//------------------------------//
// Chapter Ten 
// Story: The Conversion Bureau: The First Choice 
// by Westphalian_Musketeer 
//------------------------------//

Karan and Vickers were standing in an underground parkade, looking up a ramp that led to a street. Down that street was the headquarters of Gavin Schummel, one of the largest biomedical firms on all of Earth. The parkade was bustling with a series of tents that had been pitched by the newest achievement of human, gryphic, and pony cooperation: the Joint Reconnaissance Strike Force, JRSF. It was a force dedicated to finding, countering, and eliminating the activities and members of the PER and HLF, wherever they could be found.

The microphone inside Karan’s helmet scratched a little bit before he heard Vickers ask, “Lieutenant? How many minutes until breach?” Karan looked down at the DATab integrated into his sealed suit. Pressing a few buttons, the lieutenant brought up a small clock.

“Ten minutes,” he replied.

“Guess I get my wish,” Vickers said before rolling his shoulders. The joints of the armor moves around seamlessly. It was sealed and airtight for operations with a high probability of PER potion detonators. The private looked at the single red stripe on his grey armor. On it, their new position was stenciled in the same color of the plating. “We’re JRSF.”

“Yep,” Karan replied.

“And my first mission: guard duty for a bunch of secretaries, clerks, and janitors who might be working for the PER.” Vickers looked through the scope of his configured RAC-7 DM (designated marksman). The scope had a lower magnification and fewer detection suites than a rail snipe, but it would still ruin a PER trooper’s day. “Think I get to fire off a single round?”

Karan sighed deeply before he turned to the private. “Tell you what, if you don’t use that on this mission, I buy us a round of drinks when this is all said and done, deal?”

“Deal,” Vickers replied as he shook the lieutenant’s hand.

“Does this deal extend to the rest of us?” asked a voice. A unicorn and Private Jameson stepped towards them. From what parts of him that weren't covered in armor, Karan and Vickers could see the pony’s teal coat and mess of brown mane.

“Sure you could handle our brews Crystal Clear?” Jameson asked bemusedly before another voice added their two bits.

“I think the real question is if the bar would have enough to make me feel a buzz.” Karphal stepped up, adorned in his own JRSF armor, complete with a half-helmet. He opened and shut his beak to work the jaw muscles.

“They wouldn’t where I plan to take us,” Karan answered. “How’s Chuck?”

“Running through every last gigabyte of data before we get underway. He did a good job infiltrating every level of the building’s security.”

Chuck was an artificial intelligence. Like all AI’s, it had been produced by scanning the brain of a sapient being, the data then being trimmed to leave only the wanted skills, and finally, algorithms and logic programs being implemented into the code. Chuck was unique in that 'he' had been created from scanning a gryphon’s brain. As such, he was efficient, cunning, and tenacious, everything needed for an aggressive AI to infiltrate and outsmart the electronic countermeasures of the Gavin Schummel headquarters. From what he had determined, the company was heavily funded and influenced by the PER, and by proxy, that the PER had something big planned in the coming days.

Karan cast a quick glance to his DATab before he hoisted his rifle. “Okay, three minutes to go time. Vickers, Jameson, at go time, head topside with Karphal and be prepared to cover the teams escorting employees to us for interrogation. Crystal, you and I will be keeping the employees calm as they come down the ramp. Remember, we’re going to be handling people who aren’t already suspects, use discretion.” The lieutenant looked over to the other tents, where several other squads had gathered. “The rest is for others.”

The minutes passed, and the soldiers hunched their shoulders as the final seconds passed by. When the clock hit zero, Vickers, Jameson and Karphal filed up the ramp and onto the street, they took cover and aimed their rifles down the road for the first group to come.

Down below, Karan was going over everything he could. In just a few minutes, teams had infiltrated the building a few hundred meters away, and made contact with several PER agents. Footage from helmet-cams showed the occasional potion grenade lobbed by janitors, technicians, secretaries, administrators, chairmen and everyone in between.

The first group of employees were brought down the ramp and Karan yelled out, “Everyone remain calm and please proceed peaceably to the cordon, your name will be called out, and you will be briefly questioned. Do not attempt to leave.”

“Hey this is bullshit! You can’t just arrest us! We have rights!” A Hispanic man in a suit at the front of the group shook his fist before Crystal Clear stepped forward.

“You’re not under arrest sir; we just have some questions for all of you. Now if you could make your way through here, the faster everyone gets here, the faster you can all go home to your families.” The pony finished the statement with an innocent raising of his brows, as if to say, ‘sound good?’

