//------------------------------// // A More Collegial Exchange // Story: Good Trooper Gilda // by Mitch H //------------------------------// "I'm just saying, I know a roc's breakfast when I see one. Whatever Lieutenant Colonel Pie's up to qualifies as a roc's breakfast." They had just concluded a discussion of the Princess's day, and Gleaming Shield's day as well, as the captain had stuck to the Princess of Gloom like spirit-gum to the bottom of your paw. They'd visited a half-dozen factories on the pony side of town, and spent hours listening to politicians and rich ponies lecture the princess and her ponies about how well Pony Trottingham was holding up during the 'Unfortunate Troubles'. The subject had finally come around to Gilda's and Lady George's day. "Have you ever seen a roc's breakfast, Corporal?" asked Lady George, looming over the bat-hen and her officer in the turul's roost. "They're horrifying because, if you remember properly, rocs eat people. Griffons, diamond dogs, parrots, ponies, even young dragons - they don't care if you can talk, because they certainly can't. They're stomachs with wings." It was a little cool inside the converted equipment stable, but at least it wasn't out of doors, where the temperature had dropped below zero that afternoon, and now in the full darkness of night was plumbing the bottom of even the ponies' advanced thermometers. Gilda found herself sweating a bit under the big bird's glare. "OK, sorry, no more talking about your mindless distant relatives. It's just a Griffonstone expression, I don't know where it comes from. Sorry." "It no doubt comes from that infamous Griffonstonian sense of morbid nihilism, I expect. But about your madmare Pie. She saw me, didn't she? Saw the crown. Heard me talking, and didn't assume into existence an imaginary handler like any other non-royal would have done." "That doesn't necessarily mean anything," interjected the heretofore silent Gleaming Shield, eponymous magical shield flickering around her head. "Pinkie Pie is known for knowing things she couldn't possibly know about. And afterwards, she will pretend that she has no idea what you're talking about, will pretend that she doesn't know the things she had to have known about to say the things she says in class or in the field. Why do you think I can't stand working with her? Pinkie Pie is a trotting, pronking offense to rational thought." "That might be true, captain ma'am, but it doesn't sound like helpful. If she's inexplicable, we can't predict what she'll do based on what we've seen her doing, or heard her saying. She's nothing but a black hole of- of ignorance, if that's true." "That about sums her up," said Gleaming Shield. "You can't react to Pinkie Pie. You can only work around her." "Well, that's not helpful. I just wasted an entire day following that black hole of unknowledge around the city, watching her do Boreas only knows what." "Take her out of the equation," Gleaming Shield suggested. "What was going on around her?" "Company-sized patrol from a new regiment," Gilda said, tentatively. "She said something about it being her home-town battalion." "Oh, right, I'd heard they'd brought in the Pioneers to replace one of the Manehattan regiments in the rotation. The plan is to send them out into the districts, though, they're not for the garrison." "Well, they're here now," Gilda muttered. "An escort in - where did you go?" her captain asked. "The Pennies, mostly. Street bosses and a couple guildmasters. Political talk about reconstituting a separate council for Griffish Trottingham." "Wait, separate? And a pony patrol in the middle of the deepest ghetto neighborhoods." "Well, they weren't all ponies, once me and the toms joined the procession." "Congratulations, Gilda," laughed Gleaming Shield. "You just made yourself Pinkie Pie's griffon beard. You were her griffon faces." "I didn't even talk to her boss-griffons! All I did was exchange dagger-glares with the brother of that one I put into the prison infirmary." "Your presence would have been enough. Is Pinkie Pie turning political? This is more subtle than I've seen her get in the past. Generally, Pinkie's as political as a battle-axe duct-taped to a whoopie cushion." "It was all she talked about out there. Had a lot to say about Trottish politics I had never heard before." "You're a very junior non-commissioned officer who has only been in the capital for what is it now - less than half a year. Nopony would expect otherwise. Stars, I don't know much about city politics, either. There