//------------------------------// // 14. Growing Pains IV – Visitors for You, First Minister // Story: The Ship of State // by marciko322 //------------------------------// Once again, I decided to spend the day in my office. Things had seemed to crawl to a standstill over the past few days. The fields had been left devoid of workers; the sawmill stood quiet and gleaming, and empty. It was almost as if the Free State had been abandoned, with the same swiftness that it had been filled to the brim with. Of course, that was only because it was midday, and just about everyone who could walk and haul was off in the forest, practically trying to scour it clean of anything edible. Construct had taken my foraging suggestion quite seriously, although in this case that had only consisted of telling them what to do and ‘allowing’ them to take a chunk of whatever they took for themselves, which was enough to convince damn near the entire population. Thus, the settlement itself looked more like… well, what I’d expected it to look like, sans my ill-fated Summer Sun speech, perhaps with a complementary extra two or three months to make up for the lack of, er, horsepower – half-finished, small, and very, very quiet. Anyway. As it turned out, we had grossly underestimated the amount of produce in that forest. I’d taken an inspection of the food supply, on the second day of the foraging program, and had found almost exactly the same amount of food in it as I had the last time – we were just about breaking even. The sight was a damn welcome one, I tell you what. Apparently, the forest was much more well-established than any of us had initially assumed – there were a few genuine apple trees in there, scattered about randomly, some even with actual, edible fruit on ‘em. We’d earmarked them for transplanting closer to us, at a later date. All the same, I knew it wasn’t sustainable. The forest might be pretty fuck-off huge, but seven hundred yahoos running around it was gonna deplete it ruddy quick. Sooner or later, the parties would have to start going further and further in to find anything. At some point, we’d have picked clean everything we could reasonably get to in a few hours’ travel time, and that’d be it. At the very least, we’d have gotten a few days’ worth, maybe a month’s or two – which would be welcome for a fact, but… the odds on it being enough were still far too slim for comfort. At any rate, I would only really get in the way in there – as I kept telling myself. I’d never ventured really far into it, barring a decent spot to hide my still back in the day, and my experience mostly consisted of looking for weeds to throw into it. It wasn’t my field of expertise. No no. Sitting at a desk crunching numbers, that’s what my expertise is. Two weeks in, I’d gotten around to taking a second roll call – a census, I guessed it ought to be called now – of the Free State, for the sake of accurate records. Our population now stood at seven hundred and twelve, including me, Lyra, and Hooves’ five, as well as the two orphan kids. Of the original five hundred and thirty eight of the first census, only two ponies had left for greener pastures – both adult mares, a mother and daughter pair. At least, I assumed they’d left. I didn’t get them on the census, at any rate, and no dire situation regarding them had made itself known to me. I hoped they were doing fine, wherever they were. At any rate, that left me with an extra hundred and sixty five lads having come to me. We were gonna have to start building some more housing soon; apparently, things were getting quite out of hand in that department. Food, too, was going faster than anticipated, just because there were more to feed. At this rate, even if we did absolutely everything we could, there was still a good chance not everyone would make it. Don’t start spiralling, Inns, I reminded myself with a sharp shake of the head. Better actually do something about it. I’d already asked Construct’s second-in-command, some pegasus named Shuffle Top, to start building some temporary communal housing – really just a barn filled with beds – just to take the edge off. Individual two-story buildings would have taken too long and done less. Stopgaps were an unfortunate necessity in the meantime. I’d probably done all that I could have, already. Construct, herself, was still away in Manehattan, and Blueblood was also still MIA. I was, in effect, the only person that was still capable of signing off on things here, which happened to be another reason I was huddled in front of a really rather disorganised desk. I needed to be ready in case of something unexpected cropping up. Like, for instance, the return of a royal pain in the arse. A knock on the door was preceded, too swiftly to be called decorous, by it opening to reveal a rather frazzled looking Lyra. “Aaah, First Minister?” Her tapering off of my name onto my title gave me pause. Lyra had never used it before, to my knowledge. “Are you available?” “As always,” I said, leaving my seat. “What have you got for me?” “Visitors for you, sire,” she said. Oh. “Huh.” I hadn’t expected either of the two to have been back already. “Who is it, then?” “Blueblood,” answered Lyra. “And c-company.” ...Eh? Company? She doesn’t mean… “Okay,” I said, apprehensive. “Lead the way, I guess.” She nodded jerkily, and spun gracelessly around to walk me to them. I followed, only somewhat more sedate. If Blueblood’s plus one was who I thought it was… Actually, I could probably… eh. Zoned out as I was, I hardly even noticed the three guests in my hallway until I almost walked right past them and out the door – saved just in time by a minty-green glow slithering over it. I blinked, and turned around, where all four ponies were giving me strange looks. “Ah,” I said, stepping forward and pretending that didn’t almost just happen. “Apologies. Ambassador Blueblood, welcome. And…” I frowned, my mind coming up blank. Who are these idiots, again? Blueblood rescued me from making the next obvious faux pas. “Lady Upper Crust and Count Gilded Hoof, First Minister.” My eyebrows rose. They were not, as it turned out, who I thought they were. “Ah, forgive me, Lady Upper Crust. It took me a moment to place your face. It is good to meet you again. And Count Gilded Hoof, was it? A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” I offered a hand, and was only slightly surprised when the unicorn stallion actually shook it. I nodded respectfully at him, then to Upper Crust. “I’m afraid the Free State isn’t much for accommodations at present; we’re in a bit of a crisis here at the moment, which I’m sure Ambassador Blueblood has already made you aware of.” I directed them over to my kitchen. “Can I get you some refreshments? Water, tea, coffee?” “Some tea would be lovely,” said Upper Crust. Blueblood nodded his agreement. “I prefer coffee,” said Gilded Hoof, looking around my house curiously. “Coming right up,” I said, pulling out four mugs in what was rapidly becoming a familiar concerto of movement. Soon, I had two cups of steaming herbal