Earth, August 2042.
Nineteen years ago, the world was changed forever. Sunset Shimmer's ETS pandemic had swept the globe, transforming the infected into ponies. By the time it was brought to an end by Twilight Sparkle, over five-hundred million people had been transformed into ponies—a fifth of those living in the United States.
Time has passed, and an entire generation has grown up in a world that humans and ponies share. The early social and economic havoc brought by the sudden change in species has primarily abated, and a new normal has settled in. Magic is understood to be real, as are other universes. Great minds work to expand understanding in both science and magic. Equestria has formal relations with most of Earth's nations. People speak in whispers about the powers of alicorns, a lord of chaos, an ancient dragon from a long-dead world, beings that claim absolute sovereignty over the dream realm, and the cosmology of religion is forced to rethink itself. Some construct new theologies to accommodate these changes, while others stick to what they have always known.
Yet, all is still not well. The great paradox is our universe has always had more magic than Equestria, yet Earth has until recently had none. Therein lies the danger. Magic in our universe is constantly being hunted and destroyed. For billions of years, magical civilizations on countless magical worlds have fallen into oblivion. Now Earth has come to the attention of those that seek to end all magic. The public does not know the danger or chooses not to believe, but the threat is coming, and it will be here sooner than anyone would have thought.
However, some live their lives dedicated to finding a way to stop the coming end of all things. It is an arduous task and leaves little room in their lives for much else. What is a life, even one so quietly heroic, worth if it has no room to live truly?
Almost time. I need to head over to the classroom. The young woman thought to herself.
She didn't get up from her seat. Instead, she went over the presentation on her laptop for what seemed the hundredth time. There was no reason to go over it again; she knew it by heart. Even if she forgot about one slide, it would be easy to adjust. No one knew this material as well as her.
Outside, she could hear students in the halls. Some were walking to class; some were standing around having conversations. Most weren't close to her door, as most had no reason to be even in the small side hall.
No, closer to her door, she heard older individuals. Those ones she had already gone through this with. They would not be concerned with her—well, not concerned with seeing her. She was sure they would ask about how today went later on. People always forgot that they couldn't keep their whispered conversations from her ears, or they didn't believe her hearing was that good. They thought what she said about her hearing must be exaggerated. After all, how could anyone function while being bombarded by so much sound all the time? The answer was simple; she learned to tune most of it out and focus on what she wanted.
If only she could as easily tune out the deafening shouts of silent gazes.
"You're being foolish. Most people aren't going to be paying you any attention. They have their own things to worry about this morning," she pep-talked herself. "Are you going to go through this every morning?"
Her eyes shifted back to her laptop as two private messages from two different sources popped up on her screen.
Good luck on your first day! First day of college for me too! The first one read. That one was from Jordan. Jordan was two timezones forward and should be in class or getting ready for a class right now instead of messaging her. Jordan was starting college as a student, not as a teacher, so she had no business being late for class. Still, it was nice to get a final word of encouragement from her best friend.
Have a good first day. Remember, you're the one in control. Make sure they know that early on. Put your hoof—foot down from the start! the second message read. That one was from Layla. Layla was in the same time zone as Jordan but operated on an inverted schedule. This was probably the last message the nocturnal pony sent before bed. Layla was a veteran professor, so it was advice to take to heart.
These weren't the first such messages that she had received this morning. Her parents, both her brothers, her sister-in-law, and her friends Bev and Jenny had sent messages first thing that morning. Even her reclusive but demanding auntie had sent her well wishes today without even a demand for more math figures accompanying it. The fact they were just the latest messages of many didn't weaken her smile at seeing them.
Stop putting it off. Just go to class.
She reached forward and closed her laptop before unhooking it from its charger. She then stood up and picked up the computer, cupping it under one arm. It was time to go.
Exiting the office into the hall, she was spotted by several members of the staff. Their eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than needed, but none of them said anything to her. A few waved silent greetings, unwilling to start a casual conversation yet with the strange newcomer to their ranks, and she waved to them as well as she took a brisk stride towards the main halls and the classroom.
