//------------------------------//
// The Blue Well 
// Story: Myou've Gotta be Kidding Me 
// by DataPacRat 
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The good news was that my bad leg had been bandaged. The bad news was... well, pretty much everything else, really. My hind legs were hobbled, tied together so that I could only take teensy little steps; and the hobble-rope had been tied to a ring set in stone, further limiting my movement. There was more rope around my muzzle, held on by a loop around the back of my head, and a piece of metal tugged at the corners of my mouth - a bit and bridle. Chekov and its holster was gone, though the warden-whistle was still around my neck.

I was in a rough-hewn stone room, lit by glowing crystals set high in the walls. A half-dozen carts and wagons were in sight, parked along the walls; and a similar number of exhausted-looking ponies were collapsed in the middle of the room.

A bipedal canine walked in, grabbed a trunk from a wagon, hefted it onto a shoulder, and carried it out.

Some time later, another diamond dog, this one wearing a backpack, padded in, glanced at the ponies, then at me. Seeing my eyes open, it approached. It poked my flank, then my udder, then gave one of my teats a rough squeeze. I complained as best I could, which was little more than a plaintive 'moo'. The dog took off the backpack - and I saw that it was actually a papoose, containing four wriggling pups. I complained again, but the dog just shoved the basket of babies under me - and in moments, all four had latched on and started drinking. It was actually kind of a relief - I must have been out for hours - but I wasn't going to admit that, even if I could.

The adult dog went to a wagon, pulled out a bale of hay, and dropped it in front of my head. Then left.

Whatever escape plans I might hatch would be poorly served if I starved... so I reluctantly reached out to grab some of the strands of hay, and start working them around the bit.





The diamond dogs kept unloading the carts, and after a while, pushed a pony or two to start pulling boxes out of the room, too. It didn't look like they'd been around here very long (wherever here was), and were unpacking. Maybe the rubigon and bulette had been the previous tenants.

If they were from outside Equestria... maybe they didn't even realize I was a talking cow. ... Not that that did me much good at the moment, since with that bit in place, I wasn't a talking cow.





A couple of them came in, carrying Chekov and the holster, and one of them pointed out where it had been attached to me. They were poking and prodding at the gun - I was mildly relieved to see the safety was still on - and from their mumblings to each other, they seemed to think it was some sort of camera, which they had no use for.

I hoped they'd just drop the thing in front of me. No such luck.





One of the ponies brought a bucket of water. I tried to waggle my mouth and hooves at her, but she didn't make any sort of response.

I drank.





I ran all sorts of escape plans through my head - but given that I couldn't even talk, almost all of them foundered before their first steps. I couldn't even start trying to persuade the diamond dogs of anything, if I couldn't start talking.

The whistle dangled temptingly around my neck - all I had to do was be willing to condemn all the ponies around me to death, to make the decision for them that life as a slave wasn't a life worth living, and I could probably get myself out of all this mess.

Another option was to play the closest I had to nonviolent resistance, and stop eating until my milk dried up - which would likely lead to my quick death without causing any significant change.

I seemed to have time, so I ran my memory over everything that had happened to me since I landed in Equestria...

... and recalled that I just might have another option available to me. I looked at it backwards and forwards, and didn't see any reason not to give it a try. I made an effort of will, a conscious decision to implement the plan...

... and my straining ears heard what I'd hoped for - the steady clop-clop-clop of a platoon of Guardsponies approaching. A few diamond dogs ran past the doorway, then the guards started passing by. A half-dozen peeled off into the chamber I was in, most of them stopping by the slave ponies - ex-slave ponies - to offer water and care to them, while one unicorn headed straight for me.

As his telekinesis untied the knots binding me, he said, "All is proceeding to plan, ma'am. The Blue Well intelligence source was right on the money." I stood - and the pups' gums slipped from my teats, and they started whining. I looked down at them... and sighed. The unicorn levitated a quartet of milk-bottles he'd brought, from under his armor straight into their mouths. "We can leave whenever you're ready, ma'am."





Some time ago, after a discussion with the Princesses, I'd set up the filing system so that any information arriving from the future would be classified with code-word WELLS, after good old Herbert George. Blue happened to be my favorite color, so any messages from my future self were BLUE WELLS. At the time, I hadn't known whether or not any such messages would ever be received - but I'd set up the bureaucracy to be able to verify and respond to them, if any did.

