//------------------------------// // 1/22: Better Homes and Guardhouses (A Bird in the Hoof) // Story: Friendship is Deceptive // by Kris Overstreet //------------------------------// For some of the Decepticons breakfast was a curse, and for others a silver lining in their horrible new meatsack lives. But when the pounding at the door interrupted breakfast one morning, not a single one of them felt like interrupting their eating for it. Skywarp looked over at Frenzy, who was closest to the guardhouse’s front door. “Ain’t ya gonna answer that, shrimp?” he asked. “Answer it yourself, bit-brain,” Frenzy snapped back. “I’m busy.” “Your mush will still be there when ya get back.” “No it won’t,” Rumble warned. “order countermanded,” Soundwave chipped in. “Skywarp authority zero; remain as you are.” The pounding continued. “Well, somebody better get it,” Thundercracker muttered. “I’ll get it!” Megatron strapped on the last bit of his armor as he exited the armory. “Since none of my elite warriors can do it themselves!” Shoving his helmet over his horn, he stomped over to the door and flung it open. “Yes?” he asked, brusque but without the heat he’d used on his followers. What looked at first glance like a marginally smaller version of Megatron stood on the other side of the door. The armor was identical except for the helmet, which still bore the scrub-brush crest that Megatron had removed from his own. The bit of mane that trailed out behind the helmet was bright blond, matching the tail. Finally, a tiny pair of pince-nez with rectangular lenses perched on the newcomer’s muzzle, secured around his neck by a fine chain that sparkled in the early morning sun. “Captain Megatron?” the newcomer asked. “I’m Major Nit Picker, chief inspector for the Royal Guard division of the EUP Armed Forces.” Megatron gave the major a slow look up and down. The pony looked like he had a strong body, but beyond that he saw no threat. The bored, disdainful expression on the newcomer’s face spoke to a lack of both motivation and imagination, and therefore probably intelligence. Aside from the much fancier armor (particularly the helmet), he bore no weapon or other threatening- wait, Megatron thought, I change my mind, a clipboard just floated out from his saddlebags. In a quieter voice the major continued, “At this point you are supposed to salute and say ‘sir’.” Oh, yes. Majors outranked captains. And in this inefficient organization, rank determined respect, and not more sensible metrics like strength, cunning, past accomplishment, or current usefulness. If Megatron stayed in this world, in this horrible weak pony body, for long enough, that would change… … but not today. He came to a smart attention stance, brought up his right hoof to salute so fast the brain provided the snap the ears didn’t hear, and said, “Apologies, sir. I lost myself admiring your uniform.” “I wish I could say the same for you,” Major Picker said. “I am here along with the advance guard for Princess Celestia’s visit to Sugarcube Corner. I felt this was a perfect opportunity for a surprise inspection. Call out your guard, please.” Megatron liked to pretend to the world that he was a bot without fear, and indeed he feared very little. But one thing he did fear was surprises, because in nine million years he’d never had any true surprise that wasn’t incredibly unpleasant. Most of those surprises had been wearing an Autobot sigil at the time. But even without the face of Primus painted on the inspector’s armor, Megatron felt his stomach drop as his mind reeled off what might happen if- no, when- the inspector found something to complain about. But being afraid wouldn’t make Major Picker vanish, and vanishing him would cause even more trouble. “As you wish, sir,” he said. “Dec…” He choked on the word. Calling for his Decepticons by that name had more trouble potential. “Squad,” he shouted, remaining at perfect attention, “ASSEMBLE!” To Megatron’s mild surprise, Starscream was the first out the door. To his mild mortification, his lieutenant hadn’t removed the apron he wore when cooking. Soundwave rushed out right behind him. Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Thundercracker followed shortly after, not moving with the same urgency. Rumble and Frenzy trotted out next, with no urgency at all. Finally came Skywarp, with a snarling Ravage herding him out the door. Once the entire group of displaced Decepticons was standing out in front of the guardhouse, Megatron shouted, “SQUAD, FALL IN AT ATTENTION!” The falling-in happened in almost the same manner as the assembly, from Starscream’s almost comical military correctness down to Skywarp’s begrudging shuffle to the end of the rank. The process took far more time than it should have, and Megatron cringed inwardly as Major Picker levitated a pencil out of his saddlebag and began making notes on the clipboard. “Now, Captain,” the major said, “I see your complement, as established by the princess herself, is one captain, one lieutenant, and eight reserve auxiliaries.” “Correct, Major, sir,” Megatron said. “My lieutenant is Starscream. Except for emergencies, he and I are the only ones who stand watch at this post.” “I see,” Major Picker said. “And which one is Starscream?” Starscream tossed off a salute that strove to outdo Megatron’s. “At your service, Major,” he said. Major Picker gave the apron a good long look. “You’re out of uniform, lieutenant.” “Sir, I am off-duty,” Starscream explained. “Oh?” The apron got yet another look. “Not kitchen patrol?” Starscream couldn’t prevent himself from looking confused. “Why would a kitchen need patrolling, sir?” he asked. “Are appliance thefts that great a problem? I’ve still got four months to go to pay-“ “As you were, Starscream,” Megatron growled. Major Picker walked down the line. “Captain, I can’t help but notice the lack of uniforms on your auxiliaries as well.” “Sir,” Megatron said, “the armory had only two complete suits of armor when we arrived. We await shipment.” “I see,” Major Picker said. “Do you have copies of the requisition forms on file for me to check?” Now it was Megatron’s turn to be confused, though he hid it better than Starscream. “Sir,” he said, “I advised the princess, the town mayor, and the guard officer present with the princess when we took over the guardhouse. Why would this not be enough?” Major Picker sighed. “Why indeed?” he asked, and made a single tick mark on the clipboard. “Let’s move on.” Soundwave, Thundercracker and Skywarp got silent nods of approval. Then the major stopped, looking down at Rumble and Frenzy. “I was not aware,” he said slowly, “that Her Majesty had authorized the enrolment of children into her guard.” “Cadets in training, sir,” Megatron said quickly. “Dependents of my intelligence officer, Auxiliary Guard Soundwave.” “That’s right, major,” Rumble said, stepping forward. “When we grow up we’re gonna lay down the law.” Major Picker raised a single eyebrow. “Indeed,” he said. “Well, you can begin by learning discipline. Neither of you have been told to stand at ease.” Frenzy and Rumble snapped back to attention. “Also,” Major Picker continued, “even if you are auxiliary cadets, you are still required to address superior officers as ‘sir’. Not by their rank alone.” He looked back at Megatron, who remained standing to attention by the door, and said, “See to it, Captain.” “Yes, sir,” Megatron said slowly, lowering his eyes enough to glare silent promises of pain to the two ex-cassettes. “And you two,” Major Picker continued, facing Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. “The Guard proper has never had any griffons among its ranks. Even griffon auxiliaries have been rare. What brings you into the princess’s service?” “Megatron!” Laserbeak crowed. “We follow Lord Megatron, yes! We are loyal to Megatron!” Buzzsaw sighed. “Sir,” he said, “what my brother means is that we owe a personal debt of honor to Captain Megatron. We follow his orders and his alone. And as worthy as Princess Celestia is, she is not our leader.” “I see,” the major said, and the floating pencil made a long scribble. Looking back up the line, he asked, “Is it Captain or Lord?” Megatron forced his teeth to stop grinding. “I claim no title in Equestria,” he said. Yet. “The princesses have seen fit to grant me a captaincy and my… my friends… shelter. It is a complicated situation, sir, and I request you take it up with Princess Luna.” Now it was Major Picker’s turn to flinch. “Ah, that’ll be sufficient, captain,” he said quickly. “If the princesses… well.” Gathering himself back together, he took two steps and reached the end of the line, where shining golden eyes looked back at him. “Er… mascot, captain?” he asked. “Auxiliary Guardspony Ravage, sir,” Megatron replied, enjoying a moment’s amusement for the first time that morning. “Specializes in counterintelligence and enforcement.” The major gawped. “Captain, you can’t be serious,” he said. “This is clearly a panther, not a pony! And animals simply cannot be part of the Guard!” Megatron smirked. “Request permission to demonstrate Auxiliary Ravage’s capabilities, sir,” he said. Ravage’s attentive gaze slowly shifted into a very cruel feline grin. Major Picker took two rapid steps backwards. “Th-that won’t be necessary,” he said. This time the clipboard did not get