//------------------------------// // 6. Growth Behind The Curtains // Story: That Maverick With The Dog // by Dan The Man //------------------------------// 6 - Growth Behind The Curtains (You may want to play this.) „Princess.“ The blue pegasus looked up at her regent with teary, wasted eyes. „Yes, Rainbow?“ The white alicorn opened her concerned eyes and looked down at her subject, cowering sorrowfully next to her on the ground, next to Celestia’s writing spot in the study. „What has happened?“ „What do you mean?“ “Dad… Brian… What will happen to him now?” Rainbow inquired bitterly. “How did this… all come to be?” A single life is like a wooden pole. A clean slate of wood, perfectly round, varnished, of a fair, but constant thickness and made of only the densest fibre the earthly material can possibly offer. The density, the colour, the state of the wood along it’s length can, no, even will differ. The essence of life is diversity, after all. Like the rings coiling inside the trunk of a tree, or the layers making up an ancient, impenetrable glacier, one can read off every single sore, burn, or tarnish, what turns this one life took, what dangers and changes the lifer faced and overcame, what moods or situations left their marks on the clean slate. Anything was possible, any combination of variation of events could be found on such an otherwise slate. The only thing such a slate would, or rather should never ever do, is to sprout branches. In reality, there could ever be one slate of wood. In one reality, that is. The Princess of the Sun sighed. Explaining this entire event, the fate of Brian, the ongoings in that other world… it meant explaining the universe. She could not possibly express how this should not have ever happened. The notion of one universe clashing into the other in such a subtle, yet momentous tragedy… a simple personal tragedy… it may be too much for such an ambitious young pony to comprehend. “Princess…” Rainbow pressed her head forcefully against Celestia, as if to hide herself away from the things that lay behind her. Celestia leaned in on her, so that the young pegasus’ tears were quickly wiped by her own white coat. “I have done… I have done wrong. I have done wrong.” Celestia just shook her head. “You did nothing of the sort, Rainbow. None of this is your fault.” “Yes it is! It is…” Rainbow wailed, her voice muffled by the alicorn’s coat. “The sonic rainboom it… people died, Princess! They died, the rainboom killed them…” A sonic rainboom. The best example to illustrate just how much of an ironic tragedy this incident was. In one world, a rainboom was a magnificent natural phenomenon, a colourful display of light and energy, a symbol for the coming-of-age, for progress and determination, as well as a bringer of luck and positive thoughts. And in the other world, the alien universe, it was plainly a destructive entity, powerful and highly consequential, unbridled and unprecedented power. A tragedy. Whose fault was it? Not Rainbow’s, certainly. How should she have known? Just like in her ‘real’ youth, this was an inevitable achievement for a incredibly gifted pony like herself. Something to be proud of, and to be achieved through hard labour and deep devotion. But what was it worth now? Torment and guilt, anxiety and fear? It should not be. “A sonic rainboom, Rainbow, is something completely natural. You could not have known what it would do.” “What it did… was to… to accuse Dad. My dad. Daddy…” She was overcome by another fit of sorrow, but more of the weakening, somber and melancholic kind, and soiled Celestia’s neck anew with freely flowing tears. In the last forty-eight hours, Celestia had thought long and hard about ending it. About putting a stop to this entire obscure trilogy of events. About letting her horn touch Rainbow’s forehead and erase these haunting, troubling memories of the event the same way she had cleared her home of all the traces of her existence. After all, conventionally speaking, Rainbow Dash had never existed in this other world. She was not born there, she never grew up there. She grew up in Cloudsdale, her parents were Spectrum and Aves Dash, two proud athlete Pegasi and devout believers in the idea of dedicating to one’s own principles for a lifetime, a trait they took great pains to raise their young cloud blossom with. What had occurred with their poor daughter – something Celestia, so she dreaded, she had still explain to the couple, still oblivious to their daughter’s two week-long absence. She was a grown mare already, after all. Her youth, her parents, her friends and her committed hometown were only one more