//------------------------------//
// War of the Worlds (c) 
// Story: The Majestic Tale (of a Mad-Pony in a Box) 
// by R5h 
//------------------------------//


And now, the conclusion to War of the Worlds.






The Doctor, indulging himself, let himself sink against a nearby wall and hang his head for a minute. Macrin’s really covered all the angles, he realized. I have to go in there.

“Don't do it.”

This was Bon Bon's voice; she rested beside him and laid a hoof on his shoulder. With what seemed a disproportionate effort, he lifted his head to look up and see her mouth set in a firm line. “Don't,” she repeated.

“Bon Bon—”

“Find another way. That's your special talent, isn't it?”

“We can't always live up to our special talents.” He sighed. “No offense.”

“None taken.” She looked away from him for a moment, then peered at him as if through a kaleidoscope, refracting and reforming her view. “You really are exceptional, aren't you.”

“Not sure if an ego boost will help at this point, but thanks.”

“I mean you're an exception.”

He scratched his head. “Oh, you mean I'm being unselfish? Have you forgotten?” He threw a farce of a smile her way. “I'm in the same boat as you. It's my life I'll be saving too.”

“But there is something you're giving up already—that hope that you've got, that....” Her jaw clenched. “Sorry, Doctor.”

“Sorry?” he said, before something blunt struck his head and his brain went to intermission.





“I'm ready,” said the Doctor's voice on the other side of the door. “Let me in, Macrin, and let's finish this.”

Macrin stepped forward, pushed the button, and then turned around before he saw the stallion's face. It would be better to let the weakling attack first, if he so chose. “Welcome, Doctor,” he said. “Tell me: does it bother you that, should you fail here, there will be no recourse for you?”

“Macrin, you need to stop.”

He gaped. No. Not now. He turned around.

She stood before him—not a reflection, not a voice. She was as real as the one he'd killed, but her front was unstained with blood, and she smiled at him. Where's the Doctor? was one of the thoughts that cried for attention in his fractured mind, before it slipped into the cracks and fell away.

“It's... it's you.” He took a step backward.

Her smile widened without losing its melancholy quality, and she stepped forward. “It's me.” The door closed behind her.

“You're not real,” he said, lifting his cannon and failing to keep his voice steady. “You're not real!”

“Feel.”

The cannon fell to the floor. She said something new. She hasn’t said anything new before. Is this.... Qeta lifted a hoof and beckoned him in. As if sleepwalking, he obeyed and lifted his other forehoof to touch hers. It seemed as real as his own, and a part of him marveled at the sincere, tactile sensation of it. To think my mind did this.

“Then....” He shut his eyes tight and shook his head, but when he reopened them the apparition was not dispelled. “Then my mind is truly lost?”

“Maybe. And then again, maybe not.” She shrugged. “Your choice, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that.” She pointed behind herself at the closed doors. “You can take your mind back. They'll help, you know, like I always did. Just walk away.”

“They can't possibly—I killed you,” he said. “I watched you die on my horn. And so did they.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” She rolled her eyes. “But listen, Macrin. Have you been listening?”

“I—”

Qeta shook her head. “Of course you haven't. Listen, you big softy.” She rested a hoof on his back, gently enough that he could hardly feel its weight—almost as if she weren’t there at all. Because she can’t be, cried some forgotten piece of his mind. “Listen to what they've been saying—to what they haven't been saying.”

Her breathing became slow and regular, and he let himself fall silent. Let himself breathe with her. The wind, the roar of the engines: these seemed paltry things compared to her breaths. From behind the door, though, he heard nothing.

“Well?” she said. “Are they calling for your head on a pike?”

He shook his head dumbly.

“They want you back, no matter what you did to me. They want to help you out of this, and you know I’d feel the same way.” She leaned in close and patted his back. “Just walk out, Macrin. Please. For me?”

“I can't,” he said. With all the faculties he had left, he tried to wrest control back into his voice. “I can't, not now. Not after all that's happened.”

She grunted in annoyance. “Macrin, sweetie, you know I love you, but this is stupid! I mean, no offense, but come on!”

I love you.

It was like a tsunami coming to land; tiny in the distance, but crashing down with the power of gods upon the shore. He froze, becoming a statue, a monument to those three simple, unacceptable words: I love you.

