Out & About in the Equestrian Kingdom
by Midnight Shadow
Chapter 8
"If you're both ready?" Buttercup asked, his deep voice carrying easily across the room. Julep took a quick look at Sprocket, who nodded.
"I've got the injector ready," the bay gelding said nervously. "They're not going to like it, but it'll work. Once."
"I hope you don't need it, Wild," murmured Velvet sleepily as she curled up in the corner, "but my boy Sprocket's the one to get your buns out of the bakery if the worst comes to the worst."
"I'm initializing your rider subroutines, Sprocket," said Buttercup. "You did a good job with it. The gestalt is steady. You're good to go."
Sprocket nodded awkwardly, then turned to Velvet. "G'night V. I'll be right here."
"You be a good boy, okay?" Velvet groaned indulgently, closed her eyes and then started snoring gently.
"Because if you're not," said Velvet with a grin, running Rogers' hand through his thinning hair before placing his hat firmly back on his head, "She won't spank you later."
***
The Canterlot Draconic Adoption and Daycare Centre was a friendly looking, modern styled building in the very heart of Canterlot, just down from the Celestial Sisters University and not far from Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. Julep giggled behind her hooves at the bright and gay colour scheme as she trotted through the wide front doors and up to the main desk. There was a studious unicorn behind it; her pale blue hide and golden mane hid bright green eyes that were framed by thin wire spectacles.
"Hello miss…? What can I do for you?" the unicorn asked politely, shuffling a pile of scrolls with her magic.
"My name is Mint Julep," said Mint Julep, smiling sweetly, "and I'm here to pick up my little sweetie Short Stop."
"Short Stop? Short… hmm…" The receptionist rifled through her papers nervously. "I'm sorry we don't see to have—"
"Fe fooks fike fiff." Julep had pulled a scroll out of her saddlebags. It had a picture on it of a pink baby dragon with dark green spines. She put it down on the desk, then tapped it with a hoof. "He needs to come with me."
"I, uh… I don't think…"
Mint Julep shook her head, then leaned closer, gesturing conspiratorially with a backwards nod. The receptionist leaned closer.
"He's actually not a dragon," Julep whispered, then put a hoof to her lips. "He's actually a prince from a faraway land, under a magic spell. Celestia wants this kept quiet, so if you could just—"
"You didn't let me finish," dead-panned the receptionist as she leaned back away from Julep. "I was going to say you probably don't want him. He's rather badly behaved, throws all his toys out of the playpen and has been known to refuse to nap when told."
"Oh how dreadful," murmured Julep, rolling her eyes. "I want him anyway."
The receptionist sighed. "Magical curse?"
"Uh-huh."
"Far away land?"
"Double uh-huh."
"Mayflower."
"Triple uhh… wait, what?" Julep blinked.
"My name's Mayflower," said the receptionist, smiling as she pushed her glasses up her muzzle. "And I'll be happy to help you pick out a dragon hatchling all of your very own."
***
The interior of the draconic daycare was a bustling hive of activity, with hopeful little adoptees and adopters in various stages of completing paperwork and demonstrating filial-type friendship and love. By far the bustliest part was the playroom, where dozens of little hatchlings were in various stages of undress and redress at the tender mercies of a few, caring older ponies and a gaggle of excitable youngsters.
One particularly high-walled pen near the back, however, sported a sign which said 'timeout'. It was home to a single, particularly furious inmate.
"Three days!" yelled Rogers, jumping up and down and shaking his diminutive fists. "You left me here for three days!"
"Shh!" whispered Julep, mugging wildly.
"Aren't they cute at this age?" sighed Mayflower happily as she looked down into the playpen at the furious pink dragon. She dangled a hoof over the fence playfully whilst Rogers – better known as Short Stop in his 'salmon' coloured guise as a baby dragon (not pink, definitely not pink) – snapped and snarled at it.
"They do have a certain charm," replied Julep, hiding another giggle behind a wing.
"You know, glad as I would be to let you have him… are you sure your prince isn't in another playpen?"
Julep shook her head. "I'm sure."
"Very well." Mayflower's horn glowed brightly, and Rogers found himself hoisted into the air. The unicorn nuzzled him briefly, then deposited him right-side up on Julep's back.
