//------------------------------// // 15. Growing Pains V – Out of the Frying Pan... // Story: The Ship of State // by marciko322 //------------------------------// For possibly the first time since the Free State became a reality, it was not a fine sunny day out today. Dim grey clouds carpeted the sky, casting the settlement under a sickly torpor that looked like it was going to last the rest of the week. It was, for once, a fitting accompaniment to the State, matching the aesthetics of the weather to the situation on the ground. Construct still wasn’t back yet. I’d heard no news from that front, and neither had Blueblood, when I’d asked him. Sure, Manehattan was a long way away, but… shouldn’t have there been something? Regardless, while I waited for her return (or, indeed, anything at all from her), we were making do with foraging, which was still going strong. I’d indulged yesterday, allowing myself to eat an actual mostly-full meal in the afternoon. At home, naturally; I wasn’t about to enjoy a nice three-course steak dinner in front of starving ponies – this wasn’t Venezuela, after all. The temporary absence of the hunger I’d gotten mostly used to over the past month or so was both incredibly uplifting, and incredibly depressing. By now, though, it was back to the usual Great Leap Forward cuisine, and the hunger was already back home. Anyway. Things continued to sputter along here, as well as they could. Construct’s crew were still going at it, whipping up living space like nothing else. The residents were pretty much all in the forest, of course. The citizens, though… Lyra had become distractingly clingy. Ever since she’d heard about the Court’s Eye visit a few days ago, she had simply refused to leave either my line-of-sight, or my left side. I felt a little bad for resenting the lack of privacy she now afforded me – Lyra clearly had some trauma related to those people, even if she refused to tell me what it was. Hell, she grew up in Canterlot: she probably was a noble at some point, before running away after a love affair gone wrong or something. In any case, she was here, and she was not keen on the idea of going back. All the same, though, the constant close contact grated on me. I valued my time alone greatly, and hated when it was interrupted. It was part of the reason I asked to live as far away from civilisation as I could manage in the first place, after all. I could only hope that she eventually got over it, or at least just her need to be near me. Well, so much for that now, I thought, with tortured amusement. Might as well strap all these chucklefucks to my stomach for all the space they’re gonna give me. The image brought an exhale out of my nose, as much amusement as I usually dared to express at myself. “Adam?” asked Lyra, from (where else?) my side. “It’s nothing,” I dismissed flatly. We were meandering our way around the settlement at the moment, for lack of actual work to do. I hated feeling like a lazy bum, content to sit on my throne and let the peasants do all the work, but there was still very little physical labour for me to do (that I could do competently, I mean). About the most of it would be to join the hauling brigade, and Shuffle Top had already told me that she wasn’t going to allow me to do that any more, for medical reasons. She had a good point, too; one half-decent meal didn’t really even start chasing away the specter of malnutrition hovering over me. That left me with only humping my desk as respite from the clutches of doing bugger-all… a typical day in the Free State gave me five, maybe fifteen minutes’ worth of paperwork, meetings, etc. so that was out too. All I could give myself was busywork, the prospect of which filled me with existential despair. There would be time for it later, when it would actually be relevant. Until then, I was going to hold off on designing a coat of arms. Instead, I defaulted to my final remaining back-up: look busy. After all, the First Minister of the Free State just wandering around with a determined look in his eyes, why, he must be up to something important, surely! It couldn’t possibly be something as inane as just walking circles around town in a daze! It was. That is to say, until it wasn’t. Rounding a corner of a residential house, I saw a bright purple unicorn stallion coming our way, a good distance away. Lyra hesitated, just for a moment, though soon dashed back up to my side when I continued without breaking stride. I was pretty sure I knew who he was, since purple was a pretty rare colour for a pony’s coat, and I knew none of my residents with that colour were both unicorns and stallions. (By now, I’d read the census data nineteen times. I wasn’t sure what that said about me.) “Good day, sir,” I called out, making him snap his gaze to me. “Might you be who I think you are?” “Er…” Apparently he hadn’t expected me to show up in