tea in front of my guests, and one cup of joe for Gilded Hoof. The second was for myself. Christ, with how much coffee I get through in a day I’m surprised it hasn’t given me arrhythmia yet. Apparently, it was a custom of the aristocracy to occupy themselves with meaningless small-talk for as long as it took for everyone at the table to finish their drinks. “…such a large field for such a small city-state?” Gilded Hoof was asking. “It seems a little… wasteful.” “I prefer to think of it as future-proofing,” I replied. To be honest, I didn’t even mind it as much as I thought I would. Maybe because we were just sitting in my kitchen, and I was subconsciously thinking of them as simple guests, instead of the foreign business representatives they probably were in reality. “With how readily these ponies arrived here, the Free State’s population growth has been rather explosive, and we’re still getting new blood in now. I’ve learned my lesson from two weeks ago – if anything like that happens again, I won’t be left in the dust.” “Which reminds me,” Upper Crust broke in. “I was under the impression that it was near-impossible to establish agriculture here. How have you done it, where so many other ponies have failed?” “I immersed my hands in a bag of seeds,” I said, as utterly flatly as I could. My straight face lasted for all of about two seconds, seeing the sheer incredulity on her face. Gilded, himself, wasn’t too much better disposed. I chuckled. “I know it doesn’t sound even remotely sane, but it’s the absolute, genuine truth. I have something of an anti-magic touch; Construct says the theory is that when I touch those seeds, their inherent magic dissipates, which, er… somehow means they don’t need any magic intake to grow any more.” “It’s true,” said Blueblood, surprising me somewhat. “I skimmed a copy of her report. The theory is sound.” He cracked a smile. “The sight of the First Minister stuffing his hands into a sack in his office was… memorable, if nothing else.” I chuckled again. “’I’m ensuring the continued existence of the Free State by making skin contact with a sack of grain’ was not a phrase I thought I would ever get to say with sincerity, but… Welcome to Equestria, I suppose.” Or rather, fuckin’ ponies, man. I sipped the last of my coffee down, and set my mug down on the table. That seemed to be the catalyst for our party to finish off the rest of our drinks and assume a more business poise. Upper Crust floated her mug over to the sink, and after a brief glance at me, mine too. “Now,” she said, leaning forward in her seat. “To business.” “Yes,” I agreed. “Let’s hear it.” “Prince Blueblood has told me some of the basics of the situation of the Free State,” she began. “Am I right in believing you are in the midst of a famine?” “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a famine,” I said. “More of an extreme scarcity of food. But yes, you are essentially correct.” “And am I right in assuming you are independent, and the sovereign of your state?” “I’m not sure exactly how independent a nation can be with a neighbour whose ruler moves the sun,” I retorted. “But, again, that is right.” “Your nation is still very young,” she said. “Your leadership is still not set in stone. A crisis such as the one you are facing now might well be your undoing.” “Yes, yes,” I interrupted, tired of her dancing around the point. “I know. I was here. Get on with it.” Her expression soured. “…I am willing to alleviate some of the pressure you are facing now.” “A private relief effort,” explained Blueblood, before I had a chance to ask her myself. “Not officially sanctioned by the Crown. I imagine food shipments would be a welcome sight in the Free State, if they were not in an Equestrian livery.” I blinked tiredly. “Just like that? Pro bono? No offense, Lady Upper Crust, but I find that very difficult to believe.” “I propose an equivalent exchange,” she said. “In exchange for providing you and your state with the necessary goods to continue, I would like to acquire exclusive rights to mineral extraction within the territory of the Free State.” … My first instinct was to laugh in her face and kick her out. Despite my inexperience, I was no fool. I knew damn well what ‘exclusive mineral extraction rights’ meant in reality – signing your natural resources away for an immediate profit. A geopolitical deal with the devil: sign your future away, in exchange for goodies in the present. I’d read enough history back home to know what that did to a nation – and the leaders that took advantage of it. But, at the same time… the Free State’s current situation wasn’t looking an awful lot like sunshine and rainbows. The knowledge that we were in the shitter now, but that it would go away definitively at some point in the future… in effect, we had no current prospects, but the future was looking bright. Besides, it was just minerals; not something we needed, exactly, to survive. We could make do just fine without them. Upper Crust’s deal was damn cunning indeed, I realised. We had a future, but no present, and here she was offering a present in exchange for our future, for what seemed at a glance to be negligible costs, and massive benefit. I shook my head, internally. It was too good to be true, without question. I just had to tease out the thread that would let me prove it. “Mineral rights, huh? In exchange for food shipments?” “That’s right,” she said. “A tempting offer,” I admitted. “I don’t see any problems that I would have with such a deal – but, I would still like more information before I commit to anything definitively.” The smile that was forming on Upper Crust’s face fell away at once, which she attempted to disguise as professional curiosity. I saw through it at once – she had something to hide, and wasn’t expecting the newbie to pull at the string. “What would you like to know?” she asked. “A time period, first of all. Exactly how long would these mineral rights be in effect for? How long would the shipments be coming in for, and at what interval?” “The relief would only last for as long as it is necessary,” she said, now considerably less emotive. “Once your food situation is resolved, there would be no further need for it. The interval is a matter of distance… to the White Tail Woods, I believe it would be at most once every three weeks.” “And the minerals?” I prompted. “It would be a standard Equestrian mineral rights treaty,” she ‘explained.’ I blinked. