“Please, please, try my cake recipe!”
“No, no, try mine, it’s far more MOIST!”
“I brought zucinni bread! The longest, HARDEST zukkinis! And lemon zest for flavor! FLAVOR!”
“Mine is the Princess’s favorite! I’m the one who made her fat! It was ME! Eat it! EAT IT AND GET FAT!”
“I think I have a cough! Cough, cough! Check me! Press on my tiny pony body as hard as you can!”
“Cure my infertility! CURE IT! Please make me pregnant!”
“Marry me! Also try my biscuits, they have MORNING-GRAVY!”
Leonard McCoy, a highly successful and relatively highly regarded Starfleet doctor, attempted to haul himself across the room against the unbearable weight of the maids clinging to his body. They were soft and warm and smelled of various fruits and spices, and their presence was making him distinctly and horribly uncomfortable.
“Ladies, please, I’m trying to do serious work, and you’re--”
“Take a break for work!”
“Eat our various desserts!”
“Medicate us! Marry us all!”
“Don’t bother marrying us, put is in a pile! Then sit on us! SIT ON MY FACE!”
McCoy stared across the room at the two red-shirted technicians assembling the power connections to the medical hologram trashcan. Red-shirts were inherently nervous on any planet for some reason, but these two were just staring, unsure of how exactly to act.
“Are you two just going to stand there like a pair of taxidermy dolphins or are you going to DO SOMETHING?!”
They did not respond. They were clearly uncomfortable, but for some reason not one of the maids would get near either of them. McCoy was the only one that they seemed to cling to, growing increasingly aggressive the longer he stayed planetside.
Suddenly, a voice rang out. “Hey! HEY! Get off the hoomin! You’ll damage it!”
There was a sound of slapping, and the maids took flight, fluttering off like a plume of agitated moths. The only one in the pile that did not have soft, fluffy wings attempted to fly but ended up falling over—only to be violently accosted by Lyra, administering a relentless and severe beating upon her flank with a small flyswatter.
The mare squeaked, flopped, and then crawled away, hiding under the nearby table. Lyra, out of breath, signed, then yelled upward to where they had fled. “You’re being VERY unprofessional! Do it while he’s sleeping like a PROPER pony!” She grunted. “So uncouth...”
“Damn these ponies,” growled McCoy. “These mares and their asinine behavior are going to drive me to drink.”
Lyra frowned. “Mares? Are you blind? Those were geldings.”
“Don’t tell me things I don’t want to know! I’m trying to do work here, I can’t get distracted by implications!” He stomped over to the technicians. “Is it actually ready?”
One of them gestured to the machine, and to the power pack it was attached to. “We built a power converter based on a schematic the angry pony with the eyebrows drew while she was drinking coffee.”
“A lot of coffee,” said the other technician. “I think she likes it.”
“Great. Now she’s going to drink us out of all the good beans. I'm not drinking out of the replicator again, I'm just not.” McCoy sighed. “So, what’s the chance of this thing exploding?”
“We have no idea how it actually works. We just assembled it and brought it here.”
McCoy stared at him. “That’s not an answer to the question, ensign."
The ensigns looked at each other, and then shrugged.
McCoy sighed. “Fine, then. If you’re done, you can go back. Let Uhura know I’ll be back as soon as I can this goddamn sugar-scented madhouse of a planet. If these mares don’t smother me to death first.”
“Geldings,” corrected Lyra.
“Well then let’s pray I get out of here before the stallions figure out I’m here.”
“They know already. Just you wait.”
The ensigns both took a step back. One of them opened his communicator and spoke quickly into it.
“Red-shirts to Enterprise, two to beam up.”
Their bodies flashed with light and made a strange whirring sound as they slowly became more translucent before vanishing entirely. McCoy watched with the utmost jealousy before stepping up to his most hated enemy, picking up a data-pad and plugging the cord into the side of the device.
Lyra took several steps closer, sheathing her flyswatter and looking at the hologram system, intrigued. “What are you doing?”
“Programming it,” he said. “With everything I have about pony anatomy and physiology. Uhura already had it updated with a cultural profile for...ugh, ‘bedside manner’, not that it has any, it’s a damn machine. Supposedly these things have learning algorithms, which is creepy as hell.”
