Dear Morning Star,
I understand that the modern politician has little to no scruples, as well as very strong opinions. This is not anything new. It has often been the case that those who were born into power rather than rise naturally into it lack the perspective of even the most common of ponies.
Consider our virtues for a moment. I am loyal to my subjects, as I expect for them to be loyal to me. I am generous with my time, my funds, and my mercy. Although I may not be the kindest of ponies, I do at least like seeing their smiles and their laughter. I am honest, despite the gags which you try to place on me, and I always seek to extend a hoof in friendship to other nations despite the nobility’s own xenophobic bloodlust.
Although I consented to this experiment of allowing the common pony more self governance, I have seen how the House of Commons has been used as a Neighponies Kabuki Theatre while the nobility and merchant houses continue with their own excesses. Before you begin spouting out how ponies would want heads, perhaps you should consider how well connected to your neck your own is if the excesses your people commit ever reaches the light of my day. Trust me, my own indulgences in virtue seem light in comparison to your own den of sin.
Princess Celestia
=0.0=
What is love?
To the soldier it used to be food. True love was previously something unknown to changelings as anything other than a thing to consume. Only the Queens reproduced, and the males (beautiful, pitiful specimens that they are) only lived for five weeks: enough to extract needed seed to continue the Hive’s existence. The rest were asexual, aromantic, and functionally neuter.
Although to the soldier’s horrified realization, it was only two out of those three. The term used in the cheap pony novels was “going native”. Assuming an identity was central to a soldier’s task as the changeling’s nomadic legion infiltrated an area and began harvesting their own specie’s preferred emotion. So the soldier became BonBon, a confectioner, assuming her memories, identity, and place in society. At times like theses the soldier BonBon wondered what happened to her true pony counterpart. Was she in another city? Was she fed to Queen Chrysalis as an offering from the legion, or to some new Queen who had yet to exhibit a certain necessary pupation? These things the soldier BonBon did not know.
The soldier BonBon (who thought of itself as a her for convenience sake, for it had assumed a female identity) now knew love. She had fallen madly in love with an eccentric mare, true, but her time spent absorbing the culture of Equestria made her know that while certain times of romantic love were considered forbidden by certain sects, love knew no bounds. Even within her own circulatory system.
So here she was, standing in front of a mirror in a public restroom in a bank, looking upon the form that she had assumed while her love was in another stall, working up the courage to ask a single question in the most appropriate way.
“Lyra,” BonBon began, uncertainty already evident in her voice.
“Yes BonBon,” Lyra replied, sounding as chipper as ever in the bathroom stall.
“Are you in love?” BonBon asked, smiling a little at herself for getting the question out.
“Of course I’m in love!” Lyra enthusiastically replied, sending BonBon’s cardiovascular system soaring. “WITH ADVENTURE!”
At that point, whatever heart strings that BonBon had were cut, sending her cardiovascular system plummeting back down to her body. “Oh,” she said, before seeing her love walk out of the bathroom stall. At that point she felt all color drain from her, both the illusion and her own carapace.
Standing behind her was Lyra in her most garish garb. She wore a green, white and red mask made of what appeared to be leather, holes cut out for her eyes and mouth. Her chest was bare, but from the waist down were white spandex pants that any mare in her right mind would recognize as a crime against fashion. A red cape fluttered behind her by some unseen force, and she seemed to radiate an almost golden light, inspecting her forelegs and the large mechanical hands that she had put on them.
“Perfect,” Lyra said quietly to herself, before a cocky grin plastered her face. “IT’S MANOS TIME!”
She then proceeded to ignore the door, channeling her unicorn magic through the device on her right hand as she went for a right hook. The fist slammed through the stone façade wall, a burst of magic clearing out a hole big enough for a changeling queen or alicorn princess to walk through in a bipedal fashion.
“OH YEAH!” Lyra screamed in celebration, before jumping through hole. BonBon stood there in shock, realizing three things at once.
The first was a horror at the fact that she fell in love with an oblivious and obviously mad mare.
The second was a realization that no matter how her legion approached invading Equestria, they could never win. The ponies were simply too powerful, and too crazy to accept a life a slavery.
The third was that despite both those facts, she was still in love with Lyra and the magical land of Equestria.
Cursing Lyra, ponies in general, herself and her queen, BonBon followed behind Lyra, wondering just what sort of damage her love would cause.
The crazed unicorn jumped into the main lobby of the bank, BonBon quickly following behind. Customers quickly tried to run away, to hide, to do anything while the security ponies and the tellers reached for their weapons.
One of the guards rushed in, trying to take on Lyra with a firm earth pony buck. It was not successful, though, as the unicorn fighter dodged the attack, grabbing his rear legs deftly with her mechanical hands. With a wicked grin, she began to spin, twirling round and round before letting the poor earth pony go and throwing him straight into his unicorn partner.
