DOMINATOR
 
The blood dripping on the waxed tile floor was not a serious problem. It would mop up. The messenger bag that had spilled its contents everywhere was a tripping hazard, but unimportant for the moment. Redheart’s main focus was on the stallion that had just stumbled into the emergency room with a knife protruding from his chest.
She and another nurse helped the injured pony onto a gurney. It was fortunate that he was so calm, yet not fading into shock.
“You’re going to be fine,” said Redheart.
The stallion glanced downward at the knife, looking almost bored. The trauma doctor and his operating room staff appeared and took over. Somepony would need to get the patient’s identification and insurance information. And probably a police report, thought Redheart.
The mare fetched a mop and went back to the entrance. There was no puddle of blood, just small drops everywhere. Working carefully to avoid staining her white coat, the nurse cleaned and sanitized the tile floor.
There was a little blood on the bag that the stallion had dropped. Redheart collected its spilled contents. There were a few art notebooks, a box of stationery, hygiene items, a small mirror, pencils, a penknife, and ink quills. There were also a couple of manila folders labeled with one-word titles written in black: Alien, Moment, Dominator.
Redheart found an identification card with the name Caricature on it. She packed everything back into the bag and set it behind the desk at the nurse station. The stallion would get it back when he was finished with surgery.
After that, it was time for paperwork, the worst part of any nurse’s day. Each trauma required a form to be filled out, signed by the attending doctor, processed, filed, and then usually never seen again until the records cabinet was cleaned out years later. Redheart sighed. Once she got out of her lowly position at the hospital, somepony working beneath her would take care of the paperwork. She wasn’t qualified for a more advanced position, however, and becoming a Doctor of Medicine took a lot of schooling.
Two hours passed uneventfully. The shift was about to change, and Redheart decided to see if a room had been designated for Caricature. She found him already lying in bed, bandaged but awake.
The earth pony was a light olive color with dark grey mane and tail. His face was neutral despite his injury, not seeming to be affected by either pain or pain relievers.
“Here are your things.” Redheart placed his messenger bag on a chair. “I’m just about to leave, but if you need anything other staff members will here all night.”
“Did you look inside?” asked the stallion. He gestured for her to bring the bag to him.
“A few things were spilled on the floor,” explained Redheart. Caricature quickly rifled through the contents, his face giving no indication of what he was thinking.
The nurse turned to leave the room, but Caricature called her back. “I need a favor. I have a friend in Trottingham who should know what happened to me. Could you take him a letter? It needs to get there as soon as possible.”
“That’s not really the hospital’s responsibility.” Redheart’s profession was taking care of ponies, but there was a limit.
“I’ll pay you. How does three hundred bits sound?”
Redheart rolled her eyes. “I’ll put you down for a psychiatric evaluation.”
The stallion took a small money sack from his messenger bag, removing three hundred-bit coins from it. “Just let me write the letter.”
Surprised, Redheart accepted the money. While running errands to Trottingham was not what she had planned to do with her evening, it was worthwhile compensation.
The stationery box in Caricature’s bag contained both paper and envelopes. He spent a few minutes writing, producing a sealed letter that he gave to Redheart. “This is going to a stallion named Rapier, room 207 at the Honest Hotel in Trottingham.”
Redheart nodded and left the room. There was a train going in that direction soon, and she bought round trip tickets, getting change back from one of the coins Caricature had given her.
The trip was not very long, only about an hour. The mare contemplated what the letter might contain. It could be an apology for being late, sort of a sorry I couldn’t make it, I got stabbed kind of missive.
There was something else to think about. Ponies did not just randomly collect knife wounds to the chest. If there was something worth prosecuting, the police would handle it, although Redheart did wonder.
She stepped off the train in Trottingham. It had been a while since she had visited the city, but remembered roughly where the Honest Hotel was located. After a few minutes of walking, the building came into view and Redheart went up to the second floor to find the appropriate room.
