//------------------------------// // Silverhoof // Story: Siren Song // by GaPJaxie //------------------------------// I catch Green’s eyes across the compartment and hold her gaze in a long, silent stare. She has striking eyes, as rich a green as the rest of her, but they’re crude tools. They can command, enthrall, beguile, but not truly conquer, control, or conceal—she can’t plant an idea in my heart and make me think it my own. All she can do is try to hold steady, dark emeralds matching light rubies in the dim train car. I catch the faintest glint of light, her gaze flicking down for but a fraction of a second. Gotcha. “Got any threes?” I ask sweetly, Green shooting me a foul look as she plucks three cards out of her hoof and pushes them towards me. I grin just a little, stacking her cards up with my three of clubs. The pool is almost empty, and with six little stacks of cards in front of me to Green’s one, we’re rapidly nearing the point where her victory will become mathematically impossible. She knows that, and I know that, so I’m sure to grin enough to show I’m enjoying it, but not so much that I’m rubbing her muzzle in it—just enough that I’m not patronizing. It’s a delicate balance, but I strike it well, and her expression is more playful than actually irritated. “You’re cheating,” she insists, eyeing the little line of cards hovering in front of me, her own hoof of cards flat on the floor in front of her. We’re sitting face to face in the back of the railcar with Berry beside us, the pool of cards taking up the spot on the floor precisely in the center of our little group. There are no windows in the rear, and the stacks of crates obscure our view of the front, leaving us alone in our little shelter. Berry isn’t playing, of course, but it’s still rather cozy. The only sign of Echo is the faint haze of smoke that drifts along the ceiling, but even that’s become tolerable after a while. There’s nothing to do but wait, Green and I passing the time while we listen to the tracks click and clack below us. “I’m playing well,” I reply, with an amused air that is not entirely feigned. “Your turn.” “With two players, this should be a game of chance,” Green points out. “There’s no such thing as playing well, and you’ve flattened me three games in a row. You’re cheating.” “It’s only a game of chance if you’re guessing,” I reply in turn, sing-song. “It’s not my fault you’ve got no poker face.” “Poker face? What, are you reading my cards in my expression?” she demands, turning her head slightly and fixing me with one, skeptical eye. She’s having fun with it though, and I laugh. “Something like that,” I say, taking a moment to rearrange the cards in front of me like I was organizing them into neat sets, picking out two or three at a time and lumping them together. It’s random, of course, but Green picks up on it exactly like I thought she would, her eyes following the cards’ motions, counting the number of sets left. “Your turn,” I remind her. She nods, catching my gaze, trying to read me the way I read her. She doesn’t have a chance, of course, and I give her nothing, her eyes narrowing. Then, she smiles. “Would you kindly tell me if you have any jacks?” Eye contact. My breath catches in my throat, and I go stock still. Eye contact. I didn’t even think about it—it was just us playing cards! I should turn away, break the connection, but my whole body is tense, freezing me to the spot. I brace for the sweet smell, that rush of adoration. Green’s eyes seem to sparkle as a grin appears on her face. Then she snorts. It’s about when I hear her high-pitched, nasal laugh that it occurs to me I’m less than entranced by her at the moment. She giggles like a schoolfilly, the room seeming to boil as a hot flush runs through me. My ears fold back instinctively, and that only makes her laugh harder as she reaches up to cover her mouth with a hoof. “Are you trying to resist mind control or do you need a bran muffin?” she asks, the grin she’s hiding audible in her tone. “That wasn’t funny, Green,” I say, looking down at the floor and folding my cards in front of me. I can’t keep the blush off my face. My whole body is tense, like I drank way too much coffee, my forehooves tapping together nervously just to have something to do. I could unfold my ears, I guess, but it wouldn't be a convincing expression. “Oh, Sweetheart,” Green sighs, sweeping the cards away and reaching out to me. A hug? She’s giving me a hug? Letting me rest my head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was only joking around. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” “I know,” I say, automatically. It’s true though, I mean, we were having fun and foaling around and she did something silly. I can’t hold a grudge against her for that. “And, I mean, I know you wouldn't abuse it. It’s not like you’re an evil mastermind making me do your bidding or anything. It’s just...” She doesn’t pick up the thread when I trail off, and I catch the slight stiffening of her pose, her head tilting to focus on me, paying close attention to my answer. She wants me to finish. “It’s just...” It’s just what? What is it she wants me to say? “I don’t like... feeling that way.” Not what she was looking for—I can tell by the way she relaxes, lets out a puff of breath. She doesn’t seem disappointed though, giving me a little squeeze before she leans back and releases me. “Okay, Sweetheart. No more jokes, I promise.” It’s an awkward moment to share with others around. Of course, Echo is in the front, and Berry keeps staring straight ahead, swaying back and forth with the railcar’s little motions. Still. “Um....” I glance down at the cards, hopelessly scattered at this point. The mood for the game has passed anyway, and I think it’s time to find a new topic. The flush is already fading, and I force my ears back up. After a moment, I lift my head and look Green in the eye, careful not to show any hesitation. I think I catch a glint of approval at that, though she’s trying not to be too obvious about it. “So, why wasn’t I hypnotized that time?” “Oh, the phrase isn’t magic. It’s just something I say,” she answers, sweeping up the scattered cards and folding them one at a time back into a deck. “What, so you can be the world’s most polite hypnotist?” I say, teasing her right back. I’m in my element here, so of course, I nail it, and she instinctively smiles. “The development of obsessive-compulsive behavioral quirks pertaining to the functioning of secondary cutie marks is one of the earliest symptoms of withdrawal,” Berry cuts in. She doesn’t look at me or Green as she says it, just blandly staring ahead at the boxes. “Markers will often develop small rituals or habits associated with their new cutie marks. While these begin as simple behavioral oddities, in time, they become a compulsion to the point that many markers