The statement worked, and the group of employees made their way to the tents. Karan looked at his DATab and swore.

“What is it?” Crystal Clear asked concernedly.

“The infiltration teams have found several potion detonators inside the building. The PER are set to try and goop out everyone they can. I hope they can defuse them before—”

Karan was interrupted when a dull, thudding sound reached him. Running up the ramp, he joined Vickers and the others. “Was that what I think it was?”

Vickers and Jameson pointed the muzzles of their rifles down the block. The Gavin Schummel building stuck out like a sore thumb as clouds of purple pressed against the windows of a few dozen stories. The JRSF soldiers would have been safe from the potion, between those already ponies, gryphon immunity to potion, and sealed armor for humans. The real concern was all the employees.

Karphal reached up to his beak a pinched the bridge of it. “Guess the next groups are going to be a little slow to arrive.”

“Not enough time to have gotten everyone out, right sarge?” Jameson asked as he gestured a cross over his chest.

Karan brought the butt of his rifle down to the ground. “I can guaran-fucking-tee it.”





Awe inspiring, that was the phrase that most appropriately fit Canterlot. In the ten years since conversion had been made possible, the capital had seen its fair share of interlopers and new inhabitants. Yet to many of those who were there before the meeting of worlds, it had only gained from the addition. Massive white towers capped with gold shot out from the castle and caught the sunlight in starbursts of shining magnificence. Outwards from the castle a bustling city had expanded with the arrival of newfoals.

The column of ponies walked through the outermost streets. At the head of the procession were several royal guards, behind them were Willard, Monica, and Miles. Further behind, the prisoners were walking in triple file, with guards tracing the outline of the group.

Behind that was part of the archive shipment: eleven crates filled with contents that Celestia had deemed caustic to establishing peaceable relations between Equestrian natives and newfoals. It was one of the greatest controversies of the whole program. An appreciable majority of humans accused Celestia of attempting to manipulate inhabitants, releasing documents as it pleased her and served her purpose. In actuality, she simply stored the books in Canterlot, and never mentioned them unless prompted, any could see a particular book, but they had to be the ones to ask for it. In two words, it was soft censorship.

Monica shuddered as a memory crossed her mind. She remembered a particular Equestrian native who had come to the archives to study human musical theory. She had studied Beethoven, Baroque, and others. She had copied faithfully to the originals various works from the renaissance, never stumbling over creating the musical sheets. When more ponies arrived at the archives to assist with the project, the unicorn had been allowed to choose which works to spend her time transferring to music sheets.

Monica remembered finding the equinoid retching and heaving in front of a holoterminal with multiple hastily minimized windows. When she had asked what was wrong, the mint green pony had run away, terrified. The archivist recalled opening the files the unicorn had looked at. 'La Marseillaise', followed by dozens of other national anthems. Eventually the opened files pertained to World War One and other pictures from across the span of history. The last picture was one from the winnowing, the massive die-off on earth after the sun was blotted out nearly one hundred years ago by a quantum strangelet and bad timing. The unicorn never returned to the archives project after that.

Monica looked at the city, but her eyes glazed over its magnanimous construction. It speaks well of Celestia to see the value of remembering a past that isn’t even her own.

Miles was constantly taking backward glances to the other prisoners. The PER converts that had gooped out at some point were all smiling and cheerfully discussing how pleased Celestia truly was with how they had brought salvation to them all, no matter what she claimed in public under the tyrannical eye of EarthGov. 

The HLF converts from Carrenton were a mosaic of misery and maleficence. Some bowed their heads over to the ground so much that they almost struck their jaw each time they moved a foreleg. Others still pulled at ankle chains that bound them into groups of three, one of them had to be calmed by a unicorn as his skin began to tear from rubbing at the binding. Others glared balefully at the looming towers, their lips moving soundlessly. Miles couldn't read equine lips, but he was sure the curses that were being hurled would turn the ear of most in perturbation.

Willard noted a particular pattern in the streets as they progressed. The outermost edges of the city at the base of the mountain Canterlot was situated on were aligned in a grid-like outline. Streets, avenues, and boulevards met all at right angles. The street lamps were all gas operated, near as he could tell from how they were made. The buildings themselves were all made of beautiful white stone that was capped with purple tiled roofing. Motifs of the sun, moon, and stars appeared everywhere. The streets were a cement-like compound that was filled in with mortar where cracks had formed. Subtle changes appeared as they continued however. Soon streets began to wind and weave in a breezy nature, and the lamps transitioned to magelights, powered by enchanted gems. The streets altered too, shifting to an antiquarian cobblestone construction.

