//------------------------------//
// Romance Is Dead 
// Story: The Princess's Bit 
// by Mitch H 
//------------------------------//

The Princess Bit had left Sandstone behind around about noon, and outside, eventide was greeting the airship steaming high over the deep blue sea. The last stubborn sparks of the setting sun were setting the sky aflame. The first night-winds were starting to sing in the rigging, and crackling in the stiff membranes of the ship's steering wings, spread wide for cruising and to add just that little bit more of lift.

Inside the operations room, all they could hear from outside were the engines grumbling deep in the guts of the ship. The flat, dead, artificial light from the unicorn-lamps washed all the romance out of the scene.

In the harsh, ugly light, Major Shield was staring down a shaggy-looking ensign.

"Why can't you shave properly, ensign? What is that growth on your chin?"

Gilda had long experience not cringing in public at the things her unicorn said when her Canter was up. And Gleaming was in a mood that night. 

"Ma'am! Provincial regulations allow for a short beard of less than an inch and a half, in three approved patterns."

"A regulation mustache. Or sideburns. This is the first time I've ever encountered a Provincial wearing a goatee. Let alone one so shamefully uneven and patchy."

"I think it's finally growing in, ma'am? You should have seen it a year ago. Most ponies claimed they didn't realize I was even growing one, until I told them."

"Why are you so desperate to wear facial hair on your muzzle, Ensign Starburst?"

"Tradition, ma'am!"

"Tradition? What tradition?"

"All wizards are bearded. Except those who are completely bald, like Morari the Maneless. And I wasn't ready to shave my mane every night."

"You fancy yourself a wizard?"

"What unicorn colt doesn't grow up wanting to be Starswirl the Bearded?"

"The ones that end up an ensign in Her Highness's armed forces? Most of them."

"But the romance! The history! The long nights researching the romantic depths of the past! The-"

"Yes, yes, romancing the past, yadda yadda hey! You're not a wizard. You're not here to do research. Hay, from your jacket, you aren't even particularly talented in magic. I see you were part of the Gonne Research Group."

"Yes ma'am!"

"I helped found that group. I don't remember you from the meetings."

"I… I was there. We met!"

"And yet, I don't remember you. And I remember all the ponies who trained in the new shielding techniques. Why don't I remember you from those sessions?"

"I… I couldn't handle the evolutions. Not even the initial prep work."

"Washed out of Minuette's basics course? That must have taken some work. They were very basic."

"Yes, ma'am," said the dejected ensign with his silly tuft of chin-hair.

"Well, command isn't about how much talent you have for magic. And most of Charlie Troop isn't even horned. Almost none of them, in fact. Do you know why you were transferred here?"

"I asked to be, ma'am!"

"Yes, it was because we needed- what?"

"I requested transfer!"

"Why would you do that? Personnel hates us."

"I don't know about any of that, ma'am. But you're a relic of the storied past! Amore's crystal lances! The glittering shield of the north! The Ice-guard!"

"You realize it's just a name, right? We don't have any of the old records, or artifacts, or anything like that. If they exist, they're buried under a billion tons of ice and snow."

"I don't care! It's the romance of it all!"

"Ma'am," Gilda interceded. "Leave the colt his starry eyes. Not as if enthusiasm is an actual detriment to performance."

"Hrumph," Gleaming hrumphed. "Reason I called you in here, Ensign- Sunburst was it? The reason I asked you in here is that I wanted to get your measure. You'll be one of three ensigns in Charlie Troop, and you'll be taking the command of the troop and the respective platoons in turns as I evaluate your individual performances in each of the roles. Along with the other ensigns. You supposedly have over a year's worth of experience as an ensign. On paper you should be the obvious choice for the lieutenancy. 

"Honestly, what I care most about is getting Charlie Troop on an effectiveness basis with the winged troops. I expect you and the other Charlie ensigns to work out how you're going to operate out of an airborne base."

"Are there any attached charioteers for Charlie Troop?"

"You should know that, if you've been spending your time with us up to this point with any sort of diligence, ensign. Don't waste my or Gilda's time with stupid questions. Find out from your fellow ensigns, your corporals, and your sergeant.

"Show me something impressive, ensign. Dismissed. Tell the other one to come in on your way out."

The orange colt scampered out, his indifferently-tailored Guards uniform flapping behind him like a cape.

"Who did you assign him as his bat-hen, Gilda? His uniform is a disgrace."

