//------------------------------// // Chapter 8: A New Dawn, part I // Story: Onto the Pony Planet // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// Onto the Pony Planet Chapter 8: A New Dawn, part I Admiral Biscuit Dale woke well before the sun. He didn’t feel very rested, which was hardly surprising, but he was sure that he wasn’t going to get back to sleep. Before he could remember to stop himself, he began stretching, only to be rewarded with a sharp stab of pain. His dreams suddenly came back to him in vivid technicolor, and for a moment he was afraid that he would find a bite wound on his shoulder, if he were to look. The thought seemed very plausible, especially in a dark hospital room. He got out of bed, moving slowly to avoid further pain from his injured arm. He looked over towards the other bed and contemplated waking the girl, but decided against it. She had enough troubles on her plate, even if she was too stoned to know it. The last thing she needed was for an old man to wake her up in the middle of the night. Instead, Dale walked towards the door before it occurred to him that he ought to put more clothes on first. He pulled the rumpled sheet off his bed and wrapped it around himself as he had the day before. Hopefully they’ll give me back my clothes soon. Maybe once they’re ready to let me out of here. He went back to the door and put his hand on the handle. Finally, he cracked it open, letting the soft light of the hallway wash into the room. Two soldiers were still stationed outside the doorway. He wondered if they were the same ones from yesterday, or if those had been relieved. They were identical, as far as he could see. Both of them were watching him curiously, although neither made a move to impede him. He stepped out into the hall and looked both ways, but nobody else was there. He’d covered most of its length yesterday, and doubted there were any great mysteries yet to be revealed. Maybe if he started poking into the rooms he’d find something interesting, but realistically the best-case was that he’d either find other patients—who probably wouldn’t want to wake up to see him—or two sleeping guards, if these really were relief guards. It wasn’t something that would make them happy, and it was something he’d rather not think about. Especially if he discovered that there weren’t just two, but dozens. The more he considered it, the more likely it seemed. It wouldn’t surprise him if there was a cordon of guards around the whole building, kept where he couldn’t see them. I could always get Kate to distract them and make my escape. Yes, that was a plan. He could flee from the hospital, and then try to blend in. Why am I even thinking about an escape? It must have been the dreams. He shivered, but not because it was cold. When he remembered them, he often tried to think about where his dreams had come from, and as strange as they’d been, there was a common theme. Enough unusual events had all stacked up, and his subconscious had mixed and matched them, like the menu at an old Chinese restaurant. How else could he explain an army of these soldiers, being chased by horsemen, and even a weird nude apparition? He hadn’t dreamed of his childhood in—well, it was hard to remember how long it’d been. But that was no doubt because in a way he was no better than a child now. At least until he’d figured some of their society out, he was incapable of functioning on his own. Dale looked back at the guards, who were still watching him impassively. He could try and talk with them. Maybe they’d like that. What if it offended them, though? They might be under orders to not speak, unless he asked them for something. Even if he did, they probably wouldn’t understand him. There were very few phrases he could say in their language. No. It was probably better to avoid rocking the boat for now. He moved across the hall and placed his hand on the patch of new plaster. It was still slightly damp, and he knew it would remain unpainted for days, until it had fully cured. As he traced his fingers around the edges, he wondered how long it would stay there. Would it just be painted over and forgotten, or would it be removed from the wall and put into a museum? Might ponies gather around it, admiring the handiwork of an alien species? Was that the fate of his clothes? Were they already working on a display of human artifacts, or had they made contact with so many other races that it was practically a non-event for them? If their situations were reversed, he could imagine all the artifacts from First Contact being placed in the Air and Space Museum. There was a moon rock there that visitors could touch, so he’d have to start gathering interesting rocks and stuff. When they sent him back, he could start his own museum, like that weird extraterrologist in Asimov’s novels. He’d have to start taking notes again. When Lyra came back in the morning, he’d ask her for some notebooks and a pen. He was surprised that she hadn’t thought of giving him some yet. He covered a yawn and looked back at his guards. They were as alert as ever, watching his every move. He paced up and down the hallway a few times before he finally returned to his room. He checked on Kate, who was still asleep, then went back to his bed. It was more comfortable than the chairs, at least. He rolled on his side and pulled the blanket up over himself and just watched out the window. There