//------------------------------// // Shell Shock, Self-Recrimination, and Soldiering // Story: The Minoan Crisis // by Cosmic Cowboy //------------------------------// Apparently the purview of my position as Olive’s bodyguard didn’t include tampering with evidence; that was a job for the City Guard, as Elena informed me oh-so-curtly when I asked her to test the yogurt bowls for more poison. I’m no detective; my only job was to stick with Olive Branch and defend him, nothing more. Leave the rest to the ponies and minotaurs who have the training and authority to go out and catch the bad guys. No sense in trying to play offense when I’m on the defending team. Guard the door, guard the pony—that’s why we’re called the “Guard”. With security alerted, and nothing else immediate to do, I was left alone with my thoughts. Zephyr’s guards didn’t take long to secure the rest of the building, and then it was just silence and shallow breaths until the Minoan authorities arrived. In the meantime, I fell back on the one job I actually knew. I guarded the door. . . . I want a blanket. The thought came as a surprise to my mind, and I quashed it immediately, as if it might slip out of my mouth and be overheard by the minotaur guards who were now milling around the dinner parlor. They had provided security blankets for Olive and the dinner guests, who were all seated together on the far side of the room, in a corner under a window. It’s one thing to take one if it’s handed to you, but asking for one would be a pretty wimpy thing for a grown mare to do, let alone for a soldier like me. I apparently didn’t merit inclusion among the victims, so no minotaur came to me with a blanket. In fact, I hadn’t been spoken to or even approached by any of the city guards combing through the scene; just Mint Zephyr. He had taken my report and asked a few questions after talking to the minotaurs himself, all the while with Plume hovering awkwardly behind him and giving me inscrutable looks without meeting my eyes. I figured the minotaurs regarded me as just another one of Zephyr’s guards, more a part of the scenery than a witness or a potential victim. It made sense, considering how much thought I once spared for the feelings of Equestrian guards before I became one of them. I almost laughed, feeling hollow. Almost nine months now, and I still have to remind myself that I’m a guard, not a civilian. As I sat on my own padded bench, watching Olive with his awfully secure-looking blanket, he broke off his half-hearted conversation and looked at me from across the room. He raised his eyebrows at me with a faint smile and a deep breath, as if to say, “That sure was crazy, huh?” I just shivered and found I couldn’t look at him anymore. Unfortunately, that meant I had to acknowledge my companion on the bench, Elena. We were sitting at opposite ends, almost facing opposite directions, she seemingly doing her best to ignore my presence, same as I was. Her posture was impeccable and her face solemn, eyes closed. She showed no sign that she had noticed me looking her way, which I was really glad of. I wasn’t in any mood for conversation, either—at least, not with her. Still, I couldn’t completely ignore her, and I couldn’t help suspecting that she was trying hard to ignore me, too. I would have just gotten up to leave, but I really had nowhere at all to go. I. . . wasn’t ready to face Olive just yet. Urgh. Thinking about the tension just made it worse. I had to say something, I realized, only now I couldn’t think of anything to say. “That sure was crazy, huh?” Yeah, right. If I had to speak up, it might as well be about something useful. The fact that Elena not only knew enough about poison to save Chintz’s life, but also had everything on hand she needed to do it, was the last straw for me; I didn’t buy Elena’s schtick. There’s no way someone so. . . convenient could actually exist. She knows everything, she’s better at saving Olive’s life than me, and right after we hear so much about how great she is she just shows up out of the blue? No way. I was watching her from now on. For now, though. . . . “So, what did you say the poison was? Monkey’s Head?” Elena turned her head to look at me, still expressionless. “Monkey’s Hood. It’s a flower that grows in the Green Valley, east of Minos. The powdered root is one of the oldest poisons known to minotaur-kind. I recognized the symptoms, so it was the first poison I tested for.” “And you just happened to have the stuff with you to test it and cure it?” I asked, trying not to come off as too suspicious. She gave a subtle nod. I realized she hadn’t once looked me straight in the eyes. That might