"Haven't yet," Gilda grunted. "Been busy. I'll get on it. You want a griffon for him?"

"No, no. Pull someone from supply or Charlie Troop itself."

"We're starting to run out of lance corporal material. I still say Bob was a mistake."

"Bob has always been a mistake, but he's my mistake. He'll settle."

Gleaming Shield turned to the next ensign. And then looked around in confusion at the emptiness in front of the desk she was sitting behind.

"Gilda, where's our next ensign?"

"Down here, ma'am."

Gilda watched with a stone face as Gleaming Shield leaned over her desk with a puzzled look on her muzzle, and caught view of the tiny red pegasus in aerial regimentals.

"Gilda, are they commissioning foals now?"

"I'm a grown-ass stallion, you-"

Gilda growled a wordless warning.

"-your worship! Ensign Short Fuse, reporting for buckin' duty!"

"You'll need a step-stool if you're looking to buck either of us, short stack," snarked Gilda. And then blushed in embarrassment.

I didn't mean to say that. Out loud.

"Oh, yes, let us all abandon all decorum and sense of restraint, why don't we?" the major asked rhetorically, getting up and walking around to the front of the desk so that she could see the little pony without leaning over a piece of furniture. "Would you two like to go out on the main deck and have a swear-off in front of everypony? We can have the sailors evaluate your respective profanity!" Gleaming Shield stared daggers at the both of them.

"Now are you both quite finished?"

Gilda and the little red pony nodded.

"Good. As I was just telling Ensign Starburst-"

"Sunburst, ma'am."

"Telling Ensign Sunburst, we had personnel send you two to us to fill some gaps in our leadership cadres. You're assigned to Baker Troop."

"She means Bat Troop," Gilda explained.

"I mean Baker Troop, we're not naming the blasted troops by ethnicity."

"You assigned him to that troop because he had wings."

"Well, that's just practicality, Gilda."

"Could have put him in with the griffons."

"Able Troop already has Lieutenant Martin Gale and a full complement of ensigns."

"You just think it's funny to have the bigot running the griffon troop."

"I do not think it is 'funny'. I think they work together well. You said it yourself, Gilda. Griffons respond well to open contempt and hostility."

"I can do hostility!" piped up the red midget.

"Shut up, Fuse, I was talking to my griffon," Gleaming Shield said without looking at the pegasus ensign. 

Then she turned to look at him, and he quailed. 

"You are not the most polished soldier I've ever come across, Fuse. You're short, you have a bad temper, and your jacket is a litany of disciplinary actions and demerits. Actually, now that I think about it, why did we accept Ensign Fuse, Gilda?"

"We needed an experienced pegasus officer, and they wouldn't give us anyone else, major, ma'am."

"Right. Fuse, you're going to be an ensign with Baker Troop. You'll be commanding thestrals. You have any problem with that?"

"No, ma'am! I've never laid eyes on a batpony in my life, but it's not like I don't live in a glass cloud, ma'am!"

"Well, that's not the worst attitude to take, going into a situation like Baker Troop. Your fellow ensigns are much more experienced than the rest of our junior officers, who are largely provisional. We just managed to draw the ensigns of Baker Troop from some particularly experienced and capable troopers."

"Mustangs, ma'am?" Short Fuse asked, looking interested.

"Exactly. You and they will be cycling through command of the troop, as conditions warrant. Show me something impressive, Fuse. You have real competition in Bat- Baker Troop. But we need a lieutenant, either way. Dismissed."

The pegasus turned on his heels in a relatively crisp display.

"Wait! Haven't they found the spare uniforms yet down in supply?"

He turned back, with a look of disgust. "They have, ma'am. But there wasn't anything even remotely in my size, let alone cut for wings."

"Hrm. Gilda, make a note? The other ensign's uniform wasn't satisfactory, either. Shame we couldn't get Lady Rarity to join us for our cruise."

"She'd have gone mad inside of a week, and made us all into ponyform dolls for her fabric experiments after two, ma'am. It would have been a very bad idea."

"Well, we need somepony to do alterations, don't we? Find that somepony, Gilda."

"Yes, ma'am. Ensign, the major dismissed you. You can go now."

Twitching his wings with irritation, Short Fuse fled, slamming the door behind him.

"Well, that could have gone worse," Gilda said, slumping into her Gilda-rated chair. 

