Many moons later, on a brilliantly clear morning, the new Canterlogic factory building stood like a diamond-spangled tiara atop Butter Hill, shining for miles. Its trademark giant pink designer spectacles gazed down, empty-eyed, from the glass-fronted facade. Banners hung from the streetlamps in town, signs were posted everywhere, announcing the First Annual Canterlogic Presentation and Showcase. And ponies from all over town were gathering, eager to see what Phyllis had in store for them.
There had never been a new election for Mayor. There seemed little need for it. The office felt redundant without Phyllis in it. She always knew what ponies wanted and needed. It was like she'd simply moved her mayoral office to the factory.
And among the herd of ponies trotting up the factory's front walkway, hidden in the huge crowd, there was an orange-coated, rose-maned mare wearing dark glasses and a hat, an unremarkable iron-gray carryall covering her cutie-mark.
Which was how Hitch spotted her right off.
"The trick to looking inconspicuous, m'dear..." he whispered to himself in Brisk Bronco's trademark soft drawl, "is not to appear like you're being it. Doing it. Uh, whatever. Let's get this over with."
"Sunny," he called, trotting over to her through the crowd. "What're you doing?"
"Oh! Uh, ah'm very sorry, officer," she replied in a strained farmpony accent. "But y'all must have the wrong pony. Name's Apple Juice, and I..."
"Seriously? Sunny, you could win a Tosca for Worst Acting of All Time." Trotting around, he lifted a side-flap of the carryall. "And what is it now? More flyers and posters? For maybe another brunch with unicorns and pegasi? The last would have worked so well, wouldn't it, if any had actually shown up?"
Grunting, Sunny removed the hat and glasses. "If you must know, Hitch, it's a little counter-propaganda... for that!"
She pointed at one of the placards standing to either side of the entry path, like sentries. They showed large, art-deco images in bold, dark colors. Of a looming, dark pony shape with flaming red eyes, backed by a crimson sky, menacing a small helpless white pony on a green plain. On some of the placards and posters, the looming pony was a unicorn. On others, it was a pegasus. Some had both wings and horns. But in any case, the implied menace was all too clear.
"Really, Hitch. These are just sick! And they're all over town. What is Ms. Cloverleaf thinking? Is she trying to give her customers nightmares? And these don't even look like unicorns and pegasi. The proportions are all wrong!"
"And... you would know that?"
"Yeah! From Dad's research! Unicorns and pegasi are pretty much like us, essential differences aside. I don't know where this is coming from." She scowled at the placards. "But it has nothing to do with reality. And we need to make sure everypony knows that."
"Uh... we?"
"Come on, Hitch! You're the Sheriff! You really think this Safety with Style stuff Phyllis is touting is such a good idea? She's scaring ponies, taking their fears and turning them into a marketing pitch! I mean, that sounds pretty darn close to incitement to riot or something, am I right?"
Hitch sighed. "There's nothing actually illegal here," he said. "If Phyllis thinks this is the way to sell a few hats and boots and other high-tech gizmos, there's not a whole lot I can say about it. But I don't think you have to worry about riots in town, Sunny." He tossed his head, giving her his trademark smile. He couldn't quite get his teeth to glint when he did it, but he was working on it. "Not with ol' Sheriff Hitch on the job, keeping the peace, eh?"
For once, Sunny didn't laugh. She just stared at him, uncomfortably. He tried to remember where he'd seen that look on her face before. And then he remembered. That day when they were little, and she was trying to figure out why something ponies said or did just didn't measure up to her expectations.
And now she was giving him that look.
"Uh --" he began.
"You know something, Hitch?" she suddenly exploded. "The town would be a lot better off if you'd just come down off that movie screen and take a look at what's really going on. And just... just quit it with the Brisk Bronco act! It's not fooling anypony!"
"What?" Hitch stared. "But... Sunny, that has nothing to do with this! I'm just trying to... project an image of strong, sensitive confidence. So ponies know they have someone in charge they can count on."
"You're posing for your close up, that's what you're doing!" she retorted. "You're letting the badge go to your head. You're totally desperate for attention!"
Hitch paused, mouth open. He was uncomfortably aware that she might have a point. He'd thought he was giving ponies what they wanted, projecting an image they needed to see in their Sheriff.
But maybe Sunny was right. Maybe he was overdoing it. So, maybe...
"And," Sunny went on furiously, "if I hear one more quoted line from one of Bronco's films, I might just... well... forget everything Dad ever taught me about civil discussion, that's what!"
"Hey!" Hitch yelped. "You leave Bronco out of this!"
"Oh, really? It's not his name, you know!" She said it with the grim relish of landing a long-restrained blow. "I looked it up. His actual name is Trailer Park. And he's about as heroic as a theater usher. Which is what he used to be, before the Butter family bankrolled his film-making career as a convenient distraction for ponies in town."
Hitch set his mouth in a thin, hard line, trying to remember he was still on duty here.
"Well... maybe I might be reaching for attention just a little bit. But I'm not the only one, Sunny! And I'm actually doing a job! You wouldn't be getting in nearly as much trouble if you weren't holed up at that lighthouse all day, coming up with these crazy pranks and schemes, just to get noticed. You need to stop living like a hermit. Try to fit in more around here --"
"And do what? Get a job? Start behaving like any normal pony?"
"It might help!"
Sunny looked about to fire back with what she thought of that. Then she paused, eyes wide.
"You know..." she said, slowly. "Maybe you're right, Hitch. Maybe I have been going at this all wrong..." She suddenly beamed widely. "That's a great idea! Thanks!"
And she turned right around, galloping away through the crowd.
Hitch was left with his mouth hanging open, his hoof raised. Caught in mid-tirade, with nopony on the other end to lash out at.
