//------------------------------// // 1. Where Can We Go To Fix Time // Story: The Quiet Equestrian // by Neon Czolgosz //------------------------------// I packed the null-tube into the canvas bag, padded it out with seven pairs of white gym socks, then piled the smokers, stunners, tape recorder, and cracking tools on top. Not my usual style, but that’s the whole point: if they think you’re tough, go sly; if they think you’re sly, go tough. I’m a very tough bird, so I topped the whole thing off with two pool balls in a sock, zipped up the bag, and set out into Farriershire. Brass Pauldron was a guard captain, or might as well have been. Not one of those shiny-armored sods with halberds and blue crests that you see all over Canterlot standing stone-still and reporting directly to the Princesses, no, some local dweeb pledged to whatever noble family owned Farriershire and the land around it. He’d hired me on retainer, a freaking good retainer too, to act as muscle for him. His actual ponies were a skeleton crew of local colts, timid little mommies boys who could just about manage not to wet themselves patrolling the mean streets of eastern Equestria. They’d make any mugger think twice—any pony mugger—and dole out enough parking tickets to keep the city lights on, but they didn’t have the guts to carry out real orders. They wouldn’t steal from a smuggling ring, or put the heat on an idiot shopkeeper who won’t sell his holdings to the nobles at a reasonable rate, or make some dipstick reporter think twice about sticking Brass Pauldrons’ extramarital funtimes in the gossip section. Y’know, real work. That’s where a griffon named Gilda—yours truly—came in. I did my national service, spent three years as a scout, then another three years as a bouncer in Condorcorum. I can and will do all those things, so Brass paid me a pretty handsome sum to do so. Three weeks ago, he went dark. No pay, no meetings, nowhere to be seen. He came into money, a freaking ton of it, spent it all on a recruiting drive. Guard patrols stopped entirely while they built up this big wooden camp with a freaking pallisade like it’s the year 403, put up recruiting stalls on every street corner, started offering contracts and cash enough to lure ponies away from the family trade and into the soldiering game. Then I hear he hired some heavy-hitter mage from Canterlot to stone me. Word was, if I came in quietly, he’d make sure I was unconscious first. Now, I’d have just freaking winged it outta here since I doubt his goon squad of rent-a-guards could have tracked me down if I’d have moved one town over and started up Gilda Redbeak’s Bar and Delicatessen on the high street, but two paychecks from this guy is a pretty hefty sum and he was tossing around cash like rice at a wedding. Birds who say stuff like ‘do not be led by greed’ have longer life expectancies, but they never retire at thirty, so screw ‘em. Brass lived in a fancy apartment building with wide balconies and carefully-tended rooftop gardens, five storeys high (these places were never more than five storeys high) and overlooking the Farriershire Promenade, where the marble flagstones glowed gold in the evening light and fussy little gardens of red and yellow tulips lit up like a second sunset. It took longer than I wanted to slink up to the building, cut the fire alarms, crack the transmission crystals in eight different ways, take a slash in the alarm horn, drop a smoker in the lobby wastebin, gag the doormare, stuff her into a broom closet, set the stunners up, all that crap that might buy me an extra ten minutes before the whole town turns into a hornets nest, long enough that the sun drooped away and the low glimmer of twilight was all that was left as I hung above Brass Pauldron’s balcony. The sliding glass door had a real beaut of a lock—mushroom pins, dislocation field, spite matrix, chill-resistant alloys, shock absorption engine, all stuff you need on your home locks both for primary entrances and windows, balconies, etcetera when you live in a place with flyers and flingers strolling every street—which would take me half an hour to pick on a good day so I ignored the lock completely, used the cracking tools to splut the two-bit alarm charm on the glass, and made a neat, fist-sized hole in the door with a glass cutter. I sighed. Used to be that you could pick up an up-to-date set of cracking tools from any pawn shop in Manehattan. Not any more. I had to bully a fence into finding me a half-decade old piece of crud like this one. Felt like you had to be pretty tough to even aspire to slyness, these days. My claw slipped inside my bag and clenched around the tape-wrapped handle of the null tube, resisting all temptation to tap my finger against the trigger. Sweat on my palm. Little bit nerves, lot of excitement. I wanted to bottle that feeling and drink it. I fished the detonator out of my gym bag and blew the first set of toys, a bouquet of stunners in a wastebin plonked in the hallway