//------------------------------// // Twilight: Magic Minus Magic // Story: Sick Little Ponies (And One Dragon) // by Estee //------------------------------// For a few of the ponies who truly didn't know very much about her at all, the librarian's most distinguishing characteristic was her raw field strength: a power that required traveling quite some distance to the right on the Celestia Meter (Adjusted) for any attempt at measurement, with a number of individuals wondering if they should just run the line entirely off the graph. And it was certainly a notable facet of her existence, albeit one which most ponies discovered through tales and rumors and stories which generally ran at an accuracy rating of zero -- but it wasn't the only one. There was curiosity, a potentially-endless drive to know, constrained by cautious ethical bounds. That slow-developing, often-tentative sense of empathy which she remained reluctant to rely on too much, lest something go bad when she inevitably got it wrong. And determination -- oh, that could sometimes be a major facet on the gem of personality. The drive to keep going, to push, to improve -- there were times when that was the aspect which dominated her life, or at least the majority of her hours. And when you combined curiosity with that determination and threw in what she was seeing as a real need, a problem which had to be solved -- well, that was when the unicorn could often be found trying to greet Celestia and Luna in turn for several days as she desperately worked, researched, and pushed to find the solution, for unlike her field strength, the librarian occasionally displayed determination in open abundance. However, there were problems associated with that, and more than a few of them. Because for starters, she possessed more in determination than the small, exceptionally slender mare did in physical endurance. Or constitution. And, more often than not, especially when she had a problem to solve, common sense. "Thaumaturgy Review," Twilight casually ordered as she squinted at the issue which wasn't quite providing the information she needed. (She was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with the thaum charge of the basement's lighting system, as the words seemed to be getting progressively harder to read with each passing hour.) "Volume 800, Issue 11. Bring that down." Her brother said something which wasn't 'yes' or 'right away!', let alone 'I'm on it!' And so she ignored it, because he'd probably said some variation on those and really, the written words were what was important now. Also, finding out why they were dancing, possibly followed by asking them to teach her. She kept reading, or at least tried to. The paragraphs were keeping a rather odd sort of beat. "Spike?" she called up the ramp, unaware that he was still standing on her immediate left. "Did you find it yet?" Claws gently poked at her flank. She blinked, turned. "Go to bed," Spike repeated. The head shake was instinctive. "We've got to keep going! If I don't figure out how to cast this security spell soon -- Spike, we've been lucky already, maybe lucky for too long. With this crime wave moving through Ponyville, all these thefts, and with some of the editions we're hosting at the tree, especially now that the Empire's entered the library exchange program..." Those three volumes were dense, slightly less fragile than they looked and, if you didn't have a full understanding of Ancient Crystalia, completely illegible -- but they did look really pretty under Sun, which slightly mitigated the headache which came from trying to read any part of them. "At some point, we're going to be a target. Maybe I had the Elements transferred back to the palace for a while, but we can't just take out that many books." (Or rather, she could, and magically, it could be done rather easily. It just meant... sending away books.) "And that means I need Star Swirl's Ultimate Lockdown. Now." "Which only he understood how to cast," Spike sighed. "And that's still the case after four nights of this." "I don't know..." Twilight thoughtfully countered. "Somepony put it on the tapestry that one time." The signature had been too faded to read. She'd tried. A lot. "Which means it can be broken," Spike pointed out. "Because you broke it. Why use a spell somepony can break?" "That would eliminate just about every spell," she sighed. "And I didn't break it, exactly. I sort of -- pulled on the wrong part, and -- well, at least the tapestry survived. For a while. And everypony's hair grew back. Spike, it's still the best option we have. Every other security spell in the world has somepony who truly knows how to counter it, and these thieves... they're using more magic than just about anypony I've ever seen. After the police asked me to consult on the third robbery... it's like there's at least twelve of them, a gang, so many signatures, too many spells for just one pony to really master..." said the unicorn who possessed what was believed to be the greatest learning capacity on the continent. "They're doing a lot. But I'm still guessing they can't break the Lockdown. Not properly. So like I said -- Volume 800." "It's four in the morning," he replied instead of doing something sensible, like fetching Issue 11. "Again. And you're squinting at the text, you're too tired to think and you're too tired to recognize that, you've been pushing for too many days, and --" He was her little brother. And so she ignored him and flipped to the next page, hoping to ambush the words before they really got a chance to start moving. Spike stopped talking. Green eyes stared at her. "Do that again." It was very close to an order. "...do what?" "Turn the page." She frowned. "Why?" "I want to see your corona. Your field. Just do it, Twilight. And -- then I'll go get Issue 11?" As bribes went, belatedly fulfilling a request she'd already made wasn't exactly much. But under one of the other hooves, it was what she needed, so... Her horn ignited at the most partial level of corona. Her field casually flipped the page. And on her right, outside her notice (but not that of her sibling), a beaker suddenly vibrated. "Twilight... you're sparking." She blinked. It seemed to take more effort than usual to open her eyes at the other end. "I am?" The attempt to cross her eyes in a way which would have them focus on her horn was automatic, and just as automatically (and anatomically) impossible. "Envelop that issue in front of you. Carefully. And then look at it." She did so, squinting, completely missing the sound of three beakers rattling. "Oh -- oh, dear..." Her field was -- fizzing. Near-microscopic bubbles were in a state of near-constant rise and fall along the boundary, like water on the absolute edge of boil. And if Spike had said she was sparking... "I am tired," Twilight sighed. "Too tired to try running any experiments tonight even if I did find something I could use. Okay, Spike. I'll go to bed --" Rushing, hoping to get through in time "-- Twilight, I don't think that's just from being tired, your chemistry set just --" "-- after Issue 11. Which you promised me. Bring it down?" "Twilight -- a tired unicorn doesn't --" "-- Spike. Issue." He silently went up the ramp, came back down. Watched her in silence as she read, too focused on trying to make out the increasingly-jittery words to pick up on the sounds of the smaller pieces of equipment undergoing micro-shifts in position. And in the end, she closed the magazine, stretched her back and all four legs -- then yelped. "OW! Okay, we were down here too long! Oooh, that's a cramp -- and