“Macrin?” she asked, looking up at him with concern.

“No,” he whispered. It was all crashing into place, and he had been blind in all those years—in those last moments—

“What?” she said.

“No! No, no, NO!” He pulled away from her grasp, and his cannon began its arc to her chest. It's a lie! It has to be a lie!

“Oh, hell,” she muttered.

Before he could fire, she surged forward and grabbed his gun leg, forcing it back. The bolt of light sailed harmlessly through the window as his shoulder cried out in pain, and as something caught on his horn. Instinctively, he ripped upward and away, hoping to drag his horn through her flesh—but instead he felt the snap of a cord.

Qeta fell away, and in her place was Bon Bon, with a fury in her face to surpass any he'd seen in any warrior. He looked at her, uncomprehending, and then noticed the cord falling to the ground.

One final piece crashed into place, finishing his mind’s destruction like a cannonball through glass: It was the perception filter. She'd been acting as Qeta, and the filter had been enough for him not to notice the deception.

“You!” he roared, pulling away clumsily—all thoughts of discipline swept away by a wave of insane fury. This snivelling coward had broken the covenant of single combat. “WHERE'S THE DOCTOR?”

Some memory reminded him of his earlier threat, and he jumped for the controls behind him. The bomb activation control was right there—but she was faster, and tackled him to the ground. “Not... available,” she grunted. He whipped his head this way and that, and cut her underside several times, but she didn't seem to notice. Yet he was stronger than her, he had to be—surely he could best her.

But then she grabbed the leg with the cannon in both hooves and lifted it against his will. With a quick pull, she pressed the cannon against his hoof, forcing it to fire right into the controls. “No!” he yelled, as the underside of the control bank melted. He wouldn't be able to purge Equestria now.

But he could still kill her. He twisted his body underneath her, and she was unable to keep him pinned down; he was free, but at the cost of his light cannon, which was still in her grip. Before she had the chance to put it on her own hoof, he charged, relishing the thought of the red that would paint his horns.

She ducked, as if to roll under his charge, but he was equal to it; he lowered his own head. But then she hopped into him, and her body flew between his horns and struck him in the snout with breaking force. With a shout of pain, he reared up, throwing her to the side, then shook his head and reassessed the situation.

The cannon had been thrown out of her grasp, and lay next to the largest fissure in the ship’s right side. With a cry of defiance he ran toward it, and a moment later Bon Bon—still reeling from her landing of moments prior—ran the same way. She would not be quick enough this time.

As he dove for the cannon, however, he realized his mistake. She wasn't looking to get the cannon; she was looking to get him. She tackled him in the side near his hindquarters, spinning him around so that his legs pointed in the direction of the hole. And he still had his momentum.

He slid backwards through the hole in the ship. Only his basest instinct saved him, pressing both forehooves against the sides of the gap to keep him from falling through, but he couldn't muster up the strength to pull himself back in. His cannon lay precious inches away, and standing next to it was Bon Bon, cut up and bruised but with a sickening look of triumph on her face.

The roar behind him was now deafening, so she leaned close enough that he could hear her vicious hiss. “You don't get to hurt him ever again.” Hatred bubbled from every syllable.

“Bon Bon!” said a voice behind her. “Bon Bon, what have you done?”

She turned around and stepped back. “Saved you!” she yelled at the Doctor, who was rubbing at a fresh head wound even as he ran toward Macrin. Adelbrand was right beside him.

“Macrin!” Adelbrand said. “Come on, Macrin, we can do this, like old times. Let me just pull you up, okay? Can you do that?”

“Macrin!” the Doctor said. “Let me have your hoof! You're not dying today, Macrin—not today!”

When they'd met, Macrin would never have thought he could come to hate his friend, but now it was easy—necessary, in fact. “I lost, Adelbrand,” he said, as the captain pulled at his hoof, “and yet you, the victor, show clemency? I'm sorry for thinking I could save you. You disgust me.”

And with that, he released the pressure of his forelegs. Gravity began its inevitable work. “No!” Adelbrand yelled, as Macrin slid out of the ship and fell.