wasn’t much to see—it was still dark out, and apparently the ponies had little interest in venturing out during the night. A few buildings had lit windows, but the streets were largely dark. Toward the center of town, he could see the soft glow of some streetlights, but it was much darker than any Earth town he’d been in recently. The moon was gone; presumably he could see it if he were to look out a window on the other side of the building. His mind drifted back to the dreams he’d had. Normally, he wasn’t one to remember them clearly, but this time they’d all stood out in sharp focus. The last one had been the oddest—there had been such a weird feeling to it. There were none of the unusual dream physics or inexplicable jumps in place and scale, and everything was cleanly presented. The dream had been more like a slideshow of memories, clearly separated. From the moment he was bitten, everything in the dream had seemed perfectly real—except for the woman. She was like the smoke which had been drifting around: something which was there, but couldn’t quite be grasped. That wasn’t quite right, though. She had touched him, and he’d felt something there. It wasn’t the warm touch of a hand on his shoulder, though; it was something deeper and more feral. There was some indescribable power to her, like the feel of a powerful engine vibrating up through his feet. On top of that, covering it completely, she had a powerful presence. It reminded him of an angel—and she almost fit the bill, with the wings jutting out of her back. But angels didn’t have flowing hair, and they usually wore diaphanous robes. Her hair had flowed like the mane on the pearl pony he’d seen on the beach. He looked over towards the other bed, where Kate was a lump curled under the blankets. Did my mind combine her with the big pony? The commander one? But he’d seen that one separately, leading a group of soldiers in the not-memory of the pony war. There was no reason why the two couldn’t have been related somehow. Get a grip on yourself. How can you assign logic to a dream? That was a comforting thought, but a look around him served as a reminder that what he’d known as reality had been systematically torn from its foundations over the past month; how could he not think that anything was possible? His eyes darted around the room. Was he mad? Would he know if he was? Maybe he was in an asylum. Maybe, maybe, maybe. It doesn’t matter; I have to assume this is real unless it’s proven otherwise. It would be easier if he had someone else to share his experience with, though. Dale tugged the covers over his head and began to cry. It was too much. How could one man be expected to take this all in? How could he be left alone at a time like this? He thought back to the paper Lyra had shown him before the disastrous dinner . . . maybe she hadn’t wanted him to be left alone. And he’d rejected her. Not even with words; he hadn’t been kind enough to do that much. He’d just dropped the subject like it didn’t matter. Maybe the dream with her in it had been his subconscious giving him the kick in the butt he deserved. I can’t even go to her. I don’t know how to find her. I’m alone until she decides to come back—if she decides to come back. I could ask the guards. If the purple one—Twilight Sparkle—comes, I can ask her. Or the nurse might know. Dale drifted back off to sleep. He dreamt that Lyra was running from him, and he was chasing her, again and again. He finally began to stir when the morning’s light touched the bed. He was soaked in sweat, and his hospital johnny was uncomfortably twisted around his body. Something soft was relentlessly prodding him in the side, and he flailed for a moment before getting himself disentangled from the sheets. He swatted his hand at the annoyance, only to hear a startled yelp. Before he could fully process what was going on, he felt a slight pressure on the corner of the mattress and the blankets were yanked off the bed. He jerked up and found himself staring into a pair of bright golden eyes. “Lyra?” He reached his hand towards her. “I had the weirdest dream last night, and you were in it.” She looked at him blankly. A silence stretched out between them, before he finally reached over and ran his fingers through her forelock, stretching just far enough to gently scratch behind an ear. She responded by leaning forward and nuzzling his cheek before taking a step back from the bed. “Nurse . . . hand-look Dale,” she told him. “Then Dale eat.” “Examine?” he asked, belatedly pulling the sheet back over himself. He wrapped it as best he could and slid out of bed, repositioning the sheet once he was standing. Nurse examine Dale?” “Examine.” Lyra spoke the new word slowly, carefully. “Nurse examine Dale.” Dale looked over at the white-coated nurse, who was setting a tray with a plate of food on his bedside table. She spared his heart monitor a brief glance, and appeared satisfied with what it showed her. She looked bright and chipper—as did Lyra. Are they all morning people, or did I just sleep in? Dale squatted on the floor to allow the nurse to examine his head—since he could move around, he felt no need to remain in the bed. She’d unwrapped the bandages and was gently running her hoof over his bare skull, one of the strangest sensations Dale had ever felt. The edge of her hoof was hard, as he would expect, but the center portion felt softer and slightly