that's another one -- and -- Spike, I'm sorry, but you have --" Without a word, he balled his claws into fists, carefully pushed at the spots she indicated with field glow. (The issues which had been arranged throughout the laboratory shivered slightly.) And then he walked her up the ramp, staying close. "I guess I did push it," Twilight sighed. "We'll just have to hope the library's security holds tonight, and that we wake up in time if it doesn't." For the police were trying to guard what they saw as the high-risk zones -- but with the Elements back in Canterlot, they oddly refused to perceive the library as the most necessary posting. "Fine. Bed." Because her head was swimming, and the ramp was a little blurry, and those muscle cramps hadn't completely gone away. Giving some time over to Luna (and perhaps a little for Celestia as well) was her only possible move. Spike said something. She mostly ignored it. "No, I'm not. I'm just tired. I'll be fine in the morning." He tried again. "You're being silly," she yawned. "So silly... really, Spike, just because you were in the school with me and saw other ponies who had it, there's no reason to think I'd get it. I haven't had it yet, right?" "You're a unicorn." That got all the way through, but only for a moment. "Any unicorn can --" and she lost the rest in her own yawn. "Bed..." she sleepily muttered. "Time for bed... I'm her student and study time is over, so bed..." The rest of the trip to the loft was made with Spike propping her up. She nearly dropped off twice along the way, and then a third time as he pushed at her hindquarters, trying to boost her all the way onto the mattress. After that, there was some confusion involved in the settling and tucking of blankets, but she missed pretty much all of it, already well on her way into the nightscape for a dream consultation with the caster whose work she could not match. Spike sat on the edge of her bed for a while, occasionally glancing back towards his sleeping sister. There was no point at which he tried placing a scale-covered hand to the back of a furry ear, for a species which was just about immune to fire had a rather difficult time in gauging fine degrees of heat. He simply sat. Thinking. She tried to move, which turned out to be the first mistake. Ow. Maybe she'd slept wrong. Or done -- something... before heading to bed. A few seconds were spent in searching her somewhat-blurry memories, which became a lot harder as she approached the end of what she was almost sure was the proper sequence: putting in that many waking hours under Moon for so many cycles in a row seemed to be taking a toll. A toll which was now being paid in muscle cramps, a mild headache (just enough to let her know it was there and not going away any time soon), and a desperate need for wake-up juice. "Spike? Can I get some juice, please?" She winced at the sound of her own words. What had she done last night...? Well, obviously nothing critical: her tail was attached, all four legs were accounted for, and she'd made it to bed. "Lots of wake-up juice. Maybe all the juice we have. And a straw. I don't want to lift my head. And some headache medicine. So I can lift my head. And --" -- no response. She forced her body to shift, just enough to let her see the basket. Empty. Well, he'd probably gotten up before her. He could be in the kitchen, or straightening the library, or out and about in Ponyville -- but no matter what the reason was, it meant she could get her own juice. Assuming she could make it out of bed, which suddenly didn't feel like a guarantee. One leg shifted, and she paused for the cramp to subside. Then two, and eventually all four were on the floor, she oriented herself towards the ramp, took a step and -- something else inevitably twinged. Twilight sighed. "Bathroom," she muttered, and went that way instead. Cold water. Cold water in her face before anything else. She felt oddly hot, and that was probably just because she'd overslept -- she had overslept, right? -- long enough to have Sun warm her fur a little too much for a late spring morning. She entered the little bathroom, glanced at the sink, her horn ignited at the lowest possible level, and the tap turned. Both taps turned. All the way. Water gushed into the sink at a force which wasn't really intended for use, which meant some of it rebounded and went into her face, where it certainly did the intended job -- if not quite at the intended temperature. Also, the towels shot off the rack and skidded into her hind legs, three glowing washcloths wound up draped across her back, and the soap went off the wall so hard as to wind up coming back the other way, only at an angle which had it go off the other wall and into the ceiling, where most of it wound up lodged between fan mount and blades. The rest, now a sprinkle of impact-shed slivers, slowly fell about the room. Twilight blinked, which got rid of all of the water and most of the soap. Oh no. Carefully, she looked into the mirror, and then ignited her corona again. She did not attempt to project her field, not even towards the still-gushing taps. A simple pre-movement summoning of her personal energy in the smallest imaginable amount... The towels remained in place. The bathtub was happily static. The soap stayed where it was. And in her reflection, sparks flew from her horn, went in every possible direction, and landed nowhere she'd ever intended. She extinguished the glow. For projecting it was now out of the question, and would remain so for days. Rhynorn's Flu. There had been cases at the Gifted School, because just about every unicorn was guaranteed to come down with it at least once in their life, with the unlucky and unwell going through the illness quite a bit more than that. Such cases had been quickly isolated for the four to seven days it took for the symptoms to fade, and then two more for safely, for nopony was quite sure how the sickness spread. Just that it tended to latch onto those who were physically weakest, or recently spent, with their body's defenses at their lowest ebb. Symptoms included muscle cramps, headache, a low-grade fever -- and field scattering. A unicorn with Rhynorn's would find themselves unable to focus. Should they try to move an object -- that object might move. Or perhaps there would be something nearby that shifted instead. Possibly a number of low-weight items, as the sparks would subdivide the caster's energy among them, impart motion onto whatever they touched and had the strength to move. For an average unicorn, just attempting standard telekinesis in the middle of, say, a toy store could lead to a hailstorm of rebounding marbles. (Field dexterity was no factor in the number of things sent into motion, for none of them were under control.) And that was just with normal object manipulation. To attempt any degree of workings... The headache could be treated. The muscle cramps would go away after taking the right medicine, at least for a few hours per dose. But there was no cure. And while every other symptom could be looked after, nothing allowed even the most temporary palliative for a unicorn's field. Four to seven days during which she would be effectively unable to cast. "...oh no," she whispered, and the words were hard. "I'm not -- I am not dealing with this. Not now." Not ever. "Not with thieves on the loose. Not when we could get a mission, not when --" and she didn't say it, not even to the mirror, but the image of the crown flashed in her mind, and -- -- the crown. Could it...? It was in Canterlot, along with the other five. Retrieval would take a