The group was led into the palace. The archive shipment was led down one hall with several guards standing at attention. The newfoals were led down an immense hallway. The ceilings arched so high several pegasi could have flown about with great ease.

Wonder if a dragon ever walked through here, Willard thought.

Stepping through a grand door, each newfoal looked around. Monica noticed a stained glass window with a dark alicorn surrounded by six ponies. Miles on the other hoof noticed a window with a strange being surrounded by the same ponies. It was an amalgamation of what looked to be several creatures.

HLF and PER ponies stared around the room with expressions ranging from wonderment to contempt. The looks were not exclusive to any group. Some HLF claimed that the architecture had been stolen from earth, or that the building was further proof of equine villainy. Some PER hated any similarities that could be drawn to the human past.

Eventually however, all came to look at the throne at the end of the hall. It sat upon a marble and gold-trimmed dais. It looked much like the rest of the castle. On it stood Her, or her, as she would have preferred.





“Alright sir, thank you for your cooperation." Karan turned to the tent entrance. "Vickers, Jameson.” The privates stepped into the tent, then looked and nodded to the lieutenant. “Take this man to wait with the others until we have everyone processed,” Karan said, inclining his head towards a white male in janitor’s coveralls.

“Yes sir,” Vickers said as he snapped off a salute.  Jameson held the tent flap open for the man. The Gavin Schummel employee stepped out wordlessly, no doubt wondering what was going to become of him now that his place of employment had become a designated biohazard area.

The tent was deep navy blue, in the middle was a foldable table and chair. On the table was a bright fluorescent bulb. To Karan’s left was Karphal, and in the opposite corner Crystal Clear was going through a DATab, listing off everyone slated for questioning. Each of them were still in armor, though Karan’s helmet was sitting at the gryphon’s feet. The setup was simple, and played to each races’ advantages. The human would play the neutral party, simply asking the questions, the gryphon would be more accusatory and make use of the third degree, while the pony would offer the person under questioning an out. Karan shook his head at the model that had been cliched since before the earth’s sun took a permanent hiatus.

“Know who’s next?” Karan asked the pony.

Crystal looked up from the DATab and nodded. “Newfoal from the potion sir. Claims to be a ‘Bethany Ferlund’. The name and the ID code she gave matches up with Gavin Schummel records.”

Crystal set the DATab to the side and kicked one of his hind hooves back. A blade snapped into place; it was a foot long and had a one-way serration, a last ditch defense for pony members of the JRSF. The blade folded back as Crystal brought his leg back, only to be deployed a second later.

Karphal drummed his claws against the barrel of his rifle. He looked at the pony in amusement before he reached behind his back and drew out his sword, arguably the most important possession to a gryphon. “Now do you know why I’m fond of this?”

The unicorn blushed as he ceased his metronomic knife deployment. “It’s good to fidget with, and I suppose if an HLF gets near me it’s good to have.”

The gryphon casually twirled the blade around, his dextrous fingers swinging it about like a balisong. “Mine’s bigger though.”

The pony’s ears perked before the gryphon’s did. When the bird-lion did however, he immediately sheathed his sword and stood at attention.

A few seconds later, Karan heard a woman crying. “Please! I just want to see my husband! He’s going to be worried sick! Please!” The tent flap opened to reveal Vickers and Jameson standing behind a white earth pony mare. Her mane was an unkempt, disheveled, aquamarine mess. Her face looked no better as twin trails of moist fur snaked down her cheeks.

“Mrs. Ferlund?” Karan asked neutrally, making the pony to look up at him in shock. “If you would please have a seat.” He indicated the chair and table with a hand.

The mare did such and sat by the table, ignoring the chair to sit on the ground. Before Karan could begin asking questions, the mare blurted out, “Please, before anything else can I please have a DATab to talk to my husband!? He works for the city maintaining the sewers. His name is Karl Ferlund and he—”

“Ferlund,” Karphal said, making the pony quiet. “Before we let you contact your husband you have to answer our questions first.”

“To find out if you know anything that will help us catch the people responsible for this,” Crystal offered.

“B-but... this changes everything! He wanted to wait until the barrier was near New York! I don’t have my job anymore. I can’t type!” Fresh tears flowed down Bethany’s face as Karan managed to maintain a level expression.