were books about it in that library-cache out on Battery Garner… blast. Now I'm wishing I'd taken them, too." "We only had room for so much in your baggage, captain ma'am." "Nonsense. There's always room for books. I could have thrown out my spare uniforms and armor repair kit…" "Clouds under the tree, captain ma'am. We were talking about the scary pink mare who likes to talk about mass murder and partying with survivors?" "So, a parliament." "City council," corrected Lady George, who had been listening as quietly as was possible for a six-meter-tall bird of prey. "Has many of the characteristics of a provincial parliament, but also some local executive functions. Normal towns' burghers usually end up running their neighborhoods personally. No room for both alcaldes de la hermandad and alcaldes ordinarios at that level." Gilda looked up at the looming Lady George, and remembered that this was a true princess, with the education that came with it. "So, what would you say if I told you that Pinkie Pie's list of potential alderhens were a bunch of outlawed unionists and neighborhood bosses with reputations for banditry and gross corruption?" "To a hen?" "To a hen, one or the other. There were plenty of block bosses we passed by on Pie's little long march, skipping over the good and cooperative bosses in favor of the ones that haven't played cloudball, including the one who replaced that tom we arrested for street piracy in the act." "She's collecting bad actors, then. The guilds are remnants of the outlawed union movement. From her point of view, they're disloyal, whatever fondness for Princess Celestia they profess.“ “Duchess Celestia, captain ma'am.“ “Distinction without a difference.“ “I'm pretty sure the locals care about the difference, captain ma'am. And the bosses behind street violence and disorder? This griffish council is going to be a-" "Nest of scum and villainy?" asked Gleaming Shield with a look of disgust. "Put all the bad eggs in one basket," said Lady George, squinting into the shadows above their heads. "And… drop the basket?" asked Gilda, trying to follow the turul's metaphor. "Wait, what?" asked Gleaming Shield. "Pinkie Pie is a maniac, but she's not a criminal mastermind. It would be an official organ of government!" "She isn't," the bat-hen said, snapping her beak in irritation, "but she's been known to maneuver the rebels into doing her dirty work for her. As we all know well. I've been wondering about why there's still rebels running loose in the city. I've been hearing talk that the beefeaters have been slacking. It's like they don't want to wipe out the last few bands of armed rebels hiding in the deeper neighborhoods." "Somebird to drop the basket for her?" asked Lady George. "Or bomb the basket," Gleaming Shield said gloomily. "Seems like a Pinkie thing to arrange. There's still enough gonne-powder on the streets that anything could happen. I'd been wondering why we hadn't been seeing more terror-bombings inside the walls. There's been enough out in the districts." "A council-building full of robed aldertoms and hens would be a hell of a statement," Gilda said, sitting down. "It would revive the war all over again," Gleaming Shield agreed. "Could you possibly be misinterpreting this? I thought that this lieutenant colonel wanted to bring the war to a close!" asked Lady George. "Pinkie's exactly the sort of extremist who wouldn't consider the war over until all the bad actors were blown to bone-shards," Gleaming Shield said, gritting her teeth. "Maybe it's our duty to keep that from happening?" wondered Lady George. "Since when do you have a duty to the madgriffons of Trottingham, Princess?" asked Gilda, looking up at the insufferably noble turul. "Don't get attached, we're supposed to be sending you home to squat on your people's egg-clutches, remember?" "Common decency, Griffonstonian. I can't do anything about my birds right now, but I can do something about an injustice here, today." "What's injust about arranging the extermination of a flock of corrupt street-bandits like those toms and hens I saw Pie talking up today?" "Including the guildmasters?" asked Gleaming Shield. "All they're guilty of is calling out an illegal militia and restoring order to parts of the Pennies." Gilda sat back on her haunches, out-argued. She decided to change the subject. "Oh, I had a message waiting for me when I got back," Gilda said. "Gene says the fences are responding to that message you had me send them." "Positively?" asked Gleaming Shield. "He says