day, while openly experimenting with the Elements required five extra ponies and a truly good explanation for the Princess, who might not take "I'm sick" for an adequate answer. But... the Elements were more than the jewelry. They were, to a certain extent, the ponies who bore them. And to that degree, the Element Of Magic... had no Bearer. For the one whom more than a few ponies saw merely as Magic now had none, and for that to continue... It took several slow breaths before her reflection stopped shaking. Four to seven days. That I know of. Medicine isn't my thing, plus I never got Rhynorn's, so I never really investigated it, not past when the first pony in school got it and I tore about the library trying to make sure it wasn't going to happen to me and be permanent. Maybe there is a treatment now, or even a cure. Sure, that sort of thing would have been all over the newspapers -- well, the medical journals -- but since when do I read medical journals? So the first item on the checklist is to go downstairs and research -- no, second. I have to treat myself, as far as I can. Get rid of the headache, the eye trouble, the symptoms that can be worked on. And then it'll be easier to research -- okay, third thing on the list: still have to use the bathroom. Badly. I should -- Eventually, the lid skittered to a stop against the base of the Reference section. Spike was nowhere to be found. She had to do it all herself. And it was so hard. She found herself pausing before just about every conceivable action. Stop: don't levitate the journals. Stop: nose the pages. And... it was making her feel all sorts of ways she didn't want to feel. 'Young' was a minor aspect of that, and generally ignored in favor of cowering under the blazing heat of 'incompetent'. The journals had nothing helpful to say. And they took too long to search through, even when she used the year-end index volumes to desperately hunt for that one crucial subject, too long to remove and reshelve by mouth and yes, there were reinforced corners, always (some of which seemed to have recently picked up the minor indentations of claw tips), but she was putting her teeth on books and only kids did that or -- -- I can't do this, I'm supposed to be -- -- there were doctors in town. One was a complete idiot and Twilight had been investigating the legitimacy of his license for several moons, but Ponyville offered others to consult. She grabbed her saddlebags -- stopped, put everything else back -- and then tried to remember how earth ponies and pegasi donned the things. The pegasi recollection came first, and after she rejected the idea of using leveraging wings which she would never actually have, she delved until she realized she'd never worn the things as a filly without having her parents put them on for her, and had never paid any real attention to how Pinkie and Applejack did it. Twelve minutes was spent in desperate wriggling, she never got them even remotely balanced, and then she realized she'd forgotten to load them with the older journals she'd been meaning to take to the hospital just to ask if anything had been a misprint. And then she had to leave the library. There were no patrons to worry about: she suspected (and quickly confirmed) Spike had hung a Delayed Opening sign before taking to his basket, realizing she was almost guaranteed to oversleep. But there were thieves about, and Twilight -- couldn't activate the security spells, the ones which were currently attuned to her signature and no other. Would the criminals be bold enough to strike under Sun for the first time? Could they teleport out with her books, or walk through the walls, self-levitate themselves and their stolen bounty into the sky, forever beyond recovery... But without Spike, she had no way to notify anypony that they had to come to the tree. And so, shaking with badly-repressed fear, her mouth turned the backup physical locks Twilight gazed at the metal, silently said many of the prayers she knew, then made up a few more on the spot. Wrenched herself around and began to gallop for the hospital, passing a large number of somewhat-confused Ponyville residents on the way, some of whom immediately began to worry about what had put that expression on her face... She got all of two blocks. "Oh, good. Just the pony I wanted to see." Twilight skidded to a stop. All four hooves briefly scrambled for purchase on the road, and her efforts left her about two body lengths away from the mayor. And Spike, on the older mare's left. And the chief of police. The saddlebags unceremoniously fell off. Journals scattered past the lids which Twilight hadn't been able to properly secure. "Ms. Sparkle," the mayor politely nodded. "If you would ignite your field for me, please? Just for a brief moment. No actual casting required." Oh no... She instinctively looked down at Spike, whose claws were relaxed. The reptilian expression was impassive. "I don't want to," she quickly said, and wondered if that was enough. "I did say 'please'," the mayor pointed out. "And I'm saying no." Ponies, always attracted to the drama of street theater, were beginning to slow in their trots and flights. To gather around them. The mayor looked at Spike. Then at the police chief. The younger mare stepped forward. "Twilight?" she began. "You're littering. It's not like you to just have magazines lying around, now is it? So -- would you mind cleaning that up?" And Twilight, instinctively responding to the voice of a different kind of authority which was speaking to something near the heart of her, didn't think. Okay. I can find where that issue landed. And the other one, that's just from two years ago, I can order it from the back catalog and pay for the replacement myself, from my salary, and if there's an emergency before then, the soaked one can still be read. Plus -- oh, right, that should have been first... "I'm sorry, sir," she told one of the watchers, who was rubbing at his paper-bapped snout. "I didn't mean --" The police chief cut her off with a sigh. "Rhynorn's," the unicorn said, and looked to the mayor. "Like Spike thought." Twilight stared at her brother. He stared right back. "Why?" was the first question on the newest of checklists. "Why would you go and tell --" "-- because I know you!" he suddenly yelled, and it was enough to push her back by half a hoofstep. "I've known you literally all my life! I grew up in a school where ponies were always getting it, I know what the onset looks like, but you ignored me because I'm your little brother, and I know you, Twilight, I know you'd start with the small stuff, the rational and reasonable, and when that failed, you might just keep right on going into theory and conjecture and anything that might work, especially with this!" His voice was getting louder, steadily approaching roar. "You've done the journals, you're about to do the hospital and there's no answers there because I already asked! Which means you'll just keep going forward along whatever you decided the track was, until you jump the rails. Not this time, Twilight! Not when you're sick! You won't listen to me, you hardly ever listen when you really need to -- so yeah, we're doing this here and now, because you left the library and there's nowhere else! You won't listen to me --" and quieter, all at once, but with the words so much more forceful "-- so I went over your mane." He, too, looked to the mayor. Nearly everypony did, except for the few who were still focused on a suddenly-furious Twilight. "Spike, you don't have any right to go and --" "-- Ms. Sparkle?" The mayor's voice had a way of