All was blackness – endless, whirling blackness. The kind of blackness one only experiences in dreams, and then subsequently wishes one hadn't. It is frequently said that black is just the product of an absence of light. Not in this case. There was plenty of light, which only lit up the blackness, making it even more visibly black.
'Hold on,' thought Squeerz, the gears in his brain – both metaphorical and literal – working at full tilt, 'that last bit didn't make much sense.' He could almost hear himself thinking over the whirr of machinery on which Wirdegens are so dependent. 'So,' he pondered, 'I'm probably asleep.' With one last momentous effort, he put the final piece in his metaphysical jigsaw. 'I'd better wake up, then,' he thought to himself, and did. He immediately wished he hadn't.
When one wakes up, there are a number of things one expects and hopes to see. For many, the ideal morning greeting would something luxurious; let us say, for the sake of argument, a butler standing over one with a glass of freshly squeezed mango juice, enquiring whether one requires breakfast in bed. Let us call that Scenario A.
Then there is the slightly more mundane, but nevertheless welcome feeling of cosy familiarity – one's beloved calling from downstairs that breakfast is ready, and that it is pancakes, for example. We shall call this one Scenario B, as everypony likes pancakes.
On the other hoof, one might find oneself presented with the not-particularly-unusual-but-disappointing-anyway setting of, say, one's irritating little sister bouncing up and down on one's bed, gleefully declaring that you have missed breakfast, and that it was pancakes. This, as no one who has been paying attention will be surprised to learn, will be called Scenario C.
Finally, one might find oneself confronted with something downright unpleasant. To pick an example purely at random, one might realise that one was trapped in a rather uncomfortable cage, and that three ponies whom one had only recently met, but whom one loathed with the burning intensity of a million white-hot suns, and who really shouldn't have won the recent battle which was only now drifting back into one's conscious memory, standing over one with an air of superiority, trying to decide what to do with one. We will call this Scenario Squeerz. If one were to find oneself in Scenario Squeerz, the first thing one would probably try and do would be to try and figure out how one could stop being in it. This, therefore, a snarl on his lips and an ache in his head, was exactly what Squeerz tried to do.
“What I don't understand,” Tarrant was remarking, a little peeved-sounding, “is why he didn't slip over when he tried to chase us.”
“Yeah,” added Derpy, “I thought you said you'd coated the floor in an invisible graph-based… uh...”
“Invisible graphite-based lubricant,” finished Tarrant. They both gazed at the Doctor, daring him to reply.
“Ah,” the Doctor began, sheepishly, “well, what with it being invisible, and all, I suppose it is possible that I thought I'd coated the floor in it, when I, in fact, hadn't.”
“There wasn't a great deal of point in my walking everywhere extra-carefully for the last half-hour, then, was there?” suggested Tarrant.
“Well, um… Oh, look, I think he's coming round!” Glad of the distraction, the Doctor eagerly gesticulated towards the prone form of their prisoner. He was groaning a little, though he had yet to open his eyes.
“Great whickering stallions! You're right!”
“You say that a lot. Is that your catchphrase?”
“Of course not. I don't have a catchphrase.”
“Um, Doc?” Derpy interjected, awkwardly, “You kind of do.”
“I do not!” Tarrant protested, but the looks on the faces of his comrades told him he had already lost the battle.
“Stars and sapphires,” chuckled the Doctor, “the look on your face!” But then a look of horror crossed his. “Oh, cripes. I've got a catchphrase.”
“Several,” Derpy informed him, matter-of-factly.
“I very much doubt that.”
“If you say so, Doc. By the way, what was that silver tube-thing you were using in the lab, earlier?”
“I'm glad you asked! It's quite simple really. I call it my Sonic Screwdriver. It uses sound to manipulate objects.”
“How can you use sound to move things?” asked Derpy, innocently.
“I'll explain later,” assured the Doctor. His expression changed, as he saw that the other two had lapsed into fits of giggles. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” Derpy managed to insist between bouts of laughter, “just admiring your catchphrases.”
“Oh, shut up.”
This ungracious response simply made the two laugh all the harder, so the disgruntled Doctor turned his attention back to the Wirdegen in the cage. He was just in time to see his eyes open, blearily take in the situation, shut again in the vain hope that this was still a dream, open to see whether it was, find it wasn't, and then widen into a look of abject horror.
“Look,” said the Doctor, eagerly, “Jamie's awake!”
“Who?” asked Derpy.
“The prisoner. I took it upon myself to name him.”
