//------------------------------// // 3 // Story: The Inconveniencing Adventures of a Washout Kicker // by IC1s5 //------------------------------// It was anything but a comfortable seat. Wedged next to crates full of provisions and weapons, it was, Spray admitted, much superior than riding in the troop cars. “Thanks,” he said. Lieutenant Cherry Beach nodded, disappearing behind him. Not the most polite or talkative of ponies but the Long Patrol never did attract the congenial type. Spray dropped his saddlebags, trying to find a nice home for them. It had been three weeks since the unveiling. Since then Spray had slowly been gathering the various accoutrements he would need: sun screen, a canteen, and all the rest. A Kicker had loaned him the floppy sun hat he would be wearing whenever he had gone outside. The night before he had laid it all on a blanket, carefully triple checking that he had everything that he needed. Coral had laughed, saying it was like he was joining the guard. Well, perhaps somepony in the extended Kicker clan would be happy that the habits he had learned during his truncated time at West Hoof was rubbing off, if only a little.  Oh, how he missed Coral. It had been about an hour and a half since they had parted. She had accompanied him to the Manehatten train station, nuzzling him one last time before they parted. She asked him to stay safe; he promised he would. “Excuse me...Spray Kicker?” He turned to see a light coloured unicorn mare. She had a confused expression on her face. No doubt she hadn’t expected her seat to be in a supply car. “Yes?” “I’m Twilight Velvet. I’m sorry, we didn’t meet at the exhibition. I had hoped to speak to you...” They made a clumsy hoofbump. “Quite all right,” Spray said. “I must admit that I’m a fan myself. Your Crystal Mountain series is excellent. What did San Serif call them: like Daring Do, only for ponies with a brain?” Velvet laughed. “San Serif never did pull his punches.” The train began slowly to shift forwards. They hurried into their seats before the acceleration slammed them back. Jump seats would be an...interesting way to make the painfully long trip, but preferably to being wedged in one of the crowded troop cars. Good Celestia, the smell alone would be overpowering. “Trust me: it’s going to be a lot nicer here than in the troop cars,” Spray said. “By experience?” Velvet asked, eyes suddenly flashing with interest. “Reputation.” Without windows it was hard to imagine where they were or how much time passed. Without the scenery to pass by it would become harder to determine where they were. Once the heat rose, it would become easier to figure out how close they were getting to Fort Lancer. “Will this be your first time to Fort Lancer?” asked Velvet. “Yes,” Spray said. Velvet looked surprised, but then not everypony understood the background of...the episode. “I never graduated from West Hoof.” Velvet looked surprised. There was a Kicker over in Ponyville on the weather team, but she thought that was the only one who had walked away from the family’s renowned destiny. A look of sympathy unfolded in her eyes. “I can relate,” she explained. “I never did finish that dissertation.” “Why not?” “My first novel hit the Manehatten Times Bestseller list. My master’s thesis did not.” “You managed a thesis and a novel at the same time?” Spray was impressed. “I needed something to do on the long train rides between sources of research,” Velvet explained. “Besides, you don’t find time for the things you love, you make time for them.” Spray nodded in agreement. Could he have pursued art and being a Kicker at the same time? Doubtful. Too many demands would have been made on his time. It would have been like drowning from the inside out. Granted, other members of his family had their hobbies, but whenever a conversation was raised the topic was one of two things: the guard or money. As a child he had raced to favourite relatives with drawings, and delighted in their praise; but the older he got, the more the praise dropped off until he received only a token reply when he passed his sketchbook around. After that, the next words out of their mouths would, “So, Spray, are you excited for West Hoof?” As a foal he sincerely replied in the affirmative. All the games he had with his cousins and siblings were related in some way to the guard. Getting his cutie mark after displaying an exceptional command of colour had been a complication but his parents took it in stride. He could be more than one thing, he had been assured. For a time he had believed that. “I must ask: who was that lovely young filly you were with at the exhibition?” “Coral,” Spray explained. “My fiancee.” “Congratulations! When is the big day?” “Next spring, we’re hoping,” Spray said. “Enjoy the time before you have foals!” Velvet laughed. Coral hadn’t raised the topic of foals, since they