a tick or scrawl. “Dismiss your ponies, captain, and then we shall proceed with the guardhouse inspection.” The stone-walled guardhouse stood two stories tall, plus an enlarged attic with pegasus sally ports under a flag-shingled roof. The foyer, or main assembly hall, took up a little less than half of the first floor, with the remainder given over to the two-cell gaol, the commander’s office (now Megatron’s apartment), the armory, the showers, the kitchen, and the servant’s quarters (now Starscream’s apartment). The second floor consisted of a row of five barracks rooms each originally designed to house four ponies in close proximity: Soundwave, Thundercracker and Skywarp had each taken a room for themselves, while Rumble and Frenzy shared living space. The attic, accessible by a ladder and hatch from the second-floor balcony, had been built for twenty pegasi but held only Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. Major Picker found nothing to comment on in the assembly hall, nor the cells. He made only one comment about the armory (that the contents could do with more polishing), but a lot of notes got scribbled down. Megatron’s apartment, with its little desk and cot and very little else, all in perfect military order, won a circle-stroke with the pencil on the paper. Megatron didn’t relax. He’d already known those were going to be the easy passes- because he’d taken personal responsibility for all of them. But now the inspection was going into his followers’ personal space… and he knew all too well that the Decepticon Armada, which valued function over form in so many ways, was the only military organization that most of his subordinates wouldn’t have been thrown out of on day one. And with the inspector staying glued to his side, Megatron hadn't been able to tell them to clean up. That had to be left to the native intelligence of his elite warriors... and to be honest, back in the day he'd been more interested in firepower and talent than in independent thinking when he recruited his elite. Independent thought, to tell the truth, had been a disqualifying trait, a fact he regretted now. The inspector had interrupted breakfast, so of course the breakfast dishes still lay scattered around the dining table, and the pots still sat on the stove or in the sink.Still, it didn’t surprise Megatron one bit when each bit of cookware not clean and put away earned a tick from that floating pencil. Inspectors in every service always demanded perfection and made up all sorts of excuses for why enforcing the impossible was a good thing. Why should this pony world be any different? Major Picker went through the cabinets next, nodding to himself, making the occasional scribble on his clipboard. At length he said, “I notice you haven’t set any traps out, Lieutenant Starscream.” “Sir, we do not have a vermin problem here,” Starscream responded. “And not putting traps out is how you get a vermin problem,” Major Picker responded. “Why, if you don’t take pro-active measures, before long you’ll be up to your withers in rodents!” A soft rumbling sound behind him caused the inspector to freeze in place, instantly rocking onto the front tips of his hooves from sheer terror. “Sir, Ravage wishes to state that he, by himself, constitutes ‘pro-active measures.’” Megatron allowed himself a smile because he knew the major, with his back turned, couldn’t see it. He also noticed that Starscream, because he was an idiot, smiled right in front of the inspector. The inspector either didn’t notice or care. “Yes, well, um,” he spluttered, forcing his body to relax again. “But shouldn’t you at least have a little poison out? You know… Mr. Ravage could possibly miss one…” Starscream’s smile vanished, as did any thoughts of subordination, He was in the major’s face in an instant, forcing the inspector to walk slowly backwards as he talked. “Let me explain things to you,” he said in tones of barely repressed rage. “We have a quiet understanding among us. I don’t keep poison in my kitchen. And in exchange, I get to keep my kitchen, so I can cook what I want to my satisfaction and not suffer through what my fellow warriors might claim is food! And I consider not getting my stomach pumped on a daily basis due to incompetent chefs worth the minor annoyance of not having poison in hand to use on a puny insignificant mouse!!” By this point hovering in the air just over Major Picker, he shoved his head down to meet the unicorn eye to eye, muzzle to muzzle, knocking those objectionable pince-nez askew. “Does this arrangement meet with your approval, sir??” “Yes! Yes! Perfectly fine!” “Good!” Starscream back-winged and settled back