"Three days!" Rogers hissed again.
"You said, honey, but Mommy is very sorry and had to go the long way around. Now come on, sweetness—"
"Sweetne—!"
"Unless you'd like to stay here another three days," hissed Julep, making cutting motions across her throat.
"Fine," hissed Rogers. "Come on then, Mommy, let's get out of here." He glared at Mayflower, who waved sweetly to him as they passed through the double doors and out into bright Canterlot sunshine.
***
Rogers huffed from his seat perched near Julep's tail. Little spurts of smoke and flame puffed from his nostrils. "I can't believe Celestia left me in there to rot."
"You could have escaped, you know," Julep replied with a giggle, glancing back over her shoulders. "That sort of thing is a part of the game."
"I know." Rogers scowled, "I was waiting for you, though. The first day I expected you'd waltz right through those doors and pick me up. The second had me cooling my heels. The third and I was all set for a jail-break… though it would have made finding you a lot harder. Do you have any idea what sort of multiplier we've got in here?"
"You said three days?" Julep asked, pausing in her easy walk down Starswirl Avenue.
"Two nights—" Rogers' tummy growled "—and most of the third day."
"Hmm, that means we're running about twenty-four times normal. Definitely hi-time, though Celestia's running this particular sim slower than most purely ghost shards. That means we've got at least two days here."
"Dammit. Celestia could have put us anywhere near Steven—"
"That's Haft, honey. He's called Bronze Haft, now."
"—Haft, then – but she didn't." Rogers flexed his claws, staring at them, then put one claw to his head to adjust a hat that he wasn't wearing. He made an angry fist, shook it, and scowled again.
"That's not what Equestria's about, though," interjected Julep, sweetly. "You should know that. Equestria's the journey, not the destination. That's why you wanted me along, right?"
Rogers snorted. "I know. It's just so inconvenient though! Out there I could get on a suborbital if I needed, be anywhere on the planet in an hour or so. But here, our target lives…?"
"A few miles outside of Canterlot, in a cabin in the forest at the foot of the Foal Mountains," offered Julep, matter-of-factly, as she swept a wing tip in rough circles off to one side.
"I thought it might be something like that," huffed Rogers in disgust. "A few huh? I bet we'll need those days just to get there."
"Be glad Celestia's running this sim slower than his penitentiary, we'd have months if that were the case. Either this sim is just larger, or it has more contact with Mundis. Or Celestia's doing us a favour. We could be there by tonight if I flew," mused Julep, stretching her wings experimentally.
"Well, what are we likely to meet out there?" asked Rogers, narrowing his eyes. "This might be a game, but I know the stakes are high."
Julep snorted, then smiled wryly, her ears flicking about in amusement. "It wouldn't be much of a game if it was easy. Now let me think…" The mare shook herself, causing a squawk of discomfort from the hatchling on her back. "Some ursa minors and majors, maybe a few hydra… the biggest problem is going to be timberwolves, at this time of year."
"Timberwolves, huh? I wonder how our target—" Rogers began, rumbling to himself and scratching at his muzzle thoughtfully.
"Can you call him our 'client'?" begged Julep suddenly, stopping so quickly that Rogers almost fell. "I-it just sounds so… mean, to call him a target."
"I'm sorry," said Rogers, once he'd steadied himself. He cleared his throat, then continued. "Ahem. Our client, Bronze Haft, lives alone?"
"Uh huh." Julep nodded easily as she started moving again. She took a quick drink from a fountain, then turned right through Gaskin Square and headed for the main gates out of Canterlot.
"A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma," grumbled Rogers.
"What's that supposed to mean, sweetie?" giggled Julep, reaching her head back to nuzzle at the small pink dragon.
Rogers hissed and batted at her muzzle. "Stop it, girl! I'm not some… some..."
"Helpless little waif?" suggested Julep, grinning.
Rogers stuck his tail in his muzzle sheepishly and grinned back. "I suppose I earned that, huh?" he asked, a few moments later.