become unable to use their abilities without them. While the reasons for this are not well understood, they are believed to pertain to the original nature of Cutie Pox, wherein it would force spastic and compulsive behaviors upon the infected ponies.” For what feels like a very long time, nopony says anything. Green keeps herself busy with the cards, shuffling them over and over again. Berry stares straight ahead. Echo gives a grim chuckle, his laugh carrying back over the boxes. I don’t know what to do, left glancing between Green and Berry with a blank expression. No. No, that’s not true. I draw a breath, giving my head a good shake. I’m rattled, rattled enough I’m not thinking straight, but under that, I do know what to do. Green doesn’t respect ponies who shrink away from unpleasant truths, and while she may not want to talk about it, she’s faced this truth before. It won’t offend her. “So, you have to say that every time then?” I ask her. My tone isn’t casual—that would be making fun of the seriousness of the situation. I don’t show worry either though. Instead, I’m a little stiff, and a little curious, like I would be if making polite inquiries about any other weighty topic. She doesn’t answer at first, but when she does, it’s with a firm nod, and she turns back up from the cards to look at me. “Sure do, Sweetheart,” she says, tucking the collected deck back into her saddlebags. “Once upon a time, all I had to do was stare a pony in the eye and think real hard what I wanted them to do. But thoughts can be vague; it was a lot easier to casually drop a line in conversation giving them an order. Then I started dressing it up so it would sound polite, and I guess one day I realized I couldn't do it the old way anymore.” There are follow-up questions I could ask, and probably should, but I think Green will welcome being a little less the focus of attention. Instead, I glance at Berry, giving her cutie marks a careful inspection before I ask, “So, is there a phrase you have to say every time you distill something?” “While heart’s-desire-induced obsessive-compulsive behaviors can take the form of specific actions which must be undertaken upon the use of secondary cutie marks, it is more common for markers to develop ‘maintenance’ behaviors which may be carried out over time,” Berry answers, efficient and dull. “One of the earliest known examples is a unicorn named Coal Spark who, six months after acquiring his Winter Blast cutie mark, developed a habit of chewing on ice cubes. He insisted there was no link between the two, but when denied the ability to engage in the behavior, would become irrational and aggressive, and lose the ability to use his secondary talents. This case is considered typical both in the nature of the action, and in the fact that he was unaware of the compulsion.” “Right...” I say slowly, tapping my jaw with a hoof as I mull her words over. With everything that’s happened, I haven’t exactly had time to stop and think about the details of how the city functions. But if I’m going to be leaving soon, and hopefully getting the Princess to save this place after, it might be prudent to know. “So then, you might have some obsessive behaviors, but you probably wouldn't know if you did.” “Correct,” Berry nods. Of course, it doesn’t bother her, but Green also seems to be taking it well. Maybe Berry’s academic tone has distanced her from the embarrassment of it, or maybe she’s happy to teach me. “Do you have any others, Green?” I ask, turning back to face her. “Sure don’t.” Echo’s voice drifts back over the piles of boxes, a dark chuckle carried along with it. “Sweetheart.” Oh, ponyfeathers. Green’s reaction is quick, a whole set of emotions flashing across her face in barely a second. Confusion in that momentary pause, recognition as her eyes go wide, embarrassment when her jaw goes a little bit slack—shame when she sees me staring at her. Last of all, strongest of the set, is anger. All those earlier reactions vanish as her eyes narrow, her face twisting into a grimace as she shoots to her hooves. I try to stammer something, but she shoves past me before I can, storming around to the front of the railcar. “It’s a nickname,” she snarls at Echo as Berry and I rise in turn, following her around the stacks of crates to the front. She’s fixing him with the most toxic glare, her grimace so sharp it’s like she’s an animal baring her teeth. He’s turned to face her, but he doesn’t seem bothered—in fact, I think he’s smiling a bit, like this was all one big joke. “Is it?” he asks, his eyes briefly flicking in my direction. Wait, what was that? That was intentional—blunt even, with the pause he’s letting hang to make sure she noticed. “Well, I suppose you would know best, Ms. Apple,” he answers, calm and amused. “Don’t y’all—don’t you take that tone with me! And don’t call me that!” she snaps, her accent coming on thick as she loses her composure. Is that because he looked at me? She’s not turning her head back, but she’s so tense, she might be willfully suppressing that instinct. Is Echo trying to humiliate her in front of me? I can’t get much from him, and he smiles and shakes his head, letting out a deep, reverberating chuckle. “It’s your name, isn’t it?” he asks, unmoved, matching her gaze without fear. “Green Apple. Or would you prefer I call you by your nickname? What was that charming little sobriquet they had for you back in the day? Green with, oh... something. It’ll come to me.” He’s smiling, not a trace of cruelty in his tone, but it’s there, as sweet and toxic as everything else in this city. He settles back on his haunches, taking a draw off his cigarette and blowing the smoke thoughtfully upwards. “I’m not one to judge of course; gossip can be so unfair.” Green’s teeth grind together, her posture going stiff. It won’t work though. Echo is the one in control here—if he’s trying to push her into attacking him, it’s because he knows he can win, and she’s about to fall for the bait. “Is there some reason”— I raise my voice until I’m almost shouting, stepping between the two of them —“that you are antagonizing my escort?” I keep my voice firm, authoritative, and no matter how loud it might be, I don’t shout like we’re in an argument. That would only inflame things, while a good dose of stern disapproval might bring Green back to her senses. I notice that one of his pockets is open, the one with the flask, and on a guess, I launch a quick follow up, “Wait, how much have you had to drink today?” “I’m not entirely certain that’s any of your business, Ms. Song,” he replies, but it’s probably the best answer I could have hoped for, and I can see Green’s expression settling a bit. She’s still furious, but the realization that she’s arguing with a drunk has cooled her temper a bit—or at least, she isn’t tensing to swing the first punch anymore. “This is