“'Jamie'? That's a weird name.”
“It's Bridlish. They still use the old naming traditions.”
“Where in Gkkrr's name am I?”
This last, which, fortunately, the TARDIS had the decency not to translate, was a rude interruption from Squeerz, who, I am sorry to say, was not famed for the civility of his tongue, nor for his patience.
“My laboratory,” explained Tarrant,” and I'll thank you to watch your language while we're in it. I have a swear-box, you know.” And he gestured towards a wooden box that stood on a table in the corner. In its top was a narrow slot for bits.
“You do not interest me with your petty habits,” barked Squeerz, “you will free me immediately! I am an officer, and I am not accustomed to being treated in this-”
“You know,” the Doctor murmured, so softly that Squeerz fell silent without even thinking, “I very much doubt whether you'd make it past the rank of private in the Equestrian army.”
“Silence, Time Lord scum! Your internal affairs are of no consequence. In the Wirdegen fleet we honour true virtues: bravery, cunning, strength-”
Somehow, the Doctor undercut him once more – for his voice now was so gentle, so pregnant with thought and wisdom, that even one so base as Squeerz felt obliged to listen: “Oh, so they do here… but they tend to lend a certain importance to others: honour, kindness, truthfulness and loyalty, for example. Now, I am not given to acts of violence, but I strongly recommend that you cooperate with us. I do not take kindly to having my time wasted. My time is precious, sir, and though you are a prisoner here, I do not think it wise that you refuse our hospitality.”
Tarrant was staring at him, wide-eyed; this was the foalhood hero he'd imagined, the Doctor he'd read so much about. It was a relief to see him behaving so sharply, when he'd been beginning to think that the Doctor's apparent senility had stripped all trace of the legendary time-travelling hero from him. Now, his doubts had been all but destroyed.
Oddly enough, the Doctor, too, was taken-aback – and not just because he'd shattered his own expectations. For a few years, now, he'd felt as though a cloud, a fog, had descended upon his mind, one so dense as to hamper and hinder even his most basic thoughts. He'd taken it for senility, though he'd been too proud to admit it.
Sometimes it was stronger or weaker: one moment, sending his mind drifting hither and thither like a leaf caught in the wind, preventing him from having any true conscious recognition of what was going on; the next, allowing him to carry out the sort of complex calculations that would leave even the greatest Equestrian mathematicians scratching their heads and chewing their pencils, but still not letting him really concentrate and unleash the full power of his brain on the problem, and, worse, causing him to make embarrassing mistakes.
Its influence had been particularly weak just recently, when he had battled the Autons and the Nestene Intelligence, and the deeper into the adventure he had got, the thinner it had seemed. He had theorised that his regeneration had helped, in some small measure, at least, to free his poor mind from its bonds.
Now, for the first time in what seemed like forever, the cloud seemed to have lifted – he felt like his old selves again. Here he was, waxing lyrical, as though he were no more than 200… no, older than that, he felt a great deal wiser… call it 450. That would do nicely.
And there was something important! This realisation came like a bolt out of the blue – he couldn't remember what, but there was something important that he had forgotten, a long, long time ago. He remembered so very nearly, a memory that had lain dormant at the back of his mind since this infernal cloud had first appeared… in fact, was it a memory of before, only just before, it had appeared for the first time? Suddenly, he was gripped by a strange sense of urgency – it had been something frightfully urgent, something he'd needed to tell the Time Lords about; and then this cloud had blotted it out!
His mind was freer than it had been in all that time, but the fog simply refused to lift from this one simple memory, clutching at it with its tendrils of cloud as though its very existence depended on it – and perhaps it did, as, after all, the rest of his mind was completely clear… at least, it felt clear. As a test, the Doctor calculated pi to a couple of hundred decimal places, then expressed it as a vulgar fraction, and converted it into base 7. No problem. He sighed with relief. Instinctively, he knew that if he could only remember this one thing, he would be free of the cloud forever. With all his might, he concentrated on his single goal – to uncover the final patch of his brain that was off-limits to him. He strained, he pushed, and then…
“Doctor?” said Derpy, sounding a little worried, “Are you okay?”
His concentration snapped. As if on cue, the cloud sank back into its rightful place, hugging his mind like an old friend, lying heavy on his thoughts, just as thick as ever.