be a guilty conscience, or it could just be a servant thing, I guessed. “I keep a supply of enchanted charcoal powder,” she went on, “made in Equestria. It works as a base for a number of antidotes. The rest I can make do with using ordinary kitchen ingredients.” Seriously? It was pretty obvious I knew nothing about poisons or antidotes, so if Elena was lying to me, she’d know there’s no way I could call her out on it. The smart thing to do would be to ask her to teach me all about it, under the excuse of being a better bodyguard, but I decided it was high time I put a leash on my big mouth and its endless questions before it got too far out of wing. With the election happening tomorrow and everything getting crazier and crazier, I couldn’t afford to spend even a few hours playing in the kitchen with Elena. And, of course, I didn’t trust her not to take the opportunity to shut me up with some misplaced nightshade or something. “Oh, it was such a terrible accident! I didn’t see what she was doing until it was too late to stop her, and there wasn’t enough oregano in the cupboard to make an antidote! But don’t fret too much, Ambassador. Here, have some of my totally-unsuspicious tea and cheer up!” “May I ask you a question, Miss Dust?” “Huh?” I started, looking back up from my hooves to see Elena watching me again, or maybe still. I guess I had just let our last conversation trail off completely. “Oh. Sure,” I said. Elena pursed her eyebrows curiously. “Do you know how Princess Celestia learned of Ambassador Laurel’s disappearance so quickly? Her message to the embassy was the first indication any of us here had that anything was wrong. Many here are curious how she came to know of it first, before anyone else.” I blinked. My brain was still in paranoia mode, so I had to clamp down on the automatic internal debate of whether or not it was safe to tell her anything. That’s how we become Plume, by overthinking things. Besides, it wasn’t my job to think. Apparently. Once I was back in control of my brain, it took me another moment to shift gears to remember if I even knew the answer to her question. Thankfully, Elena waited patiently for my response, and I totally played it off like I spent the entire pause productively. “Um. . . . I don’t think I ever heard. Just that she got a tip about it.” I really hoped that wasn’t supposed to be a secret. I collapsed back into silence. Without the paranoia, it turned out there wasn’t anything to distract me from. . . . Chintz convulsing on the floor. The look of fear in Olive’s eyes. Elena’s cold reminder that my part was over, because I already failed at my one job. Oh yeah, I was a dumb foal who never thought to check for poison, or even so much as tour Olive’s floor to know where anything is. Instead, I just sat at the table the whole time and chatted like any other dinner guest. Dumb luck had been a better bodyguard to Olive than me, and it could just as easily betray him next time. Next time. . . . I squinted hard, and quickly and casually rubbed my eyes. I realized I couldn’t remember if Elena had said anything more after I last spoke. I went on not looking up at her, though. Whether she was already done talking or she got the hint, either way I wouldn’t have to face her. We could both go on pretending I hadn’t come so close to crying. Some ponies, however, are better at picking up hints than others. A familiar ache in my spine coincided perfectly with the arrival of Corporal Plumage, approaching from an angle that bothered me, somehow. “You doing alright?” he asked. I felt an urge to snap at him, but after a glance at his blank, insufferably innocent expression, I realized there wasn’t anything there to snap at. No pity or concern, only mild curiosity; not quite impatience for the niceties to be over, but almost. I sighed and slumped back into a slouch. He wasn’t worth the effort. Plume may have the worst timing and judgment for a situation like this, but I’ll admit, I was glad it was him and not Olive, or even anyone else. Plume’s complete lack of social sensitivity was exactly what I needed right now. That emotional rebound gave me the opportunity I needed to take a deep breath and re-focus my thoughts. I looked up at Plume, just for an instant. “Yeah. I just have to. . . .” I trailed off as my search for something to say came up short. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elena back in her patient repose, apparently ignoring us. “. . .I need to stand up and get moving.” I tipped forward off the bench to land on my hooves, and trotted away past Plume, who gave me a funny look before following alongside me. We passed the kitchen, where I glimpsed the dinner guests’ goats packed together under the watchful eyes of two minotaur guards in their ear-curtain things, with their iron clubs slung from colored sashes around their waists. Next to the kitchen doorway, Mint Zephyr and another embassy guard were wrapping up a conversation with another minotaur in a fancier sash. I met Zephyr’s eyes as I kept on walking past him. “Not quite your show yet, I guess?” I asked Plume. His posture slumped a little as he walked. “I still don’t even know how I’m supposed to fit into anything. Mint Zephyr’s a lieutenant, and I’m just a corporal. I’ve barely met any of the ponies I’m supposed to be leading now, and I have no leadership training or experience, so he’s still going to be running everything, even if it’s through me. We figure, for now, I’ll just sit in on meetings and he’ll run his decisions by me. There’s absolutely no procedure for something like this! We haven’t even figured out which one of us is supposed to sign the paperwork, since he’s still the senior officer. It’s a good thing no one died at this dinner, or we might have had a real problem with the reports!” I shot Plume a mean look while he wasn’t looking. Ah, feeling annoyed with Plume. There’s a feeling I know how to deal with. It really was almost therapeutic, in a strange way. That said, I was a bit bewildered by his outpouring of emotions. I had never known him to express himself this much, and it was slightly off-putting. He really likes to bottle this stuff all up, doesn’t he? My frown turned more contemplative. He was looking back over his shoulder at the lieutenant, who was supervising while minotaurs crated up bowls of yogurt. I noticed that we had both slowed down a bit, so I picked up the pace again, and Plume hurried to follow when he noticed the change. I really didn’t have anywhere in mind to go, and I didn’t think the minotaurs wanted us leaving, but I needed to get away from Elena and my own thoughts for a bit. “I was worried about how he would take it, having to answer to a corporal,” Plume went on, hardly checking if I was even listening. “He just rolled with it, all business and setting out what needs to be done. Under the surface, though, he’s got to be frustrated about it, right? He’s just a career officer who’s too professional to let it show. I know he’s confused, though. There are so many ways this whole thing doesn’t make any sense.” Suddenly, he let out an exasperated grunt. “I hate this! I can’t be a real guard because I’m stuck as a figurehead, just following the lieutenant around and sometimes pretending that I’m in charge!” I gave a wan smile, looking away. It was weirdly gratifying to think about someone else’s troubles, instead of my own. “Thinking you’re important but finding out you’re really not? I think it’s starting to become a theme.” Plume grimaced. “I’m sure it’s all meant to train me to lead later on or something. But why he couldn’t just send me back for real officer training, or, hay, just leave me in Canterlot and pick an actual officer to come here instead. . . . It’s just—Why am I even here? None of it’s logical, unless there’s a lot more going on here than I can realistically imagine.” “You were probably right on the first one,” I said with a shrug. “Olive’s just wise and all-knowing, and he has some big master plan that involves you taking a crash course in wearing the commander’s hat. I think you’re worrying too much; unless Olive is just plain crazy, he picked you for a good reason. It’s just too much for our small minds to comprehend. We get enough to worry about just trying to do our jobs, anyway.” Oh look, there are those worries about my job again. I started pacing even faster, and Plume fell behind for a moment before catching up again, looking bemused for a brief moment at my sudden rush. I was starting to feel the same way about this walk I was leading us on, to be perfectly honest; there really wasn’t all that much in the way of open space for us to walk through, and I was noticing more and more looks our way as we passed various knots of minotaurs and ponies. I supposed I should probably ask someone in charge if we were free to go, but I really didn’t feel comfortable leaving Olive behind right now. While I was busy trying to plan a route through the room that didn’t make us look like idiots with nothing better to do, Plume was just watching the floor in front of him, seemingly sunk deep in thought. As we walked past Olive for the second time, however, Plume leaned in and spoke softly. “. . .Do you ever think he might be?” he asked seriously. “Huh?” Our conversation was already completely out of my mind. “Olive