outside of Brass Pauldron’s door, exactly in the opposite direction of his balcony window. I didn’t flinch at the bang—three months of scout training will rip that habit out of you—I just strolled in through the door, hauled a chair at Brass Pauldron’s neck and hefted the gym bag up, dull-grey tube poking through the end and pointing directly at his pet mage. “Hey nailhead,” I said, “Ever been hit by a null tube? I hear it resets your whole nervous system. Sounds painful. Sit down.” I gestured to the chair. The mage looked at me, half annoyed, half impressed, and let out a snort before he took a seat. Ex-Royal Guard, clearly. Horseshoe mustache, tropical shirt tailored tight enough to show off his muscles, shiny gold watch hanging off a hoof, a hint of grey dye still lingering in his dark-blue coat. I turned back to look at Brass, dusting himself off. “You know, Gilda,” he said, “that toy of yours only works on unicorns...” I barked out a laugh. “So what? You’re a dweeb, Brass. Try any of that lame semper-fu crap on me and I’ll feed you your own face.” He smiled, but took a seat anyway. “Charming as ever.” His voice grated on me. Hick pony with hick parents gets pushed into boarding school just for the accent, doesn’t work because he’s hick through and through, so he shoves so much damned smug into his voice that every syllable sets your beak on edge and you’re too busy trying to block everything out to notice him dropping his ‘g’s at every chance he gets. “Is there a reason for your visit?” “Don’t play dumb, Brass, it’s unnecessary,” I said. “You know damn well what I’m here for. You don’t pay me for three weeks and then hire some geek to turn me into a garden ornament.” He sighed. “There have been extenuating circumstances, Gilda. I’ve been given rather drastic orders by the Earl of Hayswich, and although you are a fantastic worker I have been burdened with too much oversight to pay you as I should have done. I have no plans whatsoever to ‘turn you into a garden ornament’ as you so colorfully put it. Starblaze is here to offer you an escape route. He can teleport you away from Equestria during the coming troubles, or he can hide you in Equestria. Petrification is one way to conceal you, but it would strictly be your choice.” Brass Pauldron: feckless weasel, but at least he’s a bad liar. “Uh-huh. And why would I need to ‘escape’?” He sighed again. "Tragically, not because of anything you've done. You've been nothing but discreet in all of our dealings so far. You are, however, associated with me, and that puts you in some measure of danger. There are militant elements in the neighboring demesnes, ones that Lord Hayswich is taking bold steps to pacify. We're proceeding according to Equestrian rules of conflict, which should keep most of my ponies' hooves out of the fire, but you are not a pony and would not be treated as such in a time of war. You would be a mere 'enemy combatant,' and hence quite unsafe." Rules of conflict. Enemy combatant. Time of war. Hadn't heard those words in a while, at least not about Equestria. I'd heard demesne a few times over the last month or so. Things were starting to make a sick sort of sense. "That's nice of you, Brass," I said. "Real touching in fact, didn't know you cared that much. Still, I can make my own way outta here, thanks. I just need you to hoof over three weeks back pay, plus reasonable severance." A smug almost-smile crept over Brass's lips. "Reasonable severance?" "Yeah. Say, one-hundred thou for early termination of contract, and another hundred thou as dickhead tax." That got a full-fledged laugh out of him. "And if I said I had nothing like that quantity of money, and certainly wouldn't be keeping it in my own private apartment?" "Then I'd call you a damned lying grifter and slap the stupid out of you until you told me exactly where to find it." "I see." Brass stepped out of his chair and circled around his desk. His mage, Starblaze, got out of his chair too, nice and slow, and then flexed his toned muscles until the buttons nearly popped off his shirt. "You're aware that we outnumber you two-to-one, and that toy of yours only works if Starblaze is directly channelling magic?" That gets a laugh out of me. "Outnumber me? You big Mary, you think I'm here alone? Only reason I'm so close to you is to tell my sniper exactly where you're standing." I pressed a button on the side of the null-tube's handle, and a red dot shone out directly between Starblaze's eyes. I'll give him credit, his reflexes were top notch. He dropped to the floor without a second's hesitation. Right as I dropped a stunner in front of his eyes. The flash didn't even bother me I'm so used to them but I don't think Starblaze liked it and before he could say 'Hey!' or 'Stop!' or 'Oh Celestia my eyes!' I had the sock-and-balls wrapped around my hand, wailing down on his body, slapping out meaty thuds every time it hit his ribs and flanks and muscles. I knocked a tooth or three out before I landed a clean hit