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// 3 - Take a Number 
// Story: The Unpublished Origin of Daring Do 
// by David Silver 
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AK sat on a comfortable little sofa. She didn't feel comfortable at all. It was a little before noon, and the sun blazed brightly through the window onto her. At first it had been pleasant, a nice warmth, but she'd been there a while and the appeal had worn away.

But what else would she do? She looked across the room where a secretary  spoke on a headset draped over head her ears with a small microphone dangling alongside her snout. She was typing away busily even as she spoke. A secretary's job was not a simple one, but it didn't seem to be getting Amy any closer to where she needed to be.

And yet, what was the alternative? She glanced nervously over at her bag that held the finished manuscript and took a slow breath, trying to calm herself. She had to sell her book. Sell her book. What a world, where she had to sell her work to one pony before a single other got a chance to see it where they might buy it.

"Miss Yearling?" That secretary was looking up at her. "They'll see you now."

They? AK slid to her hooves and trotted towards the desk, her bag swaying where it was strapped to her. "Where to?"

The secretary pointed the way. "Double-door at the end. Good luck." Her eyes fell back to her typewriter and she resumed whatever task she had.

Amy considered for a brief instant. "Who's... there?"

"You forgot the starting line of that joke." She didn't look up, and she didn't pause her typing. "They're waiting for you, Miss Yearling."

AK dipped her head. "Yes, of course. Thank you." She threw an arm over her bag, holding it close to herself as if for protection as she advanced, trying her best to look determined, instead of nervous.

'Conference Room B,' read the plaque to the side of the door, ornate embossed wood and metal. Very professional. "I'm a professional," sighed out AK, taking a slow breath before righting herself fully. She thrust out a hoof and opened the door firmly. "Thank you for seeing me," she declared as if saying it with conviction was the secret to getting the answer she wanted.

There were three of them. Two stallions and a mare. The mare was in the center of the formation. They all wore formal suits on their fronts, perhaps their back ends too, but those were hidden by the table. One of the stallions gestured at the one seat across from them, a simpler looking one that was just a little shorter than theirs.

Dominance was established, just like that. "Please, have a seat, Miss Yearling," he invited as his horn glowed, plucking out a single sheet of paper and laying it on the table.

AK's movements were stiffer than she'd like, each hoof feeling like it was coming straight down on the floor, as if her knees had simply given up on the game, but she advanced despite it, pulling herself up onto the chair and setting her bag in her lap. The chair wasn't large enough to sit on her haunches, meaning her legs were dangling off, producing the lap the bag rested in. "I'm... very proud of this--"

The mare held up a hoof. "Non-fiction. Always a difficult field to break into. The topic, archaeology. What are the numbers?" She glanced to the right.

The stallion there sat forward, raising a hoof to adjust his tie. "Less than 2%, Ma'am."

The mare fixed her eyes on AK. "No one knows what archaeology is beyond 'that thing where ponies dig in the dirt.' Moreover, they have no interest in finding out."

The other stallion tapped the lone paper on the table. "It's nicely written."

AK's teeth clenched together, but she looked towards the second stallion. "I did my homework, and really tried to draw the reader into our horseshoes. The... public may not know what--"

The mare raised a hoof for quiet. "You have talent, but it's not for this." She inclined her head faintly. "What ponies want is excitement."

"Adventure," added the first stallion, nodding softly.

"Maybe a little magic?" threw in the second.

"Not dusty diatribes on the plights of dirt-digging ponies." She pressed her hooves together, leaning towards AK. "Aren't there ruins with far more... flavorful obstacles than a hot day or long hours? Focus on one of those and you may have something."

"Opinions would change." Amy sat up with a little frown. "That's the point of the book, to tell ponies about something they didn't think about."

"They won't change if they never read it." The first male gave a dismissive wave of a hoof. "Miss Yearling, do you know how expensive it is to publish a book?"

"... No?" It couldn't be that bad... right? "How much?"

The mare shook her head, sitting up. "That's for us to worry about, but suffice it to say that it is considerable. We must choose what books we publish with great care. Your book is not educational--"

"--But teaching is all it does!" Amy threw a hoof up and to the side, sweat dotting her brow.

The second stallion nodded. "Oh, yes, I learned a thing or two, but it's not a book you'd use in a classroom."

The mare nodded towards him. "Precisely. It is not a textbook. I'm sorry, Miss Yearling, but this book has no future." With a glow of magic, the lone sheet on the table was plucked up and dropped into the trash. "But you may."

AK sagged in her seat. She felt as if it were her that was just tossed in that trash bin. "But..."

