//------------------------------// // 33 — Fractious Frigate Part II: Handicapped Mares // Story: Ms. Glimmer and the Do-Nothing Prince // by scifipony //------------------------------// The occupant of the desk made the stark officer's stateroom look confining, or rather out-of-scale. The young mare's exceptionally pale cyan eyes lifted wearily from her paperwork. My first thought was blind, then she regarded me, eyes half-lidded as the petty officer came beside her and whispered into an ear that flicked his direction. Only her irises looked pale. Piercing dark pupils studied me as he whispered. Even reclining on the floor behind the desk, the dark-magenta ensign towered over a third Celestia's height. Lithe and elegant, even relaxed, the act of turning her head to regard me highlighted sinewy muscle. She wore a deep blue flight hat with gold stitching, made of fold-flat fabric that resembled the paper hats server ponies at a hayburger joint wore. The hat sat shoved into her exceedingly tall rose-color upright-crested mane, as if notching a blooded axe, stretched taut between the bristly mane and what had to be an atypically stubby horn for a Saddle Arabian. Both Sunburst's and Zecora's mane looked clipped-short in comparison. A scar caught my attention, running from her lower right cheek, across her eyelid, all the way to her hidden horn. It looked well-healed, tanned, and taut, like her face had grown but her scar hadn't kept up. She nodded, put down the quill she wielded in the frog of her hoof, and levered herself to full magisterial height, executing a crisp but measured salute. The tallest bristles in her mane brushed the ceiling beams. "Ms. Glimmer," she said with a clear soprano voice so controlled and so flawless that she might make an excellent singer. My mother had been an opera singer, so I could judge these things. The blue pegasus joined her in the salute, but swiftly left the cabin. The door snicked closed, leaving the two of us inside. The ensign towered over her desk in a room that, like all in Equestria, had been built to host Equestria's monarch—and, inconsequentially, the world's tallest ponies. I took a moment to evaluate her half-dozen minor body slashes and pockmarks, noting the muscles visible in her shoulders. This mare had never lived a peaceful life. What had the chief said? Right: "Carry on." She sat back down, half-lidded eyes evaluating me. Her mild grin displayed teeth bright white against her deep magenta fur, shocking and calculated, but not mocking. Her eyes flicked to my right ear. The torn one. Lingered. She said, "So you are the Princess of Marks. Must be true since you've noted all my blemishes." The title: Not an address, but an observation. No kicks necessary, then. Something told me if she wanted to belittle me, she'd not be passive-aggressive. The mare had presence and her body language telegraphed dangerous while her minimal movement cried unerringly competent. Not at all friendly, though, something regular ponies prized above all else. Between her attractive but distinct physicality and composed attitude, I began to understand why ponies didn't like her. I said, "Should be Princess of Cutie Marks—" She scooted sideways on purpose. Over the files and scrolls, this revealed her flank. I gasped. For the second time in so many days, I'd encountered an adult blank flank. This mare couldn't give a stray horse apple that I saw what practically everypony thought as a defect. One amongst her many that prevented her from fitting in. Like me. I said, "I think I like you." She scoffed. "That would be a first." "I earned my cutie mark less than four days ago—" Her eyes shot to my flank. "Auroras and stars—" "—when I ripped the cutie mark out of a pony's flank." Her eyes finally widened. I waved a hoof. "I gave it back. Doing it laid Running Mead out on the ground; he was Canterlot's number one crime boss—and Celestia sent him to Tartarus." Her mild grin widened into a half-smile. "A mare of action. I'm not sure I can be of service, but here I am. I docked this museum piece without parts or ponies falling off, all departments put to bed—literally put to bed in the case of all three of our rowers—none of the colts I'm foalsitting have killed themselves or their fellows in the two watches it took to sail here despite throwing one in the brig, and my paperwork is complete. How may I help you?" "Setting expectations?" A slight nod. Maybe her half-lidded expression was exhaustion. "What were your orders?" "Reposition the Eagle's Stoop at Canterlot with all due haste. Remain at alert. Await further orders." She found a piece of parchment with an official looking gold stamp, rotated for me to read. "Don't commissioned officers usually re-enlist?" She sucked in a breath. I clarified, "I'm not trying to be rude. Celestia—" "Princess Celestia—" she corrected. "You recognize subtlety. Cool. Short review: Celestia wanted a tool. She manufactured an Earl. Me." I curtsied. "Put me through the wringer, then did the coronation thing so she could run off on a military adventure. I don't trust anything that happens wasn't planned somehow by her. She dropped a hot potato on my back. I require a tool that's sharp like me to buck it, slice it, and stuff it with butter. I am hoping that tool is you. She took another measured breath. "Permission to speak freely?" I didn't understand the jargon, but it was clear enough. I nodded. "Nopony in the service wants a cripple around, especially a mare, no matter how hard she proves herself. They don't want to serve under her. They don't trust she won't cut and run, even though I can fight as well as any earth pony. I get horse apples for duty assignments and no promotions, despite having graduated at the top of my class. Ms. Glimmer, I can take the hint that I am not wanted in this pony's service and I am accepting discharge." "When?" "In two days—were we in Vanhoover. Now, I have to wait until this milk run tour of duty is over or somepony relieves me of command." She lifted an eyebrow, likely hopeful I might give her what