//------------------------------// // 3: The Hard Fall // Story: Do Changelings Dream of Twinkling Stars? // by Sharp Spark //------------------------------// When I got back to the office, I dispensed with the knocking. I burst into the Chief’s office breathing fire and snorting lightning. He was leaning back in his chair. Way back. He stared at the ceiling, both forelegs folded over his gut. I didn’t let it throw me off. “What the hell were the Crowns doing there? I didn’t call for any backup!” He remained in place, but his eyes slid down to me. “Hm?” “You know what I’m talking about. Who called in the Royal Guards? I had things firmly in hoof.” “Don’t know anything about that,” he said. “Yeah, well, someone thought I needed the push. Who else knew about the op?” “Could be the same pony who called in the tip in the first place.” “And that was?” “Anonymous.” My eyes narrowed. “We don’t bring ponies in based on anonymous tips. You’re telling me that you sent me to go kick a hornet’s nest on that alone? What if it had been wrong? A high profile mistake like that is egg all over the Department’s face.” “Didn’t have much choice. Word came from above to follow through. Passing it onto you was my only play in the matter.” He sat up, and then leaned over to open the bottom-right drawer in his desk. Two glasses hit the table with a clink, followed by a bottle of something dark. “Scotch?” he offered. My anger was fading, disarmed by the lack of a pushback. I expected a shouting match. Not whatever this was. I nodded once, stopping to watch the Chief more carefully. “Breaking out the bottom drawer? You planning on sacking me, boss?” He laughed, hearing a joke I hadn’t told, and poured the scotch. “You ever miss the old days, Slate?” I grunted an affirmative and reached for my glass. “I think what I miss most of all is the certainty,” he said. “Black and white, good and evil. When I felt like I was doing my part to save something. That’s always been an illusion, but a pleasant one. One I used to believe in.” “I’ll drink to that,” I said, and did. “But being put in charge, you start to see that there’s nothing but compromises. Everywhere you look. You muddle along, you try to do what’s right, or at the least, what’s least-wrong. And somewhere along the lines the job changes from protecting the nation to protecting the status quo. And maybe, if you let it keep slipping, to just protecting your own hide.” “The spell was supposed to help,” I offer. “Make things cleaner. Back to good and bad.” He snorted. “It’s all politics. Sure, it’s nice to be able to point to that and say ‘hey, changeling here, have at it boys’. But it’s one more illusion. And… the spell’s only as honest as the pony who casts it.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” He looked at me steadily for a long moment before turning his attention back to his scotch. “I’m retiring. You’ve always been one of my best, Slate. You should know that.” “Why? Why now? Another word coming from above?” “I recommended you for my job. Don’t think my opinion holds much weight anymore though.” “That wasn’t an answer to my question. You’re going to let this happen?” He sighed. “If I were ten years younger, maybe I might have fought. But no. I’m done. I gave this job everything, you know? And it gave me back a drinking problem and a silver-plated watch.” His eyes met mine. “If you’re smart, you’d cash your chips now. Leave this mess behind and get out while you can.” I set the glass down on the desk with a clink. “Probably so. Too bad I’m not so smart.” A ghost of a smile crossed his muzzle. “Too bad.” Standard procedure is to hang around immediately following a collar, handle the forms and reports. Ponies don’t quite realize just how much of a detective’s job is paperwork. I’ve never minded it. When someone’s going to end up lighting up the sky at the end of the day, it’s best if there’s no questions about the how and why. Today all I had were questions. I decided to take a walk. It’s easy for a changeling to look the part, but mannerisms, speech patterns, all that was harder to nail. That’s why it was rare to have a true replacement job. We had to clean up some infiltrators in the weeks following the big invasion, but since then the vast majority tried to skate by as immigrants with conveniently out-of-the-picture family connections. The years since I had last spoke with Paisley meant little. I knew her, and I knew the mare I had seen was the same as she had ever been. That meant one of two things. Either she had pulled a long con with the deepest cover I’d ever heard of, or the spell had come up wrong. The first was patently impossible. The second was a punch to the gut. The Celestial Sisters themselves came up with the spell, so they say. I believed it. It was a complicated tangle of thaumaturgy and divination, with optional sorcerous subroutines packed in. All tied up in a knot like extra credit at the pretzel academy. It took me a month to learn how to cast it. Can’t say I understood its inner workings. Can’t say anyone did. But its accuracy was unquestioned. Unimpeachable. You got green and there was changeling blood running under that pony hide. As long as the pony behind it was on the level, casting straight. And I always did. If it could be wrong… How many ponies had I personally locked in an astral prison? Pounding the streets didn’t bring me any closer to an answer. All I saw were faces. After a while, all I saw was one face in particular. Eventually I could see the sun setting, and I headed home. I couldn’t face the night sky. Not tonight. I lived in an second-story apartment in Lower Westside. It was a dump. I didn’t mind. It was cheap, and around the corner from a dive bar even cheaper. I didn’t feel like drinking either. Paisley was onto something, and my words with the Chief only confirmed it. I could feel it, something crackling around the edges of my perception. There was a storm coming, and I wouldn’t be caught swimming in whiskey when the lightning rolled in. I found my front door unlocked. Not the way I had left it. Not unheard of. I’d had break-ins before. I dealt with them by not having anything to steal in the first place. But today? On top of everything else? My horn lit a spell, a short-range paralysis with a kick that I could keep cycling until I needed it. I opened the door slowly, pausing just short of the angle where the hinges squealed. I squeezed in, closing and locking it behind