on his hooves, coming to as crisp a parade-rest as he knew how to do in a quadrupedal body. “Does the major wish to continue the inspection, sir?” “That won’t be necessary!” Major Picker said, still trying to recover his sang-froid. “Perhaps we should proceed to your living quarters.” After a moment he asked, “How did someone in food services become a guard lieutenant?” “Sir,” Starscream said, now icy cold, “in civilian life I was a scientist. Astronomy and physics for preference, but I studied all disciplines. Cooking is nothing more than crudely applied chemistry. But knowing my colleagues’ average mental level, I wouldn’t trust them to boil water, much less cook a meal.” “Scientist? Ah, well, yes,” Major Picker said. “Just, well… never mind. Let’s move on.” As Major Picker led the way into Starscream’s room (which, though less Spartan than Megatron’s, was equally tidy), Megatron paused beside his lieutenant and murmured, “I’d been wondering why I haven’t got sick from your cooking yet.” “You don’t poison me, I don’t poison you,” Starscream whispered back. “Fair enough?” “On the face of it, yes,” Megatron said. “But what happens when you break the deal?” “If that happens,” Starscream hissed, “I promise you will be the very first to know.” “What is all of this??” By the time Major Picker got to the first room on the second floor he’d recovered his officious nature. Soundwave had claimed the room closest to the stairs, and although his bed hadn’t yet been properly made, that detail totally escaped the inspector’s attention. Megatron couldn’t blame him: after all, the device that took up fully half the room, with its rotating fans and arcing coils and things that went buzz and ping, would cause even a blind-deaf pony to fixate their remaining senses on it. To ponies, Megatron thought, it was a curiosity. To mechanical beings (or even ex-mechanicals like the ten Deceptiponies), it was more of a horror show, mitigated only by the fact that, unlike Soundwave’s experiments in their home universe, Megatron couldn’t identify any of what he saw zapping and popping and ring-a-linging. It seemed like a fleshling trying to knit guts using wool yarn, having never seen actual viscera. Soundwave stepped forward. “scientific experiment,” he said. “work in progress; touching disrecommended.” “I don’t care what it is,” Major Picker said. “It has no place in a guard barracks! All such experiments should be confined to the armory or to some secure off-site location! I’m sure all of this… this… thisness,” he added in exasperation, waving a hoof at spinning dials and rows of dry-cell batteries, “all of this is most unhygienic and unmilitary!” He swiped up a loose coil of electrical cable on one hoof. “I mean, look at the slovenly and careless-“ The inspector then found out firsthand that the cable in question had not been sufficiently insulated. Once Megatron had dragged the inspector’s twitching body away from the experiment, Soundwave said, “observation; you were warned.” The inspector coughed, and a perfect ring of blue smoke wafted from his mouth and up to the ceiling. “That experiment,” he gasped. “New weapon?” “status: early exploration of principles,” Soundwave replied. “Weapon potential formerly rated zero; initial analysis under reevaluation.” Major Picker rolled his eyes towards Megatron. “What’d he say?” “He suggested a break in proceedings, sir,” Megatron said. “Perhaps some tea? Starscream, boil us some water! I understand you’re the only one of us competent to do that!” One cup of hot tea and a vague explanation of Soundwave’s study of electronics later, Major Picker was ready to continue the inspection. Megatron only hoped the rest of the Decepticons were. He’d been glad for the chance to stall for time. On the one hand, two down (three if you counted Ravage’s sleeping cushion) with no serious trouble. On the other hand, six to go, in almost perfect ascending order of potential disaster. Rumble and Frenzy had the room next to Soundwave’s. The inspector opened the door to reveal… two beds, rather hastily made, and a single small writing-desk with cushion. And nothing else. That isn’t right, Megatron thought. Those two have accumulated a surprising amount of junk, plus their school books and supplies. Where is all of it? Then he noticed the top and the bottom of the closet door bulging out, the latch just barely holding the door shut in the middle. Aha. I see the Closet of Doom is universal, even in civilizations that don’t have tungsten-alloy sliding doors. Megatron had seen it so many times before, sometimes booby-trapped with explosives, more often loaded by subordinates more interested in clearing a