As soon as she left the side hall into the main hall, she found herself in the mass of students. They were primarily humans, but there were some stray ponies here and there—mainly unicorns, about four of them for any pony of any other tribe. She heard a few conversations stop as eyes found her, and she felt those eyes follow her as she walked by. Some students didn't notice her, but others whispered to one another about her. She tuned them out and didn't turn her head to look at them. They probably didn't know she could hear them better than the people they were whispering to. Would they be fearful if they knew? Would that stop the whispers? It didn't matter. It wouldn't stop the staring, and those eyes spoke larger volumes.
The classroom was not a long walk from where she started, and it was less than two minutes from when she had decided to get up and go before she walked through its door. It was a small auditorium that could have hosted well over a hundred students. There were just over twenty, mostly spread out from each other, aside from a few groups of two or three that gathered close together to talk. She did a visual count as she entered the room, and the conversation came to a halt. There were eighteen humans, three unicorns, and one earth pony. Her eyes only passed over each briefly, never lingering on anyone. She didn't want to see them staring back. There were a few slightly elevated heartbeats in the room—including hers. Most of those were from the humans. She tended to make humans nervous.
She advanced to the head of the class, avoiding looking any more at the students, and plugged her laptop into the podium. She opened it back up, and the large screen at the front of the auditorium came to life as a mirror for what was on her computer. Everything seemed to work properly. Now it was time for introductions.
Set the standard early. Make sure they know you're the one in control and worthy of respect. Be firm. If you're clearly in control, they won't disrespect you for appearing to have pony parts. She silently repeated to herself.
"Welcome to Advanced Thaumic Physics," she greeted the class as she opened her PowerPoint presentation. She didn't raise her voice. She simply chose for the sound to carry as she brushed back a stray bit of her blue hair. "I'm Doctor Jessica Middleton. If that name was unfamiliar to you before signing up for this class, you probably don't belong here. If you're attending a Master's class on this subject, I expect you to be familiar with Middleton's Law."
Jessica stopped working on her computer and turned her full visual attention to the class as she gave her tail a strong flick.
"Let's address the non-subject matter first, so you don't have to ask. Yes, I have both pony and human features. I was an earth pony as a foal and underwent the rehumanization process much later than was advisable—all due to a medical necessity. You can see the results of that late change. Although I know it is not fully biologically true, I view myself as human and wish to be addressed as such."
She paused and gestured at her clothes. She wore a formal shirt and jacket that downplayed her bust (the only thing worse than being stared at like a freak when in public were the ones fetishizing her) and a pair of khaki shorts with a small slit cut for her blue tail. The shorts put her yellow-furred legs in full display.
"You'll see me in shorts the majority of the time, even if it might look slightly unprofessional. The only places I have fur on my body aside from my ears are my legs, and pants and skirts can get too hot for me. Please avoid staring at my legs; it's creepy."
"Do you have magic?" a unicorn stallion asked loudly. "I heard you had human magic."
She nodded. "Yes, I have magic, magic that I shall now demonstrate. I want you all to attempt to shout at the top of your lungs."
A few of them gave her baffled looks. No one did as instructed immediately, but after a few seconds, they began to try. Their confused expressions quickly turned to alarm as they tried harder.
Jessica raised a hand and flicked her pony-like ears.
"That's enough. As you can see, I have complete control of sound within a certain radius of myself. Don't worry; it is only a temporary thing. That brings us to the first rule of the class; no one shall speak unless called upon. I expect you to raise your hand and be given permission to speak. Once I permit you, you'll have the ability to make sound again. I may, at times, completely lift the muting of sound. Please, nod your heads to acknowledge you understand."
She waited as they did so. Using her powers like this wasn't something she was proud of, but she needed to make it clear she was in control within the classroom. If she wasn't firm, they would think of her as a joke. When she had seen everyone fearfully acknowledge the rule, she continued.