A voice replied to her knock. “Who is it?”
“My name is Redheart. I brought a letter from a stallion named Caricature.”
After a moment, the muffled voice from behind the door asked, “Why didn’t he come?”
“He’s in the Ponyville Hospital with a knife wound.”
The door unlocked. The pony that opened it looked muscular for a unicorn. His coat was red, accented by a dark brown mane. He gave Redheart a friendly smile and said, “I’m Rapier.”
She gave him the letter and turned to go. He called, “Hang on, I don’t think we’ve met before.”
“We haven’t. Caricature just asked me to deliver the letter.” Redheart continued down the hallway. She considered spending a little while longer in Trottingham to shop, but decided saving her remaining money was a better idea. She was on the train heading back to Ponyville not long after.
+
Redheart woke up in the morning to her jangling alarm clock. She was never worried about disturbing anypony because she lived alone. The apartment was almost too small for a second resident anyway.
She got out of bed and went through her morning routine. Her pink mane was easier to deal with when put up in a bun. After a quick breakfast, she put on her hospital cap and went to work. When looking at the patient roster, she noticed that Caricature had checked out. She asked another nurse about it.
Nurse Tenderheart shrugged. “The paperwork says he left sometime during the night. That wound should have kept him here a while longer, but apparently he convinced somepony that he was good to go.”
Redheart went down to the room Caricature had occupied. The orderlies had not been around to make the bed yet. The stallion’s identification card lay on the center of the pillow, aligned too well to have landed there accidentally. A quick check of the room revealed that he had left no other belongings behind.
There was only one reason Redheart could think of that somepony would leave an ID card. He didn’t need that name anymore. She suddenly felt panic about delivering the letter. What was the penalty for assisting a criminal?
The hospital had to report a lost ID. Nopony suspected Redheart's involvement in any wrongdoing. That is, if a crime had been committed at all. The pony calling himself Caricature had declined to press charges or identify his knife-wielding attacker. Furthermore, the ID card was real. A police officer examined it, including testing for spells, and pronounced it legitimate.
Confusing as it was, no new developments came to light, and as the week wore on things began to return to normal. That is, until the stallion named Rapier showed up. It wasn’t pure chance that brought the two of them together, either. He came looking for Redheart.
She was just putting her key in the lock of her front door after work when the stallion called to her. Rapier wore a friendly expression as he came walking up.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I was hoping you could tell me where our mutual friend is.”
Redheart shrugged. “I don’t know. He checked himself out of the hospital a few days ago.”
The stallion’s smile dipped a little. “Do you know what he was working on?”
“No. I delivered the letter to you, and that’s all the involvement I had.” Redheart opened her door.
“I really need to find him,” said Rapier. “He had some valuable information.”
“I don’t know anything that can help you,” she told him. “I told you already, I don’t have anything to do with him.”
Rapier grabbed the mare’s shoulder as she started to go through the door. “Maybe you don’t understand. National security is at risk here, and if you know anything that could help, you need to tell me.”
“Are you some kind of cop?” Redheart demanded, “Show me your badge.”
“No, not police.” Rapier produced a military identification card. “Royal Guard.”
Redheart wondered why an out-of-uniform solider was involved. “Is Caricature also with the Guard?”
Rapier shook his head. “No. Truthfully, I’m not sure who he works for, but it’s above my paygrade. I do know that Caricature isn’t his real name.”
“I figured that much. He left his ID with that name on it when he checked out of the hospital.”
Rapier sighed. “I hate spooks. They go play their little spy games and look down on the rest of us.”
Redheart shook her head in disbelief. “Spies? What does this have to do with Ponyville? How did Caricature or whatever his name is get stabbed?”
“I don’t know. All the letter said was that he would be unavailable for a while.” Rapier’s pleasant look had completely disappeared by now. “In fact, I’m surprised that he bothered to inform me at all.”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” asked Redheart. “He was in the hospital for less than a day.”