It did, however, buy time for the tellers to bring out their weapons. They were small caliber automatic weapons of the finest dwarven make, made of steel and wood with gold inlays depicting ponies standing in victory over elves. The elves are burning. The ponies are eating cheese. Such was the meticulous craftsdwarvesship of the dwarves, for all the good that it would do them.
They fired, a wild spray of bullets flying everywhere. Channelling her magic through her mechanical hands, Lyra brought up a green tinged magical barrier, separating the lobby in half and sparing a couple of people who were cowering, as well as the security guards. The bullets ricochet, hitting some of the tellers while the rest emptied their magizines.
Fortunately, even with dwarven engineering and magically extended magazines, the guns were not bottomless bullet hoses. As the tellers began to fumble around with reloading, Lyra rushed forward.
“FEEL THE POWER AND SKILL OF MANOS!” she yelled, using her magic and her strength to subdue those bank employees who remained standing. BonBon didn’t pay any attention to that however, as the rest of the customers ran for their lives out of a bank that had suddenly turned into a warzone.
“WHAT SORT OF BANK ARMS THEIR TELLERS WITH DWARVEN GUNS?!” BonBon screamed in disbelief.
“An evil bank, my friend,” Lyra replied. She chuckled a little at her work, before shrugging. “Now, lets loot their stuff before the city guards get here.”
They came before the giant vault, which was of course locked. BonBon stared at it, trying to figure out a way to get. She didn’t know how somepony could go about fooling the locks, as they would doubtless be magically proofed against such tampering by those who had special talents in thieving. And unlike the dwarven guns this was of human make, so there was little doubt that the internal mechanisms were as fine as their diligent sets of deft digits could make them.
“If I may be bold as to interrupt, I believe that the object of you are searching for is not in the vault,” an electronic voice said over the intercom, startling BonBon enough to scream.
“It’s alright, my friend. It’s just an AI,” Lyra said, before she began to walk down the right hallway.
“An AI? But only the humans can make those,” BonBon said.
“That is correct,” the intercom said. “However, I am currently here with the equipment I am hosted on as part of a security contract. I am informed that it was a very profitable deal.”
“Wait… human stuff is years ahead of ours, and made with a completely different thought process. Everything that’s not already at our level is prohibitively expensive because of treaties and tarrifs. What are the ponies here guarding that would be worth that much?”
“Something more valuable than bits or gold,” Lyra replied, opening a door. There was some sort of glass screen which separated the duo from the large number of small metal boxes which were both locked and on shelves. “Hey, computer person. Mind telling us the password?”
“I’m afraid I am not at liberty to disclose that information,” the intercom replied.
“Shame about your door then,” Lyra said casually, before channeling magic from her horn into her mechanical hand. She screamed as she punched the door, which withstood the force the magically enhanced blow. The drywall which had the doorframe gave, however, and the square unit fell onto the ground. “Eh, close enough.”
“I believe the object you are looking for is in box K-27. Right wall, second shelf from the top, fifteenth from the entrance,” the intercom said.
“Why are you telling us this?” BonBon asked.
“It’s a human security program,” Lyra began. “It may be performing according to what seems logical, but that means that it’ll be doing what’s logical for an educated human. Most humans are utilitarian in outlook in one way or another, and its goal is to ensure that the assets here are protected as much as possible. Since I have already breached their security this far, and since I am looking only take a few specific items, then the least bad solution that produces the most happiness would be to give me what I want so that I will go away.”
“Wow that… actually sounds really thought out,” BonBon said, baffled by the behavior her friend was exhibiting.
“I know, right? I surprise myself a lot these days,” Lyra said, finding the box and ripping it open with hands. Inside seemed to be a few objects, which to BonBon looked like small metal bricks. “Hmm… I could make a copies…”
“In that case, It is also prudent to inform you that I have notified the police to your attempted robbery. You have five minutes until the city guard arrives. Surrender is highly suggested,” the intercom calmly said.
“You ratted on us? You son of a bitch!” BonBon yelled.
“Please do not refer to my creator that way,” the intercom deadpanned.
“Stop insulting the computer program’s mother, BonBon. It’s only doing its job,” Lyra said, before producing a set of saddlebags from her cape. She dropped the small bricks inside of them. “If something happens, run home. Run as fast as you can, then disappear for a while.”
“Why?” BonBon asked, before lasers seemed to come from nowhere and barely miss her.
Lyra tossed the bag to BonBon. “I’ll hold off Supermare while you get away. Go! Now!”
BonBon didn’t have to be told twice. She quickly put on the saddlebags, and looked at Lyra, who seemed conserned. “Be safe,” BonBon said quietly, before running away.