"If you have an emergency that requires you to leave or need to use the restroom, you do not need to ask permission for that. We are all adults here, and you don't need to explain yourself to me. Much of this class will be done with controlled discussion, but I won't take attendance. Again, we are all adults, and if you miss a class, I expect you to keep up with the work. My lectures will be available on the secure campus server for viewing if needed. There will be a test every Friday, and if you miss it, you can make it up the following Friday—although the make-up test won't have the same questions to prevent cheating. Please nod now to acknowledge this."
It took a few seconds for everyone to nod, but she continued when they did. "Moving on, I don't keep strict office hours. If you need to see me in person, you can email me to arrange an appointment. The reason I don't keep strict office hours is this is not my only job. I work as a consultant for several organizations. These include NASA, a technology firm, Dreamwardens, and other government agencies. During the semester, I may or may not ask some of you if you would be interested in assisting in projects with one or more of these organizations as an intern. This is a way to get your foot or hoof into the door with these groups. I will only ask if you have demonstrated skills that could be useful there. Please do not ask me for help getting you a position; I ask you. Do you all understand?"
She heard their heartbeats pick up with excitement at this. She wasn't nearly as enthusiastic. There were so few students in her class. These internships weren't there to merely get people in the door at what they hoped would be exciting careers. They were there because doomsday was coming and coming far sooner than any of these students could imagine. Twenty more people to help make preparations to save the planet? The planet needed everyone helping, but that was impossible. If the public knew how quickly the end was approaching, they would behave with common sense. Common sense was not wisdom and intelligence—no, wisdom and intelligence were strictly uncommon things. What was common was self-destructive behavior, panic, hate, and a complete disregard for rational thinking. The problem with the general public wasn't that there was no common sense but the fact there was far too much of it.
The enthusiastic nods came in, and she let herself smile. They weren't thinking of their weird part-human-part-pony teacher anymore. They were thinking now of the opportunities that could await them. She had successfully set expectations and made it clear she was not some freak. She was someone who held the possible keys to their future. After all, that was why she was here too. She was trying to find individuals who could ensure not only her future but the futures of both Earth and Equestria. That is why she had to endure the stares in the hallways. Her discomfort was a small price to pay for finding more help.
Still smiling, Jessica started the presentation on her computer. "I have prepared a few slides to go over some of the things you'll be learning about in this class and their possible applications. After I finish with them, we will use the rest of today's class time for questions and answers. Pay attention; your future could start here."
"Doctor Middleton, you cannot mute students!"
The first day of classes, and she was already in trouble.
Dean Francis sat at his desk, wringing his hands together, glaring at her. She resisted the urge to shrink into her chair under the weight of that gaze. He was an older man, nearly seventy, with short white hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and thin as a wisp. His age and tiny frame made him look all the more nervous—especially with the fact he was a short man, and she was a very tall woman who would tower over him if they were standing next to one another. The field of expertise he specialized in was particle physics, specifically in the behavior of quarks, and he had built a name for himself in the field before retiring to teach. Being the dean of the math and physics department made him something else, a guy obsessed with rules.
"Do you have any idea the kinds of lawsuits we could have due to you using your magic on students in that way?" Dean Francis asked as he continued to fret.
"I didn't hurt anyone, and the effect only impacts within a range of me for as long as I choose it to," Jessica said defensively.
The dean slammed the palm of his hand on the desk. "It can be labeled as psychological assault! You know, there was a lot of debate about whether we were right to hire you. Yes, you're at the pinnacle of your field and one of the greatest minds in physics and math to ever live, but there was concern about the fact we were hiring a possibly immature eighteen-year-old. Right now, those concerns are looking valid."
"I'm nineteen," she clarified.
"And behaving like you're nine," Dean Francis fired back.
