//------------------------------// // 2: The Old Flame // Story: Do Changelings Dream of Twinkling Stars? // by Sharp Spark //------------------------------// I’ve never loved a pony like I did Paisley Pastel. From the very beginning we got along like a house on fire – loud screaming, extensive structural damage, and the kind of heat that’d singe your coat right off. I met her when I was just getting started as a beat cop on the streets. Her parents hated me from the word go. That turned her on even more. It was never stable enough to last. We swung between love and war like a pendulum, devoting a certain kind of white-hot passion to each. “I hope I never see you again!” someone would say, her or me. And then six months later a chance encounter would have us crashing back into one another again, two planets that could never quite escape the other’s pull. That’s just how we were, and how we always would be. Or so I thought, once. It had been a long time. These days, she headed up PHAIR - Ponies for Harmony Across Interspecies Relationships. They billed themselves as speakers for those without a voice. Talk to one pony on the street, and they’d tell you the group performed a vital service in agitating for the rights of minotaurs, griffons, you name it. Talk to another, and you’d hear the whole thing was a front for changeling infiltration. The truth was somewhere in between. Paisley always had some odd notions but she’d never compromise her ideals. And PHAIR did a lot of good work, chalking up more than a few judicial victories when it came to immigrants and workers’ rights. But anyone with an ear to the ground knew they offered different under-the-table ‘services’ where their progressive politics ran ahead of the law. I had seen it myself, putting in the better part of a month running down a lead on a changeling, only to go in for the collar and find the place cleared out. No one in the building seemed to remember the neighbor that had been there the week before. It didn’t take much digging to discover all the trails, one way or another, led back to PHAIR. I put it off for as long as I could manage, dodging the duty under pretense of finishing the incident report from last night. But by mid-afternoon, the Chief was throwing meaningful glances in my direction and I hit the street. Their offices had been in Hightown the last I knew, but the file I had been given listed them as over a storefront in the Market District. It was as good a place as any to start. From the very beginning it was clear that I wasn’t the only one in town interested. Across the street, a crimson-coated pegasus leaned in the alcove to a nightclub that wouldn’t be opening for another six hours, diligently studying a newspaper like there would be a test tomorrow. I knew the stallion, name of Red Harvest. We shared the same line of work, only his sleuthing was for-profit, private. Mostly divorce cases, as I hear that biz usually ran, but he occasionally took on serious investigations the Guards declined. I had in the past pulled notes for him on certain outstanding cases, and he returned the favor by helping with leads on bughunts of my own. But it was a professional relationship and that was it. He cared about the bits at hoof and didn’t ask any more questions than necessary. Could have been working for anyone – it’s not like PHAIR didn’t have its share of interested enemies. And he took the ‘private’ part of private dick seriously. Wouldn’t be ratting out his client, not even if I did have the legal means to put some pressure on him. I gave him a nod out of courtesy. His eyes glittered, but he gave the same in response. If nothing else, it was good to know I had a witness on the street, in case anything out of the ordinary happened. I shelved my badge and trotted into the grocer’s below, intending to play it soft. Case the place before discreetly inquiring about Paisley’s whereabouts. The reaction to my arrival disabused me of that idea. It was a small store, busy but not crowded. Customers browsing the wares, business as usual. But at the dinging of the bell above the door all eyes were on me and not inclined to move. It appeared that today’s shoppers were regulars, and not in a way that meant they were there for groceries. I dialed up a placid smile and stepped forward to examine a cabbage. No takers on that. The sounds of the market filtered in through the thin walls, but you could have heard a parsnip drop in the store. A mare poked her head in the door but decided that trouble wasn’t on her shopping list and backed out slowly. The pony at the counter, a graying older stallion, cleared his throat. “I think that you should leave, son.” I ran my tongue across my teeth. “I’m in dire need of some rhubarb. Baking a pie.” His head jerked to indicate a sign pinned up behind the wall. We reserve the right to refuse service to anypony. “Now now. That’s hardly fair.” That pushed some buttons. A mountain crammed into a stallion’s skin stepped away from the radishes and towered over me. “You heard the pony. Time for you to scram.” My eyes drifted up