Branch,” Plume clarified, eyes shifting around. “Do you ever wonder if he really knows what he’s doing with things like this? Like putting me in charge?” “You kidding?” I frowned, first in scorn, but then in thought. My immediate reflex had been to defend Olive, but when I thought about it, I realized I had never really been given much reason to do so. Sure, I had already been through a lot with him, even in just a week, but I couldn’t say I really knew him, especially as a professional and a leader over more than just me and Plume. All his decisions had worked out when it was just the three of us flying to Minos, but that really wasn’t enough to earn the quick trust for him that I had just felt flaring up. What if he wasn’t actually some kind of genius? What if he was capable of making dumb decisions? Plume went on, seeing that I had doubts. “I don’t mean that he’s, like, diagnosable with something. But. . . sometimes I have to wonder if his. . . eccentricity runs a lot deeper than we thought. Like, why do you think he put me in charge before we were even in the elevator? He didn’t know anything about Lieutenant Zephyr or the rest of his security here when he gave the order to have him replaced. I’ve been trying all day to think of secret reasons he might have, what this might do for his ‘master plan’, but it still all boils down to two possibilities: either the question of who’s in charge just isn’t important to him and it doesn’t matter if I’m a good choice or not, or it all came down to the fact that he knows me, and he doesn’t know Mint Zephyr. If that’s true, then he either doesn’t trust anyone who was on staff here when the old ambassador died, or he just hates working with strangers or something. Or I guess he might actually see me as some kind of ‘chosen one’, destined to lead embassy security to greatness.” “The Princess trusts him,” I pointed out, trying not to open the can of worms that was the mostly-redundant letter she wrote to Olive earlier this afternoon. If I started doubting the Princesses, where would it stop? “Maybe she doesn’t really know him. I don’t know!” Plume stopped and turned to face me, and I stopped as well. “I’m not trying to convince you or anything; I really don’t know what to think! I’m terrible at this stuff! Part of me is sure that Lieutenant Zephyr is having these thoughts, but I’m always afraid that I’m wrong about people, and this time it’s too important to just ignore. I want to know if you see anything in this, too, or if I’m just imagining things. What do you think?” I recoiled a little from Plume’s sudden earnestness. No one had ever looked to me for advice or affirmation like this before, except for flying tips, maybe. I really wasn’t sure how to handle it. So I just stood there blinking at him for a bit, hoping my brain would start moving again sometime soon. I was bailed out, however, by the arrival of Inigo Navarro, the merchant with the adventure stories. He came up behind Plume, his security blanket discarded somewhere. “Corporal Dust?” he asked. Even watching him approach, I was still startled by the address. “Yes?” Plume seemed to be a bit startled, too, his head whipping around to look up as Inigo stepped past him. “I wanted to express my appreciation for your quick action earlier tonight,” Inigo continued. He stepped past Plume and extended a hand towards my face, palm open to the side and fingers all pointing at me. I stared at his hand, completely at a loss for what it meant. Maybe it was a hoofshake? Hesitantly, I extended a hoof, and was mildly relieved but still a little uncomfortable when he grasped it with his hand and gave it a little downwards bob. “Who knows how things might have gone if you hadn’t taken charge of the situation?” he said. I started to stammer incoherently. For some reason, the idea that someone might thank me for what just happened filled me with panic. Behind Inigo, Plume was watching the two of us silently, looking slightly wrongfooted. Finally, I managed to get out, “Um. . . . Thanks and all, but. . . if I had really been doing my job, I would’ve caught the poisoner before they ever got to the dinner.” Inigo waved a hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. If that blame belongs to anyone, it’s to our own constabulary,” he said, tilting his head towards a pack of minotaur guards to his right. He eyed them, and lowered his voice just a bit. “They had to have been aware of the ongoing threat of danger to the Equestrian Embassy.” He narrowed his eyes at the guards. “Don’t you feel guilty, lass.” I was still busy flushing from shame, so I wasn’t really paying attention, and I didn’t notice that Plume had