bringing silence. "...yes?" Twilight eventually forced herself to venture. "You are relieved of library command. Effectively immediately, continuing until the illness passes. Your sibling shall be in charge of the facility." Twilight's hind legs went out from under her at the same instant her mind effectively froze. The mayor didn't bother to notice. "Furthermore," the elected official went on, "all magical experimentation is to cease. Also immediately. You shall not further your studies, not in a way which requires the use of your field. You shall not attempt to invent a cure. And most especially, you shall not utilize your field in public --" That got her brain going again. "You can't." The mayor tilted her head slightly to the right. Glasses shifted. "Can't what?" "Can't order me not to use my natural magic. It's like telling a pegasus she can't fly --" "-- if a pegasus, through every flap of her wings, risked creating a tornado? Then she would be a public safety hazard. And yes, I could and would order her grounded for the duration. Any normal pegasus. Any normal unicorn. And you." "But --" "-- do you remember the parasprites?" The wince was automatic, unstoppable and, given the size of the still-increasing crowd, very public. "Ah. Yes, I see you do. Well, Ms. Sparkle -- so do I. Also a certain, shall we say, one-item upsurge in the local doll market." Thoughtfully, "And then there was that odd hopping citrus. I never did find out what that was about... The point is, Ms. Sparkle, that I, and the rest of the settled zone, have some experience with what you can create through both deliberate effort and forgiven mistakes. I am not particularly interested in learning what you might be able to accomplish through pure accident --" "-- it won't happen! It can't!" Another head tilt, to the left this time. "Oh?" Twilight frantically nodded as she theorized for her very life. "The energy's too subdivided! There's no focus! Movement can be really casual for low weights, but unless it's your personal trick, you usually have to concentrate on a spell! And when you concentrate and the energy doesn't focus... Telekinesis just sort of -- works itself out on little things in the area, you saw that, and it's randomized, so a spell might sort of have the same problems --" I'm burrowing myself deeper into the haystack "-- but with a true working or just plain movement..." She paused, desperately tried to work the math. Failed, because she had absolutely no idea what any part of the equation was supposed to look like. And, believing nopony else did either, lied. "...with the subdivision, you'd never get more than -- three percent of the total thaums or caster's strength in any single effect!" Silence did not greet her brilliant lie. Instead, the crowd began to murmur, and more than a few pulled back. "Three percent of the unicorn who simultaneously levitated both water tower and Ursa Minor," the mayor said with what felt like a forced steadiness, "may be somewhere over one hundred percent of an average pony. Shut it down, Ms. Sparkle. Of your own free will. Or..." She nodded to the police chief. That horn ignited. A saddlebag opened, and a thick cone of metal came floating out. A restraint? "No, no..." She was breathing too fast, too hard, and everypony could see it... "That's for criminals, I haven't broken the law, you can't..." "They can also be prescribed for medical reasons," the mayor quietly reminded her. "And you have Rhynorn's. All I have to do is get a physician to confirm the chief's diagnosis. And should it truly come down to a criminal complaint being required --" a long moment of silence, during which the history of Ponyville under Bearer residence marched in front of both mares "-- I'm certain I can come up with something." "No." Not from Spike! Not from the mayor! Not when everypony knew she couldn't -- wasn't -- no! "I'm a Bearer. This is my Element. You don't have the authority to stop me!" Does she? "Not when it's that! I have to -- I might be needed -- and -- and..." The mayor sighed. "Very well," she shrugged. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this. But..." The crowd held its breath. "Mr. -- hmm. If I'm addressing you this way, then the most natural surname to apply would be that of the House, yes? Especially given your formal adoption? Oh, good. In that case --- Mr. Twinkle?" Spike nodded. "Take a letter." Twilight's eyes widened. "Oh, no," she immediately insisted. "That's not going to work. The Princess will understand. She knows me. She knows about -- about us being needed. She'll --" But Spike had removed scroll and ink from the chief's saddlebags, was standing at the ready. And the mayor took a breath. "Dear Mrs. Velvet." Twilight's breathing stopped. Her heartbeat nearly followed suit. She stared down. At the one sapient being in the entire settled zone who had known to tell the mayor about that. The one who'd won before the battle had ever begun. "You... you fewmet!" Spike didn't say a word. The mayor simply said "Language, Ms. Sparkle, language. I trust you understand the consequences now?" And Twilight fumed. She seethed. She plotted a thousand kinds of revenge in a moment and made plans to consult Rainbow on the refinement for seven hundred of them. But openly, the only thing she could do was... "...yes." The mayor nodded. "Mr. Twinkle, the library is yours for the duration. Ms. Sparkle -- shut it down." The word was too gentle for her current tastes. "Twilight --" "Don't talk to me." She refused to even look at him, and felt as if that state might last forever. "You know this is the best thing," Spike softly insisted as he carried her saddlebags. "You know what happens when you obsess. I had to --" "-- Mom, Spike? Seriously? Mom?" The trot was a slow one. A few ponies, curious to see if there would be an extra act, were trailing them as they made their way back towards the library. Two had just giggled. "It worked," Spike said. Her only counter was "Fewmet." Immediately, "Horse apple." That got her to turn. He was standing still, defiant claws on hips. "...what did you --" Calmly, "-- you heard me." She had no words. There had to be words... "I did what was best for you." Staring directly into her eyes. "Before everything went wrong. That's my job, and I did it right this time. It's not your fault for getting sick, Twilight, other than not listening to me for four straight nights and pushing yourself to the point where it was just easy for you to get sick. But it would be my fault if you -- obsessed, because I'm supposed to stop you, and for once, maybe, just maybe, that's what I did. So be mad at me. Hate me if you have to. And when you're done, I'll still be there, waiting to stop you again. Because I love you enough to stop you, every time I can." Green eyes closed, opened. Sun reflected from lustrous scales. "Can we -- can we just go home?" Eventually, her head dipped. The dark horn gently touched his forehead, and he allowed it. "Spike," she sighed. "I... you know that was really embarrassing, right?" "It's more effective than fear," he pointed out. "A lot of the time, anyway. And with Mom -- it's sort of a mix. I'm sorry, Twilight, but I thought you'd sleep longer, and... it would happen at the tree." Well, if extra embarrassment equaled extra effectiveness, then Spike had just discovered the most efficient policy enforcement measure known. She felt as if she was still blushing, although it was hard to tell how much of the heat radiating from her face was from that, as opposed to fever, and he was exactly the wrong entity to ask. "Let's skip the library for