The first stallion extended a hoof. "Trust us, you're not the first writer to look like that in this office. But not all of them are told they have any potential at all."

The mare nodded lightly. "We would like to turn your efforts elsewhere, but, with some refinement, I feel confident we could get something out of you worth putting our name on."

Amy perked an ear, blinking. "Wouldn't it have my name?"

"Oh, it would." The mare pressed her forehooves together. "Written by A.K. Yearling, published by Headtrot Incorporated. Both of our names are on the line, which is why we want a success, for the both of us. Thank you for submitting your transcript."

That last bit felt like a dismissal. Amy started to slide to the ground, but awkwardly stopped halfway down, dangling from the chair. "The transcript is still mine. I could go to another publisher."

All three frowned at once. The second lifted his shoulders. "You could, but they'll probably say about the same thing, Miss Yearling. Besides, we're the biggest publisher this side of Equestria. Unless you think minotaurs will be interested in your pony non-fiction--" All three chuckled softly at the idea. "--we represent the best chance you have."

The mare looked towards a box, a click sounding from nowhere. "Send in the next, thank you."

"Of course, Ma'am," came the voice of the secretary.

A.K. was dismissed. That much was clear. She slipped the rest of the way to the ground. "Thank you, for the time." With a heavy swallow she forced herself to walk towards the door with as much poise as she could manage. She jumped when she closed the door harder than she had planned, ears folding back. "Sorry," she weakly peeped, imagining she wasn't even heard past the door.

The secretary turned an ear as Amy came along. "They didn't like it? That's too bad." She didn't look up, and didn't pause. "Better luck next time."

That was just a common occurrence, Amy realized. She was one reject out of a pile. She veered for the exit, wanting to be anywhere but there. The moment the noise of the city began to greet her, she slammed down a hoof and shouted at nothing and everything. A few ponies glanced towards her, but kept right on walking. They all had places to be, things to do.

They were getting things done, unlike her. She turned her blurry vision towards her bag where the transcript rode with her. "Someone will like you..." She ran a hoof over the bag gently and sank to her haunches there on the steps of the publisher. "I just have to... rethink this..."

Amy retreated home to reconsider things and lick her wounds. A letter awaited her there, from the museum she worked for. She set it down and got some tea going before she settled to open the envelope and take a peek inside.



Good Afternoon,

Miss Yearling, your work with us has been nothing short of exemplary. You've brought us so many artifacts of the past, we haven't had the time to sift through it all. We have a full team of ponies working on it, but, at this time, we simply have no need for further field work. You are not being terminated. We will be happy to resume your work as soon as we've worked through the prodigious backlog you've created for us.

Expect future communication within a few moons.

Best of Luck,




It was signed with the ornate scribble of the head mare. It was official, she was as close to fired as not being fired could get. Amy went limp, her head slapping against the hard wood of her table. The pain lanced through her from the impact, but that very real pain felt, somehow, better than the shapeless other worries that chased after her. "Great, no job, they won't publish your book. You're a hobo, Amy. Congratulations."

She rolled to the side, flopping off the table to the floor. "Alright, let's be logical here." She tapped her forehooves in time with her spoken thoughts. "You're not so poor you're going hungry today, or tomorrow. You have skills. You... know how to identify lost artifacts. Maybe they'll let you join the team in cleaning things up?"

She imagined herself seated behind a desk, meticulously dusting off the things she had excitedly extracted from the ground. There would be no discovery, just dusting, so much dusting, then writing about what it all meant, just to get back to looking at the next tiny bit and... "No..." That wasn't what she wanted. It was the act of finding that drew her.

Amy sat up with a frown, glaring at the bag that held the collection of papers, hidden in the bag she had carried. "You were supposed to fix this..." She stood up and grabbed a thick book in her teeth, dropping its soft back onto her table where it flopped open, revealing countless numbers and small advertisements. "Hellow, Brown Pages. Now will you be better at solving things?" She put a hoof to the thin paper and began leafing through one at a time, then several at a time, jumping towards the Ps.

"Party planners, seriously? Printing, Producers, Publishing!" There was a one quarter page ad for the very publishing firm she was rejected from, the three ponies looking at her disapprovingly. Well, they were actually smiling, but she couldn't help but imagine their judgments, harsh and unforgiving.

They weren't the only  thing listed on that page. They were the only one that paid for a big advertisement picture. The others were little more than a name, an address, and not always a phone number. Perhaps some day everypony would have a phone. That day was not arrived yet.

They looked equally as hopeful, and hopeless, as each other, so she closed her eyes and slapped her hoof down on the page. Daring to crack her eyes open, she could see a publisher just above her hoof. "Let's... give them a try."