He oriented himself to look down, and forced his eyes to remain open despite the eye-watering wind, despite the primeval urge to look away from death. He was no coward. He watched as the spires of Canterlot rose—slowly at first, but speeding up in the honest, natural way of gravity’s law. All was right, in the end.

Now he could make out individual buildings, individual streets. He marked out the street where he would land. It was empty, except for one pony who walked through, and looked up—no. Not a pony.

Qeta watched him with the saddest expression he could imagine as he converged upon her. And it occurred to Macrin: What if I was wrong?

And it simply killed him that he wouldn’t have time to find out.





“Macrin....” Adelbrand's hoof reached out still. He gritted his teeth. “You stupid child.”

The Doctor forced his mouth closed—it had been open in horror—and laid a hoof on Adelbrand's shoulder. “You tried.”

“And it didn't matter. Why did I try?” Adelbrand's head fell.

“Oh, this is bad,” Ermi said behind them. The Doctor looked around and noticed, for the first time, the melted controls. “This is bad,” she repeated. “When did this happen?”

“Um....” Bon Bon grimaced. “I needed to stop him from bombing Equestria.”

“Oh, so you did this? Well, congratulations!” Ermi smacked her own forehead. “We sure can't bomb Equestria now, never mind doing anything else, you idiot! Like, I don’t know, landing?”

“Can't the Doc do something with his sonic screwdriver?” Applejack asked.

The Doctor resisted the urge to correct her nomenclature and pulled out his sonic screwdriver. He trained it on the control panel and activated it once, then again, and then a third time. “There's nothing to do something with,” he said, ruffling his hair in consternation. “The controls are well and truly... well, shot.”

“So what happens now?” Rarity asked.

Ermi glared at her, though more from ambient aggravation than any specific malice. “Well, the ship will remain at its current altitude until we run out of fuel—which won't take that long—and then we'll experience some falling. Followed by some melting, thanks to your princess. What a way to end the night, eh?” Ermi grimaced. “If anyone has any ideas on how to not die, I for one would feel appreciative.”

The Doctor racked his brains, and one obvious answer came to mind, but he dismissed it—there had to be another way. “What if we contact Celestia?” he asked. “Have her lower us down gently?”

Ermi gesticulated at the blob of metal. “With what? The melted intercom?”

“Come on, everyone, think,” the Doctor said, screwing up his face. “There has to be a way!”

“There is.”

Opening his eyes, the Doctor whirled around to face Adelbrand, whose face radiated some new serenity. He seemed to be at peace. “It had to be this way, didn't it,” he said, apparently musing.

“What way?” the Doctor said.

“Modular design. It’s built into the ship, like this was always built into me. How poetic.” He smiled.

“No,” the Doctor said. “There is another way, Captain, there must be—”

“There isn't, Doctor,” Adelbrand said. “And while the controls on this module are destroyed, those behind us are perfectly functional.”

“What's he suggesting?” Pinkie asked.

“I think he means for us to separate this module from the one behind,” Lorio said, “and pilot the rest of the ship to safety while this one falls from the sky.” He smiled. “Great, Captain! So let's find a Bullbot to stay behind, and—”

“We're out,” Ermi said.

“What?”

“I've been keeping track. Macrin sent everything this ship has at us. We've destroyed all the Bullbots, all the Warbots. It can’t be something that stays behind; it’ll have to be someone.”

“But then, who....” Lorio's eyes widened. “No. No!”

But Adelbrand was already walking back. “You should all come with me,” he said, his whole manner the perfect picture of command. “And quickly. I doubt there remains much fuel.”

“You can't,” the Doctor said, catching up with him.

“I must.” His tone was mild but no less sure for that. “That is, someone must, and it should be me.”

“Then let me instead,” the Doctor said.

“No,” Bon Bon said, pulling up behind him. “Don't ‘let him’, Captain. If anyone should stay on this boat, it should probably be the one who melted the controls.”

“What about me?” Luso said, pushing both of them aside. “I’m the war criminal.”

Adelbrand shook his head. “It ought to be the one who could have prevented this weeks ago—years ago, if I'd only seen sooner what my friend was becoming. If I'd been the good captain this ship needed. Call it atonement, if you will, but you will not die for my mistakes.”