now," she reluctantly decided. Under Sun. Everything's been under Moon so far, from what the police said. They won't try anything under Sun. "But --" "Pharmacy first. We always have headache medicine." The talks with Ratchette guaranteed that: one understood magic, one had a mark which let her comprehend the specialized enchantments which created devices and made pony lives that much easier -- and when both talked, each was guaranteed to leave the other's brain aching in the end. "But I still need doses for the rest of it." Excepting her field, which nothing could help. "And then we'll go back and... you'll be... I can't even run a library, Spike, I'm not even good enough to run the library..." He sighed. "That was just the mayor trying to create one less reason for you to use your field. You can do shelving. You can check things out, and write fine notices --" "-- mouthwriting. I don't even know if I remember how to mouthwrite. And I was trying to do some things just from checking the journals, I'm too used to my field, nothing can substitute for --" She stopped. Looked inwards, which meant she missed picking up on the pegasi and earth ponies among the audience who chose that moment to walk away. Two went in front of them, and a small glittering object fell to the ground. Neither sibling saw the drop. "Twilight?" "Headache medicine," she distractedly said. "We have that. You said so." "Headache medicine -- means..." She began to distractedly trot away. Spike watched. Shrugged. Began to follow -- and then his nostrils flared. The little dragon looked down, and saw the reflection of Sun off facets. "Huh," he said. Then, "...huh! All right! Lucky!" He knelt down, scooped the oddly-rough reddish-purple find into a quickly-closed fist, then hurried to catch up. Ponyville's only fix-it shop had a way of being crowded, even in those moments when there were no regular customers present at all. One visitor (with Spike now sent to guard the library), one proprietor -- and tools attached to the walls, hanging from the ceiling alongside an assortment of spare parts which the owner frequently needed to sort through, things which were being actively being worked on covered long tables, removed parts were carefully lined up (some with number-bearing cards next to them), and then there were intact shed housings and dented ones which just needed some restoration, giant spools of wire (mostly silver, a little aluminum, and a tiny, deliberately isolated fine-spun roll of platinum), completely broken pieces for practice, partially destroyed ones for tinkering, and too much of it coated in oil and grease and stranger fluids, all of which had their scents soaking into Twilight's nostrils, while the substances themselves inevitably found residence in client coats -- and for the owner, that temporarily-stained status was always one missed bath away from becoming permanent. That shop owner (and lone employee) took a deep breath. Steel-grey fur shifted, and the short-cut copper mane had a few metal shavings drop away. "Twilight --" "-- no, let me explain why," Twilight verbally surged into the awkwardness-created gap. "I know it's asking a lot to borrow it -- one of them? How many do you have?" "...four," the mechanic eventually answered. "A backup for the main one, and two older models I keep around just in case both of those get broken." "So you have spares!" Oh, she'd been hoping... and it was the first good news of the day. "Ratchette, please. If it's a question of income, just treat it as a rental! I need it for at least four days, no more than seven, and we can work out the rate, you know I don't mind paying for --" "-- so it's Rhynorn's," Ratchette quietly said. "How do you --" "-- four to seven days without your field, and you came here for that. It's kind of obvious, Twilight. But..." Another deep breath, and Twilight tried not to look towards the resulting motion at the mechanic's sides. "...I don't know if it'll help you. At all." "It's a device!" Twilight hastily insisted. "Sure, that's more your mark than mine, but it's a device! We've got to have enough intersection for me to make this work! And Ratchette -- you're the only one. The only pony I've ever heard of who owns this, who designed and created a field prosthetic...!" Ratchette sighed. Her feathers shifted with the movement. Her gaze was momentarily downcast towards the stained floor, and then the only pegasus device mechanic in the history of Equestria looked directly at Twilight with sad copper eyes. Two simple words. "It's not." Utter confusion. "I've seen you use it! It works! What do you mean, it's not --" "-- it's not a device, Twilight. There aren't any enchantments. There isn't a single thaum anywhere. It's clockwork and springs and levers and tiny switches. It's a machine, and it's one which takes another machine just to get it wound up in the morning. You're not going to have any instinctive understanding of the magic behind it because there isn't any. It's just -- practice. After Stile and I put it together, it took me moons to gain any real proficiency, and I'm still practicing all the time, every day. And for you... even when you start to get the hang of it, it's not meant for the kind of weights you move. Nowhere near. I can pick up two-tenths of a bale with the strongest clamp. That's all. And everything stays within hoofwidths of your snout, and there's all the switches in front of my jaw, you don't know which ones to flip and I've never written a manual because I'm the only pony who uses it. Twilight -- it lets me twist wires and tilt parts. Make fine adjustments which my hooves, wings, and mouth never could. It lets me be a mechanic. But it's not a real substitute for a field, especially not in the ways you use yours. It picks things up, moves them, and puts them down. Small and close. That's all. And -- that's all it'll ever do." She took a breath. "Plus everypony keeps telling me I look like I have a giant steel spider eating my face." "Ratchette --" "And I'm alone in here most of the time when I'm working," the pegasus said. "I'm not sure it's a good look for somepony running a public library." Twilight smiled at the young mare, who was actually rather pretty in those rare times when she was fully clean and wasn't attached to a metal arachnid. "Ratchette -- please?" Because maybe it was just a machine (and she'd never really thought about it that way at all), but it was a machine designed to simulate a few things about a field, and something was better than nothing. Plus Twilight knew she was smart enough to figure out a simple clockwork machine. Hesitantly, "I don't --" "-- I'll be careful." "But it takes time --" "-- what else am I going to do for the next few days?" Other than not sleep while waiting for a potential break-in which she could no longer stop. She couldn't even tune the security spells for somepony else: the current owner needed to personally do the shift to a substitute. "The mayor shut me down. And without my field, I... please, Ratchette?" The pegasus' eyes moved, quickly. To Twilight's hooves, then up again. "I -- okay. One of the older models, though. It's simpler. There aren't as many switches, and it's missing some of the tools I worked out later -- but you don't need those. You just want manipulators, and it'll manage some of that. But... I guess you could practice in here for a while, and I could draw a diagram showing which switch does what. Otherwise, it's trial and error, and I don't think you want to --" It was Twilight versus a machine. How hard can that be? And Spike in the library alone, with criminals roaming