the watered-down stuff, in any case.” “Watered-down what? Paint thinner?” I keep up the pressure, stepping closer to Green’s side. Don’t argue with him; make him look like the sort of idiot who isn’t worth arguing with. “Don’t you think it might be a problem if you have to talk us through a checkpoint—” “Train,” Berry finishes for me, pointing at Echo. Green, Echo, and I all stop what we’re doing and turn to her. Of course, her body language reveals nothing. Echo tilts his head at her, puzzled. “What are you—” “Train,” she repeats, pointing firmly at Echo, raising her voice over the clatter of the wheels on the tracks. Echo gets it before I do, his eyes going wide as he follows her pointing hoof to the window behind him. “Train,” he breathes. He doesn’t bother looking to double check, reaching out and grabbing one of the levers beside him and slamming it all the way into the up position. Metal screams as the brakes engage, the floor seeming to leap backwards, twisting me around and sending me crashing into Green. We both go down in a pile of tangled legs, the floor shaking under us with the force of our deceleration. I can’t see anything, but I hear boxes crashing in the back and the scrape of metal on metal in the cabin. Green shouts something and grabs ahold of me, covering my head with her leg. And then, the railcar is still. “You trying to kill somepony, you idiot!?” a stallion shouts at us, his voice muffled by the cabin glass. I hear his hoof strike the outside of the car, producing a deep ring on the metal. He curses at us, storms away, and as one, we heave a sigh. “Well, there’s an aesop in this somewhere about paying attention to what you’re doing,” Echo says as he pulls himself to his hooves. “Thank you, Ms. Punch.” Green and I have a bit more trouble untangling ourselves, and it takes a few tries before we can both get up. By the time we’re both on our hooves, Echo and Berry are already at the window, looking out and ahead. True to Berry’s word, there’s a train stopped not five paces ahead of us, and I think my heart skips a beat when I realize how close we came to a full-on crash. The corridor around us is wide, perhaps twenty paces across, gently curving to the left. I can see that there are quite a few cars backed up on the rails—at least a half dozen before I lose sight of them around the bend. It’s an even mix of passenger cars and freight, and there are a few ponies milling around outside, including a stallion nearby, who I assume is the one that yelled at us. The walls are mostly bare other than a few shops, but those all seem to be closed, those metal bars lowered over the front. For a moment, the car is quiet while we all evaluate what’s in front of us. Green is the one to break the silence. “We should back up,” she says, the earlier argument forgotten in light of more serious matters. “Take another route before we get stuck here.” “Take another route to where?” Echo asks, shaking his head. “There are lots of other routes to Security Station Myrina, and there are lots of other routes to Neptune’s Bounty, but this is the only one that coincidentally passes near both.” He pauses, brushing his lips together as he seems to notice that he’s lost his cigarette. This unnatural state of affairs must be corrected at once, of course, and he wastes no time drawing another cigarette out of the pack in his pocket. “No, we’ll have to wait until the jam clears. It shouldn't be a problem. We’re inconspicuous, just one of a lot of stuck cars.” “So while we’re talking about obsessive behaviors, is there any time you’re not smoking like a chimney?” I ask, shooting him a dirty glance. He’s right, of course, but his plan involves a few hours of sitting in a railcar with nothing to do but murder each other—best get back to defusing that argument now. Besides, he can’t make fun of Green like that. “Well, I’m not smoking right now,” he answers, glancing pointedly at my horn and then down at the unlit cigarette. “Grow your own horn,” I snap back. It comes out harsher than it should have, but I won’t say I didn’t enjoy it. A quick glance at Green confirms it’s having the intended effect; the glare she shoots him is contemptuous, but not furious—a smouldering anger that doesn’t extend to her hooves or weapons. “An intriguing suggestion, Ms. Song,” he says, his tone dry. “But I do believe you’ve misinterpreted my intentions. While Ms. Apple’s outburst was... amusing,” he chuckles, but this time, Green doesn’t rise to the bait, “it was not my intention to slight her. Merely to point out the flaw in Ms. Punch’s reasoning.” “Which is?” I ask. Normally, in this case, it’s best not to engage, but I get the sense that he’ll go on if I ask or not, and at least this way, I have some control over events. Green seems content to keep quiet for now, flicking her eyes between the two of us. “That if you go searching for something, you are sure to find it,” he answers, casually. “I habitually smoke, drink, and refer to ponies in the formal style, and if I were a marker, I’ve no doubt she’d quickly diagnose me with all sorts of nervous disorders. Your escort is no less cruel in her judgments, but to herself instead of others.” He turns up to look at Green, matching her gaze and smiling. “That’s all that I found funny, Ms. Apple. I do apologize if I offended you.” It’s a pile of horseapples and we all know it, but for the sake of civility, Green pretends she’s too stupid to realize that. “You have a unique sort of diplomacy, officer,” she grumbles, glancing him over. “But... accepted.” “Guards.” Berry raises her voice, pointing outside, and for the second time in less than ten minutes, I realize we all let ourselves get turned away from the window. No wonder Trixie trusts Berry more than the rest of us. Looking ahead, and I can see two figures in black working their way down the line of stopped cars, opening them one at a time and speaking to the ponies milling around outside. “Well, time for you to earn your pay th—” Green starts, but Echo sharply raises a hoof for silence. He leans up towards the glass and peers into the distance, squinting at the approaching uniformed figures. “Problem,” he says. “I know those ponies. They’re part of Thunderlane’s unit, and Rainbow Dash has him searching for you. This isn’t a regular stop.” I feel my breath catching my throat, and I peer harder at the glass, trying to see how many there are. “We need to back up then!” I say, glancing at the controls and then back to the window. “Get out of here before—” “No,” Green says, reaching down to put a hoof on my shoulder. She lets it rest there for a moment, giving me a faint pat. My heartbeat starts to return to normal, and I didn’t even realize it had sped up. “No, if they knew what train we were in, they’d have arrested us the second we left Tethys. Echo?” “I’m not sure,” he mutters. “Last I heard, Thunderlane