” With that, she started to walk away. “Take some time out of the Guard, write your story, be the hero your nation needs you to be, and after a while, if you think you want back into the Guard, sign up again. Or not. It’s your life, after all.” As she left, the stallion reached down and picked up his sword in a telekinetic field. Somehow, it felt much heavier than before. Unity. It is time Equestria relearned the meaning of the word. Too many have forgotten what it’s like to be truly unified as a nation, and still others seek to divide us. The common pony must stand together with their neighbor and let them know that it doesn’t matter what happens, they’re still friends. No noble or corporation or whatever silly thing that is happening in your life should hamper that. For without friendship, what are we? I’m not saying it’s easy, quite the opposite. Keeping a friend is often one of the hardest things you can do, but you must. If not for yourself or your friend, then for your nation.