“Please!” the Doctor said, as they proceeded; it had to be halfway along the module by now. “There has to be another way!”

“Are you accusing me of taking the easy way out, Doctor?” Adelbrand asked, glancing at him as his inexorable march continued. By degrees, his tone was losing some of its perfect calmness. “I agree: this is quite easy and quite simple, but no less necessary for it. Every moment that we waste chasing some perfect solution, this ship burns more precious fuel. I only hope you have enough to pilot the rest to safety.”

“Adelbrand, please.” The Doctor tried to get in front of Adelbrand, but the captain stepped around him. “Please, at least try.”

“No.” Finally, the response was curt. “But I do have one request for you, Doctor.”

When the Doctor did not make a further inquiry, Adelbrand continued, “I'll be the one who pulls the lever on this side, to detach Duchy-6. Could you be the one on the other side?”

“What?” The Doctor reeled as if he'd been tackled. “What—why?”

“Because in the few hours we've spent together, I think I've come to regard you as a friend.” Adelbrand smiled awkwardly at him. “I'm not very good at making friends, you know.”

They came to the door. Adelbrand pressed the button, and it opened; with no small reluctance, the rest of their group walked past Adelbrand and the Doctor into Duchy-5. The Doctor wouldn't uproot his hooves—he wouldn't accept another defeat, not like this. “Adelbrand, I am begging you,” he said. “Let me help.”

“I am,” Adelbrand said, reaching for the lever that would doom him. He looked the Doctor in the eye. “Please help me in this, Doctor. I can't do it alone.”

The Doctor didn't want to move, but then Bon Bon grabbed his tail and pulled him back. “Stop,” he mumbled, not turning to face her.

“I'll be going back to the cockpit—perhaps I can find some way to control the ship after all—so I suppose this is goodbye. A few things before we part.” Adelbrand looked around, as if for inspiration, then at the Betaurans. “Friends... crewmembers....” He sighed. “Well, I suppose there's nothing that needs saying. Well done, all of you.” His right hoof rose sharply to his top right horn in a gesture of salute. A moment later, Ermi, Lorio, and Luso brought their hooves to their horns in unison.

“As for you Equestrians,” he continued, looking now at Rarity, Pinkie, Applejack, and Bon Bon, “Once you've landed, tell your Princess Celestia not to feel guilt for her part in my death—though it's possible she may not need my advice. She seems perfectly willing to do what must be done.”

“Captain...” the Doctor said, as the ponies nodded. Applejack hesitated for a second, then pulled her hoof up to her ear, mimicking the Betaurans' gesture. Pinkie's lips quivered.

“And Doctor,” Adelbrand said, smiling. “Enjoy your travels.” He pressed the button, and the door closed on him.

Time was precious and not to be wasted, the Doctor knew; perhaps that was why the seconds following Adelbrand's departure were able to stretch into a gray infinity. The wall filled his field of view, blank save for the door's faint outline and the damnable lever in his peripheral vision. For the second time that night, he gave into imagination and imagined himself looking through the ship, but now the stars seemed to pull away into the darkness—and when he returned to reality, the lever was still there.

“Do you... um....” Bon Bon looked up at him. “Do you want me to pull it instead? He'd never know.”

The Doctor shook his head—or, more accurately, his head shook; he hadn't made any effort toward the action—and his hoof rose to the lever. Slowly, he pulled it down, and felt the ship shake as Duchy-6 detached. Without putting effort into keeping his balance, he fell against the wall, jarring his shoulder. The dull ache went practically unnoticed.

“I'll get the controls,” Luso said, running back to the bridge to which they were adjacent. “I think I can fly us out of here by hoof....” A few seconds later, the Doctor heard him say, “Would you look at that?”

“What?” Lorio said, running into the bridge. Most of the rest of the group quickly followed; the Doctor wasn't quite so spry. Bon Bon stayed with him as he wandered into the room and saw, through the bridge's window, Duchy-6's side sliding away.

“He's falling?” Rarity said. “Al-already?”

“Looks like he let us off just in time!” Luso let out a slight laugh. “Good one, sir.” His hooves clumsily manipulated the controls, pulling their ship away from Adelbrand's. The Doctor let himself sink against the wall; he was so tired.