warm, and wherever it traveled, there was an odd tingling sensation. He struggled to remember his horse anatomy. He hadn’t ridden one since Boy Scouts, but there was a reason why the shoes were U-shaped. There was something soft on the bottom of their hoof . . . not that these ponies necessarily had the same anatomy. He really wanted a chance to just look at a hoof up close. Really study it. The nurse eventually finished feeling his scalp and got a bottle with a cotton-swab brush. It was filled with an electric-green liquid which she began spreading on his bare skin. After the initial coldness, there was a spreading warmth from it—kind of like an Icy-Hot patch, or maybe Vicks VapoRub. It had a vague medicinal smell, like a cross between licorice, spearmint, and a third smell which they masked, something sharp and bitter. When she moved on to his face, he suddenly began to feel claustrophobic. It was too much like having an overly friendly dog licking his face, and he had to fight the urge to push her away and give himself some more space. The cotton applicator was tightly clamped in her lips, and he could feel her breath against his skin as she worked. She was—unsurprisingly—mostly cross-eyed for the duration of the procedure, and he wondered how difficult it must have been for her to work like that. It was odd that the nurses weren’t equipped with horns, but maybe they had to complete their residency before they got them. But that didn’t make so much sense as he’d thought yesterday. First, Kate had called them unicorns; although unicorns were a myth on Earth, there was no shortage of other animals which had a horn, so it was biologically more likely than wings. Second, if they were a prosthetic, it would be logical to equip them as quickly as possible, rather than wait. He’d had a co-worker who’d been fitted with an artificial foot when he was seven, and didn’t walk noticeably different than anyone else. Other friends who’d lost limbs later in life had taken years to adapt to their new prosthetic, and some of them still didn’t walk right after months of physical therapy. A glance around the nurse showed Lyra was easily arranging lesson materials using her horn, while he’d struggled to eat breakfast left-handed the day before. Well, I can’t confirm that they’re natural until I see one of them being born, but if I see kids with them, they probably are. The nurse finished painting his face and he had to hold back a sudden urge to scratch his nose. Of course, it had only started itching the moment she had spread it over his nose. The nurse put the applicator back in the bottle and screwed the cap shut. It was not a simple process; she sat on her rump, gripped the bottle between her fore-hooves, and twisted her head several times before she was satisfied. He felt bad for her; obviously the bottles were meant for the unicorns to handle. I could have taken it from her and helped her with the cap. Shown her that I could be helpful. The nurse stood back up and pointed to his shoulder. Dale obliged her, managing an awkward reordering of his makeshift toga and hospital johnny. She raised an eyebrow as he shifted things around, but otherwise showed no sign of irritation at his slow pace. Finally, he had the shoulder exposed. As she had before, she put her hoof on his shoulder and closed her eyes. A sharp pain made him wince, but it was immediately followed by a warm spreading relief. He thought he could feel damaged tissue knitting back together with a strange prickling tugging sensation. Just your imagination. She finally let go and stuck her head against his chest, her ear flat to the center of his ribcage. He looked down at her mane. The nurse’s cap was held in place by four small bobby pins, and he wondered how she’d put them there. I could yank it off and see what she does to put it back. Dale smiled. That wouldn’t earn him any friends, and he knew enough about hospital etiquette to know that it was a dumb idea to antagonize his nurse. When she was satisfied with listening to his chest, she tapped her hoof against his hip, making a slight downward motion. Dale complied, pulling his bedsheet down just far enough for her to put her hoof on his bare skin. She held it there for a few moments, before removing it. She let him pull his sheet back up before motioning for him to lift a foot. Guessing what she was about to do, Dale sat down and raised a leg. She pressed her hoof against his sole, but once again gave up quickly. It was obvious she wasn’t finding what she was looking for. She turned to Lyra and asked a question. Lyra shrugged and put quill to paper. Meanwhile, the nurse pointed to his food. “Dale,” she said, her voice uncertain. Dale smiled at her reassuringly. “Dale,” he said, tapping his chest. “Dale.” He pointed to her. “Nurse Redheart,” she told him, touching a hoof to herself. Progress is being made. He balled his left hand into a fist and stuck it out. She bumped it with her hoof. He stood and went over to his breakfast. This time, he’d been given green pancakes, scrambled eggs, toast, and a fruit salad with flowers on the side. There was no colored sand this time, but instead a large blue gem rested on the tray. Dale cut off a forkful of pancake and took a small bite, trying to classify what they’d put in the pancakes. Spinach and cheese. Odd. He had to give the chef credit, though—those were things he’d showed her that he ate, and she’d obliged him. Maybe it made more sense to the pony palate. However, just like the flower-and-cucumber sandwich Lyra had shared with him, it actually tasted pretty good. Once he’d finished his pancakes and fruit salad, Dale picked up the blue gem. It was the same color blue as a Jolly Rancher, but a lick confirmed that it wasn’t hard candy. It had to be colored glass, as big as it was. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it, so he set it back down and concentrated on his scrambled eggs instead. His eye wandered towards the bedside lamp. There was a similar crystal in it; maybe this was a night-light for him? He set down his fork and picked the crystal back up, inspecting it. The taper on the ends looked nearly the same as the one in the lamp, so he took the shade off the lamp and pulled the crystal out of it. He held the two side-by-side and compared them. The facets on both were remarkably similar, although the blue one was transparent, while the lamp-crystal was an opaque white, like the quartz crystals that people used to wear as necklaces. Well, the only way to find out is to try it. He set the blue crystal in the lamp and was about to push the button on the base when the nurse shouted at him and batted the lamp away from his hand, sending the crystal tumbling across the floor. Lyra snapped her head around and dropped her quill. The nurse spoke to her and pointed at the lamp. Lyra looked at it thoughtfully and then came to a decision. She stood up and floated both gems and the lamp into the center of the floor. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that the milky crystal was giving off its own glow, besides the one caused by her lifting it. “Dale look.” She set the lamp down on the ground and placed the milky crystal back into it. She walked over to it and pressed the button on the base, and the light illuminated. “Magic,” she explained, pulling the crystal out. “Magic.” She let it float in the air in front of her. “Magic?” He sounded out the strange Equine word. She nodded, then pointed to the other gem. “Magic.” She put the first gem back in the lamp, then lifted the blue gem with her aura. “Two magic. Not same. Dale, Kate—not same.” He nodded. “Two magic, not same.” Is she going to try and tell me how the lamp works? He hoped so. Dale watched her with the intensity he’d have studied a magician who was about to reveal a trick. “Dale there. Dale watch.” Lyra lifted the milky crystal out of the lamp and replaced it with the other. For a moment, nothing happened, then he smelled the reek of ozone. The body of the lamp began to glow a dull orange, and then the blue gem vanished in a brilliant flash of light. Acrid white smoke curled out of the socket of the lamp for a few seconds before finally subsiding. “Two magic, not same is . . . sad.” Lyra pointed towards Kate’s bed. “Two magic, not same is Kate. Is Dale hair. Dale not make two magic.” Satisfied that her lesson would stick, Lyra put the proper crystal back in the lamp and dropped it back on the table. He noticed that she half-closed her eyes when she picked the lamp up. Is the lamp not fully compatible with her tractor beam? He sat back at his plate and went back to his breakfast, but he wasn’t really tasting it. The lamp drew his attention. Now that it was closer to him, he could smell the burned-wire smell that it was still giving off. He wasn’t so sure he wanted it that close to him, but apparently Lyra thought it was safe as long as it had the right crystal in it. As he wiped the plate clean with his last piece of buttered bread, Lyra came over to him, a sheet of paper floating in front of her. She set it beside his plate and let him pick it up. Dale studied the drawings. Her artistic talents left something to be desired, but he wasn’t a better artist himself, so he had no room to criticize. The upper left was a sketch of a unicorn, with a ray—for lack of a better term—coming from its horn, pointed at a floating book. A second, smaller ray was drawn over a symbol on its hip which presumably represented the marks they all seemed to have. The ones Lyra had called ‘cutie-marks.’ The second drawing was of a winged pony, with large rays coming from the wings, smaller rays from the hooves, and a short hip-ray. The third was a normal pony; it had large rays from its hooves, and also the hip-ray. Finally, there was a crude drawing of a person. She’d marked small crosses on the locations which corresponded to a pony, but not added any rays. That must be what the nurse was feeling for, Dale thought. If all the ponies have those . . . rays, they would expect that I have them, too. Or that I’m supposed to. There had been a shock when he touched Lyra’s mark, and he felt a lesser version of the same thing whenever he’d been touched by the nurse’s hooves. She could have been varying the intensity, perhaps—he’d certainly seen evidence that Lyra’s horn could controllably lift objects of different weights. I wonder if that’s how the nurse can grab things with her hoof. “Dale no have.” He pointed to the rays from the unicorn. “Kate no have.” To further illustrate his point, he touched every point on his body the drawing had indicated, saying ‘no’ each time. To her credit, Lyra seemed less disturbed by this revelation than he would have expected, once again implying that his was not the first alien species the ponies had encountered. She simply took the drawing