expected the first few years of their marriage to be spent devoted to their craft. Still, at some point Spray did hope to have the joy of teaching his foal about composition, colours. Share his passion and his skills, and hope to one day be standing with one of Equestria’s next great artists. Give him the attention you never fully received. It was a wicked thought and it shamed Spray to think it. He shook his head, trying to encourage better thoughts to take refuge in his mind. “Well,” Spray said, “I hope to do as well as the mother of the princess’ personal protege and the captain of the guard.” Velvet sighed in pride. “Twilight is quite a hooffull and Shiny...oh my, what a rambunctious little colt he was. Mercy, where did the time go?” They sat for a moment in silence. Enough time for energy to be regained, and to intelligently decide what direction that the conversation would take. “Why are you coming to Fort Lancer?” asked Spray. Velvet paused for a moment of thought. “I’ve always wanted to understand what Shining Armour goes through.” “I mean,” she blushed, “our Shiny is our first. The first in our immediate family, I mean.” Velvet shook her head as she considered the formidable writer’s block she had been wrestling with for several months. The pressure to write was turning from irritation to source of madness. Thank goodness Night Light understood. With Twilight and Shiny out of the house and her husband granting her alone time, time spent solely staring at a blank piece of paper hoping the universe would spare her the effort and fill the page for her, she was beginning to feel desperate. She did not take being desperate well. “I just want to write about the sacrifices ponies are making here and now. I’ve written about ponies who lived long ago, in different times. I want to write about ponies having adventures today.” As a foal, with his friends or Twilight, Shiny reenacted the great battles of Equestrian history in their backyard. He did go through phases where he declared that he wanted to be a carpenter, a teacher, an alligator wrestler...but it was to no pony’s surprise what his destiny would be. The day he got his cutie mark was one of the proudest in Shiny’s life. If any pony was ever destined to be captain of the guard, it was her Shiny. If his destiny lay with following his family’s path, he would have been a scholar to rival Twilight. Velvet knew this deep in her heart. “This was something Shiny suggested. And I hadn’t been on a good writer’s trip since Shiny was born,” she said. “I’ve miss them so much...and I’ve learned I’m a lot older than those days, sorry to say.” With her foals now involved in their own lives Velvet could get a smidgen of hers back. It almost felt like she was young again, and at times she had eager to get back into old habits, though with her husband frequently busy with his position at Canterlot University’s astronomy department, she was reminded that time had unfortunately passed. “I just want to paint,” Spray said. “I feel like I have so many masterpieces inside me wanting to get out.” “Enjoy that feeling,” Velvet said, “for as long as you possible can. I’m sure Fort Lancer will be constructive for the pair of us.” “Just as long as you can stand large, belligerent, stupid stallions,” Spray said. Velvet raised a knowing eye. “My dear,” she slyly said, “you’re looking at a mare who used to challenge gigantic hoofball players to cider drinking contests...and never once did I slide beneath the table.” # The moon had been raised a long, long time before the train arrived at Fort Lancer. It slammed to a halt; Velvet and Kicker heard the screaming of the Lieutenant ponies and the organized stampede off of the train by the enlisted. They hurried to get out before the unicorns dispatched to unload the train carried them off by mistake. Velvet had studied the Silver nation back when she was younger. It fascinated her; it fascinated most ponies. One of the smaller pony states that rubbed against a corner of Equestria, never fully Equestrian but never fully different either. It had been related to Equestria in some convoluted way only the most erudite biographer of the nobility could have understood. Grumbling voices back in Canterlot wondered why Celestia hadn’t just annexed the Silver nation long ago. Put the poor principality out of it’s misery. Welcome it into the Equestrian fold, where it could stop their tantrums and lose that shameful nickname, “The Equine Everfree.” Spray hadn’t asked Velvet, who mentioned at one point about being an authority on the subject, about the complicated relationship between the Silver nation and Equestria. Spray knew the broad strokes from school: there was a rich, deep and winding, vein of silver found here. Nobles clashed over land rights, and being pampered and decadent nobles, it was a long and lingering fight. Celestia had