“Hey,” Bon Bon said. “Are you okay?”

The Doctor sighed and stared past her. “I was doing so well,” he murmured.

She looked at him, and he registered that she seemed sad. Then her mouth turned into an angry frown. “Okay,” she said, “we're doing this now.”

She stood and walked forward into the group. “EVERYONE!” she yelled. “We're gonna save Captain Adelbrand.”

“What?” Luso said.

“And we're doing it now!”

When everyone else did nothing but stare at her, she screamed, “What is wrong with you? Come on! We have to save him!”

“Uh... I thought you couldn't care less,” Applejack said.

“I DON'T!” Bon Bon pointed a hoof back at the Doctor. “But he does! Now come on, pilot!” she said, flicking one of Luso's intact horns. “Start flying! We need to get close enough to reach his cockpit! Now get a move on!”

“I can't,” Luso said, glancing up at his broken horn. “I don't know how to fly without magic—not accurately. I can't get that close.”

“Hmm....”

Bon Bon looked back at Rarity, who had a contemplative expression. “You know,” Rarity said, “I....”

“You can fly it?” Bon Bon asked, pulling Rarity forward and pushing Luso aside. Adelbrand's ship was no longer visible to the Doctor.

“I daresay I can,” she said, as she grabbed the controls. “Or at least I can try. It is, after all, a matter of dexterity—” The Doctor felt a kick at his back, as the ship accelerated forward. “And properly applied force. Yes, I can do this!” She laughed. “Fillies and gentlecolts, Rarity is back!”

“Good enough,” Bon Bon said, grabbing Applejack and pulling her toward the door; Applejack started but did not protest. “You've still got that lasso, Applejack?”

“You'll never manage it,” Luso said as Rarity continued to manipulate the controls. “Getting the two ships that close without a crash, with one in freefall—you might as well try to throw a javelin through the eye-hole!”

“Really?” Rarity said, as her grin grew ever more confident. “You know, in Equestria we have a somewhat less gruesome expression for that sort of thing—we call it 'threading the needle'.”





Wind rushed through the broken windows as Adelbrand stood in the bridge with his eyes closed. Contrary to his word, he had not attempted to achieve any modicum of control over the plummeting module, and he did not so attempt now. It was his penance. At the very least, it will be swift. I suppose I can ask for no more. He smiled, cherishing the wind on his face.

“CAPTAIN!”

His eyes opened. Something pink showed up at the top of his vision—something that resolved itself into Pinkie Pie, dangling from a rope.

“You?” he said, smile vanishing. “What are you doing here?”

“Captain!” she yelled, swinging herself backward, then forward. He noticed a second set of engine noises alongside his own. “We don't have much time,” she said. “Just jump on, I'll grab ya!”

“Leave me!” Adelbrand waved her off. “It's too dangerous!”

“Too bad! You're coming with me!”

“Pinkie, no!” he said. “I need to do this to restore my hon—”

“NOBODY CARES!” she screamed. “Your friends up there don't care about your honor, Captain, they care about you! GET ON!”

Adelbrand's jaw clenched. If she expected him to just throw away his responsibility—he had to do this! It could never have been any other way, he told himself.

Except that wasn't his voice he heard, he realized. That was Macrin, the slave to tradition, to throwing away sanity, throwing away lives, for honor's sake. He shook himself. Is that who I am?

Well, maybe he’d have more time to figure that out later.

“Coming!” he yelled, running forward and jumping at Pinkie. She grunted in discomfort as they collided, but between their four pairs of hooves they managed to entangle themselves securely. It wasn't long before he felt himself being pulled upward. He looked up and saw the rope leading into Duchy-5, but could see nothing beyond that.

Within a few seconds, though, he was at the level of the door, and he saw Ermi, Lorio, and Luso on the rope, straining at his weight. He decided to help, pushing up against the floor and lifting himself into the ship. “Welcome aboard,” Lorio said, smiling as he turned to the bridge. “He's in!” he shouted.

“Good!” This voice was Rarity's. “Now hold on to your accessories, people—this is going to be close!” With that, Adelbrand felt such a force against himself that he tumbled down the floor. Getting the notion to resist, he pulled himself forward, poked his head out of the doorway, and looked down—but if Celestia was melting the module below, he couldn't see it: the rest of the ship obscured it from view. Sighing, he looked forward, and was surprised—happily surprised—to see that they flew toward a dawning sun.