space in a hurry than thinking of future consequences. There was only one way to win: let someone else open the door. He’d learned that the hard way a few times. (Afterwards he’d made sure that the perpetrators had it even harder. The ones who survived learned to pack things better in the future.) He didn’t say a word. He just took a couple of steps backwards, back out onto the balcony, and waited to see if the inspector had the same wisdom. Based on how he was patronizing the two cassette warriors, it didn’t seem likely. “Not a bad attempt, boys,” Major Picker said, “but by military standards those beds still aren’t made. Watch this.” He pulled out a single bit coin from his saddle bag with his magic and let it drop on one of the beds. It landed on the blanket and stayed right there. “See?” he asked. “If you’d done it properly, with military corners on the sheets and blanket, that coin would have bounced!” “So whadda we want with bouncing coins?” Frenzy muttered. “Here, I’ll show you how it’s done,” the major said. “I’ll need a fresh blanket and sheets. I’ll just fetch them out of the closet.” “Wha- NO, WAIT!” Rumble shouted. Megatron closed his eyes, but he couldn’t close his ears to the click of the door latch followed by the white noise of an avalanche of miscellaneous junk pouring out onto the inspector. Things crashed, thumped, bashed, and bonked. Once the sound subsided, the major said in a weak voice, “Boys, a word of advice: bedding gets hard and brittle if it’s left to sit too long. Take these to the laundry and have them done over.” “Um… yessir,” Rumble said, obviously nonplussed. Major Picker wobbled back out to the balcony, his ubiquitous clipboard following behind, showing a couple of battle-scars from its recent encounter with entropy. “Fine boys, captain,” he said, “but they could stand a lesson or two in organization.” “I’ll see to it, sir,” Megatron said with a small amount of feigned pity. “Shall we continue?” Thundercracker’s room came next, not that Major Picker could tell there even was a room. A wall of cloud filled the entire doorway and bulged out onto the balcony. “Whose room is this?” he asked sharply. “Mine, sir,” Thundercracker said, stepping up from behind Megatron. “Well?” Major Picker asked. “I’m waiting for an explanation!” “Well, sir,” Thundercracker said with extreme reluctance, “I’ve been working with the town weather team, see, and… well, I wanted to try some things out in my room last night, and… um… things got… out of hand.” “Out of hand?” “Um. Hoof. I meant hoof.” “Then you should say hoof,” Major Picker snapped. “But look at this! This is- this- this is absolutely intolerable! How did you possibly expect to sleep in all that?” “Surprisingly well… sir?” Thundercracker spread a wing for demonstration. The inspector shook his head. “That’s as may be,” he muttered, brushing aside the facts. “But this is hardly how a royal guard is supposed to keep their bunk! I mean, what would you say to Princess Celestia if she came in here right now?” “Um… hi, Princess?” Thundercracker said. “Would you like some cloud, I made it myself?” The only reason Megatron didn’t groan aloud is because Major Picker did. “But I did make my bed,” Thundercracker said brightly. “Just a moment.” With a lot of grunting and effort the Seeker pushed his way through the cloud into his room. Over the course of the following minute a bed got pushed, in fits and starts, a few inches at a time, out into the balcony. The sheets and blanket were a bit damp from the humidity inside the cloud, but aside from that they were immaculate, right down to the proper military fold to the corners revealed when Major Picker lifted up a corner of the mattress with his magic. The major didn’t speak. He nodded silently, made a couple of ticks on his clipboard, and moved on, leaving Thundercracker to begin shoving the bed back into his room. Next came Skywarp’s room, and this time when the door was thrown open they found its occupant inside, lounging casually on a bed that he obviously hadn’t made since he had moved in. The rest of the room was littered with bowls, bags, snack wrappers, and other detritus. A couple of books lay open and face-down on the desk, pages creased and stained. In short, Skywarp hadn’t even tried to put things in order. “Well, well, well.” Major Picker actually put on a bit of swagger as he stepped inside. “Auxiliary guardspony Skywarp, is it?” He gestured a hoof around to encompass the entire room and asked, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” “Sure do,” Skywarp agreed. “Y’see, I figured-“ “Call me sir,” Major Picker cut in. “Whatever. Sir.” Skywarp didn’t even blink. “I