EarthGov policy was clear, marriages were only valid between two humans, or two ponies. It was a law of necessity, made to encourage conversion before it was too late for everyone, before the barrier consumed all of earth.

“What if he isn't willing to convert yet? What if he’s ashamed to look at me? I can’t support myself like this. I’m not ready to go to Equestria!”

Karan nodded to Crystal. The unicorn walked up to the table and leaned against it, putting a hoof on the cold steel surface.

“Bethany, can I call you Bethany?” Crystal asked. This earned a sniffle and a nod from her. Crystal waited for Bethany as she took a few gulps of air. “Bethany, why don’t you tell me about how you met your husband?”

Karphal rolled his eyes, but Karan lifted his arm in front of the gryphon’s face.

“Well, I met him after work... four years, five months ago. A taxi had broken down on the side of the road, and he was helping the driver repair it. When he fixed it, he asked if I wanted to share the fare with him as he was heading in the same direction. We talked, then he asked me on a date when the taxi stopped by his apartment.”

“What’s he like?”

The mare took a shuddering breath before she answered, “Wonderful. He always listens about my work, takes the time to explain his, never forgets my birthday or my parent’s. He takes the day off of work for our anniversary, even if he has to take five extra shifts to do so. He says he loves me, every day.”

“Now do you really think a wonderful man like that would abandon you when you need him most?” As Crystal asked the question, Karphal’s feathered ears perked in fascination.

Bethany shook her head. “You’re right. We’ll get through this.”





She was Princess Celestia, regent of the sun and co-ruler of Equestria, progenitor and sponsor of the Conversion Bureaus, Human Archive Project, and several aid organizations which helped ship food, medical supplies, and, where they were of assistance, pony professionals to earth. Pure white coat, wings, a long spiraled horn, all perfectly kempt, over these were regal adornments to denote her status.

Monarch, ruler, benefactor, alicorn, Celestia was all of these, yet the one title she did not encourage the use of was the first to escape the lips of Blank Slate.

“Goddess Celestia! Messiah of mankind! Goddess of the Sun! Your humble servants have come to tell you that we have done all we could to bring salvation to earth!” The painted unicorn rattled in his chains as he tried pushing through group and straining his neck against the bindings.

Any pegasus who was paying attention, with their particularly sharp eyes, would have noticed a frightening sight. Celestia’s left wing shifted, slightly rustling the feathers, her right brow elevated a smidgen, and her nostrils flared a miniscule amount for the briefest of moments. All that was soon replaced by a softened, pitying look with eyes glistening with a buried inferno. It should be noted that several pegasi in the room stiffened in the silence before Celestia spoke.

“You are associated with the group known as ‘Ponification as Earth’s Rebirth’ yes?” the regal alicorn asked.

“Yes your Grace, we have done as you truly wish, and converted as many as we could. But your detractors have strong allies, and insist that you do not want this.” The grey unicorn bowed after he had dragged two other newfoals behind him to the front of the group.

“Your taking of intelligent being’s free choice and rationally decided upon moral agency is something which I do not, have not, and never shall condone.” Celestia straightened her head and looked at Blank Slate with a face to win all poker games.

“Of course you would say that, fools and impious brigands insist that humanity can be saved and is worthy of being saved. You simply placate them for the time they realize the great truth.” Blank Slate continued to face his head to the floor with his head bowed and eyes shut tight. “We understand that you must punish us to maintain your standing, but we know we shall be vindicated, Goddess.”

Celestia stood and looked over the PER converts. “Does anypony have anything to say in defense of, or in addition to this?” All were silent. After a few moments Celestia nodded to a nearby attendant, a unicorn, who floated over a clipboard. She flipped through the pages before she settled on one. Her eyes steadily scanned the paper, no doubt a transcribed document of each prisoner’s offenses. She looked up from the document to see that the unicorn was still bowing. “Blank Slate?” she questioned.

“Yes your Holiness,” he answered.

“You are charged with attacking the citizens of Earth, an allied nation, against my will, and with no proper moral or legal authority to do such. You are charged with sedition and collaboration with terrorists. Do you claim to have not done this?” Silence. “Your records also show that you have been involved in attacks which resulted in the forceful conversion of sixty individuals. Do you deny this?” Again, silence. “Then you are hereby sentenced to twenty years hard labour in the northern municipality of Tacklesville, a community consisting near exclusively of converts, both willing and unwilling, so that you may learn the value of free agency.”

Hours stretched on as each PER operative was tried, their cases read over by Celestia, defenses and justifications provided, and sentences declared. At the end of each case the PER in question was led off.