she wanted. I looked her over again. I saw plenty of scars. Muscle. Her eyes studied me with wary intelligence. I said, "I bet you can fight. I will learn something when we get a chance to spar." She looked ready to huff, then her eyes halted at the bruises on my side, flicked to my face, finally resting on my split ear which I flicked back and forth with a grin. I said, "I've decided not to glue it. Maybe I'll get an earring. Makes a statement, don't you think?" "That you're not a nice pony," she said. Not a question. I took it as a compliment. "I protect ponies—don't get me wrong. You say you're handicapped?" "Handicapped," she sneered. "What ponies say when they want to gloss over a reality they don't want to have to deal with, candy-coating it so they don't feel bad." She might have spat, were she not on her ship. I jerked my head back with the force of her sentiment, then put a hoof to my chin, thinking. "Huh?" I said, "I never thought about it that way. That said..." I stood, making sure she could see my left rear leg. I gave it a shake. The brass shoe fell off, then the insert fell and rolled until it hit the wall. I noted her eyes followed its wobble. "Speaking 'freely:' Fought a griffon a year and a half ago. I won. "Splintered my pastern into 61 pieces. Nearly bled to death. Had it replaced. "Was told I'd never trot or fight again, but didn't accept that. My frog is numb and could bleed for hours if a stone got lodged between it and the hoof, thus the insert. "I drag a hoof sometimes, when I don't keep up my therapy. I understand the word handicapped." She stared at the brass oval before I magicked it and the shoe back on. Her nose pulsed as she breathed hard, but she said nothing. Added nothing. She silently seethed, cooled down, then nodded. Into the silence, I asked, "Is there anything about yourself that will prevent you from captaining this ship?" The delay was perceptible, but I judged to some extent she had choked up. "No, Ma'am." "Is there anything you want to tell me?" "No, Ma'am." "You were at the top of your class at the naval academy?" "Yes, Ma'am." "I know I'm out of my depth; I expect you will correct me when I get things wrong, otherwise I won't learn. I'm pretty good at magic. I was a champion prizefighter. I was a great bodyguard, until my employer lost her bet with reality and I ended up running her crime syndicate for a while. I kept rival gangs from killing each other—before I ghosted the organization. One of the many reasons Celestia granted me a royal pardon. What warcraft I learned as an earl won't cut it. Let me lay out my problem for you." I let Proper Step into the stateroom and he placed Celestia's communique on the desk. Streak found herself a place at my flank, despite the room growing cramped. Cyan eyes flicked to Hurricane's armor, then the page my Chargé d'affaires rotated for her. "'Obliterated?'" Ensign Berrytwist read as Proper Step squeezed by to the navigation map. "There," I said, where Proper Step's hoof tapped. The mare said, "There's a patrol ship out that direction." "We have, had(?), an armistice with the Golden Stag. They claim Equestria as their own." Proper Step explained they were a type of deer, with fawn or tawny coats. They demonstrated sexual dimorphism and functional polymorphism, not unlike ponykind with pegasi, night wings, earth ponies, and unicorns. One type reportedly dwarfed even a moose. All had horns, and theoretically magic. We likely conquered their lands (only Celestia knew and wasn't telling) and made farmlands, razing their aboriginal forests. They didn't like us. They were secretive and protective, and we knew little about them other than that. "'Take cautious measures'?" she asked about the communiqué. "What she meant is open to interpretation, mine, others. Celestia positioned you here for a reason. The last time I had the power to do something and didn't, the Hooflyn Gang War broke out. Ponies died. I feel directly responsible for 24 of those deaths. She tried, "Maybe it's enough to float visible at the mountain?" "Maybe she's testing me, again. This time I won't let ponies die because I was afraid to do something about it." The ensign coughed. "You think the Golden Stag might attack Canterlot?" "Maybe? Maybe the farms around Ponyville? I traveled the Ponyville grade with ponies pulling lorries a couple of times. Mostly they haul food produced locally. The railroad carries luxuries at best from distant sources." She nodded. "Obliterate the farms, weaken Canterlot?" "I've been badly used my whole life and I'm suspicious of everything. What do you think?" "I've learned to trust nopony." "Including me?" I asked. She smirked, but didn't elucidate. "I've been used, shunned, and disliked since... well, when I was a foal—no matter how good, helpful, or friendly I tried to be." "Friendship was your mistake?" "Yes, Ma'am, it was." I could commiserate, though I had been progressing beyond that these last few days. No need to interject, however. She continued. "Strategy and tactics is something I believe I am good at. I've planned sieges of most of the Equestrian cities I've visited. For my graduating thesis, I focused on a siege of Canterlot—which didn't earn me friends. Still my hobby. Do you really want me to tell you what I think?" When I nodded, she waved an ebony hoof at the map, circling the entire Ponyville plain. Anypony could survey the terrain, hidden, perched at canopy level in the Everfree, she asserted. She traced out which roads could be cut in minutes, which farms could be burnt in the first half-hour (thousands of acres of unharvested hay, alfalfa, and golden fodder). The general terror would flood Canterlot with refugees with no food to feed them, emptying the town of defenders, letting the invaders torch its thatched roofs. Canterlot's food basket could be obliterated in an hour. I asked, "What can we do about it?" A savage grin grew on the large mare's lips, which made her teeth seem to glow in her mouth, but it vanished as she blew air through her lips. "That's where I need help..."