his day today. “Maybe? Have we met?” “No,” I said. “You our doctor?” “Oh, yes!” Closing the distance between us seemed to set him more at ease. He nodded at me in lieu of a handshake, which I didn’t begrudge him for; goodness only knew where he’d been. “Doctor Sawbones, at your service! General practitioner and potiologist!” I stared. “Really? Your name is actually Sawbones?” “Yep!” …Of course it is. The day I meet a pony whose name doesn’t describe them in some way is the day I keel over dead. He seemed like a pleasant enough chap, I supposed, with a bright smile and a sparkle in his eye that spoke of him not having spent terribly much time here yet. Well, either that, or he was very good at hiding some kind of murderous psychopathy. Could he be a kindred spirit? “First Minister Inns. Good to meet you. Have you got everything you need set up here already?” I asked, continuing my walk to nowhere in particular, beckoning him to follow. “More or less,” he confirmed, coming up onto my right side, opposite Lyra – who, now that I was paying attention to her, was staring at him quite intensely. Paranoia was not something I’d expected her to fall to… even though people really were out to get her. Almost certainly, anyway. Maybe she recognised him from somewhere? “The clinic’s a little more cramped than I’m used to,” continued Sawbones, ignoring or not noticing the attention. “And a few useful gadgets I’m going to miss, for a few months at least. On the whole, though, I can’t really complain. Certainly better than some places I’ve worked at, let me tell you.” “We have a clinic?” Sawbones threw me a glance. “…Yes? Where else would I have set up?” I shook my head. “Huh. Wonder why Shuffle didn’t tell me that.” Then, I blinked, realised a few things I really should have recalled earlier, and facepalmed. “Oh, goddamn it.” The exclamation was targeted both at my idiocy, and the fresh grease stains on my lenses. I took my glasses off and held them up to my mouth, exhaling on one of the lenses and wiping it clean with my T-shirt. “I could’ve sworn I told Construct to – haaaa – remind me to ask about you. Damn, no wonder you’re already set up and working. You – haaaa – you are working, right?” “Yep.” “Right, that’s good. Anything I should know about – haaaa – first of all?” Finding my lenses no longer opaque, I put my glasses back on. “Nnnnot that I can recall,” he said, drawling the words out in deep thought. A door slamming open nearby made him jump, and he took a moment to glare at the offender. “I don’t think so. Oh,” he started. “Actually, there is one thing. So far, pretty much everypony who’s asked for a check-up has been in some stage of malnutrition. Starvation, specifically. Most are only at stage one, thank the Maker, but a few of the leaner ponies are already at stage two.” I grimaced. “Yeah, you’ll be seeing a lot of that for the next few months.” At his alarmed glance, I explained. “Our next harvest is at around October, November, and right now we only have food stored for the next… six days, I believe. For all of us here, I mean, the, er, seven hundred and something. Minus Construct’s workers, they still eat from the Crown. It’s going to be a long while we’ll be rationing for.” He frowned. “…That’s not good. There’re a lot of ponies here that are in trouble.” “Your grasp of the obvious is inspiring,” I drawled. “Believe me, I know. I’m the idiot that’s responsible for ‘em all. I’ve… I’m doing all I can to fix it.” “And you, First Minister? Do you intend to visit me for a check-up yourself?” I smirked. “How much do you know about human physiology?” “…Not enough,” he admitted. “There isn’t much literature on you, as you might imagine. All I have to work off of is a physical description, and my own observations.” “Mmm.” My non-committal hum was taken as the end of the topic of conversation. I found myself somewhere at the outskirts of the settlement, facing towards a landscape of rolling hills. I turned back, ready to meander my way through my state all over again. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t keep you from your work. I’ll let you go, doc.” “Thanks,” he said, and immediately took off at a canter. “Until next time, First Minister!” I watched him go, until he turned a corner and vanished from view. Should probably make a note of where exactly that clinic is. Might not be useful for any surgery, but at least I won’t have to worry about cutting myself in the kitchen any more. “I don’t like him,” declared Lyra, looking up at me. “He’s too cheerful.” I snorted. “You only say that because you like me, and I’m miserable.” “I do not,” she said, just a little too quickly. “I mean it. There’s something… off about him.” “What? You think he’s a ‘vampony?’ Ly, he’s a unicorn.” She frowned at me, now. “I’m being serious, Adam.” “You know, I didn’t take you for a conspiracy theorist. He’s just a doctor. Believe me, back home, any doctor who goes at it long enough sees some serious nasty business. That man – stallion, excuse me – has probably seen a lot more fucked-up shit than a bunch of people who aren’t eating quite enough at the moment. Christ.” I snorted. “Even I’ve seen more fucked-up shit than that. Trust me, I ain’t about to run around screaming like a headless chicken. Well, maybe,” I amended. “Not yet, perhaps.” Lyra stared at me, an incomprehensible look on her. I stared back, waiting for her to say something – which, eventually, she did. “…How can a headless chicken scream?” I chuckled, and began trekking once more. “Figure of speech, Ly. Don’t worry about it.” Besides, I thought. It’s probably just her fear of those Court’s Eyes again. The doctor’s words did, however, give me an unexpected inspiration, as to what to do with the rest of my day. I was isolating myself in my house quite profoundly at the moment. Hell, I was isolating myself quite profoundly in general, at the moment. This was the first time I’d talked to, even seen him in the Free State, a good chunk of time after that should have happened. He didn’t even seem terribly busy with work, at a glance anyway. I was beginning to feel rather under-informed about what was going on here. Shuffle Top, bless her heart, just wasn’t the same as good old dependable Construct, despite her best efforts. I was going to have to get hands-on to find anything out. At least for the moment, for as long as ‘the Free State decision-making apparatus’ was going to be a synonym for only my own damn self. Ugh. In short, I was going to have to do… social interaction. Actual, genuine small-talk. With strangers. …Or, maybe not. I was pretty sure I remembered where Hooves and Deft lived. Naturally, I hadn’t seen them for a fuckin’ while, either. I was never a very sociable person, but I was pretty sure having only two people I could credibly call ‘friends’ was not a sign of success. At any rate, Lyra and I were soon at the door to the house I thought they lived in. When, yielding to my not-quite-insistent knocking, the door opened, I did not, however, find the pony I was looking for. “Yes? Oh, First Minister!” A dark cyan earth pony mare had answered the door, and was in the middle of a bow that was far too reverent for comfort. I didn’t recognise her. “Please excuse me, I didn’t expect you to visit!” Correction. I was pretty sure I didn’t remember where Hooves and Deft lived. “Is… there something I can do for you?” I blinked, and recomposed myself. “Oh, no, sorry. I just, ah, got a little mixed up here. I’m looking for somepony else. Someone else, whatever…” I trailed off, hit by a thought. “But, since I’m here… do you have time for a quick chat, perhaps?” The mare finally raised herself up from the bow, and nodded vigorously. “Of course, of course, it’s an honour! Please, make yourself at home!” I gingerly stepped inside, to be greeted by the typical Free State accommodation. Immediately it was obvious that a few more than four ponies called this building their home, going by the beddings and sheets laid out on the floor, scattered about randomly, though not thickly enough to impede movement. At the moment, it seemed like the pony ahead of me was the only one in the building. Lyra followed me, much more cautiously, into what passed for the living room here, more a common room than anything. Here were sleeping spots, too. I took a seat on a wooden chair that was clearly built for a pony, while Lyra decided to stay standing – right next to me, of course. I declined any refreshments – I was a little surprised that they had any coffee here at all, but decided not to press my luck with my blood pressure. Lyra similarly refused. I could tell the other mare, who finally remembered to introduce herself as Slicky, was a little put out by Lyra’s presence, but she kept any comments to herself. Finally, the moment arrived when Slicky asked me, “So, First Minister. What did you want to talk about?” “Oh, you know…” I waved a hand in the air. “Stuff. How’s life here going? It everything you thought it would be?” “And more!” gushed Slicky. “I honestly can’t thank you enough for the opportunity you’ve given me, here, First Minister!” ...Really now? “I’m glad to hear it,” I said instead, making Lyra’s head turn my way. “Least someone’s not a glum chum ‘round here. So have you settled in nicely already? Made some friends? I hear you ponies are big on that kind of thing.” “I sure have!” replied Slicky. For all her blatant sincerity in her voice, it still managed to ring hollow. “Even though ponies here aren’t as friendly as the ones in Equestria, they’re still nice deep down. I met this nice colt on foraging duty a few days back, Snapper. He was a little nervous when I started talking to him, but he’s really just a big softy!” “Uh-huh,” I said. “And foraging duty? Did… do you enjoy it?” Finally, something