AGENT CON MANE
IN
DOCTOR IRONHOOF
“And that, my dear gentlecolts, I believe is the game.”
The Earth Pony slammed his hoof onto the table to reveal an impressive three aces. Faced with their inevitable, yet still sour defeat, the other ponies at the table allowed their cards to fumble from their hooves onto the table. The dark green coated Earth Pony with the disheveled pepper-grey mane looked particularly none too pleased about losing yet even more bits to the upstart.
“Got me again, Strange Ways. I swear to Celestia, one of these days I’ll get you at cards yet.”
Strange Ways chuckled to himself as the white Pegasus in the golden armor beside him gathered up and shuffled the cards for another game- even though Strange’s other companion didn't look all too interested. Strange Ways glanced at his watch to check the time and then rose to his hooves.
“Ah, look at the time. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I must go. You know how it is. Order a round of cupcakes for me will you, Professor?”
The green coated pony waved his hoof with a disinterested grunt as Strange Ways shook the hoof of the soldier.
“Must you break off at this time every evening?” asked the Pegasus.
“Sorry, Chief,” Strange Ways replied, “the office puts in a call for me everyday around this time.”
The professor scoffed, “Just hurry back before the cards get cold.” He looked to already be in a much better mood. Strange Ways noticed this, and he could see the gears turning in his opponent's head.
“Twenty minutes,” Strange Ways assured the card shark, “and don’t try any dirty tricks while I’m away.”
With a smile on his muzzle left by those successful last words to his opponent, Strange Ways trotted out of the clubhouse. He put on a pair of sunglasses while he made a mental note of the beautiful weather. The sun shone brilliantly down upon the bleach white sands of the village. A high breeze rustled the palm trees and coolly embraced Strange Ways’ coat. His home was only a minute or two down the road, so he didn't mind the walk. Perhaps, he thought, that was why he enjoyed this little island so much. Everything was in walking distance and there was never any need for a gallop. As he continued down the road towards his house, an Earth Pony was walking in the opposite direction. Strange Ways took note of the pony. His mane and coat were horribly ragged. He wore very dark sunglasses that reflected the harsh sunlight, and his gait was slow and cautious. Tied around the poor fellow’s neck was a small, battered old tin cup. A few bits in the cup jingled with each step. Strange Ways pitied the poor bloke.
Wanting to fuel his own serendipity, Strange Ways hoofed a few bits he had won from the professor from his saddlebag. The blind pony either heard Strange Ways’ approach or had smelt the all too familiar scent of gold bits. With a charming smile, the blind pony stooped.
“Ah, good evening!” Strange Ways initiated the conversation. “Fine day today isn't it?”
The blind pony smiled even bigger and brighter. “Spare a bit for the blind?”
Strange Ways, already prepared, dropped three bits into the tin cup. The echoing ring of the clang of the gold had a solid and heavy quality.
“There we go!” Strange Ways could barely contain his feeling of self worth. “Have a good day!”
In instinct, Strange Ways held out his hoof for a shake but withdrew it once he caught himself. The blind pony gave a small, friendly nod and continued trotting on his way. Strange Ways continued his walk as well. After taking only a few steps he stopped and looked upwards towards the sky and gave the sun an affirming nod. Before the stallion could take another step, he felt a heavy force bump into him from behind and almost sent him to the cement. Strange Ways could not look behind to see just what had bumped into him as he was far too distracted by the knife that was now sticking out of his side just under his right foreleg. A striking pain and chilling numbness enveloped Strange Ways’ entire body and he buckled to his knees. As he fell, the hoof holding the knife in place twisted the blade. A stream of blood trickled out of the wound, and Strange Ways’ vision became doubled and blurred. He couldn't breathe. Each breath he took ground the blade against his bone. He tried to yell for help but the only thing to escape his lips was a sputter of blood. The pony tried to turn to see the face of his attacker, but his body would not obey. His eyes saw nothing but white. Strange Ways' body collapsed onto the sun drenched, yet cold pavement below and was swallowed by darkness. Strange Ways was dead.
The blind pony looked down and smiled as he stared at Strange Ways’ body, satisfied with his work. The blood drenched knife strapped to his hoof glistened in the sun. He found the bright red color striking and amusing. In the distance he heard the unmistakable sound of hooves galloping on the stone path accompanied by the rickety squeaks of a wheeled carriage. The pony pulling the carriage stopped in front of the dead body and then stared at the pony that stood above it with the bloodied knife,
“Is he dead?” asked the carriage driver. The killer continued to wear his bright smile. “Good. Hurry, hurry! Get him into the back of the hearse!”
The not-so-blind pony followed his comrade's orders and picked up Strange Ways’ body, and dragged him to the back of the hearse. He opened the doors, and chucked the heavy sack of meat into the wagon.
“Quickly!” The hearse driver barked at the other pony, “Get in before somepony sees us!”
The killer climbed in with the body and quickly closed the doors. “Hoof on it!” he yelled once he was inside the hearse.
The driver reared back and then galloped off away from the crime scene.