“You don’t like machines?”
“No, I love them,” said McCoy, sarcastically. “But as much as a ship’s computer can do, it can’t be a proper doctor. It needs a human touch.”
“I need a human touch. Right on the butt.”
McCoy ignored her. He was to incensed by the idea of holographic doctors. “Thinking machines. I don’t like the idea. I never have, I never will. The idea should be illegal. Because first it’s a doctor. Then it’s an engineer. Then it’s an ‘emergency command hologram’, and that’s one step away from ‘purge the filthy organics’ and a damn robot war.”
“Wait, that’s a thing?”
“No. Because nobody’s been stupid enough to try to make a robot smarter than them. Yet.” He paused. "Except that one time..."
“Well, while it’s doing that, do you want some breakfast?”
“I just got enough cake shoved in my face to feed an army and then bury them from their own diabetes. It that all you ponies eat? Sweets?”
“No, just Celestia. I have THIS.”
She levitated a banana into McCoy’s face. McCoy stared at it, then grabbed it.
“Finally, something at least a little bit healthy. I’ve never been a fan of sweets. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good dentist in Starfleet? Damn butchers, all of them.” He turned it over. It looked like an ordinary banana, although he was slightly weary of the possibility that it was some manner of small stealth cake shaped like a fruit. “Huh. Now that I think about it, it’s surprisingly hard to get a good banana in Starfleet. They only really grow on Earth. And that one planet where they come up radioactive.”
He reached to open the banana, and saw Lyra staring at him, her eyes wide and a perverse smile on her face—and slight drool running down her mouth.
“Yeah, that’s right,” she whispered to herself. “Use those hands and peel it...sloooowwwwly...then peel this suit off me...”
McCoy frowned, then threw the banana in her face. She caught it easily.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that this whole planet is populated by—by PERVERTS! Small horsey perverts!”
“Okay, rude. One, I’m not a pervert, I’m a scientist. If it’s for science it’s inherently moral, right? I’m just doing it for science! You can’t stop my progress, no matter how many times you laugh at me and deride my theories and keep rejecting them because ‘peer review’ says that the existence of hoomins is impossible or leave a five-year marriage because I'm 'mentallyl unhinged' and 'not the same pony you fell in love with'—and also ‘horse’ is a really bad word!”
“Well they you can go horse yourself right in the horse!”
Lyra gasped. “How dare you! I’m scientist, you can’t just go seducing me like that--”
“Damn it you little teal horse I will squeeze out your juices, Hippocratic Oath be damned--”
“Could you keep it down?” Rainbow Dash groaned, sliding out from under the nearest table and and stumbling slightly. She was rubbing her head and her armor was slightly askew, and she wobbled slightly as she walked.
McCoy sighed and grabbed his medical tricorder. He bent down and scanned her.
“I’m fine,” she groaned.
“Yes, you are, but you’re dehydrated, sleep deprived, and your blood sugar is high enough to bring down an ox.”
“I’m not a doctor. Your words don't make any sense. And stop yelling, my head is killing me. I think my brain is trying to escape. Is that a real disease?”
“Of course it’s a real disease, but unless you’ve been bitten by a Varnakish bloodmoth then my diagnosis is ‘severely hung over’.” He reached into his medical bag and pulled out a hypospray. Rainbow Dash jumped back.
“NO!” she said, nearly toppling over. “I hate needles!”
“It’s a hypospray, the needle is tiny, you won’t even feel it--”
“Yes I will! Hold on, I need some cider first, then I can--”
There was a hiss as the hypospray sprayed into her neck. Rainbow Dash blinked, then moved her head. “Hey...I feel a little better.”
“Your welcome. Now I strongly recommend you reduce your consumption of cider. And sweets.”
“But I need carbs for strength!”
“Not in the form of raw sugar and alcohol! What you need is protein. And while you’re at it, try some fiber.”
“Are you seriously telling me to go eat grass?”
“That’s super racist,” added Lyra.
“Racist against who?" Snapped Rainbow Dash. "We’re ponies, we all eat grass at some point. It's just super gross.”
“I don’t eat grass. I just eat the clovers.”