“Just tell me what you remember,” said Rapier. “Maybe you know something important and don’t realize it.”
Redheart shrugged. “He dropped his bag when he came in. There were a few art supplies and personal items inside. There were also three folders that were labeled.” She told him their names.
“Dominator sounds familiar for some reason,” mused the stallion.
“I can’t tell you anything I don’t know.” Redheart thought of something else. “We reported a lost ID card because he left it on his pillow. The police said that it was real. I thought you said Caricature wasn’t his name.”
“Of course it’s a real card. He works for the government. They can make his ID as real as if he was born with it.” Rapier sighed and pulled out a business card. “Please, if you think of anything else, let me know. I also ask that you keep all of this to yourself.”
Redheart nodded, taking the card. “Of course.”
She closed the apartment door, hoping it would be the last time she had to think about the situation. Spies? Really?
+
The hope lasted until the next morning when there was a knock on the apartment door. Redheart got out of bed irritably, noticing that it was half an hour before her alarm. Answering the door, she found herself looking at Caricature.
The stallion wore a vest to cover his bandaged chest. His mane was styled differently, and he had on a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.
“What in Celestia’s name are you doing here?” grumbled Redheart.
“A few of my stitches pulled loose.”
She glared at him. “And why should I help you?”
Caricature seemed unperturbed. He showed her some gold. Redheart’s eyes widened at the sight of a few more hundred-bit coins. It felt very mercenary of her, but… “I don’t have suture material here, but if you’re willing to let me use a sewing needle and thread, I can fix your stitching.”
Caricature nodded his consent and she led him into the apartment. Redheart put a pot of water on to boil and retrieved her sewing kit. After sterilizing the needle in hot water, she started with the procedure.
The vest had to come off. Redheart saw that stallion’s wound was serious, and found it hard to believe that it wasn’t hindering him much. She asked, “Just how did this happen?”
“You don’t need to know,” he replied, wincing only slightly as the needle made its first pass through his skin. Earth ponies naturally had good hoof-eye coordination, but Redheart was better than most, having long practice with small, sharp objects.
“Your friend Rapier stopped by yesterday,” said Redheart. “He was looking for you.”
“What did he tell you?” asked Caricature.
“You’re some kind of government agent.” The nurse carefully watched for a reaction to her words. Caricature looked annoyed. She tightened the thread and began another round.
“Are you on some kind of pain medication?” asked Redheart.
“No. I’ve learned to live with pain.”
The mare’s eyebrows went up, but she continued stitching. “If you're working with Rapier, wouldn't it be a good idea to communicate better?”
“He doesn't need to know what I do, and neither do you,” replied the patient. “What Rapier doesn't understand is that that there are some things more important than trust and friendship.”
“Like those files you were carrying around?" suggested Redheart. “Rapier said something about Dominator.”
“What did he tell you?" The stallion was insistent.
“He said he'd heard of it, but wasn't sure. Why, what is it?”
“Why do you keep asking questions?” There was an edge in Caricature’s voice.
“Natural curiosity, I suppose.” Redheart shrugged, beginning the final knot.
“Curiosity isn’t a good business to be in.”
“You’re the one that came back and caused me to start asking questions again. It's not my fault that you came to me for help.”
Caricature watched her cut the thread and pack a few small pieces of gauze from her private first aid kit around the wound. He asked, “Would you be willing to do this again?”
“Are you planning to get hurt again?” asked Redheart.
“We’ve been looking to set up a few contacts in Ponyville. Could you use some extra money?”
She considered the offer for perhaps three seconds, although it felt longer with Caricature staring at her. “What would I need to do?”
“Just stay available.” The stallion put his vest back on and stepped towards the door.
“This isn’t illegal, is it?” called Redheart.
Caricature turned. “You won’t get prosecuted for it if you’re working with us.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Caricature gave her a look and put another gold coin on the table beside the door. "Keep your ears open and your mouth shut." He left.