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. “I see,” I said. Looked like I had some research to do. “The baseline is derived from the original Treaty of Stake’s Lair,” Blueblood broke in. “The second treaty between Equestria and Griffonia. The mineral rights were established as ‘indefinite,’ with further clarifications disallowing the possibility of negation.” ...Huh. Thanks, Blueblood. “I see,” I said again. Upper Crust tried to hide it, but she sent a very unpleasant look the Ambassador’s way. When she turned back my way, I saw her irises had shrunk – a pretty sure tell she was nervous, at the very least. And no wonder. “And how would these minerals actually be extracted?” I asked next. It wasn’t a question either of them had expected to follow. “Personnel, equipment?” “…Equestria can provide both of those,” she said. Apparently, that was all the clarification I needed, because I spent a few more moments waiting for more in vain. Can was definitely the operative word there. “…Right,” I eventually said. I considered asking some more, just for the sake of seeing her sweat a bit, but really, my mind was already made up. “Well, I believe I’ll have to think over your offer carefully, Lady Upper Crust.” I rose from my chair, prompting the three ponies to follow suit. “You can expect a response within the next seven working days, via Ambassador Blueblood.” Before I could usher the two guests out of my house, though, I remembered the second. “Oh! Count Gilded, do you have anything to add?” “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. To his credit, he didn’t let the annoyance he must have felt show. “It won’t take long, but I would prefer to speak of this in private.” “Of course, of course.” I opened the door, and Upper Crust took enough of the hint to walk out. “Take care,” I called, before closing it again. I turned back to the two remaining ponies. “Now, Count Hoof. What can I do you for?” Gilded Hoof shot a look at Blueblood from the corner of his eyes. “…In private,” he stressed. “Nonsense,” I said. “Ambassador Blueblood is an invaluable member of my inner circle. Whatever you wish to say to me, you can say in front of him.” “I’m afraid not,” he insisted. I narrowed my eyes. “If you’re an assassin,” I said, slowly. “You’re not a very good one. If you can’t stand to discuss your business in his presence, then I’ll have to ask you to leave. I doubt the mail service is as experienced in the art of discretion as the Ambassador undoubtedly is.” The count ground his teeth together, clearly frustrated. Blueblood looked between the two of us. “If my presence is not required,” he said, “then… I can just, go to the other room?” “No,” said Gilded, apparently having conceded. “That is fine. You may stay.” He turned his irritated expression my way. “First Minister. I am here on behalf of the Chancellor of Public Information Dissemination. I have-” “Court’s Eye?” Blueblood blurted out, clearly not having expected that to come out of his mouth. “You?” He turned his fiery gaze to the Ambassador. “…Yes,” he said. “I am.” “Uh, the human is lost.” I raised my hand like I was back in class, making both of them focus back to me. “Can someone explain? What is a Court’s Eye?” “You- you really don’t know?” asked Blueblood, incredulous – among a couple of other emotional states. “Didn’t I tell you at some point?” “No, you didn’t.” Count Hoof regarded me with a cool gaze. “Court’s Eyes are ponies who work for the PID Chancellery, who ensure the good conduct of the nobility of Equestria. They are often assigned to specific nobleponies. I am attached to Lady Upper Crust, as you might have noticed.” “Does she know?” I asked. “Of course not. I work under the guise of her personal assistant.” I blinked. “…Okay.” So Count Hoof is actually a spy? A domestic one? Wait, Public Information Dissemination? They’re spies? And Blueblood didn’t know? It was safe to say I had a lot of questions. “Oh, uh, yeah,” I started, at his continued staring at me. “Please, continue.” “As I was saying,” he began. “I am here on behalf of the PID Chancellery, to ask for your permission to establish a presence in the Free State.” … “I’m sorry?” I asked, not quite believing what I had just heard. “Are you seriously asking me permission for that?” “Yes,” he said. “You’re asking my permission for you to spy on me?” “Not on you,” he said. I suspected he was rapidly losing patience with me – though in my defense, he was talking some serious rubbish at me. “Foreign intelligence is beyond our duties. Court’s Eyes are only concerned with titled Equestrian nobility.” I quirked an eyebrow. “Like Ambassador Blueblood?” He glared at me. “Yes.” “Mmm. I see, I see.” I nodded. “In that case, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your proposition, on the grounds that it would infringe on our sovereignty if you were to do so, and would also compromise the security of the Free State, and also that you are an idiot.” Count Gilded Hoof’s expression darkened, now. “Are you sure that is wise, First Minister? I was asked to provide you the courtesy of asking first, but-” “But you don’t actually need it to be sent here,” I finished for him. “I know. That’s how espionage is supposed to work.” Now, my own expression had turned stormy – and my intimidation was a lot more effective than his was. “You know, Count Hoof, I don’t know how things work in Equestria, but back home, espionage is an offence punishable by summary execution. I suggest you tread carefully.” “It is not our job to spy on you-” Gilded tried to explain, hiding his fraying nerves well, but I interrupted him. “I don’t care. A spy is a spy – at some point, it might well become someone’s job to spy on me, instead of the good Ambassador here. That is not acceptable. I’ll give you two chances – this is your first. Your business here is concluded,” I finished. “Leave.” “I must-” “Out!” I pointed at the door. Out Count Hoof went. He shut the door behind him with rather more force than necessary – I couldn’t tell whether it was from the way his conversation with me ended, or from the lack of manners his title had given him, or from the entitlement of his position in the Equestrian hierarchy, as a Court’s Eye, whatever that actually gave him. Doesn’t matter much in the end, I suppose. A knob is a knob, after all. “Pillock,” I muttered, turning back – to see Blueblood sweating up a storm, looking like he was about ten seconds from falling over. “Whoa, Ambassador,” I exclaimed, rushing over to him in case he needed support. “Are you alright?” “Yes,” he got out, taking deep, shuddering breaths. “I-I am fine. Thank you.” Wow. I’d never once seen Blueblood so shaken – not even when I threatened to feed him his own face back when we first met. A single, five-minute encounter with a supposed Court’s Eye, one Blueblood seemed to know personally going by his reaction, was all it took to shatter him. I gave him a few moments to catch his breath and settle his heart before I started with the questions. “Feel better now?” I asked. I kept a hand on his withers just in case, kneeling down to put myself on the same height level as him. “A little,” he said, pressing a hoof to his chest. “Thank you, First Minister. I… was not expecting to deal with Court’s Eyes today.” “Why not?” I was confused. “Today? Why’d you act like you’d seen a ghost, man?” He turned his head back to look me in the eyes. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, simply. “It’s court business. I…” His gaze unfocused, now looking more like he was trying to stare at the back of my head, through the rest of it, like it was a glass sculpture. “I’ve known Gilded Hoof seven years. He was… I always thought he had married into his title, or used to be somepony’s retainer before striking it in… Ye Maker, I even thought about ‘hiring’ him at some point! I had no idea… he was always so gregarious… I had no idea…” Oh, right. Unfavourable comparisons to secret police from back home were making their way into my brain-pan. Finding out someone you knew for years was working for an agency specifically created to keep an eye on people like you… that couldn’t be a pleasant experience. Even if Blueblood did already know how it all worked, such a personal reminder would be memorable indeed. “Hey, hey,” I called, shaking him gently to ground him back to reality. “Stay with me, Blueblood. You’ll be fine. He ain’t lookin’ for you. You’ll be fine.” Blueblood nodded absently, staring straight ahead, doing some kind of breathing exercise. He calmed down pretty quickly, fortunately, and turned around, shrugging off my hand. “Thank you, Inns,” he said. “I believe I will be fine now. Was… there anything else you needed?” He nodded to the front door, but I pre-empted him. “You mind answering some questions about what in the bloody hell just happened?” “Go ahead.” I paused, not having expected him to actually agree. Only one question came to mind. “…Am I gonna get in trouble for having called him an idiot?” Another thing I hadn’t expected was for him to immediately burst into laughter. “Pfffffa ha ha haaaaaa!” A bemused smirk crawled up onto me. Well, uh, at least I took his mind off it? He soon recovered, though, and returned a significantly more amused smile to me. “Ah, heh, no, no you won’t. Like he said, they’re not here for you. Being truthful, some of my peers are likely already eyeing your Free State as a safe haven from the Chancellery.” “All part of my mission statement,” I said. “Not my fault if Equestria disapproves of their government employees’ addiction to hookers and blow.” “Blow?” parroted Blueblood. I quirked an eyebrow, giving him a deeply shit-eating grin. “What, not gonna question the first one?” The look on his face made me break out into full-on cackling. If only I could’ve snapped a photo of him! “Nah, nah,” I waved off, after a few moments of uncontrollable laughter, having saved myself from tipping over by planting my hands on my knees in the nick of time. “Just messin’ with ya, Blueblood. Ain’t none of my business what you do in your free time. As long as you aren’t skimping on your duties here while you’re doing it,” I added, as an afterthought. “I would never,” he said. The mirth in his voice was lacking, which I picked up quickly. “What? Too afraid of Baron Titwank, or whatever his name was, to live a little?” “Count Gilded Hoof,” he amended instinctively, then glared at me. “And yes, as a matter of fact. A member of the royal family cannot be seen doing such atrocities.” Now, my eyebrows shot right up into the air. “Really? Then why’s Celestia keep trying to get into my pants?” “Excuse me?” “Oh, I get it,” I continued, pretending I didn’t just say that to his face. “’Rules for thee, but not for me,’ is that it? So Celestia’s fine, but her nephew, oh goodness me no, that’s just too far! I bet whoever’s topping the Chancellery gets away with nightly threesomes, and gargling entire swimming pools of meth water! I’m getting torn here, on whether I call Equestria an aristocracy or a full-blown caste society!” Blueblood chose to reply to only one part of my inflamed ramblings. “Not even Celestia is above the law, First Minister.” I inhaled, ready to retort in one fashion or another, before the breath left me in a grim exhale. I crossed my arms, darkly amused. “But someone is, right? Otherwise you’d have said so.” Then, a piercing stare from the pony in front of me left me rooted to the spot. “Yes,” he said, sounding more serious than I’d ever heard him. “He is.” … I didn’t even have to ask. “I have been immersed in Court intrigue for my entire life,” he began, stealing my habit of pacing back and forth. A distant gaze flew forth from his eyes, staring at a concerning amount of nothing. “I have partaken in every conceivable kind of political and social manoeuvring throughout it all – without it, I would not be the stallion I am today. Always, without fail, things are stopped before they escalate beyond control. Always. “I knew a filly, once, long ago.” His voice withdrew almost within itself. I had to strain to hear the words themselves, let alone the reminiscent tone in them. “I knew her for twenty years. We practically grew up together. I thought… I…” A pause. “It doesn’t matter. She wasn’t nobility. Not landed, at any rate. She… didn’t have the foresight.” Whatever that phrase was supposed to mean, I had no clue. “An Eye overheard her. I… they couldn’t give the due process without backlash on me, since I had nothing to do with it. Maker, I tried to dissuade her. I just… I woke up one morning, and I never saw her again.” He broke his staring contest with the fabric of reality to throw me a glance that made him look a hundred and forty-five, in spite of his immaculate physical condition. “The Chancellor is tasked to maintain the status quo of the Court,” he said, returning to his pacing. I only looked on, eyes wide, soaking the insight in like a sponge. “And thus, by extension, the whole of Equestria. If one tries to rock the carriage, they are lucky to receive a warning. If that doesn’t work, then… some administrative leave will do it. Not one pony who has ever tried to challenge the Chancellery has succeeded. I suspect not even Auntie Celestia is capable of properly muzzling them, any longer. Not permanently. Not without… changes. “Make no mistake,” he told me. “He may come across as genial, even friendly, but that is all irrelevant to the authority the position confers to him. Chancellor Heartstrings is one of the most dangerous ponies in Equestria.” And you’ve started to make an enemy out of him, was what went unsaid, but I caught it all the same. I stared. Equestria… was not what I thought it was. “…Thank you for your insight, Ambassador,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “I’ll keep it in mind. I, ah… I believe I won’t hold you any longer. You may leave-” The door behind Blueblood opened abruptly, at which he spun around practically on a dime, visibly restraining himself from loosing a bolt of some spell or another at the intruder – who turned out to be a terribly anxious pegasus lady. “Is… this a bad time?” “No, madam,” I replied, as Blueblood raised his head and broke out into an embarrassed flush. “We were just finishing up.” “Yes,” agreed Blueblood, as the newcomer quickly stepped out of his way. He threw me one last glance. “Thank you for your time, First Minister. I shall send our guests on their way, and then retire to my quarters.” With quick steps, Blueblood disappeared into the outdoors. “Come in, come in,” I beckoned to the pegasus, who quickly accepted my invitation, closing the door behind her. “What is it?” “I was hoping to speak with you, First Minister,” she explained. Her low, smooth voice gave me pause, stopping me from replying