He looked down at Beans, the small seagull wearing a tin can for a helmet.
"If I ever figure her out, it'd be a serious change of pace, huh?"
Beans squeaked agreeably at him. It was what the seagull always did, when addressed. Hitch wasn't sure if Beans actually heard what he said either.
He shut his mouth firmly, adjusted his bandanna and badge. And got back to the business of keeping tabs on the crowd heading up the path to the factory gate. For a brief moment, he glanced over his shoulder at the placard behind him. At the looming, flame-eyed pony -- unicorn, pegasi, whatever it was.
Then he turned his back on it. He had more important things to focus on right now.
And, he told himself crossly, Brisk Bronco is not fake, no matter what anypony says...
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That evening, Sunny lay in her bed, feeling drowsy but unable to shut down her rambling thoughts enough to drop off to sleep.
She felt uncomfortable about the argument with Hitch. She knew she could talk to him about it in the morning, apologize for calling him out. It was a low blow, running down a colt's favorite hero. However silly he might be about it sometimes.
Sunny also felt unsure about her plan, whether she could play-act that long. Hitch was right, she was bad at acting. But she'd have an entire year to learn. And that was the point, right? She needed the time, to be perfect at it.
She was troubled by the scare campaign Canterlogic was running. Ponies were being needlessly frightened. Encouraged to live in fear, of ponies they'd never actually met. All to get them to buy stuff, to get them to pay attention to Mayor/CEO/BigShot Phyllis Cloverleaf!
Sunny snorted derisively. That couldn't be right. And she wasn't sure she could put up with it, not for a whole year.
But it'll all be worth it, she reminded herself, if I finally, finally can get up in front of all of them, the whole town, and tell them the truth. Make them see it. Make sure everypony in town knows that Dad was right.
All of that, all of it, was true.
And none of it was what was keeping her from getting to sleep.
It was, Sunny realized, the ever-present sneaking suspicion, the lurking fear she tried to keep even from herself. That everypony in town might be right. That she was just a lunatic, living up here by herself in this drafty old lighthouse. A hermit, like Hitch said, out of touch with how things really were.
What if I'm wrong, she asked herself, feeling despair gnaw at her, as it often did when she lay awake at night like this. What if none of what I do actually matters?
She shut her eyes, sadly.
And then opened them.
There was somepony in the room.
She stared... then sighed in relief. "Sheriff Light?" she asked sleepily. "You're back?"
The pony put an armored hoof to her lips. And for some reason Sunny didn't find it strange that the mare was wearing a full kit of some kind of ancient black armor. Or that her eyes were glowing like firey coals.
"It's just a flying visit," the mare said, resettling her wings, her horn sparkling with magic. "I wanted to see how you're doing."
"I don't know," Sunny whispered dully, hovering on the edge of sleep. "I keep telling myself that everything I do, it's for a reason. Because ponies are frightened and scared, and they shouldn't have to be. Dad wanted us all to be friends, earth ponies and unicorns and pegasi alike. And I believe in that. But..."
"But?" The mare eyed her coldly.
"I wonder if it's really worth it. Trying to change ponies' minds, get them to see the truth. The way Dad tried to." She grimaced. "He wasn't able to do it. And now he's gone."
"Argyle knew what he was getting into," the mare replied, curtly. "Wasn't his fault if they didn't listen."
"But if I can't do it either," Sunny said. "Then what's the point? Am I just hurting myself here? Trying to live differently, trying to be different, from everypony else?" She looked up at the flaming, glaring eyes. "I think this is how Dad wanted me to be. But am I doing it right?"
The dark mare regarded her. And snorted in derision. "Your father wanted you to have the same freedom he had. To think for yourself, do as you see fit. What you make of that is up to you."
And then, as if unwilling to let that be enough, the mare sat down next to the bed. Shrugging a forehoof out of its iron shoe, she rested it on the covers.
Comfortingly.
"He would be proud of you, you know," she said. "And let's admit it, so am I. You remind me very much of somepony I once knew, a very good friend. Very bright, and very determined. She could be a hoof-full to deal with too, if memory serves." She sighed crossly. "And just like you, she was left on her own, in the middle of it all. Because to tell her one iota of the truth would be to terrify her into failure. And now, you are all they have left..."
She leaned closer.
"You have nothing to apologize for, Sunny Starscout."
Sunny smiled. "Thanks, Sheriff Light."
"My pleasure. And if you still have any doubts, let me just leave you with this little bit of advice... something your father once taught me, actually."
The mare removed her hoof from the covers, reshod it, and stood up, tall and proud. Somehow she loomed huge and terrifying over Sunny, a shadowy, flame-eyed figure in a glowing, stormy sky. Yet not threatening, not at all. Protective, shielding. Like she would let nothing happen to any pony she cared about and counted as a friend.
The law protects those who respect it, her voice boomed. But some things are beyond the purview of the law, aren't they? And it's up to each of us to recognize them for what they are, when the time comes...
She grinned, briefly. It was like a drawer full of knives opening and closing again.
"Pleasant dreams, Sunny," she said. And gestured with a hoof. "We command it..."
Then she was gone.
Sunny sighed contentedly in the darkness, turned over, and finally got properly to sleep.
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Shortly therafter, in his own room above the candy store, Hitch half-awoke from tossing and turning uneasily, tormented by regrets and self-recriminations.
And found himself staring straight into a pair of burning, glaring, firey eyes.
"In the morning," the fearsome visage snarled, "go talk with her. Be there for her, like you're supposed to be." It scowled at him. "Or I turn your insides into fondue..."
Hitch gulped, and dazedly nodded in terror.
"Yes, ma'am! I'm on it, ma'am!"