"You have, rather," replied Julep. "I don't mind being called 'girl', but I'm not the trophy you've been treating me as the last few days. At least not here in Equestria. And don't you forget it!" She gave him another nuzzle, which Rogers batted at in weak protest. He snorted, chuckling to himself as she turned to face forwards again.
"I promise. Mommy."
"That's better. Now trust me to keep us safe. I've got a few ideas about how to get us there."
"Getting there might not be the issue," Rogers muttered, as Julep spread her wings and leaped into the air.
***
As I felt Darillo withdraw to whatever internal holt the diamond dog had found for himself in my secure compute and store layer, I opened my eyes. With some surprise, I noted my visual acuity had gone up a few extra notches and my hearing seemed sharper. I blinked, rapidly, and twitched my ears about — my head felt funny, as did my muzzle.
"A bridle?" I asked aloud, working my jaw in circles to see how it felt.
"A very fetching one," said Rogers' voice. A quick datachirp told me, however, that this was really Velvet in a Rogers suit. I gasped in surprise, and almost choked at a constriction around my midsection.
"And I thought we went through this already too," said Velvet, as she noticed my discomfort. Rogers' hands adjusted something heavy on my back slightly. "That's your saddle. Yes, I've adjusted it properly. No, it's not too tight. Breathe normally, don't fight it."
"Are you sure you're not trying to strangle me slowly?" I asked, wheezing.
"Silly pony," said Velvet, with a snort. "You need to be saddled up, Sonny Jim. You're going to learn to ride. Kind of." Velvet – in Rogers' body – grinned. I looked over at the 'real' Velvet, who was slumbering on a thick foam mattress in one corner of the room. "I'm staying asleep until I'm out of range. It gets awkward otherwise." Velvet added, whispering with an almost tender note in her voice, as she noted my gaze.
"I don't know how you can just… do that," I said, furrowing my brow, shaking a hoof towards her slumbering self.
"I don't 'just do' anything," replied Velvet coolly. "But in this case, if Rog thinks it's necessary," she added, hefting one foot up into what I assumed was a stirrup before swinging herself up and onto my back, "I'm inclined to believe him."
"Oof!"
"Oh, buck up." Velvet dug Rogers' heels into my flanks. I squealed in surprise. "Don't tell me you don't like it." I whickered noncommittally, having her weight on my back did feel… somehow right, somehow familiar. "That's right," Velvet said, "you feel it too. It's part of ponytraiting."
"I—"
"Shh," Velvet interjected. "Don't speak. This may seem a little weird to you… but I want you to be the pony you already are. And that means no talking," she added, as I opened my mouth again. "Just for a little while, okay hon?"
"Is this what you did to Sprocket?" I mumbled.
Velvet swatted me in the withers, and chuckled. "Yes, but it was for him, not to. It's something he… needs. I'm not going to go that far with you, don't worry. Unless you ask nicely." I nickered, laughing along with her. "It's just important that you and Rogers learn to work as a team. You're his noble steed; as strange as it may sound, you're not a self-driving vehicle. You need a rider."
I opened my mouth to retort, but before I could, Velvet dug her right heel into my flank. Instinctively, I stepped away from the pressure. Before I could complete the motion, she moved her left foot ever so slightly forwards and pressed in with her calf. I turned clockwise around my front hooves. A congratulatory pat on the base of my neck swiftly followed.
"That's right gi—" Velvet cocked her head as she checked my personality matrix. "Hmm, I mean boy. Well done. And now the other way…"
Tap-tap push. I turned the other way.
"Very good. You're doing so well, let's try something a little bit trickier."
There was a gentle increase on my muzzle as Velvet leaned forwards slightly and pulled on the reins. At the same time, she put pressure on both flanks. I took the only obvious course, and stepped gingerly backwards. I made another couple of steps as Velvet released the pressure on my flanks but kept up the pull on the reins. I snorted nervously, but made another step. Immediately, the pressure on my muzzle stopped as well.
With yet another congratulatory pat, I felt Velvet settle herself squarely in the saddle. "Do you know how important that was?"
In lieu of answering verbally, I shook my head.