reflexively. “…Who are you, again? I feel like I know you from somewhere, but I can’t quite place it…” “My name is Night Gown, sir,” she said. Ah, yes! “Right,” I said. “You’re the metallurgist, aren’t you?” “That’s right.” I nodded, outwardly composed. Inside, though, my suspicions of her had returned in force. First this whole business with the Spy Who Told Me, and now the pegasus with an incongruous talent and a worse name asking for me? I didn’t like this business one bit. “So,” I began. “You must be the assassin, then.” “I am not,” she said, completely unruffled by the seemingly left-field assertion. “If I was, you would already be dead.” Well then. This lady didn’t mess around. “…Okay,” I said. “That’s an interesting response to a statement like that.” She chose not to reply to that, so I continued. “Go on, then. State your business.” She looked around, then, searching for something. “Are you sure this is private?” “I thought you said you weren’t an assassin,” I snarked. “Yes, we’re about as alone as we can get. Barring Lyra, I suppose.” “Lyra?” “My room-mate. She’s in the bedroom, there.” I stuck a thumb out over my shoulder, pointing behind me. “I doubt she’ll disturb us, though. Get on with it, will you?” Night Gown met my unimpressed gaze. “What do you know about thestrals?” … “The what now?” She blinked, and cocked her head. “Thestrals. You know… batponies?” I shook my head. “Never heard of ‘em.” “Really?” Yep. “Bat wings, fangs, undying loyalty to her Highness, the Empress of the Night, ostracised from regular Equestrian society?” “Doesn’t ring a bell,” I said, to which she huffed in amusement. “Quick rundown?” “Thestrals,” she began, “are the fourth tribe of ponies. We are an offshoot of pegasi – solar pegasi, that is, since we are technically pegasi too.” At my impatient hand-waving, she frowned, but did keep going. “We lived in harmony with the other three tribes, since shortly after unification, until…” She bit her lip. “Until Celestia began to sideline her Highness.” “Sideline?” I asked, frowning. “Yes. Over time, her Highness – along with her thestrals – found herself less and less appreciated, both by Celestia and by the other tribes, used to living in the daytime. Every time she attempted to remedy the problem, Celestia would only dismiss her concerns. Nopony stepped up to defend her, or us.” A measure of venom had found itself into her speech. “Her Highness was forced to take matters into her own hooves. When diplomacy failed, she turned to violence… among other, more drastic means. And despite all our efforts, she was banished to the moon for a thousand years – only for the crime of wishing to be appreciated by her subjects, for her work. We’ve been relegated to myth and fairy tales ever since.” I blinked. “Banished to the moon? For a millennium?” “Yes. That was nine hundred, ninety eight years ago. Give or take a few weeks.” “…So that was the civil war,” I muttered in realisation. Pieces of the Equestrian puzzle were falling into place, now. So ol’ Celly was sharing power with this ‘Empress of the Night,’ but Cel being the face of the Diarchy left them angry, so they tried to pull a coup and failed. Being sent to the moon for ten-to-the-xth years I could write off as magic, and therefore beyond my understanding. And then, Celestia naturally had to find someone to replace the first ‘second Diarch,’ and eventually settled on that Princess Luna – who, judging by the fact I hadn’t seen her personally even once, was just fine with being out of the spotlight. Ooh, is that why the recovery period took so long? ‘Cause she had to wait until she found another alicorn – one with the moon in their name, of course. Oh. Wait. “So she’s coming back soon? Just under two years?” “That’s right,” she confirmed. Oh shit. I had something to mark on the calendar, then. ETA for Equestrian Civil War Two: Electric Vindaloo. Shit, I’ll have to make some plans, or something… “Okay,” I said, reminding myself to write this all down at some point. “Is th-” “You seem terribly unconcerned by the fact that I look like a solar pegasus,” she interrupted, frowning quizzically. “Are you a thestral, then?” I asked, crossing my arms. Now, I saw in her some measure of apprehension. Head recoiling backwards, like she just had a dagger thrust at her face, she trembled in place. “…Yes,” she said, her silky voice totally at odds with the fear bleeding through it. “So… there must be a reason you don’t look like one, right? Assuming there are physical differences- oh, yeah, the bat wings, right? Do you just put a cover on them? Dye your wings to look feathery? You in a full-body rubber suit right now?” “What? No. It’s a… an i-illusion. A magical one.” I scoffed. “Of course it is. Magic. Fuckin’ ponies, man. Dispel it.” I put an unusual amount of force in the command. My subconscious still hadn’t disassociated the word ‘magic’ from crackpot bullshit, in spite of it working as my A/C, fridge, transportation, day-night cycle, etc. etc. Maybe it was just because I didn’t understand it – plenty of things from back home would have been considered magical if they’d shown up a few hundred years in the past. Magic, after all, was a good alternate term for ‘insufficiently understood science.’ Regardless, the force of it did little to calm the pony in front of me, breaking out into fresh tremors. She looked at me from under her eyebrows, almost shamefully, almost as if I was forcing her to undress in front of me – a comparison accurate enough to immediately turn what little remained of my stomach. I quickly averted my eyes, disgusted at myself. “I’m sorry,” I ground out. “I didn’t mean to sound like that. You don’t have to if it will make you uncomfortable.” When I looked back, though… it was already too late. What stood in front of me now was a completely different being. Whereas the pegasus from earlier was almost sickeningly colourful, this one was now clad in a much more subdued shade of dark grey, with a similarly darkened mane of midnight green. Hey eyes, previously bog-standard grey eyes, were now slit like a cat’s, almost glowing a brilliant orange. She was still looking quite like she’d wished to be anywhere else, but at the same time she splayed out her wings high to let me see them without turning – sure enough, leathery bat wings had replaced her bird-like ones. Yeah. This was different. It was… Alluring. Being perfectly honest, I’d never really considered ponies attractive, physically at least. Two years in Equestria, without the company of other human beings – or, as a matter of fact, without much company of other beings at all – was still not quite enough to rewire me in that particular department. Sure, they were pleasant enough to spend time with, particularly Celestia – and now Lyra, I supposed – but the precisely four times I’d been clearly, straight-up propositioned, I’d turned ‘em down flat – even the two times I was drunk. This one, though, right in front of me… I’d have had some problems. Lord save me. I’d just cracked one off to a pony for the first time. Not even Celestia could