it sounds like a company under arms. Including target practice. I have a response matching what he's hearing on the listening stick. They're inviting me to deliver my 'product' tomorrow in the Pennies. One of the bad neighborhoods." "Well, I'm not free," said the captain. "We're doing a Territorials review outside of the walls tomorrow for Cadance. There won't be much more than a detail of griffs from the company available, either." "So we'll just leave Chop Shop's boys holding the bag?" "I didn't say that. Let me go talk to the girls from the Gonne Research Group. Some of Minuette's friends said that wanted to test out their new spell under field conditions." "Tell me more," Gilda said, eyes glittering. Gilda awoke to three thoughts. The first was that she was terribly cold. Her armor and padding were missing. She was naked to the world, and yet was not in her nice snug bunk. The second was that she couldn't remember why she wasn't in her nice snug bed. The third was that she couldn't move. These three thoughts quickly were chased out of her head by the fact that she could not, in point of fact, determine exactly where she was, because there was a black hood over her head, and her wrists were bound under her aching forearms, which were trapped under her body in their turn. Her wings were bound, too. This wasn't good. She tried to remember the last thing she could recall. Leaving Lady George's roost, yes, also Gleaming Shield trotting off to talk to the Marezonians. Gilda had picked up their weekly bundle of newspapers from the commissary, and gone back to the barracks to read. Since the local newspapers mostly concerned themselves with the overseas cloudball scores and the goings-on among the pony elite on the good side of town, this was mostly a waste of time, but sometimes things showed up when you least expected them. What did she do with the papers? Left them on the captain's desk, Gilda thought. Oh, right, Gilda had gone to use the toilet. She didn't remember actually using the toilet. She shifted a bit, to try and figure out if she'd… impossible to tell without her undergarments, whether they'd been soiled or not. Her furred legs were simply chilled, no way to tell one way or the other. "Oh, good," said a vaguely familiar voice through the black bag tied around her head. "You're awake. I wasn't sure how long the chloroform would last on a specimen like you. You're big for your age, aren't you?" Gilda immediately prioritized biting a hole in the damn bag so she could see who was talking. It was a bit too loose to get the fabric into beak-tearing range. "Now, now, none of that. I need my hoods for future interrogations. Can't have you damn birds destroying my equipment. It'll come off in a moment, if you stop struggling." And it did, with a rough jerk. Gilda rolled her eyes to see who had her at his mercy. Glaring light. Blast. "Now then, we've been operating at a remove for far too long. And you've been a busy, busy kitty-birdie, haven't you? "HAVEN'T YOU?" If the pony thought that him shouting in her ear with a light glaring in her eyes was going to startle a Griffonstone bird, he had another thing coming. Also, when he bent down to scream at her, she got a good look at him out of the corner of her peripheral vision. It was that dark brown earth pony who didn't bother to wear rank tabs, the one who had been stalking them all for months. Gilda hadn't seen him around recently. This, apparently, was where he'd gotten off to. "WELL?" "W-w-" Gilda cleared her throat with a great hacking cough. "Pardon me, dry throat. Well what? You haven't actually asked a question yet, Mr. I'm Not Sure If I'm Supposed To Salute Or Demand You Present Arms For Inspection." That earned Gilda a sharp blow across her crest. Which stung a great deal, but could have been worse. "None of your lip, Griffonstonian!" "You will observe, Mr. Pony, that I, like all griffons, have no lip to give." Ouch. Hopefully that one didn't break one of her primary feathers. "I mean no back-talk, Corporal!" "Oh, good, I've been promoted from foreigner to non-com. Can I get a name at least?" "I ALREADY KNOW YOUR NAME!" "Of course you do. I rather hope you don't just randomly kidnap birds out of the middle of garrison before they can make water in the latrine. Speaking of which, I can't remember, did you let me take my piss before you - did you say chloroform? Ugh. No wonder I have a headache." "That's good, chatty is good. This will go faster if you can't shut up." "And yet, you still haven't given me your name