back and began talking to the nurse. After showing her the drawing, Lyra pointed to her horn, before making a cutting motion across one of the nurse’s legs with her own hoof. The nurse seemed interested in the prospect; she grabbed the clipboard with Kate’s record on it and began pointing to data. Dale turned his head at a soft knock on the door. One of the guards stepped into the room and waved Lyra over. She went to him, and the two of them talked for a minute before she finally nodded her head. Almost immediately afterwards, the door opened fully and collection of bags floating in a light blue aura entered the room, followed by a white unicorn. She hesitated briefly when she saw him, but courageously pressed forward, efficiently sorting the bags into three separate groups. The first two she set in front of him, while the third group was set closer to Kate’s bed. She had a faint blue color above her eyes; when she blinked, he realized that she was wearing eyeshadow. It complemented her purplish mane, which—along with her tail—looked permed, and her coat was so well-groomed it looked glossy, like show horses he’d seen. She was a significant contrast to the other ponies he’d seen so far, who had much more natural mane and tail styles. Therefore, whoever she was, she was important. Her hindquarters bore three light blue crystals, and he wondered if she’d been meant to instruct him on what he was to do with the gem. At least I now know what not to do with it. She rapidly began emptying the bags, floating a full ensemble of clothes in front of Dale. He reached for them, stopping just short of grabbing them out of her aura. Lyra spoke to her, and she grudgingly moved them away from him, holding them there while she made his bed. Only then did she set them down, folding each garment neatly. He turned and picked them up, examining them carefully. Aside from the socks, they were all the clothes he’d been wearing his last day in camp. Each of them had been mended; that much was obvious. It suddenly became clear that when they’d admitted him to the hospital, they’d cut his clothes off, and she’d done her best to repair them. A strip of piping ran down the sides of his button-down shirt, covering both the original seams and her repairs. She’d used the existing material on his jeans to make a new seam; apparently guessing that his undershirt and shorts wouldn’t be seen when he was dressed, she hadn’t bothered to cover her repairs on those. The socks were new—the knit was more open than mass-produced socks. Picking them up, he was amazed to see that she’d even added Hanes in red thread on the bottom of each toe. She couldn’t have known what that meant, Dale thought. But she copied it anyway. “Dale is happy,” he told Lyra, who relayed that to the unicorn. A broad grin split her face, and she floated over a second pile of clothes. These were copies of the first set of clothes. The jeans were what really got his attention—she’d faithfully copied the style, while adding her own touches. She’d included the decorative stitching on the back pockets—but she’d added what looked like a cursive R to each, and used small chips of shell in place of the rivets. The only drawback was that she’d failed to include any manner to close the fly, which was an odd thing to leave off. She’d included buttons on his shirt, so it wasn’t like she didn’t know what they were for. Maybe she meant to add it later. From what he’d seen of the town out the window, it was too small to have a tailor’s shop—those were rare enough in America, these days. When he looked around the room, he realized it was even less likely here. The only article of clothing worn by a pony was the nurse’s cap. Even finding a supply of fabric must have taken an effort for her, unless she had some kind of machine that could make it to order. Well, let’s see. Back on earth, there’s 3D printers and computerized sewing machines, so the technology to print a suit is feasible—at least, the fabric part. I suppose that non-fabric details would still have to be added in, and a zipper is probably beyond the means of a simple machine. He set the new jeans back down and picked up his old clothes. I can’t wait to get out of this makeshift toga, Dale thought. He’d felt like an ancient frat-boy for the past day. The unicorn, he noticed, was eyeing him critically, watching every move he made. She finally lifted a tape measure and a thick pencil out of one of the bags in the central pile. A red-rimmed pair of glasses followed, floating to her muzzle. She made a waving motion with her hoof. Dale just stared at her. “Dale . . . make. . . .” Lyra’s face was scrunched up in concentration. Finally, she pointed to the clothes. “Shirt? Pants?” “Dale make shirt pants on Dale.” Lyra smiled. “On Dale.” He looked around the room. There wasn’t any privacy to be had—no curtained alcove, no convenient closet or telephone booth in which to perform a quick change. He could take the clothes and walk down to the bathroom, but they’d probably just follow him in. He didn’t want to insult them, either . . . if he walked down the hall with the pile of clothes, the white unicorn might think he didn’t like them. I can just get dressed under my sheet, he decided. He reached for the underwear and began an awkward one-legged dance, struggling to pull them up his legs with his left hand while keeping his sheet in place with his right. Finally triumphant, he