//------------------------------// // O Captain! My Captain! // Story: The Rains of Vanhoover // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// Violent spatters of rain pounded a stuttering rhythm upon Susan’s chainmail reinforced canopy. The heavy fog poured over the side of the cliff and was pushed downward, where it collided with the warm air far below and was obliterated. Nut found that he was perfectly content to stand still and spend a little time enjoying the beautiful sight. The fog was almost like a liquid as it flowed over the side and then was torn apart by the swirling eddies caused by warm ocean-born currents. It was mesmerising, and a weather phenomenon unique to Vanhoover.  “We made friends.”  “Verily. We did make friends, Tater.”  “Except for Doctor Tripper. Well, I made friends with Doctor Tripper. I don’t think he likes you, Nut.”  “But he likes you, so we have that going for us.”  “Do you really think I have some kind of passive magical ability, Nut?”  “You might.” Nut felt as though he should choose his words carefully, but the right thing to say didn’t come to mind. The words he settled for felt inadequate somehow. “That might be the case. ‘Tis best to not jump to conclusions. It could just be that you are growing.”  Together, the master and apprentice peered over the rail to watch the fog below.  “Is we makin’ good money, Nut? See, I don’t even know. Makes me feel all insecure and such. We just got paid, and I s’pose I should be real happy ‘bout that, but it just makes me think ‘bout just how little I know. I feel stupid. When I feel stupid, I can’t be happy. ‘Cause I feel stupid. So I gotta feel smart again afore I can be happy.”  Tight-lipped, Nut turned to face his apprentice so that he could look her in the eye. “When I left home, I barely understood money. It was difficult to learn and adjust. I went from having everything to having nothing. My parents never taught me about money management because there wasn’t a need for it. I felt stupid too… but please, do not think yourself as such. Just inexperienced.”  “So did we do well?” she asked, eager to know.  “Our combined pay from that one trip is more than the average factory worker’s monthly wages,” he said in a low voice that was devoid of feeling. “I actually feel conflicted getting paid so much for doing what seems like so little. Something about this bothers me. I fear it shall take me awhile to come to terms with things like wages. It just feels unfair that I am paid so much while others are paid so little. There are so many factors. Education and such. I understand those things… but to experience them… I fear I don’t know what to make of them. The state of inequality in the world feels so much more pronounced right now.”  Tater Blossom started to say something, her mouth opened enough to reveal her broad teeth, but whatever words she had on the tip of her orange tongue failed her. She swayed a little, endured the silence, and tongue tied, she cast her gaze over the rail. Nut tried to imagine what she might be feeling, but it was impossible for him to tell. Did he say something that upset her? He didn’t know, and found himself in a fretful state as he attempted to discern her mood.  “I didn’t mean to spoil your good mood, if I did.”  “You didn’t, Nut. And don’t think that you did. You did just give me something to think about, and that’s made me all the more grateful for what I have. For what we have? Feels like I don’t know how to talk no more. I like havin’ stuff to think about, even if thinkin’ ‘bout it gives me the hungries.”  He almost said something, but didn’t. Doctor Honclbrif had planted curious seeds with his suggestions and ideas, and now it seemed there would be lingering questions. Everything would seem suspicious, a possible cause, or a factor that might be evidence of magic. It was just the sort of thing that truly annoyed Nut, because puzzles had to be sorted out, lest he go mad pondering them.  “Peppercorn was nice,” she said, and her interjection changed the subject. “He’s a bit like you, Nut.”  “He is.” Nut nodded his agreement. “Canterlot noble. Old blood. Refined. Good breeding. Real shame about the family situation. They wanted a wizard to extend the fame of their bloodline and wound up with a gunsmith.”  Tater let heave a mighty snort, pawed the ground with her hoof, and tossed her head around. “Seems like some families just get it in their heads that their foals have to be this, or be that, and if things don’t turn out as planned, they just get all sour about it. Like my family and how they done treat me. I’m glad he found ponies that appreciate him. He’s a nice fellow.”  