Rainbow Dash’s eyes widened. “Wait, that was YOU?!”
“Can I get back to work?” McCoy picked up his datapad and slowly typed in the numbers he needed. The machine sparked and projected the hologram, causing Lyra and Rainbow Dash to jump back in fright—and a maid hidden behind a chair to cry out and fly away, bumping a window in the process before flying out a correct one.
“Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”
“There isn’t one. You’re being reassigned.”
The hologram looked perturbed. “I am a prototype unit issued specifically to the U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701--”
“Not anymore. These ponies need you here. Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to a diplomat.”
“I’m a doctor, not a diplomat--”
“And what did I say about holographic sass?”
“You said you would eject me from an airlock. Considering that we are not currently located on a starship, I have assumed that there are no nearby airlocks. My safety therefore assured. That, and since I am not alive, I am consequently immortal.”
Rainbow Dash approached suddenly, extending her wing. “Can you fix this?”
The hologram stared at it. “That is not a medical emergency.”
“And that’s not an answer.”
“Yes,” it said. “In that I have the theoretical knowledge necessary, as I am the aggregate of all medical knowledge currently known by Starfleet and the Federation as a whole. However I would require specific equipment--”
“We can work on that,” said McCoy. “I just need to find a way to reset you to look like a pony...”
“NO. Leave it,” said Lyra, who was breathing hard. “Leave it just like that...hey, mister, can you grab a mare’s horn and force her head back so far that her mane touches her tail?”
“Yes. Is that a pony medical procedure?”
“Yes. Definitely. Then you’re going to need to give a good belly rub. For...digestion. And science. Then you shall boop the snoot...and peel the banana...”
“Is that...a euphemism?”
“That depends. Do you want it to be?”
The hologram stared at her, and then vanished, its program having been shut down from within.
McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on. He needed coffee and proper sleep. Sleep on a ship was bad, but sleep on a planet when soft, warm ponies kept sneaking into his bed was nearly impossible.
“Well, that will have to do,” he said. Defeated, he walked to a table, pulled out a ridiculous small-horse-sized chair, and sat down. Rainbow Dash sat across form him, flopping down on the table.
McCoy glared at her. “Don’t you have a job to do?”
“I walk around the castle and pretend I work here in between physical therapy appointments that don’t do diddly squat.”
“Rainbow Dash!” gasped Lyra. “Watch your language in front of the hoomin!”
“Why are you even here, again?”
“For SCIENCE!” Lyra cleared her throat. “Also, do you want this banana?”
“I can’t eat your stupid unicorn fruits. You can shove it in your nose.”
“That’s not where I normally shove the banana.” Lyra peeled it and sucked it down in a single bite. She crumpled up the peel and incinerated it in a plume of orange plasma, leaving nothing but blackened ash that she swept under a rug.
“Do you have coffee?” asked McCoy.
“We have tea, I think. Hey, you!” Rainbow Dash yelled into the rafters, where the reflective eyes of a maid stared back at her. “Can you get the doctor guy some t--”
A saucer dropped from the ceiling and clattered to the table, followed by a perfectly aimed cup with tea already in it and steaming. McCoy stared at it, slightly horrified but more impressed so long as he did not question where, exactly, the tea had come from.
“That’s fine,” he said, picking it up. He took a sip and found it surprisingly good. It was not Earth-tea, by far, but it was substantially better than replicator-tea. Which was really just brown water. On a good day. It was a different color on bad days.
He paused. At least it was nice to get a break.
“There’s something I was wondering,” he said, directing the question at Lyra, who was staring at him with an intensity that suggested she was attempting to analyze the fine anatomy of a hoomin by imagining his clothing being peeled away. “How is it that you knew about humans? Before us, I mean? It’s an awful suspicious thing.”
Rainbow Dash groaned loudly and slammed her head on the table. “Oh please Celestia no, why did you ask her that?”
Lyra, though, seemed overjoyed. To an extreme and disturbing degree. To a degree where McCoy immediately regretted asking, and then a few seconds later began to become afraid.
“I have theories! THEORIES! And ancient, arcane knowledge, legends, myths, mysteries, grainy photographs, numerology, prophecy—and transparencies! I HAVE TRANSPARENCIES!”