that wasn’t blind joy filtered through her. “Well… it’s not what I imagined I’d be doing here… but if it helps the community then I can’t complain!” …for all of a few seconds. “Mmm.” Well, fuck it. Might as well make it plain. “Any complaints you might have for me? Regarding leadership, perhaps? Anything like that?” “No sir!” she replied, as cheerful as ever despite the brand-new crease on her muzzle, like she’d smelled something foul. “I know I sure couldn’t do a better job here!” “Really.” My flat stare only now began to unsettle her, perhaps sensing she’d said something a little more inflammatory than she intended. “Maybe you’ve just misunderstood me. When I said ‘any’ complaints, I meant it.” She inhaled to speak, but I kept going to cut her off. “You hungry?” “Yes,” she said immediately, reflexively, then moved to cover her mouth with a hoof – far too blatantly to even attempt to then be passed off as a mere twitch of the foreleg. “Uh, I mean… I just, haven’t gotten my afternoon meal yet…” I rolled my eyes. Honestly, I wasn’t even all that irritated. My first ever suckup-to-authority. I ought to have celebrated this as a rite of passage, by all accounts, knowing that I’d finally made it as a political figure. Besides, better suckups than enemies. “Yeah, sure, Slicky. If I’d wanted your bullshit, I’d have asked for it. I want your opinion. How are things on the ground, really?” The mare bit her lip for a few seconds, looking at me guiltily. Maybe she was weighing the possibility that I was trying to bluff her or something, looking for an excuse. I couldn’t tell, and didn’t really care, opting to lean back as far as I dared and cross my arms, continuing to stare the whole time. I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Lyra stand up and give some kind of encouraging gesture to the mare, with an upturned corner of her mouth to go along with it. Finally, the silence became too much to bear, and Slicky burst. “Look, we know things are bad here, we know. That one pony you picked up like a foal the other day, came back looking like he misplaced his tail up his plot, he told a few what you told him.” And, naturally, they told others, who told others, and so on. “We know there’s no food here, we know there’s no food growing here, we know that we have to go out into the forest and gather or starve. That we have to work, or starve.” “But?” I guessed. “It doesn’t mean you have to like it,” Lyra cut in, earning twin glances of surprise from us. “…Yes,” admitted Slicky. “We don’t like it. I don’t like always feeling hungry, and tired, and sad.” That last word, she said quietly, slowly, almost unintentionally. “And I know many other ponies here feel the same way.” “So why stay?” I asked the half-million pound question. “If it gets too much for you, why shackle yourself to a failing state? Why not leave?” “Where else would we go?” asked Slicky, with venom that fit her previously-upbeat tone even less than the previous despairing confessions. “San Palomino? The Frozen North? Griffonia? I can at least take my chances here, instead of meeting some worse fate for sure over there.” “And Equestria?” “Pah,” she sneered. “That sun-arsed bitch wouldn’t care about us even if she got her horn out of her fat rutting plot and whipped the Court back into shape again. You knocked on my door right-up.” Her expression softened, into one of distressingly genuine awe. “You walked in here and sat down, and asked for my opinion. I’d have sworn an oath for you just for that.” “And the bit where you blew smoke up my arse?” I prompted, to which Slicky at least had the decency to look abashed. “You were treating the First Minister in the Free State like you would have treated the Princess if you were back in Equestria, right? Just in case I gave you the ‘pillock pony’ treatment, like that knob you told me about?” “Not because of that,” she said, growing increasingly ashamed. “It’s, just… ohh, nevermind.” I didn’t press her. There wasn’t much fun in admitting to being a suckup, after all, or for getting said admission. “So… you’d rather take the risk of starving to death than go back to Equestria?” Slowly, by degrees, her face contracted into a profound grimace. “...Yes,” she eventually said. Now, the million-pounder. “Why?” She didn’t reply immediately, instead choosing to turn and walk over to the window, gingerly stepping over the ‘beds’ on the floor. For a long time, all I heard was the rhythmic breathing of the mare still next to me, who was continuing to watch our exchange intently. Slicky’s breaths were comparatively almost unnoticeable – but still just barely audible. Especially when they started picking up steam. “…I would rather not talk about it,” she finally said, and turned back to me, staring blankly at the two of us. Another Lyra, huh. I nodded in understanding. “You hate it,” I concluded. “Equestria, I