tugged the waistband into place. A movement out of the corner of his eye made him jerk back, just in time to avoid a flying tape measure which seemed bent on touching him. Lyra shouted something, and the tape measure dropped to the floor like a dead snake. Dale turned and glared at the white unicorn; it was obviously her doing. The bluish color that had surrounded it—the same one that had been on her bags—was a dead giveaway. The two unicorns held another brief conference while Dale watched. Finally, Lyra came over. “Rarity.” She pointed to the white unicorn. “Rarity make shirt pants. Rarity want make more shirt pants later. Rarity want—” she pointed to the tape measure— “Dale. Dale not want hmmmm.” Dale nodded. “Measure,” he told her, pointing to the tape. “Rarity not measure Dale. Lyra measure Dale. Dale shirt pants not on Dale.” “No,” he replied. “Clothes, um, shirt pants on Dale.” Eventually, the two of them working together managed to take measurements to Rarity’s satisfaction. He’d been allowed to wear his briefs—although even that seemed to annoy the white unicorn. Lyra had been thoughtful enough to allow him to hold one end of the tape, while she held the other and read off the numbers to Rarity. When he’d agreed, he’d assumed that it would be a simple matter of measuring his pant size—two different measurements—and his arm length, neck size, and chest size. He had no idea that so many measurements of a human body could be taken, and began to wonder if she was going to build a statue of him. She wound up taking over two dozen measurements before she finally stopped. Dale had the impression that she still wasn’t satisfied, but Lyra had been glaring at her. She took the tape back from Lyra, coiling it as it crossed the gap between the two unicorns. “Dale make shirt pants on Dale,” Lyra told him. He was only too happy to comply. Wearing clean clothes served as a reminder that he hadn’t had a shower in days—the solar shower he’d used on the island was better than nothing, but he suddenly felt filthy. “Dale make write,” he said, pointing to the stack of papers Lyra had taken from her bag. She floated a small stack of papers over to the table, followed by a quill and inkpot. Dale drew a sketch of himself in a bathtub—his initial idea to draw a shower was rejected when he thought they might misinterpret the water coming from the showerhead as a horn-ray. The last thing he wanted to happen was for Lyra to think he wanted to be lifted up. This led to a burst of conversation between Lyra and the white unicorn—more than Dale imagined was strictly needed to convey the idea of a bath. He heard Lyra say no several times in the course of conversation, and he was fairly certain both unicorns mentioned Twilight Sparkle, giving further credence to the idea that she was some kind of commander or authority figure. Finally, the pair came to an agreement. Rarity walked over to the other side of the room, her bags in tow. She set them neatly on the floor and primly sat in one of the chairs, while Lyra picked up her teaching materials. Once she had finished, she closed the flap on her saddlebags and motioned him to follow her into the hall. She spoke briefly to the guards, and then the four of them set off down the corridor. They descended on the same flight of stairs that had taken him to the kitchen and conference room, but turned the opposite way in the hall. One of the guards led the procession, checking to ensure nobody was coming down the hallways, and Dale was reminded of all the movies he’d seen where VIPs were escorted that way by their security detail. All that was missing was a little coil of wire leading to an earpiece, and perhaps a more modern weapon than the spears which both guards had placed in holsters. The group finally arrived at a nondescript door—it had a drawing of a bar of soap on it, which was as much of a clue as the steamy floral scents coming from within. The point guard opened the door and looked around inside before waving a hoof for the rest of the group to continue. Once he and Lyra were inside the room, the two guards spoke briefly, and one of them trotted off back in the direction of his room. Dale chuckled. They must have just realized that they left Kate unguarded. Dale looked around the room. On his left side was a small alcove that served as a changing area. The wall which separated it from the main part of the room was made up of a chest-high shelf subdivided into small cubbies. A few damp towels were hung over a rack, while a stack of fresh ones awaited the next bather. The main part of the room was taken up with two tubs. One of them was a clawfoot bathtub, instantly recognizable despite its odd proportions. It was sitting right under a large window, which naturally lacked a curtain. The other one was a much larger wooden tub—easily big enough for a dozen ponies Lyra’s size, or a few the size of the pearl one he’d seen on the beach. It was filled with presumably hot water. Up against one wall was a tiled area with a raised border, and three shower heads fitted to the wall. For him, they only came up to mid-chest, so if he wanted to take a shower, he’d have to sit down. Lyra led him over to the bathtub first, demonstrating the hot and cold faucets by turning them on and motioning for him to hold his hand under the flow. She told him the words for hot and cold, and Dale reciprocated, naming them in English. Next, she