make me do that… “…This is what thestrals look like,” she said, quietly, giving me an eyeful of her cute little fangs as she did. Clearly she was assuming some kind of usual reaction, instead of taking the time to simply look at my face. “…Mmm,” I eventually hummed. “That’s certainly distinctive. I can see why you’d rely on disguises like that. Ethnic tensions always add a nice spicy zest to a political conflict, particularly once it ends. I approve.” “You… you really don’t mind?” she asked, much more timidly than I’d come to assume from her. I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable, and averted my eyes in an effort to stave off a flush. “Well, uh, to be honest I don’t really mind either way. Do whatever makes you more comfortable, I suppose.” C’mon, take the bait, please… I breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the familiar pegasus illusion fade back in, like a mirage shimmering back to life in the desert heat. Normal ponies, at least, didn’t have the exotic tang that seemed to make the difference. The heat slowly radiated out of my face. “Thank you, First Minister,” she said, now much more at ease. “Of course.” Then, my eyes narrowed. “So, what exactly was this all supposed to be about? You wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble just to, what, give me a history lesson? You gonna prove Santa Claus is real next?” “No,” she said, smirking for just a second. “I came here to ask for your support in our struggle against the Tyrant Sun, once the time comes to overthrow her.” … Oh. “…Okay,” I said, stalling for time, blindsided by that mission statement as I was. “Uhm… what, what exactly would that entail? I’m sure you understand I can’t make decisions like that just on a whim. Can you give me something more to work with?” “The light of the sun blinds,” she hissed, “and the darkness of the night hides. Our brethren are held in chains by the reign of the Sun-tyrant, scouring us out from wherever she may find us, like we are mere cockroaches beneath her oh-so-mighty realm! Even before the Long Day, the daywalkers would scowl and spit at our hooves! And when the Sun-tyrant deigned to do nothing to defend us or our cause, our beloved Empress took it upon herself to rise to the occasion, so that all tribes of Equestria may live in peace and harmony! “And what did she get for her efforts? Banishment. Sent away to the moon, the Empress’ own celestial body, for a thousand years, like a petulant foal being told to go to their room! And we, her most loyal defenders, cast out from civilisation, on pain of death should we ever attempt to return to our cradle and dare to show our true forms! Nightmare Night, once a celebration of the acceptance of thestrals into old Equestria, now turned a mockery of our Empress’ so-called apocalyptic evil! “They call us bloodsuckers,” she spat, vibrating with suppressed fury. “Did you know that? The mothers of Equestria tell tales to their foals, of ‘vamponies’ prowling the streets at night, looking for daywalkers to suck dry and leave only dessicated remains. Our once-proud heritage, our lineage, our service to our civilisation, turned into a… a manticore under a foal’s bed. “I heard about your speech, First Minister. You promised to take in whoever needed your help, the downtrodden and the forgotten. I am here… to ask for more. We want a place we can call our own, where we can walk freely, and not have to hide ourselves behind illusions, or distance, or a cell. We want a place where we can raise our foals and not have to teach them to fear for their lives whenever they see a daywalker pass them on the street. We want… we want vengeance.” ...Wow. That… was not something I expected. It was certainly a lot to take in. If what she was saying was actually true, of course, though going by the sheer vitriol she conveyed through her speech, it was quite likely. Depressing as it was, the budding politician in me smelled blood in the water. Here was an entire group – a species – of oppressed beings, coming to my door and asking me for help. In exchange for what I assumed to be more of what I’d already done, I’d prevent shit being flung at them, so to speak, and curry favour with some sort of ‘empress’ in the process – one who must have been fuckin’ nuts to go against Celly, true, but at the same time I doubted she’d have tried to run up and start kicking her in the shins. There must have been some serious big guns in play. Unfortunately, that same budding politician smelt some fishy business to go along with it all. “Who do you mean by ‘we?’” I asked. She drew herself up, then, in a pose I swiftly recognised as a pony ‘at attention,’ and gave a salute – not the one I knew that was of the Royal Guards; this one was closer to a bow, with head hung moderately lower, held for a second, along with a hoof to the chest. “Dame Night Gown, officer of the Lunar Corps, at your service.” She raised her head back up. “We seek your support to overthrow the Sun-tyrant, and allow the Empress of the Night to take her rightful place.” I inhaled. There’s the catch. “I see,” I said, flatly. “My turn, then, to speak, if that’s fine?” A nod allowed me to continue. “How much, exactly, do you know about me?” “Well, I-” “About my relationship to Princess Celestia?” “I-” Nope. “Do you know how this Free State even came to be? What do you really know about it? Anything at all?” A short, sour silence spun forth before Night Gown replied, a little irritated. “I read a transcript. Of your speech. I also… observed the citizenry. Discreetly.” “Residents,” I corrected. “Not citizens, yet. I was just wondering, since you seem to be terribly poorly informed. Celestia gave me the land and the title. She gave me the workers. I suspect she sent a few of her own less fortunates herself, too. Not to mention my, oh yeah, friendship with her.” Night Gown’s expression was now carefully blank. “You ponies make shit spies, you know that?” I couldn’t resist a dig. One of the corners of my mouth turned up. “First Baron Titwank asks me to my face if it’s okay to spy on me, and now you try to enlist my help in turning Celestia into Louis the Sixteenth, even though she’s pretty much my closest friend.” “So you won’t help us?” she asked. Here, I sucked in a breath, the air hissing through my clenched teeth. “…How much of your oppression spiel you gave me was the truth?” “All of it,” she said, immediately. Her face scrunched in distaste. “If that Ambassador of yours saw me without my disguise, he’d probably start casting straight away.” Then it was my turn to scowl in disgust. Assuming she was telling the truth – which, despite my sunny optimism, I had little reason to doubt, especially considering ponies’ recent track record with keeping information secret – that put me in a little bit of a bind. On the one hand, I had an entire species of beings that were… let’s charitably call it ‘systematically oppressed’ by Equestria, and had been for a millennium, at the very least, most likely longer. So much so that stories about them had entered folklore as