Lyra produced a breifecase overstuffed with papers. From where, McCoy did not ask. She immediately opened it, causing a plume of various papers and crudely-drawn anatomical drawings. From the case, the produced an object. It was a small system of mirrors and an large lens, with two straps dangling down from the sides. Lyra placed it on her head and tied the strap.
Rainbow Dash appeared to be on the verge of tears. “Please Celestia no not the hat...”
“I’ve spent almost two hundred years researching hoomins. I have my doctoral dissertation in it. That I awarded myself. Because no institution recognizes hoominology as a legitimate branch of scientific study, or hoominmancy as a legitimate form of magic. But I digress. Behold my knowledge about your sexy, sexy bipedial form!”
She ignited her horn and the curtains on each of the nearby windows were untied, swinging closed. Then she pointed her head toward an open wall and lit her horn with bright, nearly white light, causing her projector-hat to display a circle of light on the surface. She then riffled through her papers and produced reel of slides. The inserted it on her hat and it displayed an image on the wall. A crude and slightly stylized form of something ancient and decayed, with strange colors that appeared to have been added after the photograph was taken.
It displayed, roughly, unicorns. But they did not look like the unicorns that McCoy had seen. They were tall and thin to the point of being disturbingly gaunt. They stood at the center of the image, some standing proudly and others with their horns leveled in defense against the dark-shaded hordes approaching them from all sides. Hordes of strange, abstract creatures that were only barely recognizable. Many were bipedal. Some with spears and staffs with pointed ears, others with absurdly heavy armor and strange symbols carved into their foreheads, and one consisting of little more than a red stone with a half-formed projection of a pale woman around it.
“Before Equestria, before the far-sun collapsed, before any of this and maybe even before the universe itself, there was nothing. And before there was nothing, there were unicorns. Our ancestors.”
“Your ancestors,” snapped Rainbow Dash.
Lyra ignored her. “And the unicorns had a power. That we don’t anymore. They could open the Great Gate. They didn’t need rockets, or FTL drives, or crystals or even magic as we understand it. They just were, and they were limitless. They pranced across realms beyond time and space—and when there were monsters, there were unicorns to drive them back.” She paused. “And in some of these realms, there were humans. Of different kinds. Some friendly. Some not.” She pointed to something standing at the edge of the diagram, all alone. A shambling biped of strange texture, as if of machinery and deformed flesh. “And some of them were worse than the monsters.”
She clicked to the next slide, a composite image of several artifacts depicting the figures with the pointed ears. “But the worst were the elves. The High Elves fought a great war that raged for millennia trying to steal the power of the Gate. They went extinct. I think.”
“And you won?”
“No.” Lyra sighed. “The unicorns lost.”
Clicked again. In this image, the abstract representation of a human stood in the center, a plume of white hair behind her head and a sword held aloft. The unicorns around her were thrown back as if by force, but some were strange. Most were tall and thin, like the others—but some were different. They were smaller and shorter, their bodies pale violet and each of their dark purple manes bearing an identical stripe light stripe. They wore strange armor—as did the pony who stood at the feet of the human warrior. Or at least McCoy thought she was meant to be a pony. She had no horn, and no face. Only a black plate with a single white eye drawn the in the center.
“The Biggus-Hoomin,” said Lyra, in awe. “The last weapon of the elves, aided by the Xyuka-Wyrm. Her power opened the Gate and cast the unicorns through it, sending the ancient unicorns across all possible realms. Injured, lost, and alone, they lost their power. Or forgot it. And we lost the Gate.”
She changed the transparency one last time. It was a diagram, technical and drawn in scrawling telekinetic cursive. “I think that the sun and moon, or what we call them, were built by them. The ancient unicorns. To replicate something that the humans once knew, but we don’t know now. It was all lost. I’m the only one that still believes—no, the only one who KNOWS what happened. Where ponies came from. And the fact that you exist confirms my theory. That it was the HOOMINS the whole time!”
She concluded the presentation, but the slide accidentally clicked forward again. This time, instead of a scientific photograph, it showed Lyra herself, sitting awkwardly on a bench beside a white mare. Lyra's eyes widened, and she looked like she was about to cry.