on his horn. Felt kinda tingly when it cracked open. He passed out after that. I turned back to look at Brass. A few drops of his bodyguard dripped off the sock and onto the floor. “Sun above...” he whispered. “He’ll be fine. Blood clots, bones mend, chicks dig scars yada yada.” I stepped towards him. “You, on the other claw, won’t be so lucky. I don’t even have to touch you to make you regret messing with me. You were paying me for silence, dumbass. Mess with me and your secrets will fall on you from such lofty freakin’ heights it’ll be a Zephyr-damned hailstorm of cack on your bonce.” I could see him turn pale through his pastel-yellow coat. Bless his sour little heart. “You just want the money,” he said, “Two-hundred thousand bits severance, plus back pay.” “Now you’re getting it. You can pay me out of the massive stash in your apartment that you don’t trust anypony else to guard.” He swallowed and nodded. “I see. I may not have that all in bits. Are gold and diamonds acceptable?” “Bits, gold, silver, super-precious gemstones, triple-A-grade mage-stones, unmarked bearer bonds, Canterhorn 500 stock certificates, Barnyard Bargains coupons, change from your couch cushions... I’m a reasonable bird, okay? Just gimme the loot.” Slowly, carefully, never taking his eyes off me, he walks away from his desk and over to a closet door. He opens the door to an empty closet, and presses a hidden button in the back. The floor of the closet opens up, and a wheeled chest ascends from an opening below. He brings the chest into the room and opens it. Gold bars, diamonds, high-denomination bits, all filed away in pretty little removable compartments. A few million in there, easy. I was surprised he hadn’t taken the whole damn chest and ran. He looked at me, wary but not wary enough for my taste. Something was up. “You want your pay, yes? As soon as you get it, we never hear from each other again?” “Yeah,” I said, and fished out a few folded-up canvas sacks from inside the bag. “Stick it in here, bits first, diamonds second, anything else last.” He pulled out the little compartments and dutifully emptied them into my bags. When he finished, he said, “Your pay. All there. There’s nothing else you want?” My fist clenched around the sock. Something was up. “I’m going to tie you to the chair, and by the time you slither out I’ll be long gone.” He nodded. “Just to be completely clear—you have your pay, that’s your job finished, we’ll never see each other again?” Something was very up. “Don’t even think—” Brass Pauldron whistled, and the walls came tumbling down. Pegasi burst in through the windows and the balcony. A ten-pony team of guards tore through the drywall from the next apartment over. Two unicorns knocked the front door down and blinked between me and Brass Pauldron. Another team of guards followed in behind them. I spun the sock in a loop to knock back anypony too close to me, but they weren’t closing in yet. They were keeping a wary distance, and forming a wall of flesh between me and Brass. Brass looked smug again. “Well, Gilda, I apologise for dragging this affair out for so long. I had to be sure that you were merely the greedy, venal parasite I had you pegged for and not a spy for Lord Bigglesblythe.” I took a look around. “Congrats, Brass. Some of these lads look almost tough.” A smirk. “Yes, it’s wonderful what money can buy these days. Well. I suppose I should tell you why I simply didn’t pay you off and let you leave for the mountains, no?” “Go right ahead,” I said. “Buy me some more time.” Lots of ponies. Nearly thirty, the closest ones less than three meters away. They don’t look like soldiers, not good soldiers, but they’re all hench. They don’t need to be good soldiers, hells, if they’re even middling hoofball players one’ll snag me and the rest will dogpile me. It’ll be like trying to swim through an octopus orgy without getting pregnant. I could set off the rest of the stunners and smokers and wing it while they’re all trying to find their own bumholes, but if they’ve even got one pony outside the balcony or in the hallway, I’m scuppered. “You’re a barbarian, Gilda,” he sneered. “A pony who committed the deeds you do would at least feel shame for their actions, but you simply price the amount of shame a pony would feel and add it on to your fee. You lack the traits that make even the lowest of ponies redeemable. Behind a predator’s eyes, there is no shame, no guilt, no pride, no honor. There is nothing in your heart but greed, cowardice, and lust for violence.” I snorted. “I didn’t do a damned thing in Farriershire that wasn’t a job from you.” “Precisely. I gave these orders for the greater good of my liege and my country. You did them out of sheer greed. As commander of the local guard I have taken troubling actions that I will carry to my grave, yet none trouble me more than the sickening fact that I was forced to work with a monster like you. Say what you want about ponies, but they’ve got rationalization down to