opened a large cabinet and began pulling out bottles, pantomiming their use. At first, she named each one, but when she noticed that Dale was struggling, she stopped. Hopefully, whatever they use on their fur works on flesh, too, Dale thought. She led him to the wall opposite the showers. This was clearly a vanity—there was a large mirror in the center, and the top was littered with a variety of brushes and combs, many of them with an oversized strap that probably looped around a hoof. Off to one side were a small assortment of files and picks. She selected a file, lifted a hoof, then looked at Dale’s hands and feet and put the file back. She pointed vaguely to a collection of small tubes and bottles and brushes, taking the top off one of them and eyeing the contents, before pointing to her face. Is that all makeup? The small jars all looked like the kind of things that makeup came in. If he hadn’t seen Rarity, he never would have imagined that ponies wore it. He picked up a small atomizer, trying to imagine how a pony would aim it at herself and squeeze the bulb. Finally, she pointed to the large tub. “Dale later. Is sit water, not soap water.” Dale nodded. “Lyra help Dale?” He shook his head. “Dale not need Lyra help.” I hope she’s not insulted. She pointed with her hoof toward the changing alcove. “Lyra there, Dale here. Dale make word Lyra, Lyra help Dale.” Dale waited until she had gone into the alcove before undressing, piling his clothes on top of the cabinet which held the soap. There was nothing to prevent Lyra from peering over the top, or from just coming out into the room if she wanted to, but he trusted that she wouldn’t unless he wanted her help. She seemed to be rapidly figuring out his desire for privacy, which was nice. The nurse had, too, letting him keep his toga on while she examined him. He sat in the tub as the water flowed, mulling it over. On the one hand, since they don’t appear to wear clothes, it makes sense that they wouldn’t be overly concerned with privacy—to them, the only difference between someone in a bath and someone on the street is that the bather’s wet. But there wouldn’t be anything you wouldn’t see on the street that you would in a bath. At least, I don’t think there is. Still, they figured out pretty quickly that I would want clothes, and the fact that they fixed the ones I had tells me that they didn’t have any appropriate ones handy. Not surprising. If the situations were reversed, I’d be hard pressed to find a set of clothes that would fit Lyra. I wouldn’t know where to begin—there wouldn’t be anything on the rack at Meijer that would fit. Some of them do wear clothes, but those could all be classed roughly as work clothes. The doctors would want their lab coats to protect their bodies, and the hospital johnnys might be used to help keep a patient warm if they have to shave an area for an operation. Obviously, the guards’ uniforms are both ceremonial and probably functional. For everyday wear, they wear nothing. Dale shut off the water and reached for a bottle of soap. One side had a picture of soap bubbles and a flower; the other had fancy-looking copperplate writing. Between the label and the fancy glass bottle, he assumed it said something like “Dr. Bronner’s Magic Soap.” There was just something about it that reminded him of snake oil. Still, it smelled nice. There was a hint of lavender and some other flower he couldn't identify. He tipped the bottle and let some of the soap flow into his hand. On the other hand, even primitive tribes have certain cultural rules and taboos; clearly the ponies do as well. I’ve already learned that grabbing hooves is bad, and apparently there are rules in place about touching the marks on them or petting a stranger’s mane. Lyra had said something about that—I forgot when the yellow one was in the room, but otherwise I’ve kept my hands to myself. That might be why the guard was so uncomfortable when Kate was touching him. Dale had to stand up to lather most of his body—unsurprisingly, the liquid soap couldn’t be applied underwater, and he wished he’d thought about grabbing a bar instead. There had been a couple of them in the cabinet, but both had smelled very harsh. They reminded him of Borax soap, and weren’t what he wanted to get all over his body. And if their society had rules, they would have recognized that a foreign society would also have rules. Maybe they didn’t get it right away, but after a few unfortunate misunderstandings, they’d have figured it out. Lyra’s pretty much been deferring to me, both back on the island and here. She’s obviously trying to smooth out the friction between our cultures as much as she can. He sat back down in the tub and rinsed himself off, running his hands over himself. The lack of a washcloth was annoying, but not really surprising. He pulled the plug on the tub and climbed out, gripping the edge of the tub carefully. Unlike most public buildings in America, the ponies hadn’t put ADA-compliant handrails on anything. While it was readily obvious why they hadn’t, he hadn’t realized how ubiquitous they’d become during his lifetime. Drying off one-armed was a difficult procedure. He was halfway done when he thought about the big tub again. He looked over at his sore shoulder. His arm was somewhat mobile, so he clearly hadn’t torn anything vital. Hot showers had helped sore muscles and cramps back when he was working