figured it’d be more impressive if I showed you how good I was at makin’ beds personally. I mean, anybody could make a bed, right? But this way you see for yourself it was me what did it!” The inspector wouldn’t have bought any of it for a thimble of oil, and it showed. “I see,” he said. “Proceed, guardspony.” “It’s like this,” Skywarp said, putting his forehooves on his bed. “Now c’mere and watch closely. Um, sir.” Watching from outside the room, Megatron rolled his eyes as he watched the major actually step right next to Skywarp. Even a military inspector, he thought, can’t possibly be THIS stupid… “It’s a special technique my drill sergeant taught me,” Skywarp muttered. “First you do THIS-“ There was a loud BANG sound as Skywarp, along with the bed, vanished. The displaced air sent Major Picker tumbling. Just as he got back on his hooves, another BANG knocked him off them again, leaving Skywarp there with his forehooves resting on a sharp, perfectly made (and slightly damp) bed. “-and that’s all there is to it!” Skywarp finished, as if he’d never left the room. “What?” The two teleportations, and the bangs they made, left Major Picker’s ears ringing. “What did you say?” “I SAID I’M DONE, SIR!” “Oh? You are?” Major Picker wobbled over for a closer look. He ended up leaning on Skywarp while his inner ear made adjustments. “You are! Well! I… um, I see!” He staggered on, bouncing off the doorframe as he swayed and wobbled out onto the balcony. “That will be all, Skywarp,” Megatron said quietly. “For now.” “Yessir,” Skywarp said, giving his leader a casual salute. “By the way, tell Thundercracker he’s gonna have a bit of extra housework to do.” Megatron dreaded the final stop, and not just because the attic had come pre-cluttered. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw were, in his estimation, the Decepticons least able to withstand a military inspection, or even casual scrutiny. One could make an argument that Laserbeak was the worse of the two. He’d always been a petty thief even on Cybertron, and on this world that trait had hit the afterburners. That said, he was just smart enough to be able to steal without getting caught, which made it a talent Megatron had made use of on too many occasions to complain about it. There had been no actual complaints of burglary, but quite a number of “lost property” requests had been solved by a quick trip to the attic. Even so, no one who had seen Buzzsaw’s art would ever argue Laserbeak was the greater problem. Even Megatron, who delighted in moments of sadism over a fallen foe, found some of Buzzsaw’s alleged “artwork” utterly disgusting. And some of his recent work included fallen Autobots whose final run-cycles had been spent on Buzzsaw’s interrogation bench. Explain that to the inspector? Not even possible. Between the two griffons, Megatron had a mental image clear as a hologram of an attic filled chock-a-block with stolen goods and carvings of war atrocities. He only hoped the two of them had used the time to hide the most incriminating objects. Major Picker made his unsteady way up the ladder, with some magical help from Megatron. Almost the instant the inspector’s head got through the hatch, he said, “My word!” Expecting the worst, Megatron followed, although it took him some moments to work out how to climb a ladder with hooves without breaking at least one limb. When his own head rose above the hatchway, the first thing Megatron saw was a wood-carved sign: EVIDENCE AND LOST PROPERTY DEPT. Laserbeak perched on the back of an exquisite divan, surrounded by things like sports equipment, bowls, odd bits of lumber, a rather beat-up lawn chair, some sort of counter-rotating blades on wheels with a handle for pushing, and various other odds and ends which obviously had caught Laserbeak’s eye at one point or another. He hadn’t made any effort to clean up whatever, unless you counted the mostly-full wastebasket. But every single item in his hoard now had a paper tag tied to it (including the wastebasket). And then, once you looked into the other end of the attic, there were the sculptures… and none of them were anything like Megatron had expected. A couple dozen wooden copies of the steam train that served the town sat on display on the disused bunks. Larger sculptures of ponies- a pony in a straw hat, a pony with a doctor’s coat, foals and fillies dancing and playing with gleeful smiles- stood on the floor in front of the bunks. In one corner a rough worktable had been put together from bits of scrap lumber, and Buzzsaw’s tools lay atop it in perfect order. “Welcome, welcome!” Laserbeak squawked. “Welcome to Lost and Found! I am Lost Property