through Ponyville, crooks who knew so many spells, in a time when Twilight couldn't do the most basic working... "I've got to get back. Package it for me. I'll work it out when I get home." "Twilight, I think that's a mistake --" "You know all those new locks you just installed on your door? I don't have those. And I can't even activate --" "-- I've got a lot of work today, but I can stop by tomorrow morning and put on some --" "-- the prosthetic. To go. Thirty bits a day." Ratchette winced. Twilight wasn't sure why. "I'll... I'll just come by tomorrow," the mechanic said as she turned, headed for the storage area at the back. "To -- bring the winder. And... see how you're doing..." There was a giant steel spider on her face. No actual eating was in progress. Spike was standing five body lengths away, his tail nearly poking into the World Literature shelves. That was just silly. The clamps couldn't reach anywhere near that far. "Are you ready?" he cautiously asked. "I think so," Twilight said from her position behind the library's main desk, trying to minimize the distortion of her words. (There had been a single patron present when she'd first come in. Then she'd put it on, and after Roseluck's fainted body had once again been taken to her home, there were none.) "This is -- weird. The weight... actually, that's not so bad. It's lighter than I thought it would be, really. It looks like steel, but I think she used alloys for a lot of this. It's not so bad. It's just -- hard to get used to. Having weight there." He nodded. "My neck kind of aches." "Do you need some more medicine?" "No, I took it twenty minutes ago... Talking is weird. I can't open my mouth as much as usual. And there's all the little switches in front of my jaw. I'm not hitting them when I talk, but if I stick my tongue out a little -- oh, of course that's how it's designed, she has to talk to clients without wrecking anything..." She smiled, which was just barely possible. "I've seen her use it, Spike, but... I never really thought about how much had to go into designing it. She does so much, when she shouldn't be able to..." A slow breath. "All right. There's twelve switches. And five dials with little ridges: I guess my tongue pushes on those. Plus a slide-lever. And some -- some... I'll check the dictionary before we do those. I'm going to hit the switch on the far left now. And that should -- well, obviously it does something. Are you ready?" Spike nodded, held up the scroll. "Ready." "Okay." Twilight took a breath. "Label this as S1. Flicking it." Slowly, she stuck out her tongue. It's just a machine. Spells are complex. Machines are easy. What was she going to need, thirty seconds per switch, with most of that as the pause required to let Spike write things down? Twenty minutes would probably be more than enough to pick up on the basics. Switch #1: picked up the checkout stamp. Switch #2: experimental mane and fur curler. Because Ratchette had a rather lank fall for her short-cut style, and while it gave the mechanic less to clean at the end of any given day while suiting her face nicely, it was probably about time for a change, and so Ratchette had designed something which would arc backwards, go into fur and mane, and twist them into curls. Obviously. Because no matter what Twilight tried, that was the way things had worked out, and therefore that had to have been the design intent. Masterfully done, really. But still, after Switch #2, they'd put the Temporarily Closed sign on the library door. Just in case. Dial #4: emergency alertness generator. Because after Twilight had pinched her own skin six times in a row, she was certainly alert. Thingamajig #6: removed excess nostril hair. Actually, all nostril hair. (It took a while to move on from Thingamajig #6, and even longer before the last echoes of the scream faded away.) Switch #9: tonsil inspection. Switch #12...: ...Twilight hastily pawed the prosthetic off her face, dashed across all five body lengths, snatched up Spike's notes between her teeth, and with no other convenient means of destruction available, chewed them to death. "We are never bringing up Switch #12." "But --" " -- in front of Ratchette. Or our friends. Or Mom. Especially Mom." Spike was barely comprehensible through his giggles. "But..." "EVER." He nodded, although Twilight didn't trust the grin which came with it. And she sighed. "Look... let's try this by remote. Can you get me the long pointer?" He nodded, fetched the thin stick. "Okay. Get the prosthetic. Turn it -- right, switches towards me... You stand on the other side. Back up. A little more. No, a lot more. On the ramp is fine. And now I'll just poke them. With the stick. From a safe distance. And we'll start the note sheet over again. Except for Switch #12. Just cross out Switch #12. Three times. Ready?" Another nod. Twilight took the pole up between her teeth. Switch #1... "Twilight?" She already knew. "You hit, like, three at once there, plus a dial. And... I can see it from my end, the checkout stamp..." ...is still picked up. That was starting to feel permanent. Twilight glanced towards the nearest window. Sun was visibly on the descent. They'd been doing the testing for hours, and all she had was a partial list of disasters, which was nothing compared to the nightmare of theft... She put down the stick just long enough to talk. "I'll try again. Switch #1." Too many. "Switch #1." Even more. "Switch #1 -- oh, buck this!" It was instinct. Work from a distance. Precision movements. The tiniest possible exertion... Most of the field's energy hit the prosthetic. Spike worked on the results for twenty minutes, by claw. None of the switches ever unlocked. Twilight, sitting in a self-assigned corner, watched every last attempt to correct her failure. And sighed. She'd... cleaned up the portion of the Periodicals section which had switched over to NOW at the instant her illness had reached it. As best she could, which wasn't good enough. And now... now, all she could do was watch Spike, who had justifiably been given library command because she couldn't do anything... "I'm going out." Spike looked up at her from where he'd been conducting a small war on The Switch Which Would Not Be Written About. "Just -- out," Twilight said, slowly trotting towards the door. "Just walking, Spike. I need to clear my head, and this isn't -- I'm not... out. I'm going out. Open the library. I'll be back before closing." Rarity was on a buying trip: picking out fabric in Canterlot, and a moment could always be spared to pity the wholesalers. Fluttershy was too far out towards the fringe, Rainbow was generally hard to find in a hurry, and with most ponies wrapping up work for the day, Pinkie was too busy selling them treats for the way home. But it was a market day, and that meant she knew where to find Applejack. There weren't any customers to interrupt, mostly because there hadn't been that much stock to sell: Applejack had a few things which were ready to go at this time of year (and Twilight vaguely suspected that the Cornucopia Effect was responsible for a couple of unusual harvest times), but that was it: a few. The majority had sold quickly, and the remainder would be the farmer's snack on the way home, for by the time she'd reached the cart, it was already being folded back into its more compact form. But Applejack stopped when she spotted Twilight on the approach. And then she listened. Admittedly, the 'Ah'm listenin'' expressions on the earth pony's face didn't seem to be the standard ones. More -- exasperated. But Twilight didn't see much of that. She