at the machine shop, so why not try it now? He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked over to the platform that surrounded the tub, knelt down, and stuck a finger in the water. It was hot, but not uncomfortably so. He set his towel on the platform and slowly lowered himself into the water. I could get used to this. Ten minutes later, Dale was half-asleep, his head resting against the edge of the tub. He noticed a blur of movement, and Lyra peered around the edge of the alcove. “Dale happy?” He gave her a thumbs-up, then smiled at his foolishness. Of course she wouldn’t know what that meant. “Dale happy.” She vanished behind the half-wall. He wondered what she was doing there. Talking to the guard? Or was she just patiently waiting for him to finish? He began to feel slightly guilty—here he was taking a leisurely soak in a hot tub, and she was stuck there waiting for him. He felt less bothered by the guard—it was, after all, the guard’s job—but Lyra had spent all day with him yesterday, and all night, too, waiting at his bedside. It’s probably her job, too. But I still should find some way to make it up to her. Somehow. But what could he do? He had nothing here of any value to her. He could give her his wallet or his watch, but what use would either of them serve? He stood up, holding himself steady as a brief spell of dizziness robbed him of balance. Forgot about that drawback of being in a hot tub. Dale climbed the rest of the way out of the tub and walked back to the bathtub, dressing as quickly as he could manage. His right arm seemed to be working a little bit better—the pain had subsided from agonizing to annoying but tolerable. He wasn’t sure if it was the hot tub or whatever the nurse had done. Lyra had drawn rays from the normal pony’s hooves; maybe they did something like her telekinesis with their hooves. Something medical. He walked over to the window and looked out. Dozens of ponies were out wandering the streets, going about their everyday business. Closer to the building, a pinkish pony with a white flower behind one ear had her muzzle down in a flowerbed. She was tugging up plants with her teeth and tossing them on the grass behind her. At first, it looked like she was grazing—and a very picky eater—but then he realized that she was weeding the flowerbed. She moved out of his line of sight for a moment and then returned with a watering can in her mouth. As she sprinkled it on the flowers, she happened to look up and spot him. Her pupils shrank, she dropped the watering can, and galloped off towards town. I wonder what that was all about? Dale reluctantly turned away from the window and walked back to the alcove. As the trio left the room, Dale expected to return to the hospital room, but Lyra had other ideas. She led him back to the conference room he’d visited before. “Dale there,” she said, pointing at the table. He pulled one of the chairs out and tried to sit in it. Immediately, he discovered that his legs were far too long to sit comfortably; after some experimentation he finally settled on turning the chair so that the backrest was facing the table, and his legs were knelt under him, almost—the look of amusement on Lyra’s face, coupled with the ease in which she sat in her chair made him think back to her struggling to find a good sitting position on top of his cooler. She emptied her saddlebags out onto the table, moving half her parchments over to him. Next came a quill and inkpot for both of them. Finally, a short wooden stick was lifted in her aura, and she sent it over to the wall, following the guard who had moved into the hallway after making sure that there was no one in the room. Lyra tapped it on the door and pronounced a word, then spelled it. Dale shook his head. He didn’t remember their alphabet, and all his notes were gone. She sighed, and set the stick down on the table. She quickly re-wrote their alphabet and passed the sheet to Dale. Now the stick moved right up to the paper, pointing to the first letter, which she pronounced for him. He sounded it out and wrote it down, then moved on to the next letter. •        •        • There was no clock, so he couldn’t say how long the two of them had been in the room together, but after giving Dale his refresher on the pony alphabet, Lyra quickly moved on to naming everything in the room. Once she’d taught him their word for it, he told her the English equivalent. Unfortunately for his morale, she seemed to be a much quicker learner than he was. They’d nearly finished with the basics when Twilight Sparkle entered into the room. In contrast to all the other ponies he’d seen thus far, she looked exhausted, but she smiled at him anyway. She gave him a small tan pouch, twisted shut with a piece of twine. While he was fumbling with the bindings, the unicorn turned to Lyra, lifting a large stack of books from her bag and dropping them on the table. Dale ignored her; he’d finally gotten the cloth package open and discovered it contained his glasses. With a sigh of relief, he slid them back on his face and watched as everything in the world came back into focus. Now that he had clothing and his glasses back, he was beginning to feel normal again. I wonder where she found them? He wasn’t sure how to express his gratitude, but she could probably tell by the big grin on his face how he felt. “Dale happy,” he told Lyra. “Tell Twilight Sparkle Dale happy.”