As the number dwindled Miles sat on his haunches and stared at the ground. He remained quiet as the time for judging of the HLF converts approached, but his sides heaved shakily. Eventually the last of the PER was led off, most to indentured servitude for a decade, and others strict working conditions under close supervision.

What remained were the HLF converts. Miles stood beside the group and looked at Celestia neutrally. Willard and Monica stood to the side and watched the proceeding intently with their breath held. The regal alicorn swept her eyes over the group, assessing each one on a case by case basis. She stepped down from her elevated throne and coughed before speaking.

“You are former members of the Human Liberation Front, an organization which has dedicated itself to the attack of my people, both convert and not. Circumstance has seen you forced into bodies you did not wish to inhabit and for that I am truly sorry. However, this situation is rather unique; you have in the past dedicated yourselves fervently to harming ponies whenever you could, even if now this includes yourselves. For you, I must ensure that you can come to terms with what has happened, not be a threat to my subjects, and be punished for what you have done. As such—”

“Drop dead bitch,” spoke out one of the HLF newfoals flatly.

Celestia looked at the red pegasus and blinked before nodding to the unicorn attendant off to the side. Another clipboard with more pages on it floated over. Celestia flipped through the pages and read out the pegasus’ name. “Thomas Coddalt,” she began, “Two confirmed cases of involvement in attacks of newfoal communities on earth, three cases of torture of native equestrians and one case of murder of a PER who converted. How do you plead?”

“All true,” the pegasus said, “and damn proud of it.”

“Then you are hereby sentenced to life in prison,” Celestia said. The pegasus was led off down the hall.

Celestia flipped through the pages and called out the names of each HLF. Like the PER, their crimes were listed off, and an opportunity for them to say something in their defense was given. One HLF said absolutely nothing, but instead started striking his head against the marble floor before he was restrained by a royal guard. He had been accused of involvement in Carrenton, no kills, and was sentenced to seven years indentured servitude in a place called Appleoosa. For most of the HLF who were given servitude, that was the town they were sentenced to.

As the procedure continued, Willard noticed slight patterns. If the HLF had killed ponies by direct action, it was a life sentence, if they were PER, several years in prison. Miles had shut his eyes, and his forelegs shook as he gulped air. Willard walked over to him, guards watching closely, and draped a hoof over his friend's shoulders.

“Edward Miles,” Celestia said, and the grey unicorn gave a dry retch before leaning into Willard. The earth pony didn't move from his spot beside his friend. Celestia blinked for a few moments before continuing to read the report. “Three confir—”

“Three confirmed counts of killing ponies, all PER operative converts during a combat mission,” Miles completed. He lifted his head up and gave a somber look to Celestia before continuing. “Five confirmed kills of Earthgov military forces. One count of capturing five newfoals. Under orders. I found out later they were executed.” Miles breathed deeply as his ears folded back. “Twenty five counts of the killing of PER operatives, still human.” Celestia’s brows raised slightly, looking over the document with mild incredulity. “The last two won’t be in the file.”

“And you freely admit to this?” Celestia asked.

“Yes,” Miles answered simply.

“Did you know what was going to happen to the newfoals?” she asked.

“Not entirely, I heard at first they’d likely be ransomed off to finance the HLF.”

Celestia turned her head towards Willard. She looked at him for a few moments, her pupils occasionally twitching over to the hoof Willard had wrapped around Miles’ neck. Her mouth however remained unmoving, as if anticipating someone else to act first.

Willard stepped forward, misguided as Miles had been, the former sergeant wasn't about to let one of his own be in bad company again. He cleared his throat before saying, “Princess Celestia, if I may say something in defense of the newfoal Edward Miles?” Willard looked at Miles, who smiled gratefully.

“You may speak, Mr....? Celestia tilted her head slightly.

“Radrim, Willard Radrim. When I met Miles, he was convinced that who he was had already died. However, over time he’s realized that he’s still the same person, and for him, that is an even bigger problem. He admits to have done things that he feels he should be punished for. Even then he knows that there is no way to undo what he has done. What remains is to take what is available and possible, and proceed with the best course of action.” Willard stopped to breathe deeply. He looked at Miles, who had nodded at some points.

“That being said, I feel that given Miles’ progress, including his help in protecting the most recent shipment from the Human Archives Project, putting him in an environment with other HLF who are still completely hostile to what’s happened to them would only harm him. Furthermore, cutting him off from the only people—” Willard lifted a hoof to his chest “—he knows would also be counterproductive to his integration.”