re-inserted himself into conversation until he spoke. “You think they knew something about this and didn’t stop it?” he asked Inigo, who seemed somewhat surprised at his presence. Inigo held up a hand. “I didn’t say that. What I mean is that if they had half the honor you Equestrian guards do, they should step up to protect the ambassador just as eagerly. Instead, they ignored you until they got they were directly summoned.” Paying attention again, my eyes wandered back to the pack of Minoan guards gathered around the dinner table. Can we not even trust guards here? I spared another glance for Plume, who was glaring sullenly at the same minotaurs. Absently, he raised a hoof to adjust the fit of his helmet. Gradually, I became aware of Inigo watching us with a small smile. I looked up at him with some indignation. “What?” “Sorry, lass. I was just thinking about how nice a place Equestria really is.” Behind him, Plume turned his attention back to us. “Living there, you never have to worry about keeping your trading partners happy, and you never imagine that a fellow wearing a uniform may not be living up to it. I imagine it’s easy to see the best in folks when you’re used to everyone being friendly. A lot of creatures out here envy you for that life, you know.” I frowned. “Creatures like Gonzalo, or everyone else?” I asked in a measured tone, and Inigo frowned back, but Plume just raised an eyebrow at me quizzically. He’s probably wondering why the mood just shifted. After staring me down for a few heartbeats, Inigo shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you, myself. If a bull like him held such feelings, I’m sure I wouldn’t hear about it. Mind who you’re so bold with, though, lass. We minotaurs aren’t accustomed to voicing our true thoughts so directly. You’ll likely make more enemies than friends talking like that. Just a word of advice.” With that, he turned and left, only to be replaced by Lieutenant Zephyr, walking up from behind. “The minotaurs are done here,” he said, talking to me as much as to Plume. “They’ll finish packing up the evidence and then clear out. I’m going to release the guests and the ambassador now. That is, with your permission,” he added with a nod to Plume. “Yes, s— Uh. . . . Go ahead.” Plume nodded awkwardly back, and the two of them shuffled in place a bit. Sweet Celestia, the air between them is going to discharge lightning. “So,” I asked, holding back a chuckle, “Who am I supposed to salute in this scenario?” Plume actually scrunched his nose up in thought, but Mint just rolled his eyes and waved a hoof. “You’re dismissed, Corporal. Report to the ambassador before you go. Check that his quarters are secure, if you want. I— we’ll post some extra night-shifters just to be sure, but you go settle in and rest. You’ve had a long day.” Don’t I know it. I turned decidedly toward Mint and gave him a salute, offered something between a shrug and a nod to Plume, and went on my way, feeling a little happier just from seeing Plume’s last, miserable expression. As I walked away, however, some old, I noticed a small, sour feeling in my mind, as if some old, forgotten part of me was offended at something. I examined it more closely, and found it was directed at Zephyr. No . . . not just him; it started when I was talking to Inigo. He was comforting me like a foal! Olive noticed my hesitance in approaching him and his minotaur friends, and excused himself to leave them and meet me halfway, his blanket still over his wings. “How’s that for a first day?” he joked with an easy grin. I rolled my eyes, only taking a little care to hide the gesture and maintain a professional demeanor for everyone else in the room. “The minotaur guards are done, and Lieutenant Zephyr is coming to clear the guests to go home,” I reported. “Sounds good. Did they find anything useful in their investigation?” “Not that they shared with me,” I answered. “But then, I’m just the bodyguard, not a detective.” Olive watched me in silence for a moment, while I looked sullenly elsewhere, before he spoke. “Lightning Dust, I give you my permission to think freely.” That caused my ears to twitch, and I looked back to see him with a hoof raised as if in benediction, his face a picture of mock solemnity. “. . . Huh?” I replied, full of dignity. Olive’s hoof dropped back to the floor. “Do you think I made you my bodyguard because you’re big and scary?” he asked. I just blinked at him, speechless. “Believe it or not, but you’re the best mare for the job!” I had no answer for that. At least, none that I could bring myself to say aloud. My expression must have given my thoughts on that statement away, though, and