Nut’s mind politely brought up the fact that Peppercorn Bluemark was just about the same age as Tater Blossom. The thought alarmed him for some reason, though he could not say why, and he resigned himself to keep a wary eye on the colt in the future. Peppercorn was charming, a smooth talker, a real suave and sophisticated fellow for his age. A somewhat dangerous colt with a rather dangerous job. Everything about this bothered Nut, but the reason why remained elusive.  It was far too windy to float down to the Lower City. Too dangerous. While he could probably afford to take a lift to go down, his frugal nature balked at the very idea. Plus, there was the absurdity of riding a lift so that one might go down. One expected to be elevated upon a lift. As much as he didn’t want to take the stairs, they were free and a little exercise might do them both some good. He turned his face into the warm breeze and enjoyed the pleasant heat upon his cheeks.  “My apologies, Tater, but I fear we shall have to descend the stairs…”    Beneath a sky that was the colour of neglected iron, Nut stared at the spot where there was no longer a bridge. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, on the landing, which offered an incredible view of the Lower City, and the bridge that connected Anvil Island to the mainland was gone. Powerful gusts of wind tugged on his umbrella and tossed his mane about while he stared at the immense empty space that offered nothing to look at but the ocean.  “The bridge is gone,” said Tater Blossom, who stated the obvious.  “Indeed. It most certainly is.”  “I remember it being there.”  “Verily. ‘Twas.”  “So where’d it go, Nut?”  “Off on an adventure, as bridges are wont to do, Tater.” “That was a huge bridge, Nut. Mighta been too big to go on an adventure.”  “Evidence suggests otherwise, my apprentice. One wonders where a two-hundred and fifty foot span of bridge goes when it decides it is time for a sabbatical.”  The two ponies gawked at one another, with wide-eyed exaggerated faces, with both making extraordinary attempts to outdo the other. Tater Blossom was silly-serious, while Nut was just seriously silly. Other ponies stopped on the landing; some did to catch their breath, others had to have a look at the missing bridge, while still others watched Nut and Tater Blossom make faces at one another.  “It collapsed,” a nearby earth pony said. “Just the day before yesterday. It gave a cry, screeched a bit, and then took a tumble into the sea. Took plenty of wagons down with it. Was quite a sight.”  “Wow,” was Tater Blossom’s subdued exclamation.  “Wow, indeed,” Nut echoed, and then he added, “oh, bother and blast, how will we get home?”  “The ferry has raised its fares,” the earth pony said to Nut.  “Of course it has.” He offered a passive, resigned nod. “Why wouldn’t it?”  “I’d get there before the shift change,” the earth pony suggested. “Fares go up the highest then, and the lines are longest.”  “Dirty pool,” Nut muttered. “Come, my apprentice. We must be going. Let us endure this nonsense. Thank you, kindly stranger.”  “Don’t mention it,” the earth pony replied. “Good luck getting home…”    It was of the utmost importance to remain dignified at all times, at all costs, in every conceivable situation. Such as now. Nut made for a jaunty captain for his tiny craft, the E.S.S. Susan. For he was such a jaunty captain that he did not look at all ridiculous as he sailed across the channel in his umbrella. Tater Blossom on the other hoof, had a little trouble; her nervous anxiety robbed her of her dignified poise. She peered over the edge of Susan’s canopy at the choppy water with wide, anxious eyes that darted about in every conceivable direction.  “Tater, wave at the nice ponies who so rudely stare,” he suggested.  “Uh, no,” she moaned in return. “How’d I let you talk me into this?”  “We’re too light to sink.” When his words failed to reassure, he took to whistling instead, which he supposed was the sort of thing that dignified, jaunty sea captains did whilst piloting their craft. He adjusted his wind gust spell just a bit, until he was satisfied that he was on course.  Why, he could see the library from here, the front door of which was right next to the ferry stop. The door he seldom used. He much prefered the rear entrance, the one on Carriage Row Lane. It felt good to be home, though he was apprehensive. Now that he was home, it meant sorting things out with Black Maple, and that was bound to be a chore. Perhaps he’d avoid her for a while, or simply be elsewhere. Or busy. Busy was good.  “Ain’t right, Nut. Sailin’ in an umbrella. This ain’t natural. How do you talk me into these things?”  Distraught, the filly leaned against Nut while she kept her eyes affixed upon the choppy water that surrounded them. She moaned, a wordless sound, then whimpered her disapproval of the unscheduled voyage at sea. Her deer beanie sat askew and her short, bobbed mane bounced fetchingly against her head. While Nut whistled, her state of adorable distress continued unabated.  “Just think of the bits we’re saving,” Nut suggested.  “Nuh-uh.” She shook her head. “I think I saw a fish, Nut.”  “Well,” he replied in a dry, dignified deadpan, “we do sail upon the ocean blue. Fish are to be expected.”  “The water is more green than blue and smells worse than an outhouse basement.”  “Just a moment longer, First Mate Tater. We’re almost to Anvil Island. Hold still. Don’t rock the boat.”  “This ain’t no boat, Nut… and that’s my problem…”    Dry land. Solid firmament. This was a precious natural resource that earth ponies held dear to their hearts. Who knew they held it in such high regard? Nut watched as Tater pranced and pronked about in short, tight circles. She flicked her tail, whipped it about, all while she snorted and wickered in gleeful relief. As he gave Susan a quick laundering with magic, he could hear his apprentice as she muttered to herself, with promises that she’d never leave dry land ever again.  This was a promise that could not be kept; the bridge was out, and would be for the foreseeable future. Surely, they would board an airship again. Soon. In just a few weeks. She had such indescribable joy, his apprentice, and he could not help but be entertained by her actions. Canterlot ponies, for the most part, did not behave this way, and Nut himself was rather reserved. But to watch her as she cut loose left him happy in odd ways that could not be put into words.  Steam rose from Susan as she rapidly dried.  Tater Blossom pronked and pranced with the sort of grace that poets wrote sonnets about. She was a hefty, solid filly—Nut knew from experience—and yet she moved with an impossible lightness. He too could move with an impossible lightness, but he used magic to do it, a magic that he himself did not fully understand. Which made him wonder about Tater Blossom’s potential magic.  Perhaps sheer joy gave her buoyancy.  A part of him wondered how happiness evolved. Why did it evolve? What purpose could it serve for survival? For that matter, why have a means to be conscious of misery? Even worse, sapient creatures were cursed with awareness—consciousness. They worried about happiness and misery, which only compounded the problem. Why evolve this way? How did it benefit survival? What made these emotions and the awareness of these emotions necessary?  Whilst he stood there, with profound thoughts about happiness, it occurred to him that he was happier with Black Maple than without her. She challenged him—a near constant state of challenge—and something about that made him happy. But why though? Some ponies liked challenge. Certain special ponies thrived on it and needed it for their lives to have some semblance of meaning. Which brought him back to thoughts of self-awareness, consciousness, and why things evolved the way they did. Why evolve such complex needs and what purpose did they serve for furthering the species?  What might Pod say if she were here and saw him lost in thought?    The garage was in quite a state of disarray. Nut hissed though bared teeth at the sight of four wagons all in dire need of repair. Different parts of each of them were broken, yokes, axles, and wheels. But they all had one thing in common; each of them appeared to have been pulled up from the bottom of the ocean. There were still bits of kelp and watery weedy bits that Nut did not recognise. One had a wooden body, which had fared rather well, but the doors were gone. He suspected the doors had been smashed to free the occupants, who might have been trapped inside.  “Welcome back, Nut. I suppose you know about the bridge.”  “Indeed, I do. How are things, Ethelred?”  “Well, things were kind of bad there for a time, but then you returned. There is a lot of work to be done. We have four wagons to repair, and another half-dozen more in other locations that we don’t have room for at the moment.” The griffon reached up, scratched at his crest, and then flicked some debris from his feathers. “By the way, the boss is real pleased with how you handled the Marjoram job. Also, most of our wrenchers quit. In fact, it’s just you and I.”  “Oh.” Nut had plenty more to say, but most of it wasn’t nice. “Some couldn’t get to work, and others, well, for others, there’s just too much work. The unpleasant kind of work. With the bridge gone and this”—Ethelred gestured at the wrecked wagons—“I suppose the others went off in search of greener pastures, as you ponies like you say.”  “Can those even be fixed?” asked Tater Blossom while she gave the wagons a head-tilted stare.  “Yeah.” Ethelred nodded and his feathered crest bounded up and down. “The cab… the one missing the doors, all the glass is broken and the interiour is shot. All the upholstery needs to be ripped out and replaced. It’s going to need a total rebuild… which usually isn’t a big deal. You get a small army and go at it. Only now, that small army is really small… just Nut and I.”  “Nut… Nut, are you gonna be a’ight? Yer lookin’ kinda… outta sorts there, Nut. Like yer ‘bout to start swearin’ until all our ears catch afire.”  “Why would I curse such good fortune,” he found himself saying whilst struggling to hold in a raging torrent of emotion. “Clearly, the universe wishes for me to acquire wealth through my own means, and have no need of family funds. Verily, I am blessed with good fortune.”  “He’s taking it well,” Ethelred remarked. “Look, Miss Blossom. You can barely see his eye twitching.”  “Yeah, I see what you mean. That’s worrisome.”  “Pig swivering whoreson—”  “Oh, there he goes,” Ethelred said whilst he backed away.  “Feculent, foul-breathed felcher of rancid, scabrous, canker-blossomed meat pies!”  “Mister Nut!” Mrs. Oleander’s voice had a hard grittiness to it. “That… that is quite enough. One more word out of you and I will give your mouth a thorough scouring with soap!” She cleared her throat, coughed, and strode forward, closer to Nut. “Welcome back. Did you have a nice trip?”  “Our airship crashed,” Tater Blossom said to Mrs. Oleander.  The stern, prim unicorn narrowed her eyes at Tater Blossom so that she might study her. After a few seconds, Mrs. Oleander scowled, her ears leaned back, and she cast her stern, withering gaze upon Nut, who savagely chewed his lower lip. Tater Blossom’s head began to bob up and down, an enthusiastic endorsement of the truth.  “Is this true?” asked Mrs. Oleander.  Unable to provide a verbal response, Nut nodded.  “Nut, you’re not going to quit, are you?” Mrs. Oleander tilted her head to look up at Nut, who stood a full head and a half taller.  He shook his head from side to side while his teeth threatened to pierce his lower lip.  “I’m sorry that your airship crashed.” Mrs. Oleander’s ears pitched forwards. “Right now seems as good of a time as any to tell you that I am most pleased with how you dealt with our client, Marjoram. She thanked me and told me that you were a tremendous help. You’ve earned a raise, Nut. Be thankful that I am willing to overlook your little slip of the tongue a moment ago.”  “Why thank you, Mrs. Oleander”—Nut’s voice was as creaky as a rusty hinge in need of oil—“that is most kind of you. I look forward to the continued development of our business relationship. How might I serve you better?”  “As of right now, you and Ethelred are management.” The starchy unicorn mare almost smiled at the griffon, who preened with pride. “Ethelred, you are now the Garage Manager. Your word is law. Don’t disappoint me.” Then, she looked up at Nut once more. “As for you… Customer Relations Manager. When you’re not back here in the garage wrenching, I want you to get more experience dealing with customers. Be mindful of the bell when it rings.”  “Does this mean I’m responsible for finding new hires?” asked Ethelred.  “Yes, but ultimately I have the final say,” Mrs. Oleander replied.  “Excuse me.” Nut bowed his head in a polite, apologetic manner. “I am going to stow my belongings upstairs. While there is still daylight, I need to pay a visit to school so that I might drop off a few assignments.” He cast a sullen stare at the wagons, sighed, and shook his head. “I promise that I’ll be back to help sort all of this out.”  “School first.” Mrs. Oleander’s tone was commanding and calm. “And once you have that dealt with, there is a moody, forlorn pegasus in need of your attention, Nut. She’s been here every single day to ask me if you’ve returned. So go and sort that out. Please. She’s so upset that she’s molting. Feathers everywhere. All over my shop floor. Up and down the lane. I’m worried that she might actually pine away into nothing but a mess of feathers.”  “Actually, I was rather hoping I could avoid dealing with that…”    Nut stood alone in his room uncertain of how he felt. Life was now a whirlwind and he was trapped in the chaotic vortex. Since going to the Widowwood, everything now moved at a breakneck pace. So much had changed in so little time. It felt as though the whole of his life was unravelling. While some of the changes were good—great, in fact—he longed for a moment to catch his breath.  This room… wasn’t great.  It hadn’t really bothered him before, but it bothered him now.  Why?  The reasons flitted about in his mind like swirling leaves on treacherous currents. He wanted Pod and Taffy to be able to visit. His parents, too—should they somehow manage to break routine. Beyond survival, there was life, and life was all about living. Which wasn’t the same as surviving. He studied the faded grey wooden planks and dusty old bricks. This room had taught him things. In this very room, he’d discovered some vital aspect of himself. A better pony.  But now it felt as though it was time to move on and learn new things. Whatever lessons life had to teach. He would keep his job here; he liked his job because the menial labour allowed him to think with a relatively clear mind. Mrs. Oleander was more than his boss, she was his friend and something of a teacher. She still had lessons to teach—this room did not.  Owning something meant being responsible for it. Sort of like saving a life. Owning? Was he that far ahead of himself? He considered; rent didn’t seem prudent. While he didn’t plan to stay here forever, he did intend to live here. This was home and he wanted others to enjoy his home with him. But he had no actual home in which they could stay as his guests.  Perhaps that was the next great life lesson.  In Canterlot, it would have been a matter of staying in the family home, of which there were many. Eventually, he would inherent said home, and everything would be provided. Everything—everything—would be provided, every conceivable need would be accounted for. Maids, household staff, servants, furniture, fine art, all the bric-a-brac and garniture of living. Life was all about the miscellaneous bibelots one collected. Hoarded? Canterlot had the finest, most ostentatious gimcracks in the world, little gewgaws that were essentially worthless but oh-so-pleasing to the eye.  And the house would come with so many of them.  But here, he could start with something empty. Something he could make his own. Here he could learn the value of a house that he himself founded—even if he himself did not live out all his days within its walls. Conflict tore at his mind, the distinct sensation of being tugged on in two very different directions. He’d come out here to Vanhoover to evolve, and now, he found himself doing just that. But he evolved in a direction that he hadn’t expected, that he hadn’t counted on. Shelter shaped evolution; this made him think of hermit crabs and small burrowing mammals.  He’d outgrown this shelter.  “Nut? You a’ight?”  He heard Tater Blossom’s hooves on the wooden floorboards behind him.  “Yer just standing there, a-starin’ at the wall. I’ve been peekin’ though the door for the last few minutes. Wanted to ask ya something, but I didn’t want to be rude.”  “Do ask,” he said to her while he turned around to face her.  “Can I come with you on your errands? I wanna see the city. And yer school.”  “Well, I don’t see why not. Plus, we need to talk.” All of his thoughts shifted about in his mind, each of them vying for his undivided attention. Thoughts of his apprentice won out though, as she would benefit from this in ways that could not be seen from his current vantage point. For her to grow, he had to grow as well.  “I like it when we talk. You talk to me, instead of at me. Ma, she talked at me. Pa did too. Though, there were times when he tried to talk to me. But then I’d say something smart and scare him off. I figure it was just easier to talk at me rather than argue about what I said or be scared of whatever it was I had to say.”  