"Woops," she laughed. "That shouldn't be in here--"
It clicked again. This time to show the white mare, nude except for her socks, sitting on a bed. Lyra cried out.
"No, not that, don't look!"
It clicked again, and this image McCoy only saw for the briefest time. It was a room, the walls covered in notes and inscriptions in strange alien text, with diagrams and pictures drawn in pencil and pen and charcoal. Some were tagged together with red thread and pins, and McCoy assumed it to be Lyra's office--a true mess, save for one item. On the center of her desk, in a special holder, something that looked like a disturbing rune-inscribed metal gauntlet.
Lyra tore off her hat, and McCoy felt sick for an unknown reason. Lyra was crying, but still giggled.
She whispered. "I never meant to..." This was followed by another giggle. "He told me...told me she would come back..."
McCoy shivered. “And this...Gate?”
Lyra took a breath and shuddered, then immediately went back to her normal silly self.
“Not even Celestia can open the Gate to other realms. No one can.”
“Because it doesn’t exist,” sighed Rainbow Dash.
Lyra grimaced. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping? Don’t you fall asleep through every important lesson about the critical history that you listen to?”
“I am asleep. I’m just really, really good at sleeping.”
Lyra stuffed her hat and her transparencies into her briefcase. “That’s because you have a tiny brain and can’t understand what I’m saying.”
“Is that supposed to be racist, or are you making fun of the brain damage I got from my coma? You know, when I made sure Baltimare didn’t get turned into rice pudding?”
“Oh sure, pulling the ‘Hero of Equestria’ card! What’s next, you’ll laugh at me too? You’ll laugh and call me crazy, like they all did? Like SHE did?! LIKE THEY ALL DID?!”
McCoy stood up. “Now look here, you’re getting yourself overexcited! It’s not good for your blood pressure and, more importantly, it’s not good for mine!”
“I actually found it a rather fascinating discussion of equine mythology and origin theory.”
The sudden presence of Spock, now sitting comfortably at the table, caused McCoy to cry out, grasping his chest.
“My fibrillation! My atria! Spock, you son of a—maternal-rectal tribble-stuffing—pointy eared, green-blooded—MY HEART! Don’t sneak up on me like that, are you trying to do me in?!”
Spock stared at him impassively. “Doctor, I have been sitting here for most of her presentation. I did not ‘sneak’, nor do I in general. I am simply not especially loud or clumsy in my motions, and I cannot be held responsible for your own inferior observation abilities.”
McCoy was about to yell something, but sat down. He was not only getting too old for this, but had gotten to old for it many years previously. He was, after all, a doctor. Speaking to horses was not his forte. Speaking to Spock even less so.
Lyra seemed equally surprised by Spock’s presence—or rather, what he had said. “You...liked it?”
“Your overall conclusions are not unreasonable. It is presently understood that warp-capable civilization has existed in the galaxy for at least tens of thousands of years, if not tens of millions. We as Vulcans recognize that ancient races did, in fact, interact with our ancestors. It is possible that similar species may have interacted with yours.” He paused. “And the idea of a race of colonists that could cross the cosmos without the need for any formal technology is...absolutely fascinating. It offers a unique perspective. Of a civilization that achieves by natural evolution what ours has collectively achieved through technological development.”
Lyra, taken aback by his acceptance of her theory—the absurd theory that humans existed, that had earned her endless ridicule—and did not entirely know what to say.
“Although,” continued Spock, “I am mildly disturbed by the idea that humans, in particular, may have interacted with this planet within the timescale that you are suggesting.”
“Mildly disturbed?” McCoy had largely overcome his fibrillation and was once again angry. “Spock, it’s a much bigger issue than just ‘mildly disturbing’.”
Lyra was confused by this. “I...don’t understand.”
“Our foremost law, the Prime Directive, forbids any member of the Federation, including humans, from interacting with a planet on which the population has not yet developed warp-speed technology. Human interaction prior to that point would be the pinnacle of illegality. Within the constraints of the current laws, of course.”
Lyra opened her mouth, as if to say something, but she closed her mouth. Thinking about what, exactly, that meant—and why it was surely necessary.