and then further up, taking his measure. The big ones are only used to one kind of a fight, the kind where they’re handling the choreography. This one was no exception, given the smirk on his face. I doffed my hat and set it on a nearby cantaloupe. “Hey now,” I said. “Did you bring enough muscles for the rest of the class?” He reared up, forelegs spread as steroidal savior. A few chuckles sounded from the peanut gallery and I weighed my options as I watched the muscles in his biceps flex. The first thing you learn on the streets is that if you plan on starting something, make sure you finish it. The second is that the only pony worried about ‘rules’ in a fight is the one who doesn’t manage to break them first. So when I slugged him it was aimed low, and I put a solid lean into it. He hit the floor like a sack of wet cement and all of a sudden the crowd didn’t have anything to chuckle about. From the gasping groan, he was down and staying, so I flipped my hat back onto my head and tried to stare down everypony in the room at once. “Anyone else want to take a poke or can we move along here?” They were made of sterner stuff than I imagined. Most of the time when you knock the gorilla out of the tree, the chimps scatter, but this crew still bristled. Another stallion took half a step forward and I grimaced. Looks like this would be the hard way, alright. “Hold it.” A newcomer poked her head out of the door at the back. She was dressed like a secretary, brown eyes behind thick spectacles, black mane in a bun. But all it took was one word to get the undivided from my fellow shoppers. Somepony important, then. “Ms. Pastel says to send him up. She’s been expecting him.” She disappeared behind the door again. I looked down at the hulk, who was still clutching his gut and glaring up. “Sorry about that, big guy.” He showed some teeth in response as I trotted around his prone form. I ignored the whispered consultations behind me and stepped light. My mind was already elsewhere, up those stairs and to an ex who had been expecting me. That’s a hell of a thing to look forward to. Up in PHAIR’s offices proper, ponies had much less time for me than the welcoming crew downstairs. I got my share of worried glances but everypony seemed more concerned with their own business. That business being papers. Papers here that needed to be there, there that needed to be here, and more than anything else, papers that needed to cease existing altogether. I could smell the acrid scent of low-strength disintegration spells through the whole floor. Something had them in a panic. Decent odds it was me. Paisley was standing in the doorway of an office at the very back. I only caught a glimpse across the busy huddle of desks, but I’d recognize that body anywhere. She had been a model once upon a time, but never hungry enough for the limelight and too hungry for the skin-and-ribs physique. She still managed the sleek look. I could ramble about her coat or mane or eyes, but I’ll skip to the point – those legs. She had the kind of legs a guy could write similes about. She caught my eye and stepped back into her office with a smile. “She thinks very highly of you, you know?” The secretary from before was at my side. “You sure we’re talking about the same mare?” Her eyes narrowed behind the thick frames. “I don’t see why, myself.” “Must be my charming personality.” She made a noise neither one way or another and walked forward, parting the angry sea of office work. I kept my head down and a close tail. “Don’t waste too much of her time.” “I’ll see what I can do.” And then the secretary was gone, diving back into the chaos to bark out orders like a general in a warzone. I cleared my head and adjusted my hat. I had a meeting to get to. Walking into that office was stepping back ten years. “Good to see you, Straight. It’s been a long time.” She moved in front of her desk and ran a hoof through that aqua-streaked mane in a motion I knew all too well. She could pass for far younger than the records claimed, but stress and time had written lines across her muzzle. “Too long.” “The last time we spoke, you called me a jackbooted fascist thug and threw a vase at my head.” “Maybe I’ve had time to reconsider.” She stepped towards me but her smile didn’t touch her eyes. “These days I would throw something less expensive.” “And lighter?” “Don’t put words in my mouth.” I reached up with a hoof to brush back her mane but she pulled away from my touch. I took my hat off instead, turning aside to set it on her desk. My horn lit up with magic. “You mind if I use a little charm to keep this conversation between us?” “Don’t pretend that’s all you’re doing. You’ve probably reason to think a lot of bad things about me, but you know I’m not slow.” My eyes drilled into the wall away from her as I kicked off the detection spell with a runner to keep our talk private in the meantime. “Nice place you have here.” “You like it? Our old offices got firebombed last month.” She smirked at my expression. “We’re getting by, as we always do.” “I hadn’t heard that.” “It was a footnote in