part of the reason to rid Dash of her knowledge of her parallel existence, her second, completely different youth. It did not synchronise with her life in any possible respect. With her one, solitary, true slate. So what kept her from possibly cutting off the renegade branch, down at the root of the main pole, and be done with it? The answer was more than merely palpable. The branch could be severed, but it existed on, beyond the actual source. It had begun dying off very much on its own, due to the lack of exercise and tending. And now, the rot began to become evident. A pungent smell, an entire metaphor of its own, came seeping back into the vicinity of the initial slate, where it all had begun. What would it change? Cutting out the apostate foreign body, it may only destabilize all the life situated above the incision point. Apart from that, when was it ever morally defendable to cut off a sprout? This was, she had to painfully admit, yet another life. Severing it would not only be dangerous to Rainbow’s current situation, it would be downright murder. The alien, the foreign creature, who had tended to her so passionately for more than a quarter of a life… it would be cowardly to simply burn down the bridge and try to forget. Erasing memories simply takes, but it does not mend. Her existence, her mingling in the parallel reality, whether her fault or not, had left him in a predicament in his own actuality. “Let me go back.” Rainbow suddenly said. “Let me go back, let me… stand straight for what I did. I should, not Dad! They should punish me! Not dad!” Celestia knew she would not allow another precipitous visit to that other world. The last one, where she had gone soft on Rainbow’s avid pleas, already did enough harm. And of course, she could and would not allow Rainbow to punish herself for that. Those humans, they did seem so similar to her own ponies. Anytime anything happened, the search for the ultimate guilt ensued. Too often Celestia herself had to witness the ferocity, with which some of these hunts ensued. Accusations were exchanged and imposed like free candy. And now, or at least so it seemed, humanity was in the search of their own scapegoat for this incident. An incident that should not have even happened in reality, and yet did. This essentially meant that the guilt and the culprit had to be just as real. The difference to Equestria was, that in Equestria, one would see reason sooner or later. What about the other earth’s inhabitants? “Rainbow. Tell me, what would happen to Brian if he were accused?” Celestia asked her young subject slowly, yet determinedly. Another soft sob escaped her nostrils before Dash could answer. “They… they lock him away, Princess. They will try him. Just like… on TV…“ “Will they judge him justly, Rainbow? Will they seek to shed light on the truth?” Rainbow froze and thought for a moment. “Because if they will, he will have to fear nothing. Isn’t it so?” She looked for Rainbow’s approval. But the Pegasus slipped her head meekly towards the ground. Who could know humanity, if not her? +++ It was silent in the office. Matheson the forensic drew over the surface of the top of the desk, pulling strains of dust and grime along. Helen stood in the doorway, her arms shrugged in front of her, looking on the ground, slowly contemplating the situation. “Are you waiting for something, Helen?” Matheson inquired calmly, kneeing in front of the table, and looking up at her for a short moment before vanishing beneath it. “You didn’t find anything yet, did you?” Helen counter-asked, her voice lame and uninspired. “No, nothing in particular.” Matheson declared from under the table. “Save maybe some… uh… magnetising powder on the desk. Probably from Fitz. The dirty amateur.” Scrambled back forth and looked up. “But apart from that, not a single thing that suggested that this room was ever in use.” “Strange, huh?” Helen said and looked around. Though her conscience was still gnawing at her tone a little bit, she could not shake the immensely strong feeling of suspicion that came with Brian. She tried to ignore the talk they had in the pub, it was not that relevant. Hopefully not. “Yes. We know for a fact that this room didn’t come with the house, the last people living here passed away in 1975. This room was Fisher’s doing, alright.” “Do you think it’s relevant?” she asked and nudged uncomfortably. Remotely, she still felt some hope that the things she saw here were not what they seemed to be. He may have been mentally scarred person, but not really the terrorist type. “Depends. I’d have to rip open the walls and carpets to tell you that.” He