Lyra grinned as BonBon ran out of earshot. “But my friend, how can I be safe when I finally get to fight a worthy opponent?”
A hole was finally bore through the roof. A circle of debris almost fell on Lyra, save through a combination of deft mechanical hands and unicorn magic. When Lyra shrugged it off, she gave the mare above her a grin. “Impressed yet?”
“A little bit,” the orange mare replied. She was dressed similarly to Lyra, blue spandex with a stylized yellow and red Σ over her chest, and a domino mask covering her eyes instead of a full mask like hers. Her yellow mane and tail was carried just a little bit by the wind. Not much like the movies, but it was enough to get the effect. “You might want to turn yourself in.”
“Or else what?” Lyra asked.
The mare gave a cocky grin. “This.”
The mare dove straight for Lyra, to which she grinned. Didn’t matter if they were pegasi or flying Earth ponies, they still were too direct. Lyra directed her magic to her hands, caught the flying mare’s forelegs, and spun until she slammed into a wall. The wall, being fairly cheap in its construction despite its façade, was worst for wear then the formerly flying mare.
“How did you do that?” the orange mare asked, confused.
“Ever since I found that book, I have had a certain… spark ignite. Not just in my thinking abilities, but in my magic. My horn, these hooves, these hands I made as foci, they are far too strong for most of Equestia, for most of this world, now,” it was then that the masked wrestling pony gave a smile which was far too wide. “But you… you aren’t a real Equestian pony. You aren’t from this world, are you? So you can take it.”
“Why you…” the orange mare ground out. The comment about not being a real Equestrian seemed to drive her into a rage, and she launched herself, charging to Lyra. Lyra responded by holding out her mechanical hand and firmly grabbing. Magic flowed through her entire body, stregnthing it as the unicorn turned wrestler let out a savage scream and slammed her into the ground.
Breathing hard, Lyra let go, before letting out a horrified gasp at the seemingly broken pony under her. “Oh dear human creator god…” For a few moments her eyes darted left and right, as she tried to figure out what to do. She circled around, still unsure, before the other spandex wearing mare spun around and kicked Lyra’s legs out from under her. She fell, trying to catch herself, but it was a risky proposition even for a bipedal being. Her right foreleg twisted in an unnatural way.
Lyra screamed in pain. Then she passed out.
------
It had been three days since Lyra robbed a bank. Three days in the hospital, with her forelegs in plaster lest she hurt them in some new way while the bones set. While magic could be used to heal, said healing could potentially cause more harm than good. This Lyra knew for a number of reasons, from what was explained in her health class to her own personal research.
Of course, alien technology didn’t provide shortcuts. Dwarves were not known for medical technology. Elves were just as likely to eat you as they were to heal you. And while humans could do things like print replacement bones for transplants, at the end of the day they do the exact same thing she’s doing when it’s a ‘minor’ injury like this.
So here she was, consigned to lay there as she was. Nothing even to read.
It was then that a smartly dressed unicorn enter into the room. The suit certainly was fashionable, and stood in stark contrast to her pure white coat. Her mane was purple, carefully groomed into shiny curls, and her eyes seemed far too sharp.
“So…” Lyra began. “Are you the DA, or the free lawyer? ‘Cause either way, I feel too tired to talk to you.”
“What if I said that I was neither?” the unicorn asked.
Lyra was quiet for a moment. She yawned for a moment, before looking at her more carefully. “Well, I’ve been having trouble sleeping recently.”
“You stole something of great value recently. Information on human technology,” the unicorn began.
“Humans restrict their technology. They don’t try to ban using it, but they’re… over cautious. They don’t share that information freely. It costs a lot, and they scale it, so very few places can get legitimate examples. They worry that other peoples will turn their wonders into weapons, or simply become dependent on them for all new innovation,” Lyra said.
“Personal experience has shown me that they’re right. For the making weapons part at least,” the unicorn said, looking to the side for a moment. She then smiled, but it seemed somewhat fake. “Well, with that understanding, I believe we negotiate a satisfactory arrangement.”
“What sort of arrangement?” Lyra asked.
“You have potential information about wonders. Advanced metallurgy. Transistor based computers. Medical techniques that, while admittedly created with an alien race in mind, are still decades ahead of our own. Even insights into the very workings of the universe, missing the influence of magic yes but not bound by the orthodoxy of the archanists either.”
“You want all that?” Lyra ask. "Why?"
“Oh, I personally do not have more than a superficial interest in what you stole. But I have a friend, who is very much like you. If you doubt her motives, then you can meet her later. For right now, though…” the mare’s insincere smiled turned to a smirk. “Lets negotiate.”