It had not, despite Rarity's efforts, been a smooth landing. Or even a comfortable one. The Doctor still had a crick in his back that he didn't think would fix itself for weeks.

That said, Celestia's chairs were wonderful for the spine, so he considered revising this estimate as he sat with her, drinking her best tea in an antechamber to the throne room.

After a few minutes during which a suspicious lack of conversation occurred, Celestia replaced her cup in its saucer. “You should have tried to contact me from the air.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, Celestia calls me into the castle. What will she say, I wonder? 'How's the TARDIS coming along, Doctor?' 'Great job saving all those lives, Doctor!' No, I get a grade.” He smirked at her. “I barely know you, but you are such a teacher, aren't you?” She tilted her head playfully. “Well, spit it out; what did I get? Half marks? Or did I reach, oh, as much as seventy five percent?”

She smiled back, said, “Something like that,” and sipped her tea. They looked at the remains of the Duchy through the window, lying in a field well outside Canterlot. Workers swarmed around it like termites building their hive—or rebuilding it, as the case might be. Though it was far away, the Doctor thought he recognized a few familiar shapes: Ermi, who expertly directed ponies this way and that; Adelbrand, who simply followed her lead as if he were a regular worker; and even Twilight Sparkle, who levitated several notepads and was filling them with information via several quills. If the Doctor wasn't mistaken, patches of blue paint remained on her back.

“They found a body in the street,” Celestia said, regaining his attention. “One of the Betaurans.”

“Lieutenant Macrin,” the Doctor said, noticing a bitterness in his own tea. “He jumped. You can't save everyone.”

Celestia frowned. “I should have seen him; I could have lowered him down. It was dark, he was small, but even so—”

“He wanted to die,” the Doctor said.

“So did Captain Adelbrand, if memory serves.” Celestia shrugged. “And yet you saved him. Aren't our lives complicated?”

“To be fair, I had nothing to do with that,” the Doctor said. “That was just... my friend.”

“I think you had everything to do with that,” Celestia said, smiling at him. “You're an inspiring stallion, Doctor—more so than you know. Take this as the statement of someone who's seen some of your best work.”

“Well, why don't you tell me all about it?”

Celestia laughed. “Now, you can't peek at the ending before you've truly begun the story! You and I have such a journey ahead of us, Doctor.” When he didn't respond, she looked sideways to see him staring askance at her. “What?” she asked.

“Oh, um... never mind,” he said. “Just a matter of phrasing.” The ending? he thought. “About the other body from last night.”

“Oh, yes, her.” Celestia's demeanor became somber. “If I'd known someone, even a cadaver, was on board that module, I wouldn't have been so... demonstrative. We can't recover Comm Officer Qeta's body from the sun. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” the Doctor said. “I don’t think she’d have minded ending up as starlight.”

“Who can say? Even so, I believe that Captain Adelbrand means to hold a small service for her before he returns home. He's said nothing about Macrin.... Not that I blame him,” she added, after a moment's thought. “Such a betrayal and loss in one long night... it might, ah, perturb me just the same.”

“You mean it did perturb you,” the Doctor said, “a thousand years ago.”

Celestia sighed, and the Doctor thought he heard a note of exasperation mixed in amid the exhaustion. Maybe he’d been a touch rude. “You know, I did invite Bon Bon to sit with us, and yet she elected to remain outside. Why do you think she did that?”

“Well, she said she doesn't like tea.” The Doctor rolled his shoulders back and felt something crack—a slightly unpleasant sensation, but rewarding.

“And do you believe her?”

“As much as I believe anything she says anymore.” The Doctor smiled. “So, in a word, yes. Benefit of the doubt, and all that.”

“If you insist....” Celestia squinted and leaned forward in her seat. “Perhaps I'm mistaken, but... I think that's her, there.” She pointed, and the Doctor noticed a seated figure between Canterlot and the Duchy.

He took a last gulp from his cup, emptying it, and stood. “Leaving so soon?” Celestia asked. “I hope you at least enjoyed the tea.”