“I… I…” the Doctor stammered, helplessly. There had been something he was trying to remember, but he couldn't for the lives of him remember what it was, or what it was about, or even why he was trying to remember it. “I seem to have lost the thread of my remarks,” he finished, listlessly, aware of some great loss of purpose, but unsure what it was. For reasons quite unknown to him, he felt like bursting into tears.
Tarrant sighed. “I'll do it.” He pulled out a small cylindrical device, which he had developed some months ago, and pointed it squarely between Squeerz's eyes. “Now,” he said, sounding not a little bored with the whole affair, “do you know what this is?”
“No,” lied Squeerz.
Accordingly, a small red light lit up on the device.
“Well, this seems to be working,” said Tarrant, satisfied.
“Ooohhh!” said Derpy, visibly excited, “I remember that! It's the truth detector!”
“Got it in one!” applauded Tarrant. “Boy, we had some fun with this!”
“I remember!” said Derpy.
“I don't remember,” said the Doctor, glumly.
“Well, you weren't there, old boy,” Tarrant reminded him.
“No. You don't understand. I don't remember anything. Not any more.”
“Are you okay, Doc?” asked Derpy.
“I thought I was,” he replied, “but now I'm not so sure...”
Meanwhile, Tarrant was questioning the prisoner. “Are there any other Wirdegens monitoring this area?”
“Not telling,” said Squeerz, smugly. The truth detector lit up green.
“Blast!” said Tarrant. He hadn't thought of this. Improvising wildly, he grabbed the nearest thing available, and pointed it at Squeerz. “Believe me,” he snarled, “it would be better if you answered my questions.”
“Or what?” sneered the Wirdegen. “Do you think I don't know an anti-gravity chopstick when I see one?”
Tarrant looked down at the thing in his hoof. He couldn't think of a comeback, so he just said “Blast!” again, and left it at that.
“What's the matter,” asked the Doctor, sounding a little less crestfallen, “Jamie not cooperating?”
“You could say that,” huffed Tarrant.
“Well, I wouldn't worry about that,” he smiled, “I'm on fairly good terms with the local alicorn, and I'm sure she'd be only too pleased to cast a quick obedience spell on this… creature. Clever things, those obedience spells. They do have a tiny habit of erasing the identity, but never mind.”
“You wouldn't dare.” Squeerz insisted. “You ponies are a bunch of worthless do-gooders. You'd never use those spells on me.”
The Doctor grinned, evilly; a wide, menacing grin, such as a shark might give its prey when it invited it home for a quick bite. “Try me.”
At the sight of the Doctor's grin, Squeerz shrank back into his cage, his ears flattened and eyes wide. This was a grin he was all too familiar with; a grin he had often seen his fellow Wirdegens give just before they did something very unpleasant to somepony else. It was a grin to be reckoned with. “Alright,” he whispered, terrified.
“Um… thanks, Doctor,” said Tarrant a little uneasy. The Doctor's gaze didn't waver from Squeerz. “You're quite welcome,” he said, very calmly. “I'm sure Jamie will answer your questions, won't you, Jamie?”
“My name isn't Jamie-” began Squeerz, but the Doctor silenced him with a look.
“Isn't it?” he asked, in mock-surprise.
“Er… yes, yes it is,” said Squeerz, rather hastily, his eyes still fixed on the Doctor, who, he was beginning to think, was actually pretty terrifying when you got to know him.
“Splendid,” began Tarrant, almost as uneasy as Squeerz, “now, are there any other Wirdegens monitoring this spot?”
“None. The nearest ones are hundreds of miles away.” The truth detector flashed green.
“I want a list of their names and addresses,” Tarrant ordered. “Derpy, could you write these down for me?”
Derpy, who had been eyeing the Doctor warily, complied, jotting down the details that Squeerz recited.
When he'd finished, Tarrant turned off the truth detector, and announced “Well, I think that's everything.”
“Yes,” agreed the Doctor, finally taking his eyes off the prisoner, “it looks as though we'll be sending you home shortly – and you with him,” he added sternly, looking at the still-frozen Squeerz.
“Y- yes,” Squeerz stammered, not daring to move.
“Oh, don't cower in the corner like that,” the Doctor chuckled, remarkably warmly, considering the demeanour he'd only just forsaken, “we're not going to hurt you.”
“But… you said…”
“I didn't mean it. I'm far to nice to do anything of the sort.”
“I- I-” Squeerz began to stammer again, this time with rage. “You told me that honesty was a virtue!”
“And so it is. Did I lie at any point?”
Squeerz thought for a moment – then shook his head. “No,” he muttered, furiously.