probed the file cabinet with a gloved hand. “I did see something like this before. Ten years ago or so, some perps rented out a five-room loft in St Giles. Used three of the rooms, and stuffed the walls of the other two rooms with more than a ton of amphetamine and small arms.” He unpacked a pen, and tapped on the wall’s ugly beige tapestry. “But… there were many of them. Four guys at least, as well as the carpenters that were in on it, another four guys. But our guy, Fisher, is a loner, a complete hermit. Not exactly a likely ‘quartermaster’ for anyone.” Helen stepped forward unsurely and looked around. She glanced into the file cabinet. “What are those?” Matheson shrugged pathetically. “Scrap paper, by today’s standards. And it’s definitely not Brian’s. Copies of account statements, tax returns and company notices.” Taking out one of the leaflets, he underlined the header, located next to a logo of a sun, radiating wavy strings of light “Cel Est. That doesn’t sound familiar, right?” Helen froze at the mention. “What?” “Cel Est.” He showed her the leaf and pointed at the sun. “Green energy, maybe…” With drooping eyes, she looked at the sun. She knew that sun. Celestia’s cutie mark, for sure. “No.” she exclaimed flatly, almost automatically. “Told you. We have to find the company tied to the name and logo, obviously. But I bet this all is still from the previous owner.” Helen didn’t nod. She took the paper and quickly made her way out of the room. She left so suddenly Matheson nearly didn’t note her until she was gone. “Wait, Helen, wait! If you go downstairs, take this for me, will you.” He reached in his overall’s pocket and threw her a little plastic bag. She looked at it, and identified a lone string of hair in it. “What is that?” “Some of Fitzgerald’s ‘irrefutable’ evidence.” He said in less than subtle derogatory tone. “Send him my regards, sulphur-poisoning produces canary-yellow hair, not canary-red! This hair came from a wig. Either that, or it’s dyed or something.” The federal agent looked closer. Yes, this hair was red. But not any kind of red. It was more a hue of rose. But again, not any hue of rose… She went through the bedroom, slowly, thoughtfully passing the DVD collection, out the door and down the stairs. She only made a halt in the living room. An investigator in a fluorescent yellow jacket had sat down by the tea table and held open a chemical utility case. He looked up as Helen approached him. “Are you a forensic?” she asked right away. “Yes. I am Laurence, from the Fire Marshall’s Office.” He explained. “I was called here for…explosives detection, right?” “Not only.” Helen handed him the piece of paper, with the bag string of hair on it. “Can you tell me two things?” “Not before someone pays me my lunch.” He tapped away on the maltese cross on his coffer. “Just kidding, what is it?” “Can you tell me whether this hair is real? And if yes, is it dyed? And with what?” A silver pincer picked the hair out of it’s container, and led it before a magnifying glass. “Well, I can tell you right away, it’s genuine.” Helen urged on. “And?” The forensic moved it up and down the lens. “Also, it’s not dyed.” Helen breathed in slowly. And held it. “Then why is it pink?” He put the hair down, and shrugged lightly. “I can’t tell you that. I’m just a chemic. I have probed hair before, if you mean that. Maybe rose hair exists in nature, maybe not. You’re asking the wrong guy.” He bagged it again, and picked up the fax paper. “Anything else?” “Can you tell me which ink was used in printing this paper?” Helen gave him an impatient glare. “Yes… eventually.” The forensic agent slurred. “You mean ‘yes’?” “Yes. But… but it will take me ages without a lab. I’ve got a few chemicals here. And the internet database. I’ll need at least an hour or two.” Helen nodded nippily and added. “And can you tell me what animal this hair belongs to, too?” A stern grimace took hold of his face. “I don’t think you know what a Fire Marshall does, right?” But then he sighed leisurely, and reached for his mobile phone. “Hang on. I know someone.” +++ Hello, it is I, the author. I sincerely apologise for the long wait, but... I had been held up by my first university semester since my last post, and I admit I lost this story a bit out of my focus. Yet, II felt really uncomfortable about calling an hiatus on this until now, because I cannot predict when how soon I start writing again. Sorry again for the lengthy wait. Though I have some more on the way, I am not sure when the next time will be. So to be on the safe side, I put this story on official 'hiatus' mode until the next post. Good evening.