officer, yes! When things turn up I keep them here for ponies to find, Laserbeak does!” “I see,” Major Picker said. “But… a couch? Really?” “It was obstructing traffic!” Laserbeak screeched. “Public danger, yes, so I took responsibility for it!” “Obstructing traffic? But then surely its owner would have been nearby.” “No one in sight! It was just sitting in the middle of the road, obstructing traffic, yes!” The pencil floating in Major Picker’s magic rose to scratch the back of his head. “But… if there were no ponies about… what traffic was it obstructing?” “Er…” It took Laserbeak a moment to think of an answer for that. “Well, there would have been traffic eventually, yes! And when it came, it would be obstructed! So I removed the obstruction, Laserbeak did!” “Oh. Well… I suppose that’s logical.” The major took a quick look at the tags, each of which bore a number. “May I see the entry book for these, Mr. Laserbeak?” “Yes! Yes, here it is!” Megatron slapped a hoof to his face as he noticed the book in question also had a Missing Property tag dangling from it. The inspector didn’t seem to notice. He flipped open a page, then flipped the same page back and forth. “There are only eight entries here,” he said. “Yes! Remaking the book!” Laserbeak said. “Accident with acetone can, very sad.” “That would be my fault, Major, sir,” Buzzsaw’s much smoother voice called from next to his workbench. “I was helping audit the inventory, and I made the mistake of bringing the old book too close to my hobby supplies.” “Say no more,” Major Picker said. He tapped one of the states, listening to the firm woody knock his hoof made. “Extremely lifelike work. I’m impressed.” “I hope to make a go of selling these in the local market soon,” Buzzsaw said. “It’s hard for a guard to cover expenses when there’s no salary.” “Hm, yes, I see,” Major Picker said. “The guard encourages hobbies, but this is rather excessive. I hope that you earn enough money to find your own studio at the earliest opportunity.” “Such is my intention, sir.” “Very good, then.” Major Picker took a quick look around the disused bunks. “If you would show me your beds, then?” “Beds, sir?” Buzzsaw, looking a little lost, pointed directly up at the attic’s eaves and joists. A couple of bare pillows lay among the timbers. “We usually just perch up in the eaves. It’s hot, but we make do.” “Oh,” the inspector said, obviously disappointed. “Carry on, then.” Turning back to the hatch, he said, “Captain Megatron, kindly show me back to your office.” “I fear I need a moment with my… my troops, sir,” Megatron said smoothly. “I had not been told that the evidence book had been destroyed.” “Ah. Then kindly meet me in your office, then. I wish to go over the results of my inspection with you.” As the inspector very carefully worked his way back down the ladder, Megatron asked, “Where’s the rest of it?” “Lord Megatron, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Buzzsaw said. “But I suspect it would be a good idea if Thundercracker left that cloud in his room until the inspector was gone.” “Laserbeak helped! What we couldn’t get through Thundercracker’s window we left on the roof, yes!” “Quite,” Buzzsaw said. “So on the whole it’s a good thing the inspector doesn’t have wings. And it would be better still if he left very soon, wouldn’t you agree?” When will I learn, Megatron thought, to stop asking questions when I know the answers will only make me angrier? “Get whatever it is off the roof before some pegasus sees it,” he snapped. “And I want to hear of you getting your market booth by sunset tomorrow, understood?” “Yes, Lord Megatron.” “And you!” Megatron shouted, pivoting on Laserbeak. “Yes, mighty Lord Megatron?” Laserbeak simpered. “Laserbeak is ready to serve!” Megatron opened his mouth, thought better of what he’d been about to say, and settled for, “All of these things had better be re-obstructing wherever they were the next time I come up here. And if any pony reports you for theft, you will wish they hadn’t.” “Laserbeak won’t get caught, I promise!” “You had better not.” With that rather lame riposte, Megatron followed the inspector down the hatch. Time to face the music. “So, let’s review,” the inspector said. “Out of ten bunks, three not inspectable for reasons of not existing, two passing, two passing provisional, and three fails. Armory shows twenty-three failures of maintenance or provision. Platoon mess shows eighteen cleanliness violations and five dietary violations. In addition I discovered eight failures in record-keeping, seven cases of dereliction of duty, three illicit private businesses, three uniform code violations not counting your