“And didn't you yourself tell me that cunning was a virtue?”
Squeerz gritted his teeth in frustration. “Yes,” he growled at the floor.
“Very good. In today's lesson, you learn to think about what you say, not just what other ponies say.”
The Doctor fell silent as Derpy rushed over and hugged him violently. “Doctor! I'm so happy,” she squeaked.
“I say, steady on! Don't tell me I fooled you, as well.”
“Uh-huh,” admitted Derpy, muffled by the Doctor's fur, against which she had pressed her head.”
“Well, it looks like you've learned something, too. I am a very nice pony.”
Berry Punch blinked. And then, as if to make sure that she was still looking at the Doctor, Derpy Hooves and… the Doctor again, and hadn't mercifully woken up in bed, she blinked again. “I… I'm sorry, what was that you said?”
The Doctor sighed. “Very well. I'll explain again. Tarrant here, known to you as the Doctor, is an alien who came to Equestria for a week and got stranded for fifteen years.”
“Those aren't quite the numbers,” interjected Tarrant – but to no effect.
“He will shortly be returning to his home planet,” continued the Doctor, ploughing straight over Tarrant's remarks, “along with the alien criminal we've captured and are holding in Tarrant's basement. I, meanwhile, am another alien, a Time Lord known as the Doctor – the real one, this time – and I've been exiled to your charming little town and left to rot. After Tarrant has left, I shall probably, with the mayor's blessings, assume his current position as Ponyville's official Time Turner. Finally, this is Derpy, whom you already know, and who is neither alien nor imposter, which should come as a great relief to you.”
“I… I don't…” Berry Punch didn't seem to have taken much of the Doctor's speech in.
“Ah, well,” the Time Lord began, “Third time lucky, I suppose. Tarrant here, known to you as-”
“Doctor,” whispered Derpy, “don't you think it would be easier to just send everypony a letter? We can't do this with everypony in Ponyville.”
“Oh no. I get dreadful writer's cramp. Besides, we must have talked to at least half the ponies in town by now.”
Tarrant checked the list. “Six,” he corrected.
“Six?”
“Six.”
“Oh.”
“I still say writing letters would be quicker,” Derpy suggested, quietly.
“Nonsense! We're here, now, anyway.”
The three were standing outside Sugarcube Corner. The shop had only just opened, and wasn't terribly busy – the occasional pony wandered in seeking breakfast, but for the most part, things were fairly quiet. The morning sun danced across the faux-icing that covered the bakery's roof, giving the impression of a fresh snowfall.
“Well then,” began the Doctor, “um, best hoof forward, and all that.” He stepped smartly up to the door, and pushed it open. “Hello?”
“Come right in,” said a cheery voice from inside, “we're open!”
The three trotted inside and up to the counter, behind which stood the proprietress, Mrs Cake. “Good morning!” she said, in her very best 'the-customer-is-always-right' voice, “Welcome to Sugarcube Corner! Is there anything in particular you're looking for?”
Tarrant took the lead. “My dear Mrs Cake, although I'm sure your pastries are well up to their usual standard, I'm afraid that this morning we are not in search of gastronomic satisfaction…”
“Actually,” the Doctor interrupted, “I am a tad peckish.”
“I can't take you anywhere,” growled Tarrant. “We've just eaten, remember?”
“Yes,” admitted the Doctor, staring wistfully at the various victuals that comprised the shop's wares, “but that was hours ago, old thing.”
“Don't you 'old thing' me. It was 45 minutes ago.”
“Nearer 47,” Derpy interjected, helpfully.
Mrs Cake watched the exchange with a bemused expression that would not have looked out of place on a railway official who'd been asked to carry a small suitcase. “Excuse me,” she said finally, when she could watch no more, “do you want food or not?”
“No,” said Tarrant, firmly.
“Yes,” said the Doctor, eagerly, and at precisely the same moment.
The two glared at each other, each bearing a 'just you watch it' scowl at the other's identical face.
“Maybe if just the Doctor had some food?” Derpy suggested.
“Oh… very well,” chorused the pair.
“That's alright, then,” said Mrs Cake. “Now… which of you is the Doctor?”
“Until recently I was,” Tarrant began.
“And now I am,” the Doctor finished.
“Wait… what?” Mrs Cake was starting to look downright upset.
“I'll explain later. Just give me half-a-dozen of those rather nice-looking jam tarts.”
“Certainly!” The shopkeeper visibly brightened up, and hurried over to fetch them. “That'll be three bits.”