Her ears flattened against her head, and she strained to keep her tail from whipping. She had multiple doctorates, a law of physics named after her, and had accomplished more by the age of seven than most of the staff here had accomplished in their whole lives. She kept her mouth shut; it could only dig her into deeper trouble if she protested further.
Dean Francis took a deep breath. "Thankfully, we may be able to sweep this under the rug, provided you don't do it again. The prospect of being instructed by you might be enough to keep students from immediately filing lawsuits. You're banned from using your powers on students. That goes for your little eavesdropping trick as well."
"I can't help hearing things!" she immediately protested. "You might as well tell me not to breathe. At best, I can tune things out, but I'm still technically hearing everything. It is a passive ability. It doesn't go away. Not unless you have a crystal pony sitting around constantly sapping my magic."
"If this continues to be problematic, that could be arranged," the dean said grimly. "That was another concern, letting a staff member with unpredictable partial magic—"
"Human magic," she corrected through gritted teeth.
He waved it off. "There isn't much difference between the two. You're a partial, so label it what it is. It isn't like dealing with pony magic. People understand pony magic. You may know what you can and can't do, but everyone else is left fearful of the possibilities. I don't even know your range."
"Thirty-meter radius in a sphere around me," she answered quickly. She wanted to argue she wasn't a partial, out of sheer habit, but kept silent on that front. "Any sound within that I can hear and impact."
Dean Francis blinked. "And how much do walls dampen that?"
She narrowed her eyes. "They don't unless they are made out of thaumically active crystal."
"We may need to move your office off campus then," he said tiredly. "That range would give you access to every office in your department from your current one. Our staff's privacy needs to be protected. You aren't the only one with sensitive projects."
Maybe you should have researched my magic further before hiring me. She thought in a bitter tone.
"I'm hunting for apartments in the area already. Once I find one, I can use that for my office," she offered. "I know there are staff that do that already." It would be much more comfortable for her anyway.
"It is a better option than investing in a magic dampening room. Do you have any idea how much something like that costs? I would have a hard time getting that through the budget for just office use. We do have a room like that already, but it is strictly for research purposes," Dean Francis said as he seemed to calm down. He looked at her with a forced, neutral expression. "Look, I get it; you've spent most of your life with very little control over anything. You also have a lot of powerful and demanding people you're answerable to. I understand you want to exercise extra control in what spheres you can, but what you pulled today isn't going to fly. This is your warning. Do not have a repeat offense with your freshman class."
If he only knew how demanding some of those she was answerable to were. She sometimes wished she could get fired by them, but they wouldn't do that. They didn't even give her the courtesy of telling her what she was working on or paying her for her trouble. She just knew she was looking for the location of something in space that was possibly so far outside the observable universe it was mind-boggling. How do you find something you have no chance of observing with even the most powerful telescope? Lots and lots of math and trying to reconstruct locations based on images of stars from billions of years ago from the vantage point of multiple now long-dead planets. It was an insane task, but she had been working on it since the age of seven. What was she looking for? Was it a star, a planet, an asteroid, or some piece of space junk? They still hadn't told her. Her guess was a planet. Even though it seemed improbable the place even still existed after billions of years. The only thing she knew for sure was that they were desperate to find it.
It was a job too big, even for her. She desperately needed help but also had to keep it low-key. Hopefully, one or more of her students would show promise enough to be useful. However, to find out, she needed to keep her job. She'd see this class again the day after next. She wished it was the only class she had to deal with, but she was contractually obligated to teach a freshman class, which was tomorrow night. That was something she wasn't looking forward to. Explaining introductory physics was like explaining the Earth wasn't the center of the solar system. There was little hope of finding the help she needed from first-year students, but she'd endure it.
"There won't be a repeat offense, I promise," she assured the dean.
A grandfather clock that the dean kept in his office started to chime. Time was ticking away. The end of the world was coming.
"How can we be sure these blueprints are accurate," one of the generals asked as he continued closely observing the screen in front of him.