"That was something very difficult for real equines to do. We have an innate fear of stepping backwards – an old friend of mine told me once that for horses, what's behind them doesn't exist. We have a blind spot that Celestia's pony morphology has only made worse, and whilst it might only be a behavioral package upgrade, ponytraiting still comes with a lot of real horsey smarts. For you to step backwards means you trust me. I'm proud of you, boy, real proud. Rog will be too. Now, how about we go for a bit of a walk? Stretch your legs a little, make sure the tack's up to snuff before we get to the station for reals?"
I snorted an affirmative, nodding my head.
"Careful out there, Rog," said Buttercup, as he nudged the huge single door open with one great iron-shod hoof.
"Another reason for you to stay silent, boy, won't slip up if you don't say anything," said Velvet to me quietly, grinning. "Come on, partner, time to head out." She dug in her heels and tightened her hold on the reins. I whinnied in surprise and jinked forwards before another few tugs on the reins and a couple of short, reprimanding kicks had me drop into a walk.
"That's better, girl," said Velvet.
I flicked an ear in acknowledgement. It would be a lot easier to keep up a charade rather than attempt the same sensorum trick Roger had tried earlier, at least with the buzz of the historical case-data being fed into my public compute and store layer distracting me somewhat.
"Lose yourself in the datastream, girl," said Velvet, reassuringly. She was monitoring my neocortical activity and had noted the concentration shift. "You need to be my mount. For this exercise, I am your brain. Use your eyes and ears, but only after listening to me. If you can't do this, you'll be no good as a noble steed. If we hit trouble, I need you to know what I expect of you even when we're in a blackout. And that means understanding my needs on an instinctive, non-verbal level. When I say 'faster' with my boots, and you're walking, you should speed up or break into a trot as directed. When I say slower or faster, you need to adjust the cadence until you and I move as one — man and horse."
We'd cleared the strange, homely shed that functioned as the 'stables' and were heading around the park once more when a brief pressure on my right side caused me to once more step left, but this time a swift tug on the left reins let me understand Velvet's true intentions – turn left. She course-corrected a few more times as we meandered at a brisk walk through the park until she had me turning properly. For somebody who spent their life as a pony, she was a very good rider – or she seemed so, at least, to my inexperienced senses. The way her commands flowed naturally and her movements were crisp and clear led me to believe that whether it had been some sort of ability package or not, she'd internalized the lessons and had earned those stripes.
A sudden kick-kick on both sides startled me out of my musings, and I found myself accelerating to a trot. After a couple of hoofsteps, Velvet eased into an up-down motion of her own – rising, or posting, trot – that matched my gait perfectly.
"Feeling better, girl? Getting used to it?"
I snorted and nodded my head in agreement, which earned me a sharp, repremanding, don't do that tug on my reins, but Velvet had got the message. She patted me again, awkwardly as we were moving at speed, then settled into drilling the same sorts of turns as before until she was satisfied I was familiar with them. Then she sat herself down in the saddle against my motion and tugged gently on the reins. She kept up the pressure as I dropped to a walk until I finally stopped. To my surprise, I was breathing rather heavily. I wasn't allowed much of a breather, though, as she then kicked into my ribs again and had me walk on.
"Never let yourself be ridden hard and put up wet, okay?" Velvet stated, after a few minutes of silence. "Advanced metabolisms or not, you can still get sick or sore. We're going to walk off this little bout of exercise to make sure you've stretched your muscles, and from now on we're going to ride together daily, at least an hour each time, got it? It's good for both of us, but especially for you. You're doing most of the work, after all."
I nickered happily as she patted me on the side. It was a simple gesture, but it meant a lot.
"Remind me to get Velvet to show you how she and Sprocket work together. They compete nationally, you could learn a thing or two from them."
I flicked an ear thoughtfully. Ponies competed in dressage and riding competitions by themselves...? A search online returned a few popular, short video clips and news articles – ponytrait ponies and horses did indeed compete, but differently to non-trait equines and riders. This was a melding between individual gymkhana, dressage and so on, and pairings between humanoform riders and trait-equines for more traditional-type displays where only the rider knew the desired routine and the pony or horse in question would have to follow instructions, with points given or taken away for style. Interesting. I'd not really been sporty before traits, but it looked like fun. I filed it away for later, then returned my attention to Velvet, who was quite happily steering me onwards with minute foot movements – the reins were slack and I'd been walking with my head drooped almost to the ground, resting.