“Oh, I love a good tea.” The Doctor licked his teeth, getting the last of that delightful bitterness onto his taste buds where it belonged. “Or a bad tea. Any tea, really.”

“It was good seeing you,” Celestia said, inclining her head.

“And you. Maybe we can do this some other time when the world hasn't just been imperiled.”

There was a second of hesitation, and then they both laughed. “Give Luna my best,” the Doctor said once the laughter had subsided. He nodded back to her and walked through the doorway.

“And give the Betaurans mine. Oh, and Doctor?”

He faced her once more, with his body mostly out of the room.

“Thank you for being there when it mattered.”

He smiled, then slipped through the door and left, avoiding any castle staff along the way. He did have some stealth left, after all.





Bon Bon sighed. Her train for Ponyville wouldn't leave for two hours, so here she was in limbo, on the grass outside the castle. It had been diverting to watch the workers crawling in and around the Duchy, but that had worn off half an hour ago, and fighting off sleep was becoming increasingly difficult. Maybe I should have gone in with the Doctor, dislike of tea be damned.

She sighed and rolled sideways, her view of the build site becoming unfocused. That sure is a lot of ponies.

“Feeling chipper?”

She glanced backwards and saw a hazy brown shape mincing its way toward her. “I've been better.” With a yawn, she pulled herself back upright as the Doctor sat to her right. “You tired too?”

“Not so much, no. Time Lords don't need as much sleep.”

“Well, aren't you something,” she said, yawning again. She'd slept in one of the castle's guest rooms for a few hours, but that wasn't cutting it after the night she'd had.

“I do my best, yeah.” He squinted at the distant ship, and his mouth moved silently; he seemed to be counting under his breath. “Hey, where's Luso?”

“Apparently they can't figure out what to do with him, so for now he's just helping Lorio with stuff.”

“And where's Lorio?”

“Well.” Bon Bon grinned. “Apparently they let him into the city morgue to do research.”

“Really?” The Doctor cocked his eyebrow.

“He's ecstatic.”

“Ooh, they're never going to pull him out of there, are they.”

“Yeah, over his dead body.” Bon Bon chuckled. “And I guess a lot of other dead bodies, too.”

The Doctor laughed gently along with her. “Hah, black humor. So how did you come by all this information? Did you—dare I ask—willingly engage in conversation with the Captain?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop it.”

“It's a first step! Marvelous!”

“I said stop it.” She half-playfully shoved him away. “I asked around, yeah.”

“Doesn't hurt to try, does it?” He winked at her.

“Not... not too much.”

He didn't respond, and she let herself draw inward. She had a big admission coming up, and hoped he wouldn't interrupt before she could build up the gumption to say it—but he was silent. Finally, she said, “You know....”

He looked at her with interest, and she continued, “I have a confession to make. Something I said yesterday that was, you know, a lie.”

“Oh?”

“I've never been to Fance.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“Yesterday, when we were gonna test the translation circuit—”

“Was that really only yesterday?”

“Yeah, I know, right? But Twilight asked if I was there because I didn't speak Fancy, and I said that I'd spent a semester of college in Fance, and that was a lie! I just said it to get out of doing whatever it was she was gonna want me to do! Isn't that pathetic?” She chuckled and rubbed her brow.

“It's....” The Doctor shrugged. “It's not great.”

Bon Bon sighed. “Makes you wonder how in Tartarus I ever got to be an Element of Harmony, doesn't it?” The Doctor pouted, but offered no answer. Bon Bon looked at him. “I mean, it should, shouldn't it? We're supposed to be the best ponies ever. How in Celestia's name did I get the job?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” The Doctor rubbed the side of his face. “Because I do have an answer if it’s not.”

“Let's hear it.” Bon Bon sprawled onto the grass, letting it poke her side.

“Because you don't give up on the people you do care about.”

She smiled at him, if only briefly. “You're too kind.” After a moment, something came to mind. “Speaking of which, can you promise me something?”

“Yeah, what?”

“What you did, after Adelbrand tried to sacrifice himself, and you went all blank? Never give up like that again.”

He raised both eyebrows at her now, and she sat up once more as she elaborated. “You're stronger than that. You are,” she said, poking him in the chest. “You can't lose your conviction like that, because when you give up it makes me feel terrible, and I don't want to feel that way. Did I mention how I'm really selfish?”