Olive seemed perfectly happy doing all the talking in that conversation. “I could tell you why,” he said after that pause, “but you don’t need to hear it. You’re already on the right track; you just need practice.” We stared each other down for a moment, as around us the dinner guests began to stir and shuffle their way out of the parlor. Olive’s optimism was frustrating! With an honest-to-Celestia wink, Olive Branch turned away and started trotting down the hall to his apartments. I fell into step behind him, still tongue-tied and internally fuming at his never-ending, condescending, self-righteous optimism. Behind us, the parlor stirred back into activity as all the minotaurs began filing out. With an abrupt change of tone (and topic), he started speaking again. “They tell me that Chintz will be fine and dandy in a few days. Did you hear?” he asked, twisting his neck to look back at me. “. . . Yeah,” I grunted. The deputy ambassador had been carted away first thing, but not before he had time to come to and puke his (thankfully-figurative) guts out all over the hardwood floor. Luckily the job of cleaning it up hadn’t fallen to me. I half-expected Elena to see to it, but she actually left it for the embassy’s cleaning staff, after the minotaur investigators got everything they presumably needed from it, I assumed. “Have you thought of any ideas for the security situation around here?” Olive went on. “Any plans before the election tomorrow?” I thought of the mental checklist of things that I should have done that had run through my head when Elena was helping Sir Chintzendale. A lot of the time waiting for help to arrive had been spent expanding on that list—anything to avoid facing the roiling wall of emotions left in the dinner’s wake. “Yeah,” I said again, simply. I figured Olive would pick up on all the stuff I left unsaid. “Well,” Olive said, after allowing enough time for my unspoken elaborations to pass, “tomorrow’s a big day. Don’t forget to rest up. You’re coming with me to the election, and I need you at your best.” We were at the end of the hall, and he opened the door to his rooms to step inside. He stopped partway, however, and looked me in the eye. He held my gaze for a moment, then sighed. “Plenty of soldiers in the guard were fit to make the flight down here, Dust.” I squinted at him, unsure where he was going with this. “I didn’t want a soldier. And it’s not just me, either—you came highly recommended.” I stared at him, blinking, struck dumb. Finally, he cracked a tired smile, nodded, and turned back to his room, closing the door behind him. “Goodnight, Lightning Dust.” Alone in the hall, I stood staring at Olive’s door, my mind a whirlwind. What the hay was that supposed to mean? Recommended? For a few more moments, I paced agitatedly in front of the door, ranting under my breath with everything that I wanted to say to Olive’s face. Eventually, though, I gave it up, feeling spent. The more I tried to hate Olive Branch, the more it felt like he wasn’t really the one I was angry with, and that wasn’t a line of thought I felt like following any further. I took a deep, shaky breath, and started heading back to the elevator, forcing myself to think about my security plans. I knew none of it was going to happen, though. Aside from Olive being right about being ready for the election tomorrow, I couldn’t bear the thought of working any more tonight. I wanted nothing more in the world than to curl up under a blanket until this night was over. By the kitchen, I passed two embassy guards heading the opposite direction, on their way to post outside his door, no doubt, as Zephyr had said. Two more were posted at the elevator doors, and they let me through with no challenge. I kept my face neutral and avoided eye contact until I was through the doors, more from instinct than from the discipline the other guards showed. When the doors closed behind me, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Suddenly, I was fighting back tears. Pull it together, Lightning! You’re no foal, you’re no wimp. You’re not even a civilian anymore! You don’t cry, and you don’t freeze up and hide from random ponies! You’re better than that. You’re strong. Now get a hold of yourself before those doors open, unless you want the entire security floor to see you crying like a child! Frantically, I tried to calm my breathing and wipe my face. I could only hope desperately that my eyes weren’t too red as the elevator chimed and the doors slid open. Of course, the third floor was abuzz with activity, even at this sun-forsaken hour. Security ponies stood whispering in corners and doorways, or else strode