The young man spread his hands. "Do you not trust the word of the Dreamwardens? The Dreamwardens do not lie."
"They can mislead and leave things out," the general countered.
The young man adjusted his glasses. "That is indeed true. Let me clarify the statement; those blueprints represent the best model of our foes that the Dreamwardens can produce from memory. Their memories from so long ago are not infallible, and there are likely details missing due to that, many details. The Dreamwardens share all they know about the designs in good faith. This is dangerous knowledge, gentlemen. You are quite privileged."
The member of the joint chiefs continued looking over the blueprints, chewing on his lip as he did so. "How many people were involved in drawing these up? How much security containment do we need?"
The young man pointed to his left side. "These were drawn exclusively by the OMMR's chief architect, Rebecca Rice."
The chubby white pegasus with the blonde mane had been munching on some cookies and barely paying the meeting much mind until she had been pointed at.
Put me in the spotlight, why don't you? Why am I here again? Jonathan and Blanche can deal with this fine without me. Rebecca thought as she stared wide-eyed at the military men staring at her.
She lifted a wing and waved. "Hello! Want a cookie?"
The generals gave her a mix of blank looks and looks of contempt. She heard one mutter about damn ponies. Well, phewy on him!
Jonathan smiled and adjusted his glasses again. "I assure you, Mrs.Rice is not a security risk. All the necessary precautions from the Dreamwardens are in place. She is here if you need any clarification about how she drew the designs."
"Great, we have an overweight cookie-munching pegasus they pulled out of who-knows-where drawing the most classified designs in the world. Stupid ponies," another general muttered. How rude!
"These blueprints need more review. We have no questions for her at this time," one of the other generals stated. The others nodded along. She expected they didn't believe she knew much about what she drew and only acted as a conduit. Technically they weren't wrong to think that.
The head of the joint chiefs was an older balding man who didn't comment through the exchange. He was the only one of the generals familiar with who she really was, although she couldn't remember his name to save her life. He was wearing a badge with his name, but she wasn't at a good angle to see it. She decided to call him Horseshoe Breath in her head because why not?
Horseshoe Breath focused his attention on Jonathan. "These designs call for materials that I'm not familiar with the names of, and I'm familiar with most materials used in military hardware."
Jonathan nodded. "If you zoom in under their names, you will see some numbers. Those correspond with their chemical composition."
The generals all did so and frowned.
"Call me crazy, but chemicals are typically labeled with two-letter symbols for each element in them. I am just seeing numbers, big numbers."
"Forgive us for not clarifying, but those numbers each represent the atomic number of their corresponding element," Jonathan replied.
Rebecca grinned as she watched the generals all collectively pale. She wanted to giggle, but that would be rude. She ate another cookie instead.
"I might not be a chemist, but I know the periodic table doesn't go anywhere near that high!" the general who had called her overweight exclaimed.
"The periodic table as you know it," Jonathan corrected. "You are dealing with exceptionally advanced alien technology. Did you expect that they made it out of simple materials?"
"Don't get mouthy with me, Warden!" the general barked back.
Jonathan spread his hands. "I never claimed to be a Dreamwarden."
"You have never denied it either, but it's damn obvious," the general snarled.
"You may believe what you wish, General Wilson, but nothing shall be confirmed," Jonathan answered, smiling. Rebecca had to stifle a giggle again. Jonathan enjoyed doing that to people too much. And people accused him of being a stick in the mud!
"If these things are made out of super-advanced alloys that use artificial elements we can't possibly hope to recreate, will our weapons be able to penetrate them?" one of the generals asked.