mean. Violently?” She hesitated. I suspected that wasn’t the question she thought I’d have led with, which at least gave evidence that there wasn’t more than one ‘Lunar Corps’ type of organisation running around – or, at the very least, they wouldn’t be ponies. Well, I amended, while waiting for a reply. They at least wouldn’t be running around as ponies. Finally, Slinky gave the answer to my question. “Not as long as it stays away from me.” I nodded again. “Do many ponies share your views?” “I’m not sure,” she replied. “I try not to talk about topics like that. I think some do. Many, even.” “Hmm,” I hummed. “So, if, hypothetically, a Diarchy relief caravan were to come here with food, enough to make all these problems we’ve got go away, though admittedly at some cost…?” Wow. I didn’t think it was possible for a pony to snarl, but here I was being proven wrong. “You wouldn’t be a fan?” I ‘guessed,’ smiling. Inwardly, though, I was not very happy. If my assumptions were even partially correct, then there were a whole bunch of people here who would be very unhappy with any sort of co-operation with Equestria. Who cared where it all stemmed from, my best guess would be from absolutely anywhere. Hell, Hooves wasn’t a fan of the taxman, Lyra wasn’t a fan of the glowies, now Slinky here gave the impression that she wasn’t a fan of any of it at all. Given that Equestria was our biggest, and only, neighbour, as well as the most powerful nation on the planet, this was not a very welcome revelation. Great. First chunk of Free State culture I get a glimpse of, and it’s fervent anti-Equestrian authority. If I wasn’t careful, I might accidentally turn the Free State itself into a Lunar-Corps-type of organisation. Which, I realised with a start, could now actually turn into a really big fucking problem. Who knows what their ethnic composition is, but groups like them thrive in places with sympathisers… which could now be a lot of us. “Right, okay,” I said, standing up from my chair, resisting the urge to rub my sore backside in front of the two ponies. “I’ve taken up enough of your time here; I believe I’ll take my leave.” “Sure thing, First Minister!” said Slicky, as she showed us out of her… house? Dormitory? I settled on ‘residence.’ “Come back anytime!” I probably won’t, I snarked to myself, as the door closed behind us and we began trekking around the settlement once more. ...Thanks, though. “Adam?” said Lyra, in her usual attempt to start a conversation with me. I obliged her, this time, even though my mind was now on bigger concerns. “Yes, Lyra?” She seemed to spare a glance at me, then thought better of whatever she was going to say initially. “…What’s on your mind?” “Looks like we’ve got more in common with those thestrals than I thought,” I said, more mumbling to myself than trying to carry a conversation – though I still made sure she could hear me well enough. “I wonder how many ponies here share her outlook. I’m guessing it’ll be quite a few… fuck, should probably have seen it coming, what with the summer speech I gave practically asking for it in the subtext.” “What do you mean?” “Well,” I drawled. “If these ponies liked Equestria so much, they’d have stayed there, right? If they’d rather stay here and possibly starve than go back, then how, exactly, do you think they feel about it? True, she might not have outright said she’d fight against it with blood and steel… but at the same time, I don’t imagine it’d be very difficult to convince her to aid and abet people like Night Gown. Christ Almighty,” I groaned. “Less than a month in and I’ve already turned the White Tail Woods into fuckin’ Afghanistan.” “Is that what you’re most concerned about?” asked Lyra. “Not now,” I said. “Ideology takes second place to survival. Once we get out of our shit-pit, then I can worry about any Equestrian Liberation Armies running around.” My mood darkened, brought forth by future visions of the political landscape of my state. “Ooh, yes. Guess asking Celestia to bail me out is officially shafted, then. Fuck, you saw her hissing at me at the mere thought of Equestrian food relief, to say nothing of what others would think. If I actually went through with it, they’d probably have my head on a spike by the end of the day. Heh,” I chuckled mirthlessly. “Maybe you’d be with ‘em too, if it meant another Court’s Eye tagging along with ‘em.” That was a pretty low blow, judging by how stiff Lyra became, now walking more like a marionette than a living being. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have brought that up again. But I think you get my point. If I actually… invited one personally, you’d probably feel pretty justified in that kind of reaction.” “...Yeah,” she muttered. Well. That’s one less conversation in the world. Great job, Inns. Fortunately, the grim moment didn’t last for too long. “First Minister Inns!” Out of seemingly nowhere, Shuffle Top materialised in front of me, wings outstretched and face contorted in what I assumed to be some kind of botched plastic surgery routine. “First Minister!” she all but yelled directly into my face. “It… the plants… it works! It… magic…” Okay, this woman was not making any sort of sense whatsoever. I grabbed her by the withers and gently shook her. “Hey, hey, Shuffle. Calm down. Use words, not syllables… no, don’t use gasps, I can’t understand those either. Words, lady. Come on, speak English, for fuck’s sake!” It took some doing, but soon I’d penetrated her discombobulation long enough for her to start working on actual sentences. “The… the fields, they’re, they actually grow! You were right, First Minister, all it takes-” As soon as it registered in my mind, I took off at a dead run towards the main crop field. Indignant squawks bloomed from behind me, but I paid them no heed. Bigger things were afoot. I knew what Shuffle was talking about. The theory was right: all I had to do for the crops to grow was to touch what they grew out of. Everything else, tilling, planting, watering, all that was immaterial to me. All that mattered was that first, physical contact. What Shuffle had just said to me had confirmed it once and for all. As it happened, Construct (and then Shuffle, after the former left) had decided to run a little gamble on the agriculture a short while before she departed for Manehattan, confident as she was in her Thaum-agro department. She had taken her workers, all two dozen of them, away from their usual work for one day, and had set them on the field, sowing all those seeds I’d made a point of stuffing my hands into the sacks they were contained in. It had been incredible work, despite the necessity of avoiding the patches of crop that had already sprouted. Seriously. Construct is a goddamn patron saint of excellence. I mean, fuck. The next morning, she’d handed me a report of exactly how much she had done, which in my mind had essentially boiled down to ‘enough.’ Assuming a one-hundred-percent yield, her efforts would have sustained a population of about eleven hundred. I’d spotted a little bit of weaselling in there, I’d thought, since she did include those sprouts that were already there before she began, but it was food all the same, so I didn’t pay it any mind. And now, as I skidded to a halt in front of the largest crop field I’d ever stood before, as I beheld the green gold just beginning to peek out from the soil that housed it, almost glittering like a brilliant cocoon cutting through the dreary humdrum of the overcast sky, I was just about floored by the realisation that it had actually fucking worked. Holy shit. It’s growing. It’s… actually, growing. I was overwhelmed, for the next few moments, with an admittedly melodramatic sense of indescribable relief. I almost couldn’t resist falling to my knees and prostrating myself – though I managed to hang on to at least some sense of dignity, instead letting a few shaky exhales convey my relief outwards. We’ve done it. My relief, though, was soon tempered, just in time for Shuffle to telegraph a landing next to me with a gust of wind. “First Minister!” she yelled. “What was that for?” “Just had to see it for myself,” I replied flatly. That’s one problem less, now, but one more is still with us. I could now at least stop worrying about the farming problem, but it still left me the question of how to get seven hundred chucklefucks and change through to the harvest. Our stocks were perilous as it was, and the foraging produce was already, slowly (very slowly) but steadily, tapering off. Two and a half months was a lot of time to starve in. “You know,” began Shuffle. “I bet Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns would love to get their hooves on you.” I smirked. “Somehow, I doubt that. It’s been a long time since I considered myself a man of science.” “Not like that,” she clarified, entirely unnecessarily. “I bet they’d bankrupt Equestria for all the parchment they’d requisition to write about you.” “Mmm,” I hummed, disinterested. I didn’t care so much about what I supposed had to be the biggest agricultural advancement since the invention of the practice – although, now that I thought about it, I could probably have found some way to spin it into an advantage. Something to note down for later, I suppose, when it becomes relevant. Rather, what I was now focusing on was - Construct, as a matter of fact. Who was… now cresting the hill in the distance, to the north-east, a little to my left. Huh. Speak of the devil. She continued cresting the hill, rising up higher and higher, until it finally hit me that she was in the air, flying, like a pegasus would be. Shuffle Top, still at my right (now, perhaps finally, joined by Lyra on my other side, who was just staring), hopped up into a hover, waving her boss down. Soon