lost your trail in Tiara Tower. This must be new since this morning.” For a moment, he’s stone-faced, peering at the guards making their way towards us. “Well, at this point, they’ve seen us. If we run, they will know what train we’re on. Ms. Punch relaxing in the back, Ms. Song and Ms. Apple up here—we’ve got nothing to hide.” He glances between me and Green, and then catches her eye. “Keep Ms. Song covered, crates on one side of her, you on the other. Her distinguishing marks are on her sides—let’s not let them get a good look.” Berry moves into position in one smooth step. I start to move to my own place, but Green catches me again. “Hold on, Sweetheart. Let’s check that makeup real quick.” It was a good thought—my disguise did get a little smudged in that tumble Green and I took. She fixes it up in a few quick strokes from her makeup kit, and when I snuggle up against the boxes, she moves to stand on my opposite side. Of course, that doesn't take more than thirty seconds, and the guards are still a way ahead of us, giving me plenty of time to sit there and worry. This is an introductory acting lesson—look casual, don’t show how nervous you are—but I feel tense anyway. It’s kind of silly, really. I’m the real actor, and Green is the cheap model, but with us side by side, I’m practically breaking out in a sweat, and she’s casually taking the time to brush up her own makeup. “I like ‘Sweetheart,’” I say, just to have something to say—just to break the silence. If I was alone, I could talk to myself and get properly psyched up for the role, but I think Green would judge me for that. “Why did you start calling me that?” “Oh, it’s an Apple family thing. I thought it was nice,” she answers, catching her reflection in the little mirror in her makeup kit, working a brush around her eyes before reaching for her horn file. “You’re a sweet young mare, and your name seemed a little unfriendly. I never liked those stories, sailors being lured to their doom and all that.” Fire below decks. “Are you okay?” Green asks, pausing in her filing and leaning over to try to catch my gaze. “You look like somepony just walked over your grave.” “Uh...” I stammer, trying to put my thoughts back together, trying to figure out when they flew apart. “I’m fine,” I manage, shaking my head, like that would knock the thoughts back into their proper places. It doesn’t help. “I was... remembering... something. What you said brought it to mind. The sailors. On the ship that brought me here. One of them, he made that joke—that he and the crew must be very brave, letting a mare named Siren lead their ship to a mysterious rocky island. He’s dead now.” “Oh,” Green says, turning towards me and reaching out to rest her foreleg over my own. “I’m so sorry, Siren. I was just joking around. I didn’t mean—” “No. No, I mean, it’s fine,” I say, staring at the floor. “It bothered me when I first came here, but, now the whole thing feels so distant. The palace, a ship, a fire, and then this place.” I can tell Green is struggling for something to say to that, and I don’t feel like I’m done either, the thought demanding to be finished. “I mean, it should bother me. A lot of ponies died because of what I did, asking them to sail me out there. One of them sacrificed himself to save me. He pushed me out of the way of an oncoming blade, and I don’t even remember what he looked like. Tan, I think. Or, maybe brown?” I try to think back, but my whole journey here has gone blurry in my memory. “No. No. He wasn’t tan or brown. That was the ship’s cook. He was... blue? Maybe? An earth pony.” “Siren... Sweetheart, it’s really okay.” Green tries to comfort me, but I can hear how uncertain she is. Anypony could; she’s not faking it well. “No, I mean. I know. I don’t feel bad, I just feel kind of... I don’t know.” I shrug. “Flat?” Berry asks. It takes me a moment to realize who spoke, that there even is a fourth pony in the car. I’d have expected Echo to chime in, but he’s busy watching the soldiers. It takes me a moment longer to remember I need to respond, and when I look to the back, Berry is watching me. I’m so used to her staring into the middle distance or vaguely towards me that it’s a little unsettling to realize she’s looking right at me. At my face. “Yeah,” I manage, after a longer pause than is really polite. “Something like that.” “I remember that,” Berry says, her eyes locked on mine. Steady, even. There’s something in them, but it’s too far away, I can’t see it, and her face gives me nothing. “It doesn’t last.” “You... you ah...” I stumble through the conversation. Trying to make sense of what she’s saying, what she’s getting at. It’s so unnerving, being watched that way. I feel paralyzed, like I want to break away from that dead gaze, but I can’t. “You mean...” “You will find ways things could have gone differently, if you were faster, or stronger, or smarter, or braver. Then it will hurt.” She delivers the lines without the slightest inflection, words evenly spaced and slow. “I don’t remember that part as well as I used to. Many aspects of it are confusing to me now.” A silence hangs in the train car. I turn to Green for direction, but she’s at as much of a loss as I am. Even Echo doesn’t interject—gazing out the window and pretending not to hear. “I didn’t like it.” “Well... I mean,” I stammer, when the silence grows so long I have to say something just to break it. “You don’t have to be perfect.” It’s a platitude, and everypony knows it, but if Berry is judging me for that, she gives no sign. She seems to be thinking again. “For what?” she asks. “Security! Open up!” a mare’s voice shouts outside the door, rough and scratchy. Oh, thank Celestia. The cargo hatch rings with a loud knocking, metal on metal, and everypony’s eyes turn back to the door. She must be wearing those hoof weapons the soldiers all have. I push Berry out of my mind as Echo straightens up from his slouch—game face time. I put on exactly the right pose, casual, a little bored, a little nervous, right as Echo reaches up to yank the release for the cargo door. It comes open with a loud pop, sliding away just in time for Echo to assume a lazy, stupid smile. “Problem, officers?” he asks, glancing down at the two uniformed ponies outside. They both come up to attention and salute when they see him—recognition immediately visible on their faces. “No, sir!” they snap as one. One is a stallion, a tan earth pony in his early twenties, wisps of his garish orange mane sticking out from under his spiked helmet. The other, the one who knocked, is a mare in her early thirties—a rich purple unicorn with a silver mane, her own helmet notched to let her real horn stick through. She’s painted it silver though, so it’s not immediately distinguishable from one of the metal helmet spikes, and her beautiful natural color is ruined by the blazing-fire