spent most of her talking time staring down at her own forehooves, as the market square closed around them and passing ponies who might have seen the public opening curtain seemed to giggle. "I'm useless," she finished. "Completely useless. For four to seven days. I can't use my field, I can't cast anything, I can't move the tiniest switch without starting a disaster, and my poor Periodicals section... I... I can't do anything." Applejack said two words. "...what?" "Ah said, 'perittómata távros'! An' Ah meant it!" It didn't make any more sense the second time. "Applejack, I've never heard that, it doesn't even sound Equestrian..." "It ain't," the farmer shot at her. "It's Minotaurus. Felt like a special occasion, somethin' none of the usual words were gonna work for. An Ah gotta say, it felt right, because it takes a whole new curse t' show jus' how Ah feel right now, listenin' t' this -- this -- perittómata távros!" A single hard nod. "Yeah, that's the stuff. Twi, Ah've been listenin' t' you for 'bout forty minutes, how y'can't do this and y'can't do that and everythin' else, and y'know what? Mah turn. Mah turn t' talk, yours t' listen. And here's what Ah've gotta say first: get your head out from under your tail. 'cause the only thing you're doin' back there is throwin' yourself a pity party, an' Ah don't wanna go. Ah've seen and heard what you're serving. It sucks." Twilight head came up, and she knew she was blinking too fast, her breathing was starting to accelerate... "Applejack -- did I say something wrong?" And the desperation was rising faster than her pounding heart rate. "Please, you've got to tell me, I don't always know, I still don't always know and if I was offensive, I didn't mean to be, but I don't know what I said that was wrong --" The orange forehoof lightly touched her mouth. Twilight stopped. Applejack sighed, held her position with the right foreleg raised. Took two slow breaths. Lowered the leg, tapped Twilight's left and right forehooves. "Y'were born," she quietly said. "An' y'started on magic quick, Ah know. Worked it out once from the stories y'told me. Early bloomer. An' your Surges were probably somethin' t' see when you were a foal, maybe from a distance. But in between... y'had years, Twi, years like every other unicorn has years, the years which Ah think keep a few of yours from gettin' a little too full of yourselves. The years when it was..." The leg came up again. Touched mouth, left forehoof, right forehoof. "All this stuff you're complainin' 'bout, that y'can't do for four t' seven days? Two-thirds of Equestria can't do it for their whole lives. An' here you are, bitchin' and complainin' and whinin' up a storm like Rainbow could never spin up, because poor you has t' go an' live like that for four t' seven days." She slowly shook her head, with the hat never shifting. And Twilight couldn't say anything, didn't know if there was anything which could be said. "Because y'can't show off. Because y'can't float stuff an' do flashy things an' be all public an'..." Stopped. "No. Ah'm sorry for that last. Ah know y'don't show off, not as anywhere near as much as some do, or that one did. But... y'still got pride. In your magic. An' sometimes, Twi... sometimes not much else. So when there's no magic, y'don't have anythin' to have pride in, an' y'still don't always have it in yourself even when y'should, and..." Another sigh. "Ah know, Ah really do. But... honestly, Twi..." and her lips momentarily quirked at the redundancy. "...sometimes, you're kind of annoyin'." Were these the right words? Could any be? "I'm -- I'm sorry..." "S'alright," Applejack said, and the word was not unkind. "You vented. Ah kinda... well, we're both done for now. But Twi..." Mouth. Left forehoof. Right forehoof. "...y'got what y'need." And then her forehead, well away from the horn. "Y'got plenty." She smiled. "Now go home. Ah can't come with: gotta lock down the Acres, with thieves on the loose. But Spike needs you t' help with the cleanup, an' you've gotta close shop, get on guard. So go home." Carefully, trying to force herself past the weight of a disbelief which might never fully go away, "Applejack -- are we..." "We're okay," the farmer said, and so it was the truth. "Get home." "But..." Two worries would not go away. "If we get a mission -- or the thieves show up -- what am I supposed to do?" "What y'do when we really need you to. The thing you're best at. Y'don't need to work magic t' know it: Spike proved that with the geese. So... y'come with us. Y'watch out for us. An' when we need you most... y'think." She came in to find Spike yawning. "Long day?" she asked him, smiling. "No research or experiments tonight, if that helps." "No..." Spike yawned. "I just -- had dinner while you were out. And some lucky dessert. And... is it closing time yet?" Sun was almost down. "Yes." And they'd had some patrons while she was out -- which her little brother, primarily concerned about where his next (and early) meal was coming from, hadn't straightened up after. "Come on... I'll help you clean up." "But..." The biggest yawn so far, one which almost let her see the strange glands at the back of his mouth which she felt served for ignition. "...I'm in charge..." "So I'm your assistant." Her lips quirked into a smile. "Tell me where to start." It was... what two-thirds of Equestria did every day. More when you considered the younglings. And she'd been that young once. She'd been just like everypony else. Equality in youth. Mouth. Hooves. And to direct them, brains. She thought about her actions. She thought about how Applejack did things, some of Pinkie's more -- typical -- solutions. Factored out wings and made a few Fluttershy moves. Tried to remember what it had been like, when she was small, and found herself pushing with her head a lot, carefully angled to prevent her horn from scratching wood or tearing pages. It was harder than it should have been: she was severely out of practice. But... it was what the majority did, and would do for their entire lives. So she did it. Not perfectly, not even close. But... three to six more days of practice. And some extra time after she recovered, so she wouldn't forget again. It was hard. It was a challenge. It was a lesson. But she decided to sleep on it before any attempt to render the education into Princess-suitable words, for emotionally, it had been a very long day, and Spike -- wasn't up to sending anything right now. He could barely keep his head up throughout the straightening, nearly fell asleep leaning against a broom, and it was she who had to prop him up all the way to his basket, being careful about her horn. It was understandable: her research had been pushing him hard too, and a younger body needed more sleep. She took some medicine to keep the night aches down, got into bed, stared out the window and waited to fall asleep. It didn't happen. I'm worried. No -- I'm stressed. About the thieves. Maybe they won't hit the library at all. Not everypony understands about the value of rare book editions, much less knows where to try selling them. (She wasn't sure on that last bit herself, although part of her desperately wanted to find the black market so she could shut it down forever -- right after finishing up on some shopping.) Maybe we're okay. A sigh. Just rest. She looked at the window. She looked at the clock. An average of twenty-two minutes passed between each change of view. Figures. Maybe I'll just go downstairs and get a book -- Which was when she heard the rattling. The library, like most such structures, had been designed to channel and, to