"You're going to be a good one, girl," said Velvet. "Not every pony makes a good noble steed." It wasn't hard to detect the pride in her voice. I found myself hoping the real Rogers would be just as proud. I'd not really had somebody be honestly proud of my accomplishments for a while, and though this was just for 'doing as you're told', it bolstered me. I stood up straighter, puffing out my chest. A rhythmic tapping of Velvet's heavy booted feet adjusted my hoof-steps until I was marching. She guffawed, just like Rogers, then finally reined me in as we approached a rather austere-looking sandstone-yellow building with wide steps and high doors and windows.
"Yep, you're a keeper alright. Come on now, girl, we're at the station. Let's get you cleaned up so you're presentable."
She dismounted, swinging her right leg up and over before dropping to the plascrete. She stretched, Rogers' older body popping and cracking as she straightened. "Ahh, that's better."
"Speak for yourself," I huffed, shaking out my mane. I was breathing hard and was drenched in sweat. Foam flecked my muzzle and I could feel my nostrils dilating as I puffed.
"Here, let me help you with that, girl." Velvet bent and loosened the girthstrap around my barrel, then heaved the saddle off my back. I took a deep breath, nodding my head thankfully. "Come on." Velvet grinned, "You might be a super-strong pony but this is heavy for me."
"Up there?" I cocked my head towards the steps.
"Naa, round the back. You need a shower, you stink."
"Gee, thanks," I said, snapping my teeth at her. She just chuckled, and led the way. I shook the reins on my bridle until they were comfortable, then followed.
***
The station's pony facilities were on the lower levels. They were stark and utilitarian, but functional. Velvet ducked into a tack room with the saddle, then returned for the bridle. Returning a second time, she held a tough-looking box in one hand and a halter in the other.
"Come on, I've got a surprise for you. You've done your duty, now it's time for your reward. Trust me," she added, as I raised an eyebrow in surprise at her, "it makes it all worthwhile."
Somewhat hesitantly, I followed her through a spacious beige-tinted corridor into a large stall lit by a single archaic strip light. The sound of water filling a bucket was loud, even above the buzzing of the incandescent bulb.
"Shh, calm down." Velvet's words were soft as she put the halter on me then clipped ropes from the walls of the stall to each side of the head-garment.
"What's that for?" I asked, flicking an ear.
"Helps keep you in position. No more. Now relax." She lifted the bucket, moved to my flanks and then grabbed a heavy, warm sponge and started gently but firmly wiping away the excess sweat and grime from my body. I did as I was bid, closing my eyes. The attention – the rub-down – was therapeutic. Thoroughly, without the slightest hesitation or hint of awkwardness, Velvet doused my fur all over with the warm, soapy water then ran a sort of metallic loop against my body, scraping the excess off, before playing colder water against my hooves. It wasn't until after she'd finished brushing my flanks and had tamed my unruly mane and tail with a stiff comb that more resembled a garden fork than anything else, that I realized I'd been dozing.
I awoke to Velvet's soft laughter and a gruff knuckling against my poll as she then bent to fasten the front straps of a blue and white polka-dot cotton stall blanket around my chest.
"There. Now you can dry off without dripping all over the floor." She straightened again, then rubbed me between the ears. "Silly pony. Told you it was worth it, and I meant it. You ponies do the hard work, and we're a team. Julep was right – you do your duty to me, I do mine to you."
I didn't know what to say. I'd never really spent a day at the spa before, either, and now I was being told I'd get this daily?
"You ready for more gear, girl?"
"L-like what?"
"That tactical helmet I promised you, and two good pairs of boots. I don't think you'll want shoes – not yet at least." Schematics popped up in my store and compute, and a fashion subroutine tried them on against my body-plan.
"Do, uh, the other ponies wear shoes?"
"Sprocket uses plastic shoes. You might not have noticed, they're colour co-ordinated. Mama Sprinkles doesn't. Velvet's got boots like I'm getting for you. Only Buttercup has actual horse shoes, but he's so big he needs the support." Velvet hooked one of Rogers' fingers through a strap in the halter I was still wearing, and tugged gently.