“Strange Ways must be running late.” The Secretariat paced across the rug on the floor stricken with boredom. She didn't mind her boss being late; he had done it before. Whenever he was late, however, the office would always raise uncomfortable questions that she would be forced to answer. A few times she was able to get away with covering up Strange Ways’ escapades but a stallion can only suffer from the runs so many times. “I’d better make that report. Those ponies at Canterlot are sticklers for routine.”
The Secretariat walked over towards the bookcase in the corner of the room. The sunlight that beamed through the window on the wall opposite the bookcase created a strong glare that emphasized the dust that had collected on the books. She grabbed one of the dusty books, but when she pulled the book did not come off the shelf. Instead, the bookshelf-- books and all-- was removed from the rest of the bookcase, flat as a board. Behind the fake bookshelf sat a transmitter. She flipped a dial on the transmitter and the small needles flickered about and a reel of tape spun with a constant hum. The Secretariat placed the pair of headphones that sat on the nearby table over her ears, and fiddled with one of the small knobs.
She spoke into the microphone next to the transmitter, “W6N. W6N. This is Janeighca calling Canterlot. How do you hear me? Over.”
“This is Canterlot. We are receiving you.” The voice on the other end of the line was clear, despite the distortion from the simplicity of the old headphones.
“This is Janeighca. Stand by to Transmit. Out.”
The Secretariat put the transmitter on hold. She knew it wouldn't take long for the ponies on the other end to grow impatient. She was already preparing herself for another session of angry questions and lectures about proper protocol.
As she sat ruminating on things to come, she noticed something in the corner of her eye. The glare on the bookshelf seemed to have flickered, if just for a moment. She looked outside the window, half expecting to see Strange Ways attempting to enter the window to avoid any scrutiny. However, the only thing outside was the usual, overgrown bush dancing elegantly in the breeze. She sighed and decided to return to her slightly more amusing pastime of pacing across the floor but was stopped by the silhouette of a large pony standing in the sunlight of the open door.
“Strange Ways is that you?" she approached the figure. "‘bout time you show up. Canterlot is on hold and...”
As she drew closer she saw the wicked smile and sinister eyes of a pony who wasn't Strange Ways. Before the Secretariat could utter a syllable, the window behind her shattered with a thunderous clash! She pivoted around and saw what was standing in the window. It was a snarling creature with sickly, matted fur and mangy claws. The Secretariat let out an ear piercing scream and the creature drew back in pain. However, the scream was silenced as the intruder in the doorway stabbed an already bloodied knife into the back of her neck.
As the creature in the window prepared to dispose of the corpse, the pony trotted slowly to the nearby desk and hoofed a plain manila folder. He sneered as he read the title of the file: DOCTOR IRONHOOF.
The intruders quietly left the scene, leaving the body behind. He never noticed the transmitter still broadcasting in the corner of the room.
The Canterlot Control Tower was brimming with the usual activity. The room was a torrent of ponies talking nonstop over the clicking and ticking and tattering of machines. Rows of desks lined the room in columns; the walkways between them littered with discarded papers that were dropped by frantic interns. At each desk sat a pony and in front of a each pony was a radio transceiver that ticked and clattered away. Each of these ponies wore a pair of headphones and spoke clearly and calmly into the microphones in front of them, sending their signals out into intelligence stations hidden in every major Equestrian state. The grand majority of these transmissions were routine-- monotonous reports usually involving the movements of the Griffons, false Changeling sightings or even just comparing the economic and political standpoints between Equestria and their neighboring nation of the New Lunar Republic.
One of these ponies at one of these stations, however, was a bit more frantic than the rest of his colleagues.
“Canterlot calling Janeighca. Report my signals. Over.” The pony adjusted the frequency modulators on the transceiver in worried confusion. “Hello, Janeighca? Over.”
No matter how many times he tried, there was no reply. He could hear the static room tone and even the chirping of songbirds on the other end of the line. The connection was good, but there was just nopony there. The colt saw the intelligence officer in charge heading towards him and politely removed his headphones.
The relay pony said, “Excuse me, sir?”
“Yes, what is it?” replied the Officer.
“We seem to have a problem, sir. It’s Janeighca. Well they phoned in for their routine report but then nothing.
“Transmission cut off?”
“No, just voice. Carrier Wave is still connected.” The relay pony fiddles with more knobs
The intelligence officer asked, “Have you tried both emergency frequencies?”
“Yes, sir. No response on either. I’m still calling.”
“Right then, keep trying. I’ll get a hold of Princess Celestia.”
The colt put his earphones back on and continued to make futile attempts at communication while the intelligence officer marched back to his desk. On his desk sat a nondescript black telephone. The officer thought back to the last time he had to pick up that phone. It was when the Griffons broke international law and amassed soldiers within a mile of the Equestrian border. He prayed that this time it would not be so serious. He picked up the receiver and placed it to his ear. Within seconds there was an answer on the other end.
“Hello?” The Officer spoke firmly into the phone. “Yes, it's me. We have a situation. Get me in touch with MARE. We need Mane6.”