Jonathan nodded. "The type of metals used are hard but not impenetrable. These materials are not meant to protect the Devourers from physical assault. They are meant to withstand extreme temperatures and thaumic energy attacks. They can withstand the highest temperatures we have ever recorded in stars as well as absolute zero temperatures, and they shrug off magical assaults like they are nothing. However, they are still vulnerable to being physically struck. That's why they only maintain their faster-than-light speeds between solar systems. Hitting even the equivalent of a basketball-sized rock at those speeds will destroy them, and even something golf ball-sized can inflict heavy damage that would force the unit to stop to repair. While such objects still exist between solar systems, the majority of such objects exist within the systems. The Devourer swarm heading our way has likely already lost many Devourers to such collisions, but these are acceptable losses to them. They only need a few Devourers to reach our planet to destroy it. That is also why we have chosen to mount our defense in the Scattered Disk. The Devourers would have already had to slow down due to the Oort Cloud, and they will be at their slowest from the Oort Cloud through the Kuiper Belt."
Blanche, who was standing just behind Jonathan's right shoulder, let off a noticeable sound of annoyance before clearing her throat loudly. "The OMMR head has done what he came to do and is a very busy man. I think it might be best if you take your time deciding how to have these files reviewed and letting your scientists compile a list of questions."
Jonathan nodded. "I do have a meeting I'm pressed to get to. My assistant is right. I don't think you're prepared yet to ask questions. We have presented to you directly as you requested. You may direct further questions through proper channels."
"We dismiss you, not the other way around," General Wilson barked.
Jonathan smiled. "My dear general, I believe you said you think I'm a Dreamwarden. Do you wish to tell a Dreamwarden where they may go or when they may leave? You would be violating Dreamwarden privilege granted by the UN."
General Wilson looked like he wanted to argue but turned his head. "We gave you too much freedom and power, but you won't see me causing an incident. Not today, anyway."
Rebecca rolled her eyes. Yeah, because you aren't a hothead or anything like that. You're ugly, by the way. Your mustache looks like a sick caterpillar trying to crawl up your nostrils. she thought to herself.
"I'm assuming that is the Dreamwarden meeting with the press you need to get to?" one of the generals who hadn't spoken yet asked.
"I confirm nothing," Jonathan replied. "Good day to you, generals."
Jonathan and Blanche had already turned to go before she noticed, and Blanche had to turn around and scold her. "Come on, Mrs.Rice. Pay attention for once!"
Rebecca hurried after them, doing a clumsy trot. She still wasn't quite used to being called Mrs.Rice yet. She only had a two-day honeymoon before they had packed her up and had her running all over the place for work. Technically she had been working during her honeymoon too, but her new hubby was pretty understanding. He knew what he was getting into when he married her.
It took them a long time to get out of the Pentagon. There were so many security checks to go through, even when going out. Rebecca didn't know how many times she got scanned, her wings frisked, her mane patted down, or had a crystal pony look her over. At least they didn't do an anal cavity search. She tried to take it in stride and smile as she followed her human friends. It seemed like it took forever, but they eventually got back to their limo and through the next round of security checks to get out on the road.
Rebecca pulled her lunchbox over to herself and found a sandwich to munch on while Blanche pulled out an electronic tablet and began reviewing the schedule. Jonathan had his phone out and was doing something on it, but Rebecca wasn't sure what; probably some mundane OMMR stuff. The OMMR might have employed her, but she didn't care or bother to learn much about the finer details of how it operated, only that she knew bureaucracy was icky and boring. Jonathan also had his free hand on the car door, where he was secretly doing most of his work.
Blanche glanced at her. "Did you really need to be snacking on cookies during that meeting, Rebecca? That was so unprofessional and embarrassing."
Rebecca was good at talking with her mouth full. She had lots of practice. "Don't worry. They didn't care about me, and they would be annoyed no matter what."
"How did you even sneak those cookies through security?" Blanche asked in exasperation.
"I could tell you, but I don't think you want to know," Rebecca said with a sheepish chuckle. "I've got more. Want a cookie?"
Blanche gave her a disgusted look. "I had zero interest in having one before, and my interest has now gone down into the negatives."
"Aww, but they're good. I baked them this morning," Rebecca replied.
Jonathan looked up from his phone and took his hand off the door, signaling he was done. "This morning? When did you have time this morning? We were on the plane by nine."