intervened, and that made them shut up for a while. Then came Nightmare Moon. The Lunar Rebellion. Celestia had to deal with that. The Nobles continued to quarrel. Apparently, one won. He didn’t take a side for Luna or against Celestia. He didn’t want to get involved. He continued to not get involved, pretty much in any way. He had enough silver to ensure that he would not have to. He died prematurely, and there was a succession struggle. Celestia had to deal with the aftermath of the rebellion, and so long as they did not sail too close to the griffons, she did not care. The San Palomino heat had mysteriously disappeared. What followed was a surprising coldness in the air. Thunder was standing on the platform, waiting for them. “Spray! Mrs. Velvet!” They saw Thunder, a unicorn at his side.“This is Olive Branch, the fort commander,” Thunder explained. “Welcome,” Olive Branch said. “Have a good trip?” “Rough,” Velvet said, “I forgot how rough long train trips could be.” “Well,” Olive Branch said, “we’ll get you set up in the guest quarters quick as can be. Cherry Beach: if you would please welcome our new arrivals?” “Sir!” Cherry Beach marched to one end of the line of ponies, standing stiff and vision locked. He waited a second more, satisfying himself that he had their complete and undivided attention. Celestia have mercy on any who did not; for he would not. Cherry Beach cleared his throat: “A lot of you are wondering why you decided to pick this place for your first assignment. What, did you think it would be easy? Did you think it would be fun? What were you thinking? Wanting to change your mind right now, I bet! The rest of you, you think Celestia wants you standing around Canterlot, frightening the fancy pants nobles? Well, you’re in it now! You’re not in the guard anymore----this is the Long Patrol!” Cherry Beach pivoted on a hoof and started back the opposite way down the line of ponies. These were not Equestria’s finest. Ten years from now they would be in a tavern, sullenly hunched over a warming half-finished cider, looking up only to say, “I was in the guard once.” Not what he would have hoped for, but they would have to do. “This is Fort Lancer. You can’t even run away from here! Miles upon miles of burning desert, and we have neighbours---veritable neighbours from Tartarus! But that’s the fun part, ‘cause you also got me! I intend to succeed where your instructors failed, and actually make soldiers out of you, Celestia as my witness!” “Sir yes sir!” The naive continued to stare proudly at him; the hard cases had heard it all, and their expressions had not changed. Unacceptable: there was a moral to be learned. “Cherry Beach,” Olive Branch suggested, “perhaps Old Tom would be of some help?” “Thank you sir!” Cherry nodded to a pony standing next to him, who disappeared for a moment. “You know what? If you’re not going to believe me, let’s have Old Tom have a crack at you!” The pony reappeared carrying in his mouth a cloth bag. Cherry Beach’s horn glowed as he gingerly loosened the contents and held it aloft for all to see. It was a skull of a pony. “This,” Cherry Beach continued, a malevolent smile on his face, “is Old Tom! Found a few years ago by ponies on patrol, and don’t worry, he’s well dead. Several decades old, apparently, more than likely theirs, not ours, but who can say? So...what can you foals tell me what Old Tom means?’ Silence. Good. “It means just one screw up, just once, and fifty years from now your empty little head is going to be passed around for the next group of morons, who are going to have the exact same look on their faces as you do! We are in Equestria insofar as there is a flag planted in the ground declaring it to be Equestria! However, it definitely does things a lot differently out here! You live by it’s rules, not the rules of hard headed guard wannabes or drop outs! It will not take much for you to end up like this! Get me?” There was a silence. Anypony who did not fully absorb the message was not one who was worth coming back, as Cherry saw it. “Grab your bags! Get to the barracks, stow your stuff, get on the parade ground! Ten minutes! Move!” The mob of ponies did not run, but marched as swiftly as possible. Olive Branch, Thunder Kicker and the two guests followed leisurely behind them. “We tend to be a little dramatic around here,” Olive Branch explained for Velvet’s benefit. Fort Lancer had long ago surrendered to the undeclared war waged by the elements. Plastered walls were peeling under the wrath of the sun and the fury of the wind, revealing the rough stone work within. It was an old frontier fort: two rings of buildings, the outermost forming the fort’s wall, encircling a parade ground inside. Four towers were at each corner of the fort, manned at all times by a pony. It had been a long, long time since the fort experienced any siege worthy of the name. The