Her waxed denim vest with the shearling lining looked fantastic on her. It was still stiff, still new, but with time it would relax a bit. The denim would fade and the wax would lose its shine. Nut found himself looking at her deer beanie, and for reasons unknown to himself, he was proud. Tater Blossom was discovering herself, forging her identity, and now had a certain look about her. He had no doubt that the deer beanie would remained glued to her head until it such a time it was little more than tatters.  “Ready for a walk?” he asked.  “I am.” She bobbed her head with eager agreement. “There’s a bit of sunshine startin’ to peek out, and I wanna make the most of it.”    Professor Sterling Note was a sweating, panting, huffing mess that fought for every breath taken. Yet, even in his current poor condition, he too was charmed by Tater Blossom. Together, they sat in the indoor arboretum, which in another life was a coal crusher for the cannery’s steamworks. Now, it was a peaceful place, with lots of glass held up and supported by skeletal steel struts. The trees—this was an arboretum—were all bonsai trees seen to and tended by fanatical devotees.  It was a peaceful place, and Sterling Note’s suffering stood out.  The older unicorn sat on an ornately carved wooden bench, locked in a struggle to keep his breathing even and regular. Tater Blossom sat on a threadbare blue carpet that had been left in the corner, while Nut sat on a rickety chair that had the most alarming wobble. Surrounded by tiny trees and good company, Nut enjoyed the restorative moment of peace. Sure, the peace wouldn’t last, but peace was valuable because it was always in short supply.  He’d turned in a surplus of material to the professor; some of it happened to be for school, while a good bit of it was his notes about Tater Blossom’s integration into society. All in all, Nut felt rather good about that now, even though he’d hesitated initially. Of course, Tater Blossom wanted all of this documented; she wanted this to happen, and just a while ago had mentioned to Sterling Note how nice it would be to be able to go back and read all of this when she had maturity as well as wisdom to change how she saw things.  Sterling Note pulled out a hankerchief, mopped his brow, and then stuffed it back into a pocket. Tater Blossom watched him, captivated by his every movement, more attentive than any student ever trapped in a lecture hall. And Sterling Note appreciated the filly’s attentiveness; Nut could not help but notice that his professor was quite taken with the young miss.  “Nut… my student”—Professor Sterling Note’s tone had changed and Nut took notice—“we must talk about the seaponies.”  Eyebrow raised, ears pricked, Nut gave his wheezing professor all the attention he deserved. “You mentioned that the last time we met.”  “The situation might be changing a bit.” Sterling Note grew red faced as he battled to hold in a cough. “Nut”—there was a prolonged wheeze—“I’ll not have them exploited. The city council is leaning in hard on the university council. They want us to squeeze the seaponies. There’s a long list of dangerous wants. Such as expanding the fishing territories for the city of Vanhoover. That can’t happen, Nut. The fish aren’t an endlessly renewing resource. Both the city and the seaponies are dependent upon them for sustenance. The city does not understand that the balance is fragile and easily broken.”  Tater Blossom grew solemn.  “As I have mentioned, I can no longer fulfill my role. Right now, the city council is attempting to place their own pony into this situation. A fat, craven idiot that has no understanding of the fragility of the situation. He only understands trade and finances.”  “You need me secure in this position to reassure the respective councils, I presume.”  “Correct.” Sterling Note endured a shuddery inhale, held it for a moment, and then let it out with a laboured, raspy wheeze. “The pet food council wants a tremendous expansion of fishing rights and they don’t particularly care that this will do great harm to the sea ponies. They don’t understand that the seaponies have their own city beneath the sea. That particular council believes the seaponies to be a bunch of wet savages that can just relocate elsewhere.”  “What you need is a biologist that understands the limited resources involved.”  “Spot on, my boy. Always a quick one, Nut. Vanhoover keeps growing. We already strain our own sustainability. I have to retreat from this fight, and I need a replacement I can trust. Can I count on you, Nut? I understand that your life has become a bit complicated, but you are the only pony that I trust with this issue. You’re the only one smart enough to grasp what is truly at stake.”  “I wanna go meet the seaponies.”  Both unicorns turned in unison to look at the earth pony filly, stared at her for a time, and then looked at one another. Nut already knew what his professor was thinking, and from the looks of things, Sterling Note seemed to know that Nut knew. This mutual awareness caused the two of them to spend a prolonged moment reading one another, until both exchanged a nod. Then, the professor pulled out his hankerchief again, mopped his brow, and then stuffed the damp fabric back into a pocket.  “She doesn’t have a pony in this race,” Sterling Note said. “What she does have is her charming viridity. No offense, Nut… but she oozes friendliness in a way that you do not.”  “None taken.” These words came in the form of a sigh from Nut.  “Princess Celestia herself brokered the first treaty between the settlement of Vanhoover and the indiginous tribes of the seaponies.” The professor drew a ragged breath, coughed once, and then continued his scholarly lecture: “That first settlement is now what we call the Lower City. There was a mutual exchange of goods, trade, that allowed everypony to prosper. This prosperity caused some problems though, because Vanhoover grew.  “Through the years, we’ve managed a sort of precarious balance. The University of Vanhoover was made responsible for the maintenance of the treaty, because you need learned, educated ponies to understand what is truly involved here, and not bean counters. This treaty was never about economics, or even trade at its heart, it is about our mutual, shared survival. Well, that and a continued exchange of our most important of resources, knowledge. The scientific and magical data that we share has done much to advance—well, everything. And the moronic bean counters would toss all of this away just to make a profit.”  “So this treaty… does it change?” asked Tater Blossom.  “Occasionally,” was Sterling Note’s strained response. “But for the most part, we agree to keep things the same. The last major change happened about two years ago. We agreed to a full exchange of medical research data. Medical science made a tremendous leap forward. Lots of new medicines were introduced both above and below.”  “So I gotta ask… why let the city get involved at all?” Tater Blossom leaned in and waited for an answer.  “Politics, my girl.” The professor shuddered for a moment, didn’t cough, and somehow managed to smile. “The city is threatening the university with all of the usual threats. Promises of detrimental bureaucracy, withholding funding, causing headaches, all the typical dimwittery that bean counters like to inflict upon others.”  “So why work with them at all?” The young filly’s forehead creased with concentration.  “Because… we need them. To a certain degree.” Sterling Note slumped over. “We need them. For now, we fend them off with vague promises of how the knowledge that we exchange is more beneficial for the city’s prosperity in the long run… but the new generation of bureaucrats want more immediate results. Profits and returns that happen sooner, rather than later. They want to muddy the waters with fishing rights, mining rights on territorial islands, and all of the issues that the industrialists froth at the mouth over.”  Tater Blossom raised her right front hoof, rubbed her chin, and the wizened wrinkles on her forehead just below her deer beanie intensified. “And Nut’s not the type that’ll be taken in by promises of money and such. He’s got… whatchacallit?”  “Integrity—”  “Yeah, that,” Tater Blossom said before the professor could say more. “Nut’s a trustworthy type. Pa trusted him and Nut done gave his word as a noble. Which is how he ended up with me. Now, with nobles, I guess, there’s good ones and bad ones… but what yer needin’ is a good one. A noble that is all smart like and can look ahead and can make the right choices for everypony. To keep things fair. Which… if’n I understand all this right, is why we need nobles in the first place. Right?”  Sterling Note coughed, gasped, coughed again, and then concentrated on his breathing. Nut considered Tater Blossom’s words, how they applied to him, and a part of him marvelled at her intelligence. She had good ideas on how things should be. Her interjection had somehow changed his way of thinking, and right now, at this moment, he felt as though he owed the world more than what he currently gave.  “So,” Tater Blossom began, “when do we go out and meet the seaponies? I wanna say hi!”