“Nah.” He leaned closer, if only slightly, and Bon Bon imagined a brick wall between the two of them—and him breaking through it with all the force of an iron ball. “You're rusty, yes, but trust me, Bon Bon—you care a lot more than you think you do.”

She smiled. “You're so nice, Mr. Exception.”

“Pot to kettle.” He winked again, and she felt herself lean closer too, resting her head on his. I've gone and done it now, she thought. He's in the circle. And, with some surprise, she realized there was room for him after all.

“Oh, and can you promise to try to be nicer as well?” he asked, pulling away and looking askance at her. “You might be surprised where it gets you.”

She shrugged. “Sure, I'll try.”

Her attention refocused on the workers outside Canterlot. Somehow, it seemed more interesting to watch with a friend.





“Hey,” Ermi said, idly waving some workers away from one of the cracks in the ship. Adelbrand guessed she wanted to fix it herself. “Do you know when Lorio's gonna be back from the morgue?”

“Never, probably.” Adelbrand glanced at her as he climbed a ladder, helping to heft a sheet of metal to the roof. It was good, distracting work, and he was fine with extra distractions. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing.” She waved a second, different bunch of workers toward the same crack, before realizing her mistake and walking over to push them back. Adelbrand shrugged, then grunted as he pushed his sheet over the edge of the ship.

“There,” said the pony he was working with. “All right, Captain?”

Adelbrand smiled back, or at least he hoped he did—getting these Equestrian expressions right was so difficult. In either case, the pony seemed to understand, and with a quick salute he descended the ladder.

“Hey, Captain?” Ermi said, returned from the crack she'd been working on. “Not that we don't appreciate an extra quartet of hooves, but don't you have something more important to do?”

When he continued to look at her with a fixed expression, she snorted and said, “The mission report! You know, the one we do at the end of every, you know, mission?”

“Oh? Right, right. Good idea.” As if he hadn't heard himself, Adelbrand moved to pick up another piece of sheet metal.

Ermi frowned and walked closer to him, blocking his path to the stacked sheets. “Look, I'm not an expert. I'm probably the opposite of an expert on things like this, really. But aren't you supposed to come to terms with these kind of events earlier rather than later?”

Adelbrand looked around for a way out, still not responding. Ermi sighed. “Look, Captain, you're not made of metal. Figure this out.”

“Oh, all right.” At her prodding, Adelbrand started walking away from the work site—though his pace must have been slower than she liked, because she followed up with some literal prodding before he'd made it past a few feet. He grunted and sped up.

“Excuse me?” he said, as he approached a purple pony with the same sort of horn as Rarity, who levitated several notepads and quills in front of her.

She glanced at him. “Oh, you're....” One of the notepads entered into a flurry of page-flipping, after which she scrutinized it. “Captain Adelbrand! Hello! I'm Twilight Sparkle.”

“Um, yes, hello.” He smiled at her. “Do you mind if I—is that paint on your back?”

One of her quills snapped in two. “Of course not,” she said, pulling a spare from a saddlebag on her blue-painted back.

“Sure. Do you mind if I borrow some paper, and a quill? I need to draft something. A letter, of sorts.”

“Oh?” Twilight smiled briefly at him before returning her attention to her notebooks. A few pages pulled themselves from the one nearest Adelbrand and floated to him, while a quill launched itself from her saddlebag and onto his hoof. “Sorry I can't talk right now,” she said, “but your ship is just too fascinating. A whole new world—this changes everything! We'll talk later, okay?”

“I'd like that,” Adelbrand said, grabbing the pages from the air. “It's nice to meet you, Twilight Sparkle.”

“You too.”

Adelbrand walked away until he found a nice inclined piece of grass to lie upon, grabbed the quill in his teeth, and began to write.

My most esteemed Archdukes Gaius and Sial, this is Captain Adelbrand. You won't believe the night I've just had.

He eyed the words for a few seconds, then scratched them out. Too informal. He sighed, scouring his brain for the words that would fit, but he wasn’t sure they could be found. Maybe I should ask for help.






Tune in next time for:
Tomb of the Aquanauts