a science. Brass continued, “I had intended to have you petrified, and leave instructions regarding you to my great-grandfoals. Perhaps in a century-and-a-half in the New Equestria they would be able to perfect a low being such as you, and if not they could simply bury your statue for the archeologists of the far future. That would have been the cleanest solution, and your best hope of survival. I see now that you will not be so reasonable. He turned to his soldiers. “Guards, consider this a test of your resolve and abilities. Dispose of this griffon, however you feel appropriate. Be creative; make sport of it. When you’re finished, I never want to see her again. Goodbye, Gil—” He paused, mid-sentence, mouth open like he was thinking of his next word. I dropped low and got ready to pounce, see if I could tear through enough of these dweebs to send the rest running. Probably couldn’t, but I had to try. He didn’t finish the sentence. He was perfectly still, not moving, not even blinking. All his guards were the same way. They weren’t shifting from hoof to hoof any more, half-hyperventilating and ready for a fight. They were all shock-still unblinking statues. They weren’t even breathing. I took a step forward. None of them moved. The room was completely silent. I said “Hey!” and waved a claw in front of the nearest guard’s chest. Nothing. I poked him on the chest. Nothing. I poked a second time— “Oh! Please don’t do that, you’ll weaken the spell,” came a voice from behind me. I spun around. There was a purple alicorn in front of me. “Uh,” I said. “Hi?” “Hello! I’m sorry for leaving you to stew for so long,” she said, “I wanted to check that you wouldn’t panic in a difficult situation. Though, to clarify, had you panicked I would of course made sure you made it out of here safely, I just wouldn’t be offering you a job. Well, asking you for help. Well, both, really...” Gears ground together in my head. There was something weird about this pony—beside the whole wings-and-a-horn thing—in a Junior Intelligence Officer way, that mix of self-deprecation, nerves posing as naivete, and flailing friendliness that makes a spook dangerous, either to their enemies or to everyone around them. “...You need a help-job!” She beamed and nodded. “Yes. A paid one!” Her expression turned suddenly serious. “Equestria stands on a brink of civil war. I’m putting together a team of capable individuals to stop it. You came highly recommended.” “Civil war? Team—wait, I know you! You’re the other-other-other-Princess! Princess Nightlight!” I said. She smiles. “That’s my father. Well, just Nightlight, not Princess Nightlight. My name is Twilight, Twilight Sparkle. Princess Twilight Sparkle. Well, technically Doctor Princess Twilight Sparkle, but please, just Twilight is fine.” “Huh.” I knew her from some place else, too. Couldn’t peg it, though. Everything had turned kinda surreal. “So these guys, did you paralyze them all or something?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Paralyze? Oh Celestia, no, that would be horribly dangerous. I don’t have half the magical ability to keep forty-six ponies magically paralyzed without risking heart attacks, renal failure or partial blindness. Safe paralysis is far more difficult than it looks in films,” she said. “I just stopped time in a hundred-meter radius.” “Oh,” I said. “Cool.” “It’s still a difficult spell to set up in it’s own right, however, it took twelve hours of local preparation and it is not something I could cast on the fly. Don’t expect it for an easy rescue twenty-four-seven, not that you would expect that, haha...” her laughter trailed off awkwardly as she finished. “Right. So, uh, what now?” ‘Doctor Princess Twilight’ brightened up considerably and walked straight past me. “First, I teleport Sergeant Starblaze directly into the ambulance waiting on the street outside.” She touched a hoof to his prone body, lit her horn, and he disappeared in a dull blink. “He should be fine, though his horn will take months to heal. He’ll have more important things to worry about I’m sure, like explaining to his commanding officer why he took on expressly-forbidden contract work while on leave.” “Couldn’t you have just healed him yourself?” I asked. “What? Oh, I’m not that kind of doctor. PhD, not MD,” she said. “I have a portal set up in the hallway outside. It’ll take us directly to my, uh, base of operations as it were. Follow me.” I look at my bags. “I can bring my pay, right?” “Yes, of course. In fact, take the entire money chest.” I grin at her. “You need the cash, Princess?” “Not as such, but Mr Pauldron does, and I think that’s a good enough reason to take it away from him. I’ll explain more when we leave; this spell won’t last forever after all.” I shrug. “A’ight,” I said, loading my kit onto the money chest and grabbing it by the handle. “Lead the way.” Twilight turned to me, then beamed at me again with a face full of dangerously-friendly eyes. “Excellent. Welcome to the team, Gilda.”