cutie mark that covers half of her face in orange and yellow. “I’m glad to hear that,” he says, turning to look at the mare specifically, finding a more attentive smile for her. “It’s good to see you again, Speci—” Echo seems to catch himself as he glances down at her uniform. It’s the same as his, except that the patches on her shoulders are blue instead of red, and she has two little bronze arrows on her collar instead of silver bars. “Corporal Silverhoof. Congratulations.” “Thank you, sir,” she replies, her posture relaxing. Well, relaxing a little. So far so good, but they haven’t paid us any attention yet. I keep my posture largely neutral, glancing their way with a timid sort of curiosity. There’s still no guarantee the disguise will pass inspection, but my expression will, at least. “Just this month.” “You should have let me know,” he says, after taking a moment to consider her, tail to muzzle. “We could have celebrated.” “Living the dream, sir?” the stallion asks, glancing around Echo to examine the three of us. His tone isn’t openly disdainful, but it carries about as much judgment as a subordinate can safely level upon a superior. His gaze jumps from Berry to Green to me, resting there. Then he looks back at Echo, and I have to suppress the urge to sigh. Wait, he didn’t mean that... us and Echo? “I know I didn’t just hear you make an untoward suggestion about my lovely companions, Specialist Irons,” Echo retorts, and his tone ends the causal period of the conversation, the two guards straightening up again. He did mean that! And that drunken brute is enjoying it! He’s smirking at us up there! I have to repress the urge to glare at him, doing my best to seem vapid and... and whatever the sort of mare who does that looks like. I don’t think there’s a standard form in the books for “easy.” I never checked though, so maybe. “Sir, no, sir,” Specialist Irons finally replies, and Echo nods. “That’s right,” he says, taking a draw off his cigarette and blowing the smoke out of the open door. Wait, when did that get lit? “Now, who are you two looking for?” “We’re conducting a routine search for contraband, sir. There’s a—” Corporal Silverhoof starts, only for Echo’s brief but withering stare to silence her. “Uh... I mean...” “It’s not like you to waste my time, Corporal. The suspect description,” Echo orders. For a moment, neither of them speaks, then the stallion steps forward. “Sir. We’re looking for a pink unicorn mare, scarring down both sides, shaved on one side, bare ankles,” he says. Echo is rather good at this. Oh, he’s making mistakes that I can pick up on—obviously self-taught—but the subtle shift in his body language shows real talent. Just like that, the tone of the conversation changes, the two officers pulling away slightly without his ever having to glare or yell. “Repeat that,” Echo orders, smooth and quiet. “Sir,” Specialist Irons starts, more slowly this time, “We’re looking for a pink unicorn mare with scarring—” “Specialist. Corporal,” Echo speaks, his voice slow and calm. That makes it worse. “I am aware that Lieutenant Thunderlane does not hold you to the same standards that I did, but I recall promising you that if you ever gave me a suspect description that started with a coat color and breed, I would take a bottle of dye and a false horn, wrap them up, and beat you to death with them!” When the surge of anger comes, it comes all at once, his wings flaring outwards as he leans forward, putting his full effort into bellowing. Bizarrely, I notice he somehow manages to hang onto his cigarette while doing it. Years of practice, I guess. Corporal Silverhoof tries to defend herself, stammering out a quick, “Sir, the intelligence report indicates—” “Then the intelligence officer can find the fugitive for you if he knows so much!” he snaps, forcing her into silence. “The intelligence report is usually wrong, Corporal. You used to know that. Now, I will ask you again, who are you looking for?” At first, they don’t answer, the silence growing long and uncomfortable. I’m careful to show it, glancing down at the floor hesitantly at first, then turning my head away almost entirely, awkwardly fiddling with my hooves. Finally, the stallion speaks. “Her original cutie mark has a star in it,” he says, hesitantly nodding. “Something else too, but definitely a star. Silver or blue.” “That’s a start. What else?” Echo snaps, a turn of his head and a narrowing of his gaze making it clear he expects the Corporal Silverhoof to speak next. What is he doing? What is he doing? She bites her lip, pausing and taking a breath. “Her ankles were badly burned,” she finally says, with a firm nod. “Scars can be regenerated.” Echo dismisses her out of hoof, but she holds her ground. “Yes, but they were burned all the way down,” she says with another nod. “There would be damage to her hooves as well. That could be filed away, but damaged hooves or a fresh hooficure still narrows it down.” I almost glance down to check my hooves. Almost. Green seems to have had the same thought and turns to look at me. Quick as I can, I reach back to my belt with my magic, calling a pep-bar up to my hooves. Why yes, Green, you can have some of my candy bar. “Ah, so you can still think, Corporal. I was beginning to wonder,” Echo snaps. Silverhoof glances at Green and me when she sees the motion of Green’s head, but by the time she looks at us, I’m already unwrapping the bar. Nothing to see here, soldier; my escort here is just hungry. She thinks nothing of it and soon turns away. “Anything else?” “She was pretty,” Corporal Silverhoof says quietly. “Good figure, full tail, all that.” “Are you trying to arrest her or ask her out?” Echo snaps. Ponyfeathers! What is it with me and mares? “Not a lot of tonics that make you pudgy and droopy-eyed, sir,” she points out. “If she had a good figure before, odds are she still does.” “It’s a start,” Echo growls, curt and direct, fixing her with an authoritative stare. He’s faking it though. He can do voice, face, and body language, but like a lot of amateurs, he can’t do all three at once—at least, not well. I can see a little droop in his tail, a relaxing of his haunches and a gentle lowering of his head. It’s subtle—I don’t think she noticed anything—but I certainly did. Disappointment. “Now, you have some reason to think she’s in this backup?” “Yes, sir,” Specialist Irons supplies. “A source in Lulamoon Logistics says that the fugitive is expected there this afternoon, but that there might be a delay of up to several hours due to a rail traffic backup. This was the only major backup on a line that goes near Neptune’s Bounty.” “Mmhmm. You have all the stores and side doors closed up?” Echo checks, and the mare nods. “Guards at the far end for runners or backups?” Again, she nods. “How many?” “Four. Cottage, Prancer, and the twins,” she says, direct. “Salt