auxiliaries, and five cases of blatant endangerment of pony life and limb.” Megatron kept his face steady as a granite cliff. “Sir,” he said, and nothing more. “All in all,” Major Picker continued, “I’m afraid this inspection sets a record not surpassed in my lifetime, possibly not in the past hundred years.” “Does it, sir?” “Indeed it does.” Major Picker let the clipboard vanish back into his saddlebag. “So tell me… how do you do it?” “Do what, sir?” “How,” the inspector continued, sweeping a forehoof wide to encompass the guardhouse as a whole, “how do you manage to present the cleanest, most battle-ready, most militarily correct barracks in Celestia’s entire kingdom?” The granite cliff broke and tumbled into the abyss. “The what?” Megatron gasped. “I mean, look,” Major Picker said. “Not a trace of cake anywhere. No guards sleeping on duty in the corner. Actual beds being slept in and made, not just left in place! No gambling! No cider! No fraternization! Weapons and armor actually ready to be put on at a moment’s notice, not just piled up in a corner! And you scored fifty-seven percent, Captain! No barracks has scored above thirty-eight in the whole time I’ve been an inspector!” “I… I don’t know what to say, sir,” Megatron said in perfect honesty. “Well, I do,” Major Picker said. “You and your auxiliaries are wasted in this village, Captain. Granted that it was the princesses who assigned you here, if you wish a transfer to any other post in the kingdom, you may use my name as a reference! Golly, if only we had a half dozen of you…” “I cannot leave my followers,” Megatron said, quietly but firmly. “We are still newcomers to Equestria, and as such we are still learning the ways of this kingdom. It would be… premature… to expose my troops to a more… populated setting.” Major Picker sighed. “I suspected that would be the case,” he said, obviously disappointed. “But remember, if you change your mind, the service needs your skills.” He sighed again. “It would be nice if the Royal Guard were useful again for things other than standing very still and making sure nobody steals buildings.” Megatron raised an eyebrow under his helmet. “Buildings, sir?” “It’s been known to happen. This is Equestria, after all.” “I understand, sir.” And to himself Megatron added, I understand the Royal Guard will be utterly useless to stop me, should I decide to conquer this land. So I suppose today won’t be a complete loss after all. “Oh, and one last thing,” Major Picker said, taking a tentative step towards the door. “Just a word of caution about one of your troops.” “One, sir?” Megatron took a moment to get past the fact that only one of his warriors merited special mention. “If this is about Starscream, he has his uses-“ “Oh, no, Lieutenant Starscream is obviously a dedicated and intelligent officer,” Major Picker said. “We could use more straightforward and forthright ponies like him in the service.” Megatron’s ears simply refused to believe they heard that, which was the only reason he was able to move on to his next guess. “Skywarp, then? Sir, trust me when I say he’ll-“ “Oh, every barracks has its share of troopers like him,” Major Picker said, casually waving a hoof. “Permanent discipline problem, but just useful enough to not dismiss. No, I meant Auxuliary Buzzsaw.” “Buzzsaw, sir?” “Yes.” The inspector stepped back over to the desk and whispered, “Quite frankly… well, there’s at least one artist in every troop, but usually their material runs a bit risqué. And there’s always a morbid touch to it, especially in units with recent casualties.” Major Picker shuddered and added, “That’s to be expected. That’s healthy. But all those happy, smiling, totally innocent faces up there? It’s unnatural. In fact it’s downright creepy. Keep a close eye on that one, captain. Word to the wise, eh?” Oh, Major, if you only knew. “Well, I’m off, then,” the inspector said. “Keep up the good work, captain!” As the main guardhouse door slammed shut behind the inspector, Megatron remained at his desk, piecing together the outcome of the inspection in his head. “Is he gone?” Starscream poked his head through the office door. “Can we stand down now?” “Yes, Starscream,” Megatron sighed. “Clean up quickly, though; we might have to host Celestia’s guard detail when they arrive.” “Of course, Megatron.” Starscream walked over to the desk and let a tray holding a cup and a teapot slide off his wing. “The rest of the tea. It shouldn’t go to waste.” Megatron stared at the tea pot for several minutes, wondering if the town library had a book on poisons effective on ponies and spells to detect them. If so, he wanted a look at that book right now.