enough, Construct was coming in for a landing, scuffing the dirt with her hooves as she touched down. I stared at her as she casually strolled over to me, a big, goofy smile on her face that I had come to associate more with the two foals living in my house than the consummate professional in front of me. “First Minister,” she greeted. “Construct,” I returned. “You’ve been gone a while.” “Bit of a goose chase,” she said, rather more airily than usual, by way of explanation. “Got some tip-offs I had to chase down along the way. I think you’ll agree it was worth it.” I quirked an eyebrow, amused. “You taken up Blueblood’s habit of cocaine tastings? ‘Cause I think this might be the most unhinged I’ve ever seen you.” As if to prove my point, Construct merely turned to face the hillscape ahead, not dignifying me with a response. From a pony who usually limited emotional outbursts to twitches of their lip muscles, this was rather more unsettling than I was used to. Whatever she planned to unleash on me, it was going to be… memorable. The three of us stood staring at where Construct leashed her gaze to – which, incidentally, happened to be an unremarkable patch of grassy hilltop, some thirteen hundred metres away. We stared at it for a while. Seriously. A long while. “…c’mon,” Construct eventually muttered, slowly losing her composure. “Where the rutting Hells has it gone?” … “Must have been crack cocaine tastings,” I commented. Naturally, though, just as I was about to set my mind on turning around and heading home – and just as Construct was about to lose her mind – a shape broke the uniformity of the horizon of the hill. Brown masses sprung up, one, then two, then five, then… lots. Lots and lots. Massive amounts of equally massive pony-drawn carts were making their way down the hill and over to us. Construct turned back my way with a decidedly shit-eating grin on her, one I didn’t care for much until I realised what was supposed to be in those carts. “…Report?” I asked her. “Caught a lucky break,” she said. “Harvest season had just passed when I arrived, and some poor schmuck had the bright idea to try to sell grains to Manehattan. Ended up buying practically the whole stock at three-quarters of market value. Coupled with transportation costs, however, it ended up just barely scraping up to the budget, even with the rail service picking up most of the slack.” “Selling grain to Manehattan? That supposed to be the pony form of ‘selling coal to Newcastle?’” “If it means ‘normally-crippling lack of business sense,’” said Construct, “then yes, it is.” So yes, then. Fortuitous indeed. “Huh,” I said. Then, in a quieter timbre, “about time some fuckin’ good fortune made its way here.” The carriages soon reached the settlement, forming an orderly line that waltzed up right to the communal dining hall, ready to be unloaded into the waiting storage. Construct gave me a speedy farewell, promising a prompt written report on the whole sordid affair, and shot off to somewhere where she would presumably be more needed at that moment. Shuffle Top, likewise, took off on her own duties, leaving me alone once again with Lyra. I could only stare at the congregation of – for lack of a better phrase – wooden lorries parked outside the eatery barn. Each was practically half the size of an entire house, and there were so bloody many of them. How much food, exactly, was there supposed to be in there? Judging by volume alone, we might have been fine until even next year entirely! “Wow,” Lyra said, reminding me of her presence – still next to me, natch. Funny, how quickly one can get inured to things. “Wonder how quickly we’re going to consume all of that.” … “Too quickly,” I soon agreed. Because it was going to be too quick, wasn’t it? Even with the most extreme kind of rationing measures I could bring myself to implement, there were still hundreds and hundreds of ponies calling this place home – and, no doubt, more were making their way here even now. Even with the increasingly-little we were getting from foraging efforts, that surplus was going to dry out long before we could replenish it ourselves. I sighed, suddenly overcome with fatigue, physical and mental. “Better than nothing,” was the best praise I could dare to offer at the situation. “It won’t last. We’re still in for a shit autumn… but maybe now we can actually stand a chance of making it through it.” Ya know what? I told myself. I think this calls for a little ‘special occasion.’ Why not treat the populace? Throw a feast, good for one evening only! That’ll help with morale and hunger, while we can still afford to! I jerked my head towards where Construct had flown off to, for Lyra’s sake, even though I wasn’t sure she was paying attention to it as I did so. “Come on,” I told her. “We’re not out of the woods yet – heh, see what I did there? – but we’ve gotten a hell of a lot closer to it.”