“Ah.” The Doctor sheepishly patted where his pockets would have been, had he been wearing any clothes, then cast a hopeful glance in Tarrant's direction.
“Oh, very well…” Tarrant pulled out a hoofful of coins and began counting them out.
“Can I have some of your raspberry muffins, please?” piped up Derpy.
“Of course, dear.”
“Et tu, Derpy?” said Tarrant, looking a trifle wounded.
“Sorry, but all this food makes me feel kinda hungry,” confessed the pegasus.
Tarrant rather grumpily took the gentlecolt's prerogative and paid for Derpy's treat as well.
“Now then,” announced the Doctor through a mouthful of pastry, “delicious though your baking is, we were really here to see your apprentice, Miss Pie.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than an excited ball of pink came flying into the room and wrapped its forelegs around the Doctor, whose cheeks turned pink to match. “Erm, steady on, old girl,” he mumbled. “Not just now, please.”
“Doctor!” squeaked Pinkie, in a voice that seemed to indicate that she had just won the lottery, discovered she could fly, and ascended to a state of omniscience – which, come to think of it, the Doctor pondered, he wasn't entirely sure she hadn't already. Finally, Pinkie let the Time Lord go, then redirected her affection at Tarrant. “Fake Doctor!” she screamed, flinging her hooves around the equally surprised Galgonquan.
“Morning, Pinkie,” said Tarrant, a little embarrassed.
Derpy alone was ready for Pinkie's display of unconditional adoration. Forelegs wide and welcoming, she cheerfully returned Pinkie's fondness in kind. “Hey, Pinkie,” she said cheerfully.
“Hi there, Derpy,” buzzed the party pony. “How nice of you all to come visit me! Now that there are four of us, we can play Ponopoly, or pin the tail on the pony, or- or-”
“Hang on a moment, we need to talk to you,” the Doctor interrupted, desperate to prevent Pinkie going off on one of her tangents.
“No problem!” beamed Pinkie. “Mrs Cake, is it okay if I take them into the living room?”
“That's fine, Pinkie, but remember to finish those crumpets,” smiled Cup Cake.
“I will!” She turned and lead them through the doorway behind the counter into the house-proper. In the living room, Pinkie abruptly sat down in the middle of the floor, and fixed her bright-blue eyes on the Doctor.
“I'm all ears, Doc!” she assured.
“That makes a nice change from all mouth,” the Doctor decided not to say. Instead, he said “Remember how I told you yesterday about the spot of bother I was in?”
“Yeppers!” Pinkie said proudly. “I never forget a good story!”
“Well, things have turned out pretty favourably, as far as that goes. I just need the ponies round here to be clear on who I am. And where I come from. And who Tarrant is. And so on.”
“If I know the ponies round here,” continued Tarrant, “they'll just take it in their strides without a thought. The only problem is telling them.”
It was Derpy's turn to speak. “We thought, that since you know pretty much everypony in town, you could organise some sort of get-together.”
Pinkie's ears pricked up. “You mean a party?”
“Exactly!” grinned Derpy.
“I was rather hoping for a whist drive, actually,” murmured the Doctor, but they ignored him.
The teleporter wasn't exactly a slick affair. After all, it had been constructed in rather a hurry, and had only been built to make one trip. It was basically a circular metal disc with gently sloping sides, onto which those wishing to be teleported would step. It was set in the middle of the floor of Tarrant's workshop, and emitting a steady (and slightly impatient) hum. On it was standing Tarrant himself; along with two heavy suitcases, packed with those possessions with which he couldn't bear to be parted; and a still-caged Squeerz, who did not look particularly enraptured at the idea of being turned over to the Galgonquan authorities.
“You'll regret this!” he was screeching at the top of his voice. “This isn't over, Doctor!”
“On the contrary,” the Doctor informed him, coolly, “I would be very surprised, not to mention rather disappointed, if we ever met again.”
“Shut up, Jamie,” said Tarrant, giving the cage a little kick. Squeerz fell into a sullen silence. “I must say,” continued the Galgonquan, “it's nice to be going home… even if I shall miss everypony.”
“Well, at least you got to say goodbye,” sniffed Derpy, who was at that moment between bouts of crying, “though I'm not sure they completely understood your story.”
The three of them were still recovering from the massive going-away party Pinkie Pie had delighted in throwing. Even Squeerz had been invited – though it had taken three bowls of fruit punch to get him to join in the singing from inside his cage. “Still,” remarked Tarrant, “it's nice that everypony's finally clear on who I am.”