me. The place was dark. Quiet. My hat stayed down to hide the glow of my horn. I took a long walk down the short hall, keeping my hoofsteps soft on the wood floor. I heard it then. Soft, regular breathing. I waited in the quiet. My ears turned, tracking the sound to its source. Then I moved. I reared back before slamming my hooves, sending a spark to turn on every light in the place and keeping my horn aimed at the intruder. Rising Star reacted with a full-body spasm, going from an even sleep to wide-awake as he hit the floor next to my couch. “The hell are you doing here?” I growled. All I got was a groan. I kept the spell cycling as he sat up, rubbing his head. “Hey bro.” I considered frying him anyways. But the paperwork would be atrocious. With a grimace, I let the spell wind down and dissipate. “Where’ve you been?” He fumbled with his hooves along the floor, coming up with a pair of dark shades to put back on his face. “Don’t tell me you were celebrating without me!” “Oh?” “I brought you a little somethin’-somethin’.” He lifted up some cider, aluminum cans bound together by plastic rings. “Didn’t know they sold them in four-packs now.” “I did a little pre-party partying. You know.” His horn lit up and he tore another can off, floating it in my general direction. “Not thirsty.” He shrugged and the can opened with a hiss of fizz, coming to a rest in the air next to him. “You gotta lighten up, my man. You should be happy.” I kept him in the corner of my eye and trotted around to take a quick glance into my bedroom. Empty. “Why’s that?” I called back. “Landing the head of PHAIR? That’s big. The higher-ups have been wanting them out of the way for ages.” I turned back to him sharply. “Which higher-ups?” He took a sip of the cider before answering. “You know. Higher-ups.” “The Chief?” His smile was a constant. I couldn’t see his eyes past the shades. “What about you?” I said. “What about Blueblood?” “Consider this dual-purpose. Killing two bugs with one brew.” “You never did tell me the story. What gave you the idea to go for the Prince, of all ponies?” “Came to me in a dream. What can I say? I’ve got good instincts.” “Uh-huh.” He lapsed into silence. Not modesty, just disinterest. But uncharacteristic – Rising Star had always been his own biggest fan. I watched him, trying to figure out his play. Then it came, a creeping realization I would have dismissed out of hoof yesterday. “Put the cider down, Star.” His head tilted to the side, horn still lit. Cider still floating in his aura. Magic still in use. “Dude, you don’t even have any coasters.” I reached out, felt it. Touched the barest edge of the leylines swirling underhoof, still coalescing but almost there. That’s what this all was. A setup. The bastard was running the detection spell on me. His grin twitched the slightest amount. He knew I knew and didn’t care. He would be covered, safeguards and protective wards. He was the kind of guy that goaded you into firing the first shot, so there’d be no questions when he unloaded in return. He’d turn right back at me any magic I could shake together. He was a step ahead of me. So I took two. I put my head down and slammed into him with a shoulder, hard and fast. He was young and fit but I had played left tackle in college and still had fifty pounds on the kid. I laid him out blue-skies. That’s when I heard the wrenching tear. That’s the thing with spells, complicated ones. They took attention. Lose that midway through something big and all the energy has to find an outlet somewhere. Cords of magic whipped through the air as the leylines below suddenly lost cohesion. Uncontained elements started spiking, and a trail of fire lashed across the couch, enough for it to catch. It went up in flames as I heard shouts from out in the hall at the racket. I spared a glance at Rising Star, flat on his back and gasping for breath, and delivered a kick to the ribs for good measure. I didn’t have a backdoor. And just as I was considering the front, it caved in, the door splintered off its hinges. A pegasus and unicorn guard pair fought each other to squeeze through. My eyes caught the one window and I gritted my teeth and moved before my brain could inform me as to what a bad idea it was. I leapt through, glass shattering as the street below rushed up to meet me. ... That’s something they don’t tell you about in the movies. Jumping through a pane of glass hurts like hell. I don’t recommend it. The cobblestones would have hurt a lot more if a fruit stand hadn’t got in the way. It broke my fall, and my fall broke the better part of its stock of melons. Still felt like every bone in my body had been given a good shake, at least until the effects of the glass caught up. A thousand cuts played a symphony of pain across my coat and the slippery red spilling out of the wrecked stand wasn’t all fruit juice. My head spun but I forced myself upright. I could hear shouts above, and looked up to see smoke streaming out of my building. I didn’t have time to tally bruises. I made it into the shadows of an alley just as a team of guards rounded the corner. Their commander took one look and started addressing the flaming elephant in the room. Good for him – this whole side of town was kindling ready to ignite if not dealt with. Good for me too. I disappeared before anyone saw me and thought to ask questions. That alley led to another. And another. My hooves knew their way around the city. Thankfully, because the streets in my eyes were beginning to swirl into indistinguishable shapes. I was losing a lot of blood, I knew. I kept moving because the alternative was to stop for good. Had I been in my right mind, I don’t know where I would have ended up. I had friends. Scratch that. I had associates. Most of whom I trusted. And a few I figured wouldn’t even stab me in the back until I had repaid a loan or two. But where my hooves took me… Let’s just say, when you’re being trailed by timberwolves, they’re not gonna follow you into a hydra’s den. But all you’re doing is changing one set of problems for another, even toothier one. I stopped in front of the door, an unmarked one in a back alley. I was considering whether I could make it somewhere different when everything started draining of color, like someone had turned up the contrast. I lifted my hoof to rap on the door, but it didn’t seem to want to listen. As I fell forward into blackness, my head did a pretty good job of knocking on its own.