down the halls purposefully, some armored and some not. Without warning, Mint Zephyr rounded a corner ahead of me alongside a sergeant levitating a clipboard, heading swiftly for the elevator I was just exiting. Panicked, I pointedly looked away as he passed, praying he wouldn’t notice the state I was in and not seeing if he even cared. I made my own way past him through the halls toward my quarters, hoping that I was only imagining the looks coming from every side as I went. I realized briefly that I hadn't seen Plume anywhere in the halls, but dismissed the thought. Small blessings. I pushed through the door into my room, and froze mid-step as another occupant lifted her head from the bunk on the far wall. Oh, yeah. Bunkmate. Horseapples. We locked eyes for one tortuously-long moment in the light of a desk lamp, and I knew she saw the redness of my eyes and face for what they were. Steeling my expression, I swept over to my own bunk. Whatever. It’s not like I managed to hide it from the whole floor on my way here. I can ignore her, too. She’s no different. I flung myself into my own bunk on the right, and immediately regretted not stripping off my armor first. Cheeks burning with shame, though, I refused to move again after wrapping myself tightly in the sheets. I could feel her eyes still on me, and the silence was growing tense. We both knew neither of us was going to be sleeping soon. The armor was growing unbearable, however, so, grudgingly, I began unlatching pieces under the bedcovers, and pushing them out one-by-one over the edge of the bunk with as much dignity as I could muster. The other mare took the hint and stretched over to switch off the light without saying a word, which allowed me to sit up to properly take off the larger pieces of armor under the cover and privacy of darkness. Finally naked, I flopped back down on the bunk in a more comfortable, sustainable position, then immediately began tossing and turning, wrestling with the sheets that had been mussed by a grown mare in full armor diving into them heedlessly. Finding a passable configuration, I finally settled down to sleep . . . . . . . Or to be left alone with my thoughts, with no remaining distractions. What do you think of me now, Spitfire? Huh? Are you impressed? Remember how many records I broke? Think of how many more I’d beat if I joined the team now! I snorted a laugh under my breath. The Wonderbolts. The “best of the best”. But at what, exactly? Flying in formations and setting limits, just like everybody else. Just like the Parade Corps, just like the rest of the Royal Guard. Just like the lame-o flight coaches at foal camp, even. Can you imagine me going back to try for the Wonderbolts after all this? I rolled over to my other side, facing the wall. I don’t even care, I realized. The Wonderbolts just . . . don’t seem important anymore. I frowned to myself. When did that happen? I mean . . . I’ve been telling myself that ever since I left, but now it just feels natural to say. I flipped onto my back, staring up at the dark ceiling. It’s not that I care more about this embassy stuff, I thought. It’s not even that I really think they’re somehow beneath me. So what is it? I didn’t have to look far for that answer. I’m never going to be a pro flyer, I realized with a pang. A sour feeling crept into my stomach, and my eyes welled up with tears anew. Even if I leave the Guard, it’ll be too late. Oh, I know ponies do go into sports later in life than this, but not the Wonderbolts. They’re flyers for life. Even if I could go home now and get back into shape, though, I don’t think I could try it all again. I had my one shot, I admitted to myself. And I missed it. I bucked it up. Fumbled it! Let it slip away like an idiot filly dropping her puppy on a cloud and then waiting for it to miraculously pop back out! I’m an idiot filly, and somehow this whole Minos . . . thing . . . made me accept that my dream is dead! And that’s why I hate Olive Branch, I reflected, as an afterthought. The cloud burst, and I started sobbing into my pillow. I heard a rustle from across the small room, as my Earth Pony roommate lifted her head again to look my way. I held my breath, daring her to say something, and praying that she go back to pretending at least one of us was asleep. After what felt like half an hour, she actually did speak. “Hey. You’re the one the ambassador picked to be his bodyguard, yeah?” I didn’t answer. I could get away with ignoring that one. “Say what you want, but you haven’t let your ambassador die yet.” She settled back onto her pillow, letting out a ragged, shaky breath. “That’s more than the rest of us can say.”