and Pepper? They couldn't see their own hooves in front of their faces, much less an escaping fugitive,” Echo replies, incredulous. “Thunderlane has them on Eagle Eye now, sir,” she replies. Echo lets out a scoff, shaking his head, but doesn’t push the matter any further. “And the cause of the backup?” he asks, but the mare only shrugs. “Not sure, sir. A bunch of Pavilion goons have the intersection closed,” she answers, indifferent. “Of course they do,” Echo grumbles with an air of finality, taking another draw off his cigarette. “Specialist. Get up there, find out why they have it closed, then tell them where they can shove it and start getting this traffic moving again. Rainbow Dash runs these streets, not the Pavilion—you make them remember that! This is a major thoroughfare. If it gets completely logjammed, the traffic report will give the fugitive all the warning she needs and we’ll be stuck clearing it all night. Be sure to sweep every car again before clearing it and check for ponies riding on the roof or the back.” “Thunderlane has Sergeant Lock running the... um...” the stallion starts to object, but another sharp stare from Echo cuts that short. “I’ll tell him, sir.” “You do that,” Echo says, staring at the stallion until he, well, goes and does that, trotting off and away. “Corporal, are there any places around here still open?” he continues, turning to look at the remaining soldier. “Sir?” she asks, already stiffening against the impending verbal assault. “Corporal, let’s pretend for a moment that I’m not going to leave my dates in the hot train car for hours on end while I go yell at your idiot superior,” he snaps, dry. “And while we’re at it, let’s pretend you’re capable enough to find them a place to relax outside the security cordon and then get somepony to move my train for me.” “I do enjoy playing make believe, sir,” she replies, stiffly. “I think I saw a restaurant past the intersection. I’ll take them there and then go find a driver, shall I?” “You do that. Thunderlane is up ahead, right?” Echo asks, and she nods. He turns back to us then, glancing at the three of us one after the other. “I do apologize, ladies, but it—” “We understand,” Green says with a smile, rising from where she sits. She stretches out in a gesture that appears remarkably natural and hooks him by the collar with a hoof, but I can’t help but notice it keeps her tail between me and the guards, letting her pull him in. Pull him in and uh. Wow. They’re making that look very... real. With her leg over his shoulder and her eyes closed and that quiet, stiff sigh she lets out. When they finally break apart, they brush muzzles, and she stage-whispers, “Don’t take too long though, okay?” “Wouldn't dream of it,” he murmurs back, before finally breaking away and turning to hop out of the open cargo door. Silverhoof steps aside to let him pass, but he doesn’t acknowledge her, and soon he’s gone. Um. Okay. Yeah. “If you three would come this way, please.” Corporal Silverhoof turns to us, polite and formal. It takes me a second to get my head back in the game, but... right. That. Berry steps up at once, stopping next to me, and I realize it’s so when I get up, she and Green will be on either side of me. Green seems to realize it too, and the three of us make it look good, climbing out of the car and onto the street. “Now, before we go, I’m going to have to ask you not to repeat anything you just heard. We’re in the middle of a sensitive operation here and don’t want word getting out.” “Don’t worry, we know how to keep quiet,” Green assures her, calm, if a little too casual. “My cousin works in security; he told me that you can’t say a word in a public area without Neptune’s Bounty finding out about it. I heard that Trixie has spies everywhere.” “Well, it’s not quite that bad,” Silverhoof assures her with a calming tone and a bemused smile, raising a hoof as if to physically push Green’s rumor-mongering away. “Still, you understand how serious a matter this is?” “Yes,” Berry agrees. “We wouldn't want that information falling into the wrong hooves.” Never have I been so glad for her perfect poker face. “Good then,” Silverhoof agrees. “Follow me.” Soon enough, she’s leading us, and we’re walking up the line of stopped train cars, past the waiting crowds of ponies, the soldiers searching them, the locked-up shops, and guarded doors. I hear crashes from inside a few of the cars, angry shouting from one, a loud crack, and a scream. “So, you three and Echo, huh?” Silverhoof asks, and my head snaps up reflexively as I’m pulled out of my reverie. She’s ahead of us, glancing back over her shoulder as we move at a quick walk. From her tone, I don’t think we’re getting through this trip without some conversation, and her curious expression makes me doubt we’ll be able to get away with platitudes either. “How’s he doing these days?” “He’s keeping busy,” Green answers, eliciting a smirk from Silverhoof as she turns back ahead. “I can see that,” she says. Amused but... a little stiff as well. It’s not really a happy sound, and she’s not going to let Green get away with a vague answer like that. “But is he, you know, okay?” I can tell that Green is going to answer with another generality and Silverhoof is going to keep harping on that point, so I cut in right as Green is opening her mouth to speak. “He seems alright most of the time. I’ve never seen him go off on a pony like that before though. Did he always yell at you like that?” “No,” she says, dismissive, brushing the accusation away with a familiar air. “He’s just angry at Thunderlane.” “Bad blood?” I inquire, keeping the burden on her to talk, my tone polite. A little ditzy, perhaps. “Yeah. They used to be close way back when, but it all fell apart when Rainbow Dash gave Thunderlane his command. These things happen,” she says with a sort of verbal shrug, her tone resigned. She’s not as indifferent as she’d like us to believe though, nor terribly good at hiding that fact. “Well, maybe Rainbow Dash will change her mind,” I suggest, but she gives a firm shake of her head. “Rainbow Dash has decided that the city is better served by Lieutenant Thunderlane. It is not my place to question her decisions,” she answers, formal and curt. “Oh, come on,” I press, wheedling gently, “you obviously respect Echo way more than Thunderlane. You don’t think Rainbow Dash made a mistake?” Too late, Green gives me a warning nudge in the side, Silverhoof drawing to a stop in front of us. She turns around to face me, fixing me with an attentive glare. It’s lucky that fear is the appropriate reaction to that, because I reflexively go rigid when she looks me over, almost shaking when I realize her gaze has drifted to my side. “And what was your name again?” she asks, finally meeting my gaze. Her eyes are purple, matching her coat on one side, jarring with the fiery