Rainbow Dash stood up. “This is all science stuff, and I’m not exactly an egghead. If I sit to long the metal in my spine starts to seize. I’m going to to jump off things and see if I can fly.”
“Don’t jump too high,” warned Lyra. “Because, you know, you can’t.”
Rainbow Dash grimaced. “Thanks. Because I didn’t already know that.”
Rainbow Dash approached the door, but jumped back with surprising grace and reflex when it was opened from the other side. McCoy stood up as well—although Spock had claimed he was not observant, McCoy knew what human footsteps sounded like, and knew that there was only one other human on the whole damn pony planet.
Kirk stepped through the door, and McCoy stopped, feeling something strange and ominous as Celestia entered the room, smiling and attempting to quiet her giggling as she walked quietly in. It was not a fear for his safety, but rather a strange and horrible perception of a fact that McCoy surely knew but would under no circumstances allow his mind to face directly. Because there way he could possibly believe it.
The princess, though, was dressed in clothing anything but royal. Rather, she wore a sort of white, draping blouse that was extremely low cut. Which did not matter much considering the fact that she was a large-ish horse and therefore lacked breasts, but still disturbing nonetheless.
Worse than that, she was apparently not wearing trousers. Which was apparently standard fashion for ponies, nor did she normally wear them. This did, however, expose her rump—where the solar mark she bore was superimposed with a hand-shaped red mark.
Celestia giggled. “Oh, Jim! Not here! You’d think you’d be tired--”
“You’d think I would, wouldn’t you?” He reached up her neck and scratched just behind her ear. Celestia’s eyes widened.
“Oh no! Not the spot!” her neck flexed, and her rear leg on that side began to lift and start kicking. “Oh no! My leg! And in front of my own subjects, too!”
Lyra looked on with an expression of complete, utter, and unbridled envy, while Rainbow Dash stared jaw-agape, her organic wing suddenly foofing upward with all the feathers extended completely. The mechanical wing hitched and jolted, slowly rising to the same position as well.
Kirk laughed and Celestia leaned against him, nearly shoving him over with her body, her mass being substantially greater than his. “I need to get changed,” she said. “I need to join the others in the debate, and I’ll be busy for a few days. Feel free to explore Canterlot with your friends, or anywhere else for that matter. Rainbow Dash will be assigned as your personal escort.”
“Wait, I will?”
Kirk smiled. “So you’ll argue for Equestria joining the Federation, then?”
Celestia giggled and leaned in close. “I’ll argue as long and hard as it takes until it’s finished. You know that.” Then she giggled softly and stepped back. “And while you’re out there? Try to find a bakery you like. I intend to take you on a very excellent date before you leave.”
“Of course. I’d be honored, Princess.”
Celestia similed and turned to leave. Before she left, though, she turned to McCoy.
“Doctor,” she said. “After confirming with your captain, I believe my sister would be very interested in having a...private discussion. With you. I suggest you find her when our boring political talk is over.”
McCoy shuddered as she left. His intrinsic horror turned to a kind of extrinsic horror coupled with anger as he faced down Kirk, who still had a stupid smile on his face.
“Jim. Tell me you didn’t.”
Kirk continued to smile. “Bones, you need to understand--”
“No. No, you didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t...you...you did, didn’t you?”
Kirk shrugged. “Well...”
“Jim. She’s a HORSE. You can’t—you—I mean, I know you have a certain tendency but this—this time you went too far!”
“She’s not a horse. She’s a pony.”
“THERE IS NOT A DIFFERENCE YOU IOWAN SON OF A--”
“Hey, hey! Let's not bring Iowa into this! She’s a consenting adult. And that’s what really matters.”
“Consent WITH A HORSE!!”
“With an alien princess, Bones. So, yes, but not like that!”
McCoy felt as though he were about to vomit. He grasped the edge of the table to steady himself.
“Bones, you don’t look so good.”
McCoy shoved him away. “I can’t even look at you right now, Jim. I don’t care if she’s an alien horse, or a talking horse, or any kind of horse, you—you did...horse.”
“Well if it’s any consolation, I did learn that they taste like they smell. In her case like vanilla.”
“I knew it,” whispered Rainbow Dash.