or rank, Mr. Mystery Spooky Pony In The Shadows!" Gilda heard some muttering from the shadows, revealing that they weren't totally alone in this - what was beyond that glaring light? "What? What do you mean I actually have to identify myself? Since when?" Muttering. "That's preposterous! I'm a professional, we don't give our interrogation subjects our names and certainly not our ranks!" Muttering. "Horse puckey! I can't work like this!" More distinct muttering. Gilda definitely heard the words 'Flag Staff' in the midst of that burble. "Fine! Fine, Flagg Staff it is!" barked the madpony. Once again, in a lower tone that Gilda didn't think she was supposed to hear, "Isn't even really my name." "Did you hear that, Interrogation Suspect Number 192? I am your interrogator for today, and I'm told by somepony who really ought to know better, that I have to inform you that my name is FLAGG STAFF. And boy are you in for a lot of trouble today! The only way you'd be in any more trouble would be if I could prove that you're a changeling, because by Celestia, I have been waiting for a changeling to experiment with!" What the four winds was a changeling? "But, unfortunately, my secret changeling detector passed you with flying colors, so no Skinning Box experiments for you! You're just a boring old griffon hen. Boring, you hear me? Boring!" The loon paused for a brief bout of self-justifying mad laughter. It took a moment. "But!" the stallion continued. "You have been sticking your beak into matters that don't concern you, so I'm going to have to waste all of our time draining you dry, and drop you in a cistern afterwards if I hear anything at all I can prove is a lie!" "My name is Gilda de Griffonstone," Gilda said rapidly and clearly, projecting from her position strapped down on that table. "I am a corporal with the Fifth Griffish Territorial Battalion. I was captured last year among a band of adolescents trying to sneak into the Isles to have some fun with the rebellion. I was recruited into the Fifth Territorial. I now work for Gleaming Shield as a bat-hen. I also by extension work for the Provost Marshal via Gleaming Shield's remit, and am a loyal subject of the Duchess of Trottingham. You will get nothing from me about deployments, secrets, passwords, or procedures. Do your worst, villain." "I hate it when they lie with the truth," grumbled Flagg Staff, as he turned off the glaring light. A stone-walled room was revealed to Gilda's still-dazzled eyes. She blinked as details began to emerge from the afterimages of that glare. She could see her tormentor clearly for the first time. He was putting away his instruments of torture. "That right there is something I can't do anything with. For one thing, it's every word of it true, and even sounds respectable when she puts it like that. If I torture her now, I'll only look like I'm trying to extract details about the princess's security, or sticking my muzzle into the damned Provost Marshal's business. And because I can't go digging among the damn secrets I'm not allowed to know, I can't find all these nuggets of treachery and betrayal that I just know are hiding inside that chimerical hide." "How very frustrating for you, sir," said Gilda, wishing she could tug at her restraints without setting the agitated Flagg Staff off again. "Might I ask what you were looking for, in hopes of establishing a more collegial exchange of information?" "Oh, what does it matter, now? There's no retrieving this operation. It's just ruined. Ruined! First they set a minder on you, then you get locked out of all the communiques. Then it's the desk in the back office. Then someone steals your stapler, and the paycheques start bouncing!" The torturer slammed the lid shut on his tool-chest, and pouted. Gilda could hear the murmuring from said minder from behind her, where she couldn't see. "No, no, you don't have to get somepony else. You - yes you there - griffon. What's with all the running back and forth in the city? You started working for this mystery griffon, Lady George, sometime in August-" "September, actually. Late September." "Really? September? OK, late September, and quickly - more quickly than I'd thought, really - you became her main transportation and enforcement arm. Misappropriated Territorial resources, smuggling goods and payments throughout the blue zone." "I like to think of it as payment in kind for supplies, livestock rental, and political cover." "Lady George has no political sway! The bosses seem to have no more idea who or what she