Rebecca shrugged. "I got up and decided to bake cookies."
Blanche shook her head in disbelief. "The world is marching towards its end, and Rebecca Riddle—"
"Rice!" Rebecca corrected while raising a wing in objection. "You got it right through the whole time we were inside. How'd you mess up now?"
"I apologize; I'm still not used to it," Blanche said quickly. "When going into these meetings, I practice things to say in my head, and part of that is how to address you and Jonathan. It doesn't hold up as well outside them."
"How are you not used to it? You were one of my bridesmaids!"
"I was more focused on keeping an eye on the guests," Blanche answered. "Anyway, back to business. Are you about done with your food so you can do your—"
Rebecca held up a wing and put a hoof to her mouth. She then held out her other wing to Jonathan.
Jonathan caught her intentions and ran his hands over it quickly before stopping and reaching his fingers between a few of her feathers. A second later, he pulled out a tiny electronic listening device. He held it in his hand, and it sparked as it died.
"It's no longer functional," Jonathan announced. "I've also disabled the one they put on the car. They're getting good at planting them. It's getting harder for me to find the bugs."
Rebecca smirked as she folded her wings. "Hey, at least they are getting more creative on how they try!"
Blanche looked mortified. "I'm sorry. I should have caught them planting that on you. I suppose we need to check to see if there are any on Jonathan and me."
Jonathan nodded and moved to where he could run his hands over Blanche. He spent several minutes at it, and Blanche took it in stride. When he was satisfied nothing was there, he began doing the same for himself for another minute or two.
"Just the one on Rebecca," Jonathan announced as he returned to his customary seat.
Rebecca sighed with relief. "I felt like something was off with my feathers after that last guard searched through them. I think he's the one who planted it."
"It was small enough that they probably assumed you would discard it as trash during a preening or wash it away in the shower without notice," Jonathan said as he lifted the tiny shorted-out listening device and examined it.
"Add it to the pile for the legal department as they prepare our case and tell Phobia so she can fuss at them again," Blanche said in a tired voice. "I swear they think they can get away with it because you're young and won't fight back."
"Our lawyers will have to dissuade them of that. We'll let the legal department figure it out. The end of the world is fast approaching, so we have more pressing concerns than some lesser privacy violations," Jonathan replied.
Rebecca snorted. Only in the OMMR would anyone call being bugged a lesser privacy violation, but in the OMMR, there were far greater privacy violations possible. When over a billion people could theoretically access the dream realm, there were inevitably those who tried to exploit it. Most of the OMMR's resources were directed at tracking those people down. Sad as it was to say, but old Sha'am Maut had been right about one thing before her retirement; there was little way of stopping it from happening without taking extreme authoritarian measures. The Dreamwardens weren't willing to take those kinds of actions anymore, so an entire bureaucracy and thousands of agents were required to track down malefactors in the waking world that had avoided doing anything strictly out of bounds while still sleeping.
Blanche still seemed annoyed as she looked back at Rebecca. "As I was saying, are you ready to do your job?"
Rebecca took another bite of her sandwich. "Still eating! This fluffy pony doesn't work on an empty stomach."
"You've been stuffing your face with snacks all day!" Blanche fussed.
"And now I'm having my lunch," Rebecca replied as she finished her sandwich and moved on to her apple.
Blanche threw her hands up. "God, you're impossible!"
Rebecca grinned at her, calmly chewing her food. "I'm pretty amazing, aren't I?"
"That's one way to put it," Blanche muttered as she picked up her tablet. "Just hurry up. Phobia will give us a lecture if you're late."
"Naw, she'll give me the lecture. I'm your boss; she isn't going to lecture you about my tardiness," Rebecca said as she chewed the apple.
"I could get a lecture," Jonathan countered. "Unlike Blanche, I answer to all six Dreamwardens, not just you."