Feeling even sicker, McCoy straightened up. “Permission to beam back to my sickbay, Captain. I...I can’t take this planet anymore. Clearly I’m not cut out for it.”
“You don’t like the idea of spreading love throughout the galaxy?”
“Not the way you do it, you perverted son of a—ahem...I have to leave. Before I say something I regret.”
“Permission granted. Be sure to check up on whatever the pony on the ship might need.”
“I know. She’s still recovering. But I don’t think I’m going to be able to look at any pony the same way. Thanks a lot, Jim.” McCoy produced his communicator, it beeping as he opened it. “McCoy here. One to beam up.”
“Aye, sir.”
The transporter lit and his body faded and dissipated in the glow.
Kirk sighed. “Don’t look at me like that, Spock.”
“I am not looking at you, Captain. Do recall that I am excessively familiar with Vulcan-human relationships, and as such suspected the possibility of far less exotic pairings including but not limited to man and pony.”
“Vulcan and human is more exotic to you than man-on-pony?”
“Of course, Captain. I had expected this would be obvious.”
Rainbow Dash blinked, then looked to Lyra. “I guess eating a lot of cake makes you really thirsty?”
Lyra tilted her head. “I don’t think it’s that. I think she just has an urge to go where no mare has gone before. And her thing for xenospecies. I mean, she has...weird tastes.” She stared at Kirk with unbridled intensity. “However in this case I understand and would like to submit a formal request to be immediately fuc--”
“What if she gets pregnant?”
“That never happens,” said Kirk. “Male birth control and all.”
“And the fact that alicorns are basically necrotic on the inside.” Lyra shrugged. “It’s part of the apotheosis process. They’re sterile. It keeps them from breeding usurpers.”
“Then where do they get new ones?”
“They don’t. I mean, there’s supposedly a chance that Cadence is slightly fertile, being fresher than the others, but considering the only compatible stallion has been completely and utterly sucked dry by the changeling queen, there’s no chance of her ever giving birth. So only the three. Forever, and for always.”
“Unless I grow a horn,” suggested Rainbow Dash. She laughed, but then her smile faded. “And...and a new wing.”
Kirk sat down at the table.
“And the diplomatic situation?” suggested Spock.
“I think I made my point.”
“Yes. I am aware of that. However, whatever you did or did not point does not necessarily bear a significant effect on our present situation.”
“They’re considering it. Celestia approves of moving forward with the application. But there’s three others. Luna, their niece, and her ex-fiance.”
“I see that politics on this world are inexorable from the personal relationships of the higher nobility. Not unlike your own world.”
“Not unlike our own world was a thousand years ago. We moved beyond that. I wouldn’t be here if we were still lords and ladies fighting over who has the best castle.”
“That’s harsh,” said Lyra.
“Really? What was the last war you had?”
“The Nightmare War. When Luna as Nightmare-Moon fought her sister Celestia over taking sole princesship over the...oh...”
“We also had a changeling war,” said Rainbow Dash. “Sort of. But then they married off some shmuck from House Twilight and...oh...”
That caused Kirk to suddenly recall something. A question, and a certain line of reasoning.
“House Twilight. I’ve heard that name before.”
Rainbow Dash shrugged. “Ask Lyra. Unicorn bloodlines are...complicated. And tend to cross back on themselves a lot--”
“We do not do that,” snapped Lyra, “anymore.” She turned to Kirk. “House Twilight is of the more powerful noble families. Shining Armor is their scion. Sort of. Technically it’s supposed to be Twilight Sparkle, but she's not white. She has the purple.”
“That's the pony in charge of building the warp cores.”
“Sure, I guess. She’s Celestia’s personal student. I knew her at the Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, our university. She’s brilliant, probably beyond any pony in existence short of Celestia, but...well, she’s a Twilight.”
“And what does that mean?”
Lyra paused. “House Twilight is...known for its magical power.”
“Meaning?”
She sighed. “Necromancers. Dark lords. Mad wizards building towers and plotting devious plots.”
Rainbow Dash snickered and Lyra glared at her.
“And Twilight?”
“I don’t know. Nopony does. She never really had any friends except Moondancer.”
“The pony on my ship. The pilot.” Kirk’s brow furrowed.
“Captain?”