the papers, if they covered it at all. We’ve got some powerful enemies out there.” “Let me guess, the attack was all part of some big conspiracy?” “Hardly. A lone nutjob with a persecution complex who sees changelings around every corner.” She walked across the room to stare out a window, and my eyes instinctively followed the back and forth of her tail. “Physical attacks like that just make us martyrs. Donations over the past month have been better than ever.” She turned to look me right in the eyes. “No,” she said, “I think if there was a conspiracy that wanted PHAIR out of the way, they’d play it smart. Discredit us. Cut off the head.” She let that hang in the air for a moment. “Frame the mare in charge as a changeling.” “Is that what you think of me? I’m no one’s patsy.” “Yeah. For better or worse, you’ve always been straight, Slate.” Her mouth quirked at the turn of phrase. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t certain which of us they’d take down first. You’ve always been too honest for your line of work.” “The spell doesn’t lie.” “The hell it doesn’t.” Her hoof slammed against the floor with enough force for the window to rattle. “Let me throw a few names at you. Tell me if any ring some bells. Silver Script.” “Nope.” “Pencil-pusher in City Planning. Sent to the stars as a changeling four months back.” “So?” “He was working on transit and security. Had drawn up a comprehensive guard patrol plan for the entire city that had to be immediately shelved afterwards. How about Jet Set? “Huh? Some noble. A minor fuss when he was flipped as a changeling, sure.” “Two and a half months ago. It skated by without much mention because he was a shmuck and everypony who was anypony knew it. You know how he made his fortune?” “No, but I’m sure you’d love to tell me.” “Weapons. His company provided arms and armor for the entire Day Division of the Royal Guard. Since the changeling thing, of course, that’s all had to change. They’re still managing the transition, using a patchwork fill-in of smaller manufacturers and scrounging leftovers from their Night counterparts.” “Okay. I get it. But—” “Prince Blueblood.” “What are you saying, Paisley? DEqSec’s been deliberately setting ponies up?” “You’re thinking small. This goes higher. This goes to the very top.” She closed her eyes, and for a moment, the facade cracked. I could see the exhaustion. I wondered how long it had been since she had a full night’s sleep. Her eyes opened again and her mask of quiet confidence snapped into place. “They started with the little guys, those who wouldn’t be missed but still posed some kind of threat. And moved on to the ponies no one could stand, hoping everyone would be so happy to see them go that they wouldn’t ask questions.” “Even if a tenth of what the tabloids say about Blueblood are true, he’s too big. Questions are gonna be asked.” “Exactly. They’re entering the last phase of whatever their plan is.” “So who’s ‘they’? Who wants Canterlot weak?” I let out a bark of humorless laughter. “Another changeling invasion? And here I was, thinking I was the one preoccupied with bug-hunting.” She shook her head, ignoring the barb. “I’m still not certain myself. I know how to find out. But I need help.” “Me? I—” I heard some muffled commotion from outside. Paisley grimaced. “Looks like we’re out of time. Cast the spell.” “What?” “Cast the spell, Straight.” I hesitated, but she stared back with a familiar steely insistence. “Now.” I released my hold on the magic, and the tendrils of power flowed up. I could feel them spiral as they encircled Paisley, but nothing was visible until the corona of green enveloped her. “Paisley,” I whispered. After all of it, her whole spiel, I should have known. I should have known from the moment I opened that file in the Chief’s office. Seeing the green still hit me hard in a place that I didn’t know could still hurt. “Why?” She crossed the room in one long stride as the door burst open, and I felt her lips press against mine with a heat and intensity matching the heights of our old times. “Step away from the changeling,” a voice barked out. I ignored it and kissed back like a drowning sailor hanging onto his lifeline. A pair of guards had to pull us apart, and I gasped, suddenly remembering a need to breathe. “Ma’am, under Equestrian law, it is my obligation to inform you that…” His words were just a buzzing as Paisley and I kept our eyes locked on one another. Her mouth moved in a subtle motion, but I caught the words she never spoke. “Trust no one.” Then she was gone. They ignored me after that, too busy with turning the entire office upside-down, confiscating anything not nailed down and terrorizing the workers. I hadn’t called for backup. Particularly a whole squad of the Day Guard. But clearly someone thought I needed it. Maybe they were right. I don’t know what they did need me for. I made my way out, sleepwalking through the motions. I didn’t check to see what she had slipped into my jacket pocket during the kiss until I was well clear of the building. Paisley always was good with her hooves.