Rebecca waved the objection off. "Don't worry; it'll be fine. Anyway, Jonathan, I need you to check on Jessica Middleton again and see if she's making any progress."
He spread his hands. "It might help her if you tell her what she's looking for, or us for that matter."
Rebecca held up a wing. "She's looking for the first and last place."
He gave her a flat look. "That is exactly zero help. We understand your need to sometimes be cryptic with others, but must you be cryptic with us too? We do your bidding without question. I think we have demonstrated we can be trusted with sensitive secrets."
She finished her apple and grinned. "You just asked me a question, so you do question my bidding, but that's alright. All will be revealed when we choose to reveal it, not before. We've got enough people questioning our plans without getting them concerned over this. Do be nice to Jessica when you ask. She works very hard."
Blanche looked out the window. "It's almost time for your press meet. Have you gone over all the notes I gave you for your speech?"
Rebecca blinked. "I'm supposed to be giving a speech? Is that why you gave me all those boring notes?"
Blanche threw her hands into the air. "Why do I bother?!"
"Hey, Paul, got a new intake, weird one. I want you on this."
Paul looked up from his typing to look at his manager. He then glanced at the several folders full of cases for different kids that he was already working on. None of them were getting the attention they deserved from him because there were so many, but there weren't enough people in social services to keep up with how many kids needed help.
He looked back at his boss, Aubrey. "What do you mean by weird one? You've worked this job longer than me. You know the kinds of situations some of these kids come from."
She frowned and crossed her arms. "We got a partial, Paul. I checked the records. The last partial our district dealt with was fifteen years ago. Nobody in the office has dealt with this situation. You're the closest thing we have to an expert."
Paul bristled even more at a partial child being called weird. He'd spent too many years watching people treat his daughter like a freak and listening to them call her abnormal to not have his hackles rise at anything unintentionally negative being said about a partial.
He took a deep breath. Aubrey did not intend to be rude or insensitive. Their job as social workers was to be sensitive to the needs of children, and this was just a child with some extra special needs. Aubrey just wasn't sure what those needs were and was counting on him to know.
"I understand," Paul said as he let himself relax. "Do you have a file started yet? Was it an abusive home?"
Aubrey walked in and sat in one of the chairs, shoulders slumped and hands folded in front of herself. "We think we have a grandmother, but she's in the hospital and non-responsive. There was no record of her having a grandchild, and her only child has been missing since ETS. There were always a fair number of ponies who just abandoned their old identities and never let authorities identify them properly, so his going missing around then just got lumped in with the various other people we assumed did just that. Now we must wonder if he's one of those partial conspiracy nuts."
"I've never actually heard of anyone meeting one of those nuts. I'm pretty sure they're a myth, like talking crows," Paul replied.
Aubrey abruptly sat up straight and shook a finger at him. "Talking crows are real! I met one. It laughed at me, told me my hair looked like a nest, and flew away."
He wasn't going to call her crazy, so he decided to keep his mouth shut about crows. Still, he needed to answer her about the case and clarify some things.
"I might not be as much of an expert as you think. Jessie was an unusual child for reasons that had nothing to do with her being a partial. Child prodigy doesn't even begin to describe her. She was reading little golden books on her own by the time she was only a year old, and she'd read through every book in the house and figured out algebra before she entered kindergarten. Most of our struggles with her were trying to keep up with a kid that was always picking up new knowledge at a frightening pace, all while lagging behind in social development for her age, not so much her being a partial."
"Well, this kid has problems with social development," Aubrey countered. "We're unsure if he has had contact with anyone other than his grandmother and has lived in complete isolation. It's hard to say anything about his intelligence level at this stage, but a socially underdeveloped partial is something you've dealt with before."
"True enough," Paul replied. "Let me go meet this kid. Where's he at?"
"St. Joseph," Aubrey answered, standing up. "The room number is in his file, and that's on my desk. Come on; I'll give you the file."
Paul stood and followed. A partial child, he never believed that he'd be dealing with one again.