“I don’t like this, Spock. Something isn’t right. It just isn’t right...”
His communicator beeped, and he opened it.
“Kirk here.”
“Captain.”
M’Ress’s voice came through the speaker, and Kirk stood up suddenly. “Lieutenant. I was just about to call you. I was starting to get concerned.”
“Do you doubt my competence, Captain?”
Kirk smiled. “No. That’s why I waited. What did you find?”
“A problem. But potentially a fruitful one.”
“I...don’t like the sound of that.”
“No. Nor will you like the present situation. However, something significant is afoot. You need to come here. To Ponyville.”
“Ponyville? What kind of a name for a pony town is Ponyville--”
“I am not the one who named it nor did I waste time considering its title. I am afraid the situation may be urgent but the information is...complex. It needs to be relayed in person.”
Kirk frowned. “Of course. I’ll contact the Enterprise for a transport right--”
“No,” said a second voice. A high voice that surely belonged to a pony, but had an inexplicable Midadlantic accent.
“M’Ress, who is that?”
“You can’t use the transporter now. They’ll be watching and I don’t know if they have the ability to intercept the patterns from a site-to-site.”
“Who are you and why are you on the line? And why do you have a Midadlantic--”
“I am here because your operative disrupted three months of hard work and planning a way to infiltrate District 51. And as much as it pains me to say, I think the situation has grown beyond my abilities as a pony.”
“So you’re asking for help.”
“Ahem. Take the train. It runs directly to the town. If anypony asks, you were given a direct invitation by Rarity because I am simply overcome with irresistible inspiration and wish to design the very finest of couture for the aliens. So that you might attend formal functions in something other than those absolutely hideous green-and-gold monstrosities you Starfleet fools so enjoy.”
“How do you--”
“Just get here. As soon as you can. I will tell you everything once you are here.”
Kirk paused. “M’Ress?”
“She can be trusted. Our goals seem to align.”
“Seem.” Kirk sighed. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Kirk out.” He carefully closed his communicator, and sat back down.
“It would have been prudent,” suggested Spock, “to ask where Ponyville actually is.”
“I know where Ponyville is,” said Lyra. “My wife used to live there before she--never mind, not relevant. I know where it is.”
Kirk and Spock looked at each other.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“You can’t exactly stop me.”
“Well...no...I mean, I suppose I could stun you with a phaser...”
“I would prefer to be choked into unconsciousness, if possible. Ideally while you also pull my tail.”
“Choking concerns an internal blockage of the windpipe,” noted Spock, “what you are referring to is strangulation, assuming that you do not mean for the Captain to put his hand down your throat.”
Lyra appeared to have visible started sweating. “That would be...also acceptable...”
“No.”
Lyra seemed to deflate. Kirk stood up, gesturing for Spock to follow. Rainbow Dash joined them as well, and Kirk stopped.
“You definitely can’t go.”
“Nope. I definitely can’t not go. The Princess assigned me, remember?”
“We can stun you if we have to.”
“How quick on the draw do you think you are, slick? I can’t fly, but I’m still faster than you on the ground.”
“I doubt that.”
“Do you want to try me?”
“Not really. But I will, if I have to.”
Rainbow Dash shrugged. “So I guess you don’t want a military escort?”
“Considering what we might be doing may end up being treason, no, we don’t.”
“I literally do not know what that word means.”
“What, ‘treason’? Aren’t you in the military, though?”
“Yeah.” Rainbow Dash seemed annoyed. “First as a test pilot and now as a professional parade-float rider. I was an astronaut before you had even cracked open your weird alien egg and gotten born.”
“I’m substantially older than you, and we don’t come from eggs.”
“Then before I hatched out of my egg, I don’t know. That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“I’m loyal to Equestria. Forever, no matter how many wings I lose. And if something’s going on that’s bad, then I’m going to put a stop to it. At least then I could finally do something instead of just standing around and having ponies compliment me for the biggest failure of my life.”
“That is not logical,” sighed Spock.
“Yeah. That, and we don’t actually have phasers to phase you. And I’m not about to choke you. Or strangle you. So...”
“So it’s settled.”
Kirk nodded. He now at least knew the next place he needed to be—and knew that it was called Ponyville.