"Shame that the unicorn is such a wet squib," Gleaming disagreed, throwing herself back in her own chair. "I mean, Starswirl the Bearded. Come on!"

"Never heard of him."

"Never heard of- Gilda, you need to read better books! I have at least two good biographies- wait. No I don't, I left those in Canterlot."

"I was going to say, major, I've read all of your books. Some, twice."

"When do you have time to sneak my books?"

"When you thought I was cleaning your uniforms, mostly."





"Pour another dram?" Purse Strings asked, slouching in one of the seats built into the back of the infirmary, next to the ship's new still.

"Take it slow, my pony friend. You're half my body weight, you don't want to meet me drink for drink," said the surgeon. "Also, I only have a single gallon ready. Was too busy with inventory to get ol' belchy here fired up. Also, getting a still nailed down in a moving facility is a challenge I haven't actually had to answer before."

Purse looked at the contraption, a bit alarmed. "You haven't? Is it safe?"

"Yeah, found somegriff among the sailors with experience. Don't tell anypony else, but I think he operated the last still this kite had before the refit."

"If it was that rattle-trap the Tenpenny griffons pulled out of this thing, I might regret having drunk this. It was a sad excuse for a distilling rig," Purse said, looking into his empty mug. 

Hawk Eye leaned over and splashed another measure of gin into the empty mug with the jug she held in her strange hippogriffic monkey-paws. "Nah, no still looks good after it's been torn out and kicked about, he sounded like he knew what he was doing. And it was mostly about mounting it on shock dampeners - see those? Keeps the engine vibration from over-stirring the mash."

"Huh. Well, thank you for the honor of taste-testing the first batch."

"You're welcome! I owed you, and I figured, well, fishsticks. Better the quartermaster get blinded by bad hooch than the chief engineer, or somebody important."

Purse Strings stared into the dead-eyes of the hippogriff mare, half a swallow in his mouth. 

"Hahaha! Abyssal depths, your face, Purse! Don't spit it out, don't spit it out. It's beautiful, trust me, it isn't my first gallon of gin!" She splashed a shot into a martini glass, and tossed it back. "Any still owner worth her mash knows to toss the first five gallons before you bottle a finger's worth of anything worth drinking. I'm not an idiot, I swear. Got a sheepskin and everything from a pony medical school says so."

Then she took a beakful straight from the jug, and closed her eyes as she swallowed. 

"We've been moving for hours," she said.

"Yep. Top me off?"

"Should you be getting this shitfaced this early in the tour?"

"I've got nothing to do until we eat up some of the crap I've got piled up in the holds. No place to unload and move things around. What am I gonna do, use up paper and pens recording where everything is mis-stowed?" 

Hawk Eye splashed more gin into his mug. 

"Fair enough. Don't you have a support company you're responsible for, though?"

"Ha! You see any uniform on me? I'm a civilian, damn it. Haven't chased me into chaplain's trap yet, the service hasn't. Haven't said the words, haven't taken the bit."

"They get you one way or the other. You think I wanted a commission?"

"You didn't? I thought they didn't draft doctors."

"They don't. My mother's a damn vulture. Squawked at me and squawked at me until I agreed to go to the recruiters."

"Really? Damn. You hear stories, but you wouldn't expect a foreign bird to get all 'return with your shield or on it."

"Politics, Purse. Dear old mom is a political bird. With the nation disappeared beneath the waves, she didn't have much leverage. All we could offer were port-birds donating their services to the petryal, and birds like me. I had a mostly-completed internship, and the EUP wanted doctors. Hey presto! Instant Captain Eye!"

She looked into the neck of her jug. "You'd be surprised how many other non-pony doctors in the service have stories like that. Those damn terrorist birds set off their firecrackers, and it was 'More Equestrian than the Equestrians' or get the depths out of your country.

"But hey! No point in getting down. We're lubricated, and we're on the way! To wherever the fuck we're going now. Where are we going?"

"Well Burn, in the New Territories."

"Never heard of it! Want another drink? I need another drink. My goggles aren't thick enough, you're still ugly."

"And you're still a loudbeak, Hawk. Sure, top me off."

Purse Strings passed out before Hawk Eye was gin-goggled enough to drag him into her little cabin and have her way with him. He woke up the next morning stretched out on one of the cots in the recovery ward.

The next time Purse looked into a mirror, he'd found that the hippogriff mare had painted a mustache on his muzzle with iodine stain.