approaching ponies could even hear the pony above them hum to himself softly. In the distance an animal howled. Around them insects chirped. Thin beige grass grew out of cracks where the wall met the ground. Moss attempted, and failed, to cling to the walls. The ponies guarding the entrance snapped to their attention as Olive Branch and Thunder Kicker walked past. Velvet took a moment to inspect the closest pony to her. The bard had been removed from his helmet, and the armour had been painted a dull khaki colour. The poor pony must bake when he was out in the sun. “Isn’t that armour a little...formal for what the San Palomino is like?” Velvet asked. “We tend to get a lot of hand-me-downs from the guard,” Olive explained. “We mend and make do.” “Oh, that’s alright,” Velvet said. “I just wish I had my notebook out so I could have gotten all that down.” “Glad somepony is happy to be here,” a voice grumbled from behind them. Spray looked back to find Mace and Pinion trudging along, heads lowered, dejected looks on their faces. Clearly not thrilled to be reassigned here all due to their commander’s late career fit of pique. “Come now,” Thunder said, not deterred by their pessimism, “don’t you feel like more of a stallion?” Ah, the sun on his face, the heat against his skin! Every minute to devoted to purpose, unlike in the gendarmerie, when too much time was eaten up with paperwork or nonsense! “Just...what are the...enjoyments here like?” Mace asked. “There’s a PX here, if that’s what you mean,” Thunder said. “Great!” Mace would have killed for some Fillydelphia cheese-and-hay-steak right now, or pizza, donuts, something fried and buried under powdered sugar, and definitely cider. Lots and lots of cider, big frosty mugs full of the amber fluid! “Yes,” Thunder elaborated. “Some chocolate, some soda, some of the various necessities, and that’s it! No luxury here!” “But, anything more...” Mace almost whimpered. Thunder shook his head. “Is not going to happen!” Mace and Pinion’s jaws dropped and their eyes shrank. Truly, they were in Tartarus. The newly arrived ponies sped out of their barracks onto the parade ground. Cherry Beach was counting; his counting grew unfairly rapid as the numbers diminished until he finally bellowed: “You’re done!” “Sir yes sir!” Olive guided them away from the parade ground and into the arcade of the fort’s second row of buildings. The parade ground was round, with a flagpole at it’s head, the flag reverently lowered for the night. It would be awhile before the ponies on the field hit their racks. Olive Branch explained the pace of life at the fort, for example what the optimum time would be to avoid the crush of stallions for the showers. Don’t worry about setting your watch: you would know, instantly, what time it was. There were a few off limits areas, but otherwise the fort was as open to them as their home. Velvet didn’t need a guided tour. Her thesis had been on the settlement of the San Paolomino desert: she had visited many frontier forts before, and studied their plans. Knew them like the back of her hoof. For politeness’ sake she kept herself in check, letting Olive Branch do the talk rather than prattle on like a little lavender unicorn she knew. “These are your racks!” There were two spindly beds inside, blankets rolled up at their feet. “No, the blanket’s thickness is not so practical joke,” Thunder chuckled. “Trust me, it gets mighty nippy.” The blankets were prickly and musty. It gave Spray bad memories of his first days at West Hoof. “We’re in the guard now,” Velvet chuckled. Olive Branch left the two ponies to settle in. They dropped off their bags and began to make their beds. Promises of a long day ahead of them had been made with an almost ominous tone. Still, aside from Coral, Spray had never shared a room with a mare. “Don’t worry dear,” Velvet said as she got into bed. “I will be modest. Besides, I have had a colt. I do know what they look like.” “Forgive me for not feeling reassured.” “I’m married and a mother. Twenty years ago maybe...” Velvet chuckled. “Just teasing, dear, that’s all.” Spray eased onto the thin, lump excuse for a mattress, hearing the bed groan underneath him. In another life he would have been here or somewhere like it, trying to sleep while ponies snored or shifted uncomfortably above him. West Hoof had been a shock to him, despite everything he had been told and everything his family did to adjust his expectations. Somehow everything was a teensy bit harder for him there. Pointing it out only brought lectures from his instructors (and, frustratingly, from home) as to how Kickers were supposed to behave. He wasn’t a guard. He was an honoured guest. Best not to think of the past or hypothetical futures. Just accept things now as they are. It did not take long for him to fall asleep. The shortest, least satisfying sleep of his life.