I guessed that, in some iteration of the timeline, I'd managed to make an escape under my own power - but that version of me decided that the cost of doing so was high enough to be worth rewriting that bit of history, and so had a unicorn use that Starswirl spell to send a message to their earlier self; until, eventually, a stable time-loop resulted, in which the Guard got orders to arrive just at the moment I heard them. I made a mental note to keep this timeline intact by arranging to send the appropriate message back.

Chekov was retrieved from a rubbish pile, still needed a good cleaning, and might never be the same; and after the diamond dogs' claws had done their thing, the whole harness would need to be re-made. The ex-slave ponies were being given as much care and compassion as they needed - though everyone needed some help to pass through the section of tunnel where pepper-spray had been fired, driving away the diamond dogs and their sensitive noses.

There was a hole drilled through the ceiling, through which a team of unicorns were levitating things up and down, serving as a sort of magical elevator. In mere moments I was above ground, looking up at the early-morning stars.





Cheerilee was both relieved and furious. I mostly kept saying "You're absolutely right," and variations thereof.

I sent word to the Crusaders that I was alright.

And I got a summons from Princess Luna.





"There are," she said, "only so many unicorns who art capable of performing that spell. Every message thou sendeth means a message that will not be able to be sent later."

"Would you like me to not send it, then?"

She shook her head. "For this case, we shalt consider it to be a 'done deed', in order to avoid... troubles with time. But should thou desireth to employ such a technique in the future, for thy personal gain - do not be surprised if no message will have been sent, for anything short of the troubles to Equestria as a whole thou hath been making thy preparations to defend against."

"In other words - I should plan to solve my own problems in my own time, without any quick-fixes from my future. Gotcha."

"... Dost thou know their names?"

"Whose?"

"The pups."

"I didn't hear any names. Was there anything in the WELLS message about them?"

"Merely that there would be four hungry infants."

"Do you have any plans for, uh, John, Paul, George, and Ringo?"

She winced slightly. "I almost wish thou had not just dubbed them - for the remainder of their pack remains at large, and having committed organized raids against my little ponies, it would be a simple matter to state that said pack has, by its actions, entered into a state of war with Equestria. But if these four are truly innocent of their parents' acts... then we are left with the responsibility of determining what is to be done with them."

"I'm guessing that you're not planning on raising them yourself?" She gave me A Look, so I continued, "then it looks like you're looking for somepony to adopt them." Having a certain premonitory inkling, I hurriedly continued, "Somepony with plenty of free time, somepony who's good with children, somepony who's already done extensive research into diamond dogs... somepony without a bunch of highly-classified secrets in their head..."

Luna looked at me with gentle amusement. "Thou art being a tad obvious."

"I'm bad with kids. Really bad."

"Still," she mused, "they have drunk of you."

"Never changed a diaper in my life, and have no intention of starting."

"Thy future self did mention them in thy message."

"I have a distinct memory of being allergic to dogs."

"Were I to put the question to thee direct - wouldst thou refuse?"

I grimaced, and tried to think of a way to wiggle out, but finally admitted, "No." I looked sidelong at her. "But surely there's somepony better?"

"If so - then find them. Until thou dost - I commend them into thy care."

"I think Cheerilee's going to kill me."

"Is she not excellent with the young?"

Why was I not surprised Luna knew about her? "Well, yes - when she's working. And then she goes home, far away from children, and is able to relax. Or was. ... Maybe I should just go back to staying with the herds."

"I am sure thou shallst make the best decision possible. And I am thus confident in leaving them in thy capable hooves."





I was wrong - Cheerilee didn't kill me. Not quite, anyway. But she did declare certain conditions. One was that we make an honest effort to find more species-appropriate parents, which I was all too happy to agree with. Another was that it was obviously untenable to pretend we were just roomies working together on curriculum reform - so I was to find a way to allow the news of our currently-rocky romance to spread without her getting fired. I said I'd see what I could do. And a third was that since they were 'mine', I was to take care of their feeding whenever I was in the vicinity... with a significant look at my udder. I sputtered a bit, and hemmed and hawed, but only got another Look, so finally agreed.


It was astonishing how many pony orphanages and foster-parents had absolutely no interest in having anything to do with diamond-dog pups.