cutie mark on the other. “All she meant was that Echo—” Green begins. “Your name!” Silverhoof barks, a few of the guards around us glancing her way, turning away from what they’re doing. “Uh...” I stammer. Think of something. Think of something! “Zephyr,” I finally blurt out. “I work down in Tethys. Fixing the clockwork.” “And when Pinkie Pie makes a decision you don’t agree with, are you so quick to decide that you know better than her?” Silverhoof presses, not letting Green or Berry draw her attention. I’m pinned to the spot, and even if she hasn’t seen through the disguise, I think I’m in trouble as it is. “I, uh...” I scramble for an answer. I should meet her gaze, but not too aggressively! Oh, but not too timidly either, she’ll think I have something to hide! “Are you nodding or having a spasm?” she snaps, forcing my eyes back up. “No! I mean, yes. I mean, Pinkie Pie knows what she’s doing,” I blurt out. Wrong answer. “Ah, so Pinkie Pie knows what she’s doing but Rainbow Dash doesn't, is that what you’re telling me?” she demands, leaning in close as she glares. “No! I’m sure Rainbow Dash knows exactly what she’s doing!” I stammer, quickly adding, “And—and I’m sure that she made the correct decision here. It was just a figure of speech. I just meant... Echo seems to know what he’s doing too. That’s all!” “This may come as a shock, Zephyr, but lifting your tail for an officer does not qualify you to comment on his merits as a leader!” Silverhoof snaps, and a hot flush rises into my cheeks, my tail reflexively tucking in under me. Her bellowing has attracted a crowd, and now, everypony is staring straight at me. Giggling. Pointing. “Rainbow Dash has a hard enough time keeping the city safe without every mechanic and two-bit whore questioning her decisions. There’s a word for that, and it’s sedition. Have I made myself very clear?” Sedition. The soldiers in the train station. Rope. Tumble. Snap. I don’t realize I’m shaking until Green puts a leg around me to steady me. “She understands, officer. I’m very sorry, she’s had a little bit to drink. I assure you, it will not happen again.” “It had best not,” she snaps with an air of finality, turning to lead us on at a quicker pace. “This way.” There are ponies watching us. As we walk the rest of the way. Watching me. It’s hard for me to keep up with Silverhoof. My legs keep going all stiff, and Green and Berry have to stop so they don’t get ahead of me. I can see the stopped passengers, the guards. Watching. Smirking. One mare points at me, then points at Green, sharing something with the guard next to her. They both get a good laugh out of that. I catch her gaze for a second, across the way. I’m assuming she comes free with the pretty ones. That’s what she was thinking. That’s what she said. It’s not true though, it’s not. It didn’t happen that way. Green grabs me and pulls me along. My tail is tucked up so tight under me that the muscles around my dock are cramping. The hallway feels like it’s a thousand degrees, a sickly, prickling heat burning through my skin, caught up in my coat. It’s not fair. It didn’t happen that way! He hit on me, yeah, but I said no. It’s not like I did anything! I mean, I guess I did overlook the thing with him and Zephyr, but, that’s not the same. I needed him to get home! It’s different. I don’t even notice when we’re getting near the security cordon. Just, suddenly, there are no more trains, and a lot of soldiers around us, and Green is saying... something. Then we’re in a wider hallway with a high ceiling, big and empty, full of rails that have no trains on them. And Green is guiding me somewhere, into a building that smells like hay and coffee. A bench. “You can stay here until Lieutenant Echo comes for you. Do not bother the officers at the cordon,” Silverhoof says, curt and efficient. I’m looking at the table. “Good day.” Then she’s gone. “I can’t believe that worked,” Green whispers, and I feel the bench sway as she takes the spot next to me. “We paraded Vision’s most wanted in front of fifty security officers and Pavilion enforcers, and none of them did a thing.” “Quiet. Somepony might overhear,” Berry whispers from my other side, keeping her voice low as well. “There’s a leak in Neptune’s Bounty. Trixie needs to know,” Green says, so quiet I can barely hear her. “I’ll take care of it. Stay here,” Berry answers, and then she’s up and gone. I keep watching the table. I don’t like this table. It’s all scratched up. And it’s covered in coffee stains. “Nicely done back there, Sweetheart,” Green says, ruffling my mane. “You took it on the chin like a real champion, and now you’ll be back home in no time.” I don’t look up. “Sweetheart?” Green repeats herself, leaning in and around me to catch my gaze. “You okay?” “Fine,” I answer, glancing up a little. Why should she be bothered? She actually did kiss him, just to make the part look good. All I see in her face is confusion, and a little worry, I guess. “It was embarrassing, that’s all. I’m not used to being... embarrassed. That way.” “Oh, sticks and stones, Sweetheart, don’t worry.” She dismisses me with a little wave of her hoof, the concern leaving her voice. “Nopony will remember that an hour from now, much less days from now and half a world away. You’re home free.” Her tone is airy, friendly, encouraging. “In a play, when somepony says that, it’s usually a sign that things are about to go horribly wrong,” I murmur, staring down at her chest, right where her neck meets her body. I don’t feel like looking her in the eye right now. “Oh, Sweetheart,” Green says, with a silly little smile. “You don’t believe in all that superstitious nonsense, do you?” “No.” I answer. “No, of course not.” For a moment, Green doesn't say anything. “Here,” she finally says, her tone forcibly casual. “I’ll get you some coffee. You’ll feel better.” And so we wait. Green comes back with coffee and hay, and sits next to me again. I’m not hungry. I hate coffee anyway, and the hay smells a little dodgy. Hay shouldn't glisten. Some time later, Berry comes back. She doesn’t say much, just, “Resolved.” And then we’re back to waiting. Eventually, I tilt my head up. Look around. It doesn’t make me feel better. The coffee shop is a pretty miserable place, run down and spoiled. The walls show ugly stains from water damage, the tables just the same. Once, the floor was wooden, but now it’s so warped that it rolls like a gentle sea, and you can see the white stone through the cracks that have opened up. A shimmering layer of water too. It’s full of ponies, but they don’t seem happy to be here, staring at their tables or poking at untouched cups of coffee. It’s actually a little odd. There must be more than two dozen ponies here, and the place is very nearly full, but almost nopony is ordering anything. I guess I thought they were here because of the rail jam, but, they don’t look bored like somepony stuck waiting for their ride. They actually seem nervous, tense. Some of them are really cleaned up, like, with makeup and clothes and brushed manes and everything.  