“Yep,” added Derpy, “I don't think anypony'll get you two mixed up any more.”
“Especially as I won't be here,” he pointed out. It was perhaps not the best thing to say, given Derpy's rather weakened emotional state.
When they'd finished comforting Derpy, who hated goodbyes at the best of times, the Doctor broached a subject he'd been meaning to bring up for a while.
“Now then, I've been meaning to bring this up for a while.” Told you so. “Fluttershy thinks that since I've recovered, it's time I moved out of her house to make space for the animals… obviously she put it rather more tactfully than that... but that raises the question of where I'm going to go.”
Mercifully, Tarrant caught on immediately. “Oh, my dear fellow, of course you can have the house!”
“You're sure?”
“Well, I'm not going to need it. Feel free.”
“Oh, thanks awfully. And you won't forget to denounce the other Wirdegens on this planet to the other Galgonquans, will you?”
“As if I'd do such a thing.”
Derpy giggled. “You two really do sound identical.”
“We do not!” chorused the two – then burst out laughing.
“Alright,” the Doctor admitted, “maybe we do sound a bit similar, but just remember: I'm the original – he's just copying me. Which reminds me,” he added, addressing Tarrant now, “thank you. Thanks to you telling me there are records of me in this incarnation in the past, I know that one day I shall be free of this exile.”
“You're quite welcome. Thank you. I never thought I'd ever actually meet you.”
“Well it just goes to show, sometimes wishing extremely hard does work.”
“Goodbye, Doctor.”
“Goodbye, Tarrant. Bye, Jamie!”
Squeerz glared at him. “Shut up.”
“Charming.” The Doctor crossed to the small control panel attached to the teleporter, and double-checked the coordinates. “Seems to be in order.” He pressed a few switches. “Energised.”
“Goodbye, Derpy.”
“G- goodbye, Doc.” Derpy stared up at him, eyes wide, choked with tears.
“You know I can't take you with me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And I can't stay.”
“I know.”
“Sorry.”
“S'okay.”
“You'll be happier here. The Doctor's here to look after you – the real Doctor, this time. And it's not forever. One day, I shall come back; yes, I shall come back. Until then, there must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties. Just go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me that I am not mistaken in mine. Goodbye, my dear… goodbye.”
The Doctor pulled a lever, and with a faint shimmering of air, Tarrant, his suitcases, and Squeerz began to vanish. Tarrant smiled at Derpy who did her best to smile back. He saluted the Doctor, who returned the gesture as Tarrant faded away into nothing.
There was silence for a few moments. Then the Doctor spoke.
“He stole that entire goodbye speech from me. Humbug!”
Worlds away, in a distant corner of Time and Space, a glamorous looking mare sat busily working at her bench, which was covered in test-tubes, diagrams, and unfinished calculations. The lab in which she was sitting was similarly full of star-charts, computers and lots and lots of waste paper. She was an unobtrusive pale green in colour, with a short, curly, brown mane and blue eyes that seemed to leak irritation. Her cutie mark was an astrological clock, and she wore a short red tunic.
Angrily, she screwed up another page of worthless errors and hurled it at a wall, adding it to the ever-growing mound. Just at that moment, she was distracted from the source of her ire by a steady beeping from a small metal box – a sub-ether communications unit – set on the workbench, accompanied by a blinking red light. Grateful for the distraction, she leant over and pressed a switch, then spoke into a small microphone attached to the box.
“I'm listening,” she said, simply.
“Ah, good,” rasped a voice from the speaker. It was so distorted that all that could clearly be gathered was that it was male. “Have you given any more thought to my little proposal?”
“I have.”
“And your decision? Remember, you would be a very valuable asset to the team.”
“I'm sure I would. Tell me, is it true what you say about the Doctor? Has he really been exiled once again?”
“He has. I know, I know, it seems too good to be true. But believe me, he won't be leaving Equestria for quite some time.”
“And do you really have what you say you have?”
“I have them all. All they lack are ponies to wield them.”
The mare breathed a sigh of amazement. “Then… I will join you.”
“Good, good! I'm sure you won't be disappointed.”
“But none of your ridiculous and overcomplicated plans. Working together hasn't always gone well for us in the past.”
“Oh, believe me, my dear, I've been planning this for quite some time. This time, we will reign triumphant – and that meddling fool, the Doctor, won't be able to lift a hoof to stop us.”