is than we do! She just moves money and goods in and out of the city, and half the time nopony can tell me how it happened! Do you know how much time I wasted trying to determine if this mystery employer of yours was the one smuggling slug-throwers and black powder into the city? I was sure you were my in with the weapons smugglers. And then what did you and your pain in the ass officer do? You started innovating. You started experimenting with anti-slug-thrower magic! You started being useful! I would have sworn you were both changeling infiltrators pulling the sweetest long con I'd ever seen, but then you had to go and pass your changeling detection scan. MONTHS! Months I wasted on you two!" "You could have asked." "NO I COULD NOT! NOPONY COULD FIND LADY GEORGE!" "You could have asked me." "I COULD HAVE- damnit! You were one of her lackeys! I was sure of it! Out of nowhere, one of the princesses' favorites' bat-hen, consorting with mystery hens and unionist radicals and gangsters! And then a complete left field swerve, right into the heart of the war. Madness! Madness upon madness! You ponies drove me absolutely BONKERS!" "Your own fault for not asking." "GAAAH!" The stallion took a moment to compose himself, while Gilda amused herself by counting the hairs on his increasingly dishevelled mane. "Look, I don't honestly care about this rebellion business anymore. I'm over it! Over it, you hear? It's boring! It's stupid! They kill an alderpony here, blow up a police box over there, piss off entire neighborhoods, and start stupid feuds. The rebels are morons! All of them, dead and alive! I had a real career before you Trottish pains in my flank took over my life! I was chasing real monsters, real conspiracies! While I'm wasting my time on you disgusting steady-form chimerical clowns, the international changeling conspiracy to devour all of our pony affections and good feelings is ongoing! Those disgusting monsters continue to infest Equestria like termites burrowing through a tree!" "That why you have a secret changeling detector?" "Exactly! Wait, what do you know about the changeling infiltration plot? Are you a secret agent for them after all?" "You just told me about them. Right now. Five minutes ago." "Bah! I should get my detector checked. Maybe it's misadjusted?" "Who sold it to you? Was it maybe a changeling?" "I-I-I- STOP TRYING TO CONFUSE ME!" "Look, it's not my fault if you're easy to wind up." "Gah! Where was I?" "You were just talking about quitting." "NO I WAS NOT!" "Well, it sounds like you should. You're a free pony. You could always go home and do what you want with your life. I'm not holding you here. I mean, you're not the one who was kidnapped into service are you?" "What! No! I am a stallion under authority! I OBEY ORDERS! And I'm stuck, here, until I find out what monster or chimera or evil harmony-forsaken corrupted unicorn is smuggling dangerous weaponry into the Griffish Isles to destabilize our nation!" "Why couldn't it be changelings?" "THAT'S WHAT I SAID! But they wouldn't let me put the secret changeling detector into mass production and mount them over every city gate." "If you mount them everywhere, it won't be a secret anymore." "SHUT THE BUCK UP!" "You might want to calm down and take a deep breath before you give yourself an aneurysm." "I AM PERFECTLY CALM!" "Yes, I can tell by the vein bulging over your brow. Has anyone talked to you about what the head of J-13 is up to in the city?" "What? Who? Oh, Colonel Pie's freaks. I don't know, I've been concentrating on the weapons-running - wait, why are you asking about her?" "Colonel Pie? She was just made lieutenant colonel, I thought?" "I beat the new promotion lists out of a traitor last week. You wouldn't believe how often that mare gets promoted, We have somepony who's on that problem now, it wasn't my department. Wait. DON'T DISTRACT ME! What is this about Pie?" "She's setting up some sort of Griffish town council? Full of real rotters, but some decent griffons, too." "No, this is the first I've heard of such a thing. Like who?" Gilda gave names and locations. And added that only 'Colonel Pie' seemed to know what it was all about. Flagg Staff was intrigued. He was almost calm by the time that Gilda finished. And then, just when Gilda thought they maybe would let her go, she suddenly found a hoof with a stinking white rag shoved in front of her beak, and things went wobbly again. She woke up the next morning tucked snugly in her own bunk with a terrible headache. At least she was warm again.