spooky scary monsters that’ll come eat kids who stay up too late, or some other such nonsense. Fuckin’ ponies, man. Can’t even do racism without being twee. But, on the other hand… they were, as far as I understood things, still belligerent towards Equestria, in particular the current Diarchy. Night Gown had all but told me that their goal was regime change, to place their own ruler on the throne. Back home, any nation that tried something like that would immediately be accused of harbouring terrorists – and let me tell you, I didn’t want to go the way of Operation Iraqi Freedom. I’d be all but throwing my hat in the ring alongside them, if I were to just straight-up let them in – but at the same time, it was precisely the moral thing to do. To not even be allowed to show themselves as they are, lest they be killed… “Night Gown.” The pony in question instantly snapped to attention. “Do you speak as a representative of your organisation?” “I do.” Oh good. That simplifies things. “Unfortunately, it is not in the interests of the Free State to interfere in Equestrian internal affairs,” I began, as tactfully as I could, “nor is it to declare hostilities with them, by allowing your organisation to settle and operate here.” Before she could say anything, though, I kept going. “However. It would certainly be a shame if… ponies such as yourself were to continue to have nowhere to settle and show yourselves fully. If you are… willing to commit to peace for as long as you choose to stay here, then I see no reason to deny you passage, or shelter, and certainly I would abhor hunting you merely for the ‘crime’ of being born a thestral.” I smiled. “Of course, if any of you wish to pledge yourselves to me, then that is a different story – as long as you agree to be beholden to Free State laws, you would be granted protection under them, as citizens.” I inhaled, holding it for a beat. Would it be wise to say that? I’d practically be inviting them to fuck with her. And with me, too, come to think of it… nah, they’ll probably do that anyway. But then what would be the harm…? I decided to merely exhale, and wait for her response. One that was slow to come, I saw. Her head was low, eyes closed, meditating deeply. Perhaps considering how best to convince me to join their cause. I worried that I might have come off too strongly, throwing the option of poaching them for myself so blatantly in their faces. Then, I blinked, realising what this ‘Empress’ would have to say about it. Oh. Uh… let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that. “Is there anything we could do to convince you?” she asked, eyes still closed. I sighed. “Look, Night Gown. I feel for ya, really, I do. If it wasn’t for your whole ‘overthrowing the government’ business, I’d be trumpeting your cause ‘till I was blue in the tits. But, really… if you’re serious about what you intend, then I really can’t do any more than… well, what I’ve already told you.” “Okay.” She nodded, a little melancholy, looking up and managing a fragile smile. “I suppose that’s the best I could ask for.” I rolled my eyes at the pretty blatant emotional manipulation, but I couldn’t resist kneeling and stretching my arms out for a hug. “C’mon, don’t be like that,” I said, fighting a smile. “I can at least treat you like people. Get over here.” Fuckin’ ponies, man. It must have been some kind of compulsion. Ponies just couldn’t resist a chance at physical contact – and neither could this one, eagerly trotting up to me and throwing her hooves around me - Pop! - and the moment she made contact, her pegasus form dissolved with an audible crack, complete with a slight breeze washing over me. I recoiled instinctively, just about toppling over, saved by a conveniently-placed wall to my back. The pegasus – thestral, I corrected myself – didn’t get off so lucky, staggering backwards in a daze before collapsing bonelessly to the floor. “Urgh…” she moaned, mushing her face together with her two front hooves as if to try to regain sensation in her muzzle. “What was that?” “Oh shit!” I scrambled back up and over to her, kneeling down – but not actually sure what help I could give her, considering the situation. “You okay? Shit, I should really have known better… god damn it! You good?” “Yeah, yeah…” she groaned, shakily getting her hooves back under her. “I’ll be fine. Just, some magical fatigue. I’ll… what was that?” “Sorry. I really should have told you first.” I helped her get back on all fours. “I dispel magic on touch. Don’t ask me how it works, ‘cause I don’t know. You said your illusion was magic, and I just didn’t put two and two together. Again, I’m sorry.” “Mmm.” Wow, okay, she needs a lie down, or a can of Monster or something. “That’s neat… hey, you mind laying me down in a bed somewhere for a while?” “Sure, sure,” I said, already guiding her over to my couch. “Take your time.” I was going to say something after that, something about how long it would have taken her to get back to a hundred percent, but she just had to turn her head and give me an ‘I just woke up from two hours of sleep and I’m late for an open-heart surgery’ smile that showed just a hint of fang, and all at once I was made very much aware of the fact I was practically holding a thestral mare in my arms. …Oh jeez, that’s… whoof. “…You’ll be fine,” I instead said, lamely, trying to fight off yet another blush as I set her down on the couch as gently as I could. “Hang on, I’ll get you some water.” “Thanks…” Back home, when I was a younger boy, hearing my parents talk to each other in bed before they went to sleep used to piss me off to no end. It may have been just my own idiosyncrasies at work, but just the feeling of the vibrations of the speech running though my bed, in the room just next to theirs, drove me up the fucking wall. The snoring was a lot worse, of course, if I had the misfortune to stay awake long enough to hear it, but rarely was I spared the pillow talk. Maybe that was where I got my disdain for social interaction; since my father was such a bloody loudmouth, who by my estimate went an average of twenty-two seconds between spouting yet more inanity to kill a few hundred more neurons in my brain at a time, I compensated by speaking as little as humanly possible – to other people, at any rate. Fortunately, I’d mostly moved past that particular instability in Equestria. Being one’s own audience tired quickly here. In short, what I mean to say is that Christ on a bike, when did I become my fuckin’ dad? I was only in the middle of my third decade of life, and already… “…they really don’t like being called that, Ly,” I was saying to my bed-mate, as I stared up at what I was pretty sure was the ceiling of my room. It was surprisingly hard to tell in the pitch-black of night. “They’re exactly what they say they are: foals’ tales, twisted over a thousand years of legend into a story you can tell your kids to make them behave.” “Sure,” she mumbled. Lyra was a lot closer to falling asleep than I was, having gotten into bed a few minutes before I did. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t vamponies around. Maybe they’re just other, meaner batponies, and they just got lost one day?” “Got lost,” I repeated with amusement. “Now that’d be something. Face it, Ly. It’s just stories.” “Nuh-uh,” she said intelligently. “Yuh-huh,” I responded, equally intelligently. Apparently it was too much for her to overcome, as after a brief period of silence during which I thought Lyra would finally try to fall asleep now, she changed the topic. “What about your earlier guests? The ones Blueblood brought?” “You mean Upper Crust and Titwank?” I asked. “Them?” Then… “Wait, what do you mean, ‘the ones he brought?’” “Well, they came with him, and Construct said he was going to Canterlot. So he must have taken them with him when he went to come back.” I blinked, the gumminess in my eyelids continuing to put up only token resistance. “Huh. Guess that’s another thing that slipped my mind. Must have been just a tour or something. Hmm…” Now that I was putting my mind to it, some things did come up odd to me. “Yeah… Blueblood totally bailed me out with that treaty thing. Not that I was gonna say yes either way, but it seemed almost like he was trying to deliberately sink that deal… eh, must just be more ‘court business’ or whatever.” Doubt Upper Crust’s gonna play nice with him, now. Or me, for that matter. “Treaty thing?” asked Lyra, sounding one step closer to passing out. “Yeah,” I said. Sleep continued to elude me, to my frustration. All my years of drinking coffee out of buckets finally caught up to me… “Upper Crust wanted to buy all my minerals in exchange for giving us food until the harvest came in. It would really have screwed me over in the long run, so I said no. Well, I mean I’m going to say no, in a few days, but you know what I mean.” “Mmm…” Lyra crooned out, sounding almost like a zombie laying next to me. “And…” A yawn split her sentence in two. “…the other pony?” “Oh, Count What’s-his-name? Feh!” An amused sort of sigh left me. “What an idiot. Comes right up to me and asks, to my face, if it’s okay with me for him to spy on me pretty please? Unbelievable. Can’t have imagined MI5 knocking on my door and offering me an au-pair at their expense, let me tell you.” “Spy?” “Yeah. Said he was a Court’s Eye. Apparently the Ambassador has some history with him specifi-” “Court’s Eye?” In retrospect, I probably should have noticed Lyra stiffening up like a board first, pulling the sheets taut over me. At the very least, the sheer, unadulterated panic in her voice gave it away to my presently-dilapidated brain, telling me that something was seriously wrong here. “Yeah,” I said, turning my head to attempt to face her – though it was still the middle of the night, the moonlight outside was enough for me to at least make out shapes. “Court’s Eye. From the Chancellery. You-” The question died on arrival. I felt the tremors running though the fabric over me. Clearly, Lyra was not fucking okay. “No,” she whispered to herself. “No, no, no no no…” The tremors steadily grew worse. “Hey, Ly?” I reached out, alarmed at the sudden breakdown. “Nononono, this can’t be, this can’t be happening…” The moment I felt her fur against my hand, she snatched at it like a drowning man, using it to orient herself and launch directly into my side. I winced at the sudden impact, then let out a groan of discomfort at the vice grip enveloping my left side. “Ow! Hey, ease up, girl, you’re…” Yeah, is now really the time, moron? Lyra was practically shaking. Her breathing steadily became less even and controlled; laboured gasps broke through every so often; perhaps attempts to moan out more denials, perhaps not. Hell, I even felt her start burning up where fur met skin. Now was probably a bad time to tell her to ease up on the hug. “Easy, Lyra,” I spoke, low and soft, drawing my arms around her as much as I could, in an embrace I hoped she took as protective. It took me far longer than I would have liked to figure it out: Lyra was in the middle of a panic attack. A pretty nasty one, going by how quickly it had set in. I had to pull her out of it, stat. “Easy. You’ll be fine, Lyra. You’ll be okay. It’s just us two here, just us. You’ll be okay, Ly.” It wasn’t working terribly well. I felt her start full-on convulsing, her gasps devolving into stale wheezing. “Lyra, Lyra,” I called, trying not to fall into a panic myself. “C’mon, Ly, you can do it, I know you can! Just…” Come on, something has to work! “Just focus on my voice, okay, Ly? Can you do that? I’m right here, with you, and I’m not goin’ anywhere, okay? Just focus on my voice…” I had to lean over to one of her ears to make sure I was coming through loud and clear – and, fortunately, that seemed to start doing the trick. Little by little, the convulsions eased up, the pressure on my ribs abated, and Lyra’s tortured wheezing downgraded instead into the gasps of someone who’d just run a marathon or three. Jesus fuck. This isn’t good. “Better?” I asked her, to which she managed only a jerky nod, one I felt more than saw. “Okay, good. Just keep focusing on me, alright? Don’t fall back in there, okay?” Another nod. “Good girl.” Eventually, finally, her panic died down to a simmer, the tremors beginning to feel more like momentary cramps than anything. I kept murmuring into her ear the whole time, giving her something to focus on, hoping beyond hope I wasn’t making things worse somehow. Her breathing evened out, into slow, deep gulps of air, like that of a drowning man having just been rescued. “Okay,” she whispered, her breath tickling my shoulder. “Thank you, Adam.” “Always,” I returned. I let a few moments of silence hang in the air before driving them out once more. It was safe to say that neither of us were going to sleep any time soon. “Has that happened to you before? The… panic attack, I mean.” The shake of her head told me she wasn’t up to speaking much any longer. That was fine. “Was it because of that Court’s Eye pony?” This time, a nod confirmed my suspicions. “You… do you think they’re looking for you?” A long, long time passed before I felt another nod. “Would you like to talk about it?” A shake. “Okay. I won’t ask if you don’t want me to.” She tightened her hold on me. Fuck it. I rolled over to my side, and pressed the terrified unicorn mare right into myself, hugging her with both arms. She let out a small squeak, but soon began to relax into my hold. Instinctually, I stroked her mane with a hand, keeping the other on her back, comforting her more like a pet than another human being – but I knew it was helping her. “Don’t worry, Lyra,” I whispered, as she began to almost flow back down onto the mattress, like sand pouring through my fingers. “You’ll be okay here, I promise.” “Will you keep me safe?” she asked, voice quiet yet brittle like glass. “Please, don’t let them take me…” “I promise,” I repeated. “You’ll be okay here.” There goes that rat bastard’s second chance, I thought, as Lyra drifted off to an uneasy sleep. Next time I see him, he’s getting a boot up his arse. You’ll be okay, Lyra. I promise.