Some are flipping through little books or piles of paper. Most are glancing around, not speaking to each other, not making eye contact. “Green, something’s wrong,” I say, sitting up, examining the room more pointedly. It’s not just me; everypony here is really on edge. I’ve seen it before, during tests, in auditions, before a big performance—there’s some unspoken tension that they all know but won’t acknowledge to each other. Something that’s about to happen. “Relax, Sweetheart,” she coos. “Everything’s going to be—” “No, Green, look,” I hiss, lowering my voice. “Nopony is ordering anything, they’re all glancing at the door. They’re waiting for something to happen, and the street was closed off.” Green’s casual manner goes stiff as she spots the same thing that I did, her ears perking up as her eyes go faintly wider. She rises from where we sit, stepping over to one of the other tables and smiling at the pony there, a blue pegasus. “Excuse me,” she says to him. “Would you kindly tell me what everypony is waiting for?” “Oh, sure thing, miss,” he says, grinning like an idiot as he stares up at her, wholly enraptured in an instant. “Rarity is doing an audition today for her new model. She’ll be here any minute.” Green goes stock still, her breath freezing in her throat. She doesn’t bother with subtlety, tearing across the room to the window and looking out at the street. Ponies let out startled shouts in her wake, and the sound of her quick, panicked breaths tells me everything I need to know. She rushes back towards us, knocking our table to the ground as she sharply yanks me to my hooves. “Siren, time to go!” “Hey!” shouts one of the patrons. A unicorn, black and soft blue, rising from his table. His horn shines with that sparkly twilight shade, and he draws a brutal chopping knife out of a belt. A machete, I think. “You need to—” “Would you kindly give me that knife?” she asks, fixing him with a sharp share. He hesitates, the weapon trembling back and forth. Maybe he’s strong-willed, maybe it’s the situation, but he doesn’t obey right away, biting his lip. “Oh, forget it,” Green snaps, the crimson glow of her magic surrounding his chair moments before it spins through the air and impacts the back of his skull with a sickening crack. She catches his weapon before it falls, not bothering to watch him hit the ground. Then, pandemonium. A mare screams, and the herd bolts for the exit, tables crashing, ponies running around us. “Security!” bellows the pony behind the counter. Green yanks me forward and hurls the knife. I stumble, and don’t see it hit, but I hear the rough thump of impact. We’re moving towards the back, and Berry is there now, scrambling over the counter, pulling open the door to the storeroom. “Green, you’re hurting me! Green!” I’m shouting, yelling, but Green ignores me, dragging me around the counter. I try to pull away, and she grabs my front left leg with her magic. My shoulder muscles scream in pain as she yanks me ahead, wrenching me forward. I see the shopkeep as we go, a greasy, sickly pink earth pony stallion. Green rips the weapon out of his skull as we pass his prone form, and she shoves me ahead. It’s dark, cold, and I’m not two steps in when I hit a shelf, the metal slats biting into my side. “How can they not have a back!?” Green screams, something metal flying through the air behind her and hitting the wall with a loud crash. I pull myself up, pots and pans jangling around me. We’re in a storeroom, shelves, crates, and in the back, there’s a small, open elevator full of boxes. A small elevator, controlled by a lever beside the door. A large dumbwaiter really. There are no doors, no controls on the inside, not even a floor—just a fragile wire cage with wooden slats on the bottom and a cable connected to the top. Green is wrenching the boxes out of it, her magic ripping them from the lift and hurling them blindly into the storeroom behind us. “In!” she shouts, leaping ahead into the lift and dragging me with her, Berry not far behind. Green doesn't wait a moment, reaching out to slam her hoof against the controls so hard they rattle in their frame. Above us, I can barely heard a faint, sickly whine. “Why aren’t we moving!?” Green shouts, beating at the controls so hard the lever threatens to snap off, as though pushing harder on the switch might make the lift move faster. “We’re overweight,” Berry answers, without the slightest sign of worry or fear. She lifts a hoof, pointing to the corner of the lift, and a sign there I hadn’t noticed, informing us that the maximum capacity of the lift is “1000N”. What’s an “N”? “Siren, help me!” Green orders, her horn shining as she grabs the lift car around us. I help all I can, with my own feeble telekinesis, and I can feel the car shake. I’m giving it all I’ve got, my horn burning, but it’s not enough! We lift a few feet, but it’s already clear Green and I can’t keep this up, and when I let out an exhausted breath, we sink back to the floor. “Still too heavy,” Berry says. “We should be able to—” Green turns away from Berry, leaning onto her forelegs, and her rear legs lash out and up, a powerful kick that catches Berry in the chest and sides. She’s picked up off her hooves, hurled towards the exit, but the angle is wrong, and she smashes hard against the doorframe outside the lift. I hear the sickening crack of impact, the crash as she hits the metal, and then she slumps to the floor. Green doesn’t so much as check to see if she’s alive, wrapping Berry in her magic’s glow and hurling her back into the storeroom. She hits a shelf, and with a clatter and roar, it tumbles on top of her, spilling its pots and pans out onto the floor. She... “Been a pleasure, Berry!” Green snarls, her horn shining as her hooves jam the elevator control so far it sticks in the upright position. I can hear that whine, the distinctive grinding of gears above us, and the lift inches upwards—but only a few inches. Green turns her head up, staring into the darkness above us, peering for the lift mechanism as we feel it struggle against our weight. But after a moment, the whine grows more intense, more pained, and the lift drops back into its slot. “We’re still too heavy!” I say. I don’t get it. We were barely too heavy with Berry—ditching her should have worked! Think, Siren! “The winch can’t lift us... what if we got on top of the lift car? Without its weight, if I got on your back, we might be able to...” Green is looking at me. “G-Green?” I ask her, a moment of silence hanging in the air. “My my,” a mare’s voice breaks the silence. Smooth. Cultured. With just a trace of an aristocratic accent. “This certainly took a grim turn.”