Willard waited to hear what Celestia had to say on the matter. His tail flicked and his ears perked up as he tried to gauge the princess. Miles shuffled on his hooves nervously. 

Monica was glancing between Celestia and her uncle. If it’s true what she can do with the sun, I hope she doesn’t decide to hurt him.

Finally Celestia spoke, “And what do you think of this Miles? do you feel that you are prepared to begin working for forgiveness for what you have done?”

Miles nodded. “Yes ma'am.”

“Then I shall mitigate your sentence to indentured servitude, to Willard Radrim.” Three newfoals lifted their heads and looked at Celestia intently as she faced Willard.  “This does however come with conditions Willard; should Miles become a problem this shall be reneged, and you will be held accountable for his actions. Do you understand and accept this?”

“Yes I do,” the blue stallion replied. “But how long is his sentence if he is cooperative?”

“I understand that you and your niece will be working in the Human Archives Project in Ponyville. Is that correct?” When Willard nodded Celestia continued. “I shall have the leader of the project send monthly reports on Miles’ behavior. I trust her judgement to decide when he has sufficiently integrated and repaid for what he has done.” Celestia looked at each of them and inclined her head. “Miles, this will mean that everything Willard tells you to do, within reason, you must comply. Any earnings you produce outside of your stipend in working in the archives shall be his to distribute as he sees fit. You may not marry, own property, or at any point leave the township of Ponyville unless it is in Willard’s accompaniment with the written permission of both myself and the Archive Director.” She looked at each of the newfoals in turn before she asked, “Is this agreeable?”

“If it is resolved as such, then I accept,” Willard replied.

“Errr... what he said,” Miles added.





Various crates were being brought into the Canterlot Vault, inside were thousands of documents from earth’s past. Monica was reading off a checklist to one side. Celestia was scanning each box beside Willard and Miles.

Willard was staring out of a window. Celestia walked beside him and asked, “Is everything alright? I thought you and your friend were happy with the outcome?”

“For Miles yes, but those PER. That one who spoke to you first, Blank Slate? I met him back at the bureau in Manhattan. He’s a real piece of work. He attacked Miles barely a week ago. I still feel like he got off easily. I guess the old adage still applies: ‘Man must be treated generously or destroyed utterly, for he avenges slight injuries, for heavy ones he cannot’.”

Celestia lifted her head. “Machiavelli?”

“As a matter of fact yes, is it in here?” Willard asked, facing Celestia.

Celestia frowned slightly. “It was until a few years ago, now it’s available as part of an anthology my pupil produced of her own initiative.” Celestia fluttered her wings gently before continuing. “That said, do you truly feel like Blank Slate has no chance of realizing how wrong he is? Do you think that all that is left is to have revenge?”

“And what about that HLF that told you to drop dead?” Willard rebutted. “He isn't so different from Blank Slate.” Willard snorted. “As much as the PER says they’re trying to save people—” Willard waved a hoof at the crates. “—they certainly make a point of trying to kill off humanity as a whole.” Willard took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“As for being beyond redemption, I guess that is up to him. All I know is that if he keeps up like he is, he’ll find himself in a real bad way, and then it will be too late. If that happens, I guess I’ll have what I want. If it doesn't, then I shouldn't have wanted it.” Willard stared out the window again. “I just hope we don’t end up regretting our decisions of when to be merciful or cruel.” He looked over at Miles, who was examining a stained glass depiction of some stars and constellations. “On all counts.”

“Still as man strives, still he must ere?” Celestia smiled gently as Willard’s ears perked up.

“Dost thou know Faust?” the pony quoted.

“By Wolfgang von Goethe, my sister recommended it to me,” Celestia answered. “She was quite interested in human theology and morality plays, trying to come to terms with some of the doubts she’s had about her past.”

“Ah yes, the Nightmare Moon thing, the Conversion Bureau did touch on that... briefly,” Willard  stated. “I suppose even a god can know shame.”

“I’m no god, nor is my sister, but yes, we do feel keenly when one of our subjects fails to do well in the world.”

Willard smiled at the princess. “And here you are helping out people who aren't even of your own dimension. You’re certainly well meaning, no matter what others say.”

“And done!” Monica exclaimed, cutting Willard’s discussion short. “All the crates are in, and the unpacking is well on its way Princess.”

“Good to hear. Now, you all have a train to catch. I wish you all the best of luck.” Celestia stepped to the side as the group offered a unified farewell and left.