"You can just ask me to follow, you know."
"I know, but…" Velvet took her hand away, dropping it down to her sides. "I'm sorry." She turned and started to walk.
"I tell you what," I said, bumping my head into her arm, "just this once."
"I guess I'm the silly pony, huh?" said Velvet.
"You sure are. Let's get that tactical helmet and those boots. Are they colour co-ordinated?" I asked curiously, a small grin on my muzzle as Velvet once more hooked her fingers through my halter's strap.
"Any colour you like, as long as they're black." Velvet snorted. "Well, tell a lie. The ones here at the station come in black, brown and maroon, but we can replicate you some customs later."
Horse boots are almost exactly what they sound like. They're large, round sneakers. For horses – or ponies, in my case. They felt oddly heavy around my hooves in a way that actual shoes never had. I figured I'd get used to them.
"And this is the mark thirty-eight equinoform tactical reconnaissance helmet," said Velvet, slipping one on over my ears and slapping the top heartily. I winced at the expected impact, but it didn't hurt. In fact I barely even felt it other than as pressure. "Give it a whirl. I'll be back in a moment." With that, she exited the gear locker.
The helmet was a solid plastic shell around a conforming inner core that moulded to my head almost perfectly. My ears were protected by a mobile cover which helped to somehow focus sound rather than obscure it. The visor was directly overlaying a whole host of technical and tactical data onto the world, shifting and changing as my attention did. It was incredibly simplistic, nowhere near as visually pleasing and malleable as using my store and compute layer for AR, but the raw ability to intuit and plan different actions and responses that it was capable of was… almost frightening. The AI within was sub-sentient, but right on the line, and as I hooked into its systems I could feel its subroutines probing my communication and physical relay APIs.
I'd never been very militarily minded, not even when playing as Stalwart. My questing prowess as that battle-hardened unicorn was a mixture of brute force and his smarts. With this helmet, I got the feeling I would almost be his equal in a one-on-one brawl. I mentally prepared myself to interface, but Darillo's security and eigenwall integrity routines bade me pause. With a quiet thank you for who or whatever had arranged that chance encounter, I called upon my tenant.
"Darillo?" I asked internally.
"Am here," the diamond dog eevee whispered.
"Check it out for me. This thing clean?"
The display glitched momentarily, then reset. "Is now." I sent silent thanks to my combat-ready passenger, then looked up as Velvet in her Rogers suit closed the door and bolted it.
"You still want to know what happened to Steven and Teresa?" she asked quietly over the encrypted link.
I mentally nodded. "It's a little late to back out now," I joked, putting as much humour into the encoded transmission as I could.
"Good. Then we're up."
I was about to walk over to her when the House's 'net went offline and my helmet flashed up a large number of alerts and suggestions for escape routes and Station-mind infiltration techniques.
"What just happened?" I asked, ears flattening against my skull.
"Welcome to your first ever combat simulation," Velvet replied as she cocked her head to one side. "Or at least that's what the Station thinks it is. Station thinks we're breaking in your new gear, but that's not quite true. Let me just sync up with your helmet…"
"Wait what? What are—" I recoiled in shock as Velvet tapped in directly to my helmet and engaged the communications relay. A moment later, she'd contacted Buttercup through the helmet's own powerful radio and had re-established the encrypted datafeed.
"Remember what we really came here for?" asked Velvet aloud, hands on hips with a small smirk on Rogers' face.
"Uhh, that… thing, that I saw?"
"Yup. It's in the evidence locker. Know where that is?"
I shook my head.
Velvet grinned widely, showing her teeth. "Next door. And I'm about to show you why Roger wanted me along. Come on, Wild. I need you for tactical. Remind me to teach you how to pick locks with your muzzle and a hairpin, one day. Just not today. Today we have about five minutes before the secondary security routines will forcibly come back up, my privilege hack is discovered and the security cameras realize we're not in the gear locker."
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, alarm bells were ringing. Real ones.
My knees were weak and my legs felt like lead, but I trotted after Velvet as she strode matter-of-factly out into the corridor.
***