some degree, magnify sound: it allowed the librarian in residence to quickly pick on offenders, along with rendering any attempt to sleep through one of Pinkie's welcoming parties into a truly impossible mission. Things going on by the door could easily be heard in the loft. And so... even though they felt they were being quiet and likely would not have woken her under normal circumstances, she was still awake and... "Almost?" "Yeah. Almost in. Can you believe this luck? Just give me a minute and I'll have the last lock off..." Twilight pushed herself out of bed, tried to plant her hooves as quietly as possible, slide-walked to Spike's basket and carefully poked his shoulder. "Spike!" An urgent hiss of a whisper, pitched in a way she knew would keep it from carrying down. "They're right outside! I need you to send a letter to the police chief! Let her know they're here, and then we just hide..." He didn't wake up. He breathed. He twitched a little. But she poked at him, again and again, even risked a tiny shove with the side of her horn and he would not wake up. And that, combined with the sound of the last lock giving way, the door opening and the intruders coming in, was when she began to fear. "Hear anything?" Mare voices, both of them. That one sounded a little older. "No. They're asleep. Just keep it quiet, and it'll stay that way." "What about the dragon? Are you sure that worked? That was our last charge on the Intensifier, and we used it on a rock..." The grin was almost audible. "Yeah. Intensified its properties. Don't you trust my reading? Garnets make dragons sleepy. Boost our one that just can't possibly be anypony's jewelry, drop it right in front of him... you know he's gonna eat it. And hearing that little performance out there, knowing she doesn't have magic right now... we saved so many thaums because we didn't have to null out her security spells. I can wait to rip somepony off on getting the Intensifier back up if it means not nulling out a dozen little tricks on the way in." "The original plan," the older said, "was to come into the library during operating hours, sneak into the pantry, and drug her food too. And with all those random Closed hours, we never got in. If she wakes up..." "What's she gonna do? This tiny, thin sick little unicorn with Rhynorn's. Spark us to death?" "Good point. All right... let me get the list out... okay, I can see it now." (The ground floor was still dark.) "Start with Ancient History: that's supposed to be her specialty and if I know that kind at all, she's added a few which aren't in the usual catalog. And if I've heard anything else about this one, it's that she puts everything back, exactly where it goes, every night." And in the loft, Think. Think, Twilight! Spike's not waking up. It usually takes a lot more than a single garnet to put him out, and that's why he used it for dessert -- but with whatever they did -- charge? Used a device to cast a spell they didn't know? That would explain the weirdness with the signatures. But there were so many -- focus! Spike's out. He's breathing normally, but he won't wake up until the altered garnet clears his system. That's hours. But it's dark in here and the front door is unlocked. They closed it behind them, I heard that, probably so the library would look normal from the outside. But it's unlocked. I could try to sneak down in the dark, get out, and reach the police station. Except that I'd be leaving Spike in here with them. Get back while they're still here, wait outside the tree, they hear anypony, and it's a hostage situation with somepony who can't wake up and defend himself. She looked down at the basket. Differential shadows and Moon-glinted scales resting in the dark. Can I move him? No, that's not realistic. He's too heavy. I can shove the basket around, but that would take a long time and when we get to the ramp, it's guaranteed to make noise. I can't carry him in my mouth, or just hold him by an arm or leg or by his tail, and I can't get him balanced on my back. And I can't leave him. She heard a small cry of delight, books being removed from the shelves... Reach the central lighting device trigger, illuminate the tree? Ponies are used to me being up at this hour. All hours. They won't recognize it as a sign that something's wrong. And they'd run. With the books. Maybe... maybe her best option was to stay right where she was. Guard Spike. Just -- let the thieves finish. And once they were gone, then she could rush to the police, maybe there would still be time to intercept... And if they get away? With all those volumes? I can't replace... I can't replace Spike. I can't leave. I can't risk him. I can't let them get to the loft. There's books up here. If they find anything missing, they might check to see what I've been reading. And I've got The Princess Bridle on the nightstand right now: if they've got a good list, that's on it. I... ...have to stop them. Right now. Slowly, she pushed at the basket on its scrap of carpet, and the entire thing silently slid under her bed. One extra measure of protection. And then she slid her hooves, heading for the ramp. They have a spell -- or a device -- to see in the dark. That's the only way they could read the spines. (Two more books came down: her heart twinged.) But they're facing the shelves. Or at least one of them is. And I can't see them. I can't even rely on creating glow, not where I want it, and... careful, careful... Slide. Listen. Wait. Slide. Listen. Wait. Could they hear her breathing? Her heartbeat? It felt as if those two things were almost all she could hear. But they were currently at the Ancient History section, her pride and joy, she knew where that was relative to the ramp and the answer was too close, maybe if she waited for them to shift... "Pity about the Elements being moved," said the older. "We'd never be able to sell them anyway," replied the younger. "Not without breaking them up for parts, if that's even possible. And you know... look, I'm okay with taking the books." With an extra hint of projection, "I'm fine with taking out a Bearer if it means we don't wind up in prison, because the enchantments would just find somepony new. But I'm not okay with sitting on six nice pieces of jewelry while the world ends. And going up to the Princess with a good lie about why we've got them isn't much of an improvement, because then our world pretty much ends, at least for the outside view." They're willing to kill. It took a few seconds before she could move again. "You're sure it would just find another Bearer?" Smug, "Found this one, didn't it?" "Well -- how about you?" A tiny laugh. "You'd make a pretty good Magic..." "Tempting," was the simple reply. "Okay, how'd we do?" "Beautiful. She's got a lot. Or --" that laugh again "-- had. But we're missing The Princess Bridle. Keep your eyes out for it, just in case it did wind up in another section. Could be on loan, though. Or -- maybe we'll check upstairs before we go." Hoofsteps. They were moving. Away from the ramp. Twilight moved. "Or," the older said, "I'll do that right now while you --" Stopped. "SHE'S UP!" She turned, she looked at the ramp, she's going to -- And there was the sound of pounding hooves, heading for the ramp, coming towards her... Twilight did the only thing she could do. She lowered her head and charged. Get to the lights! She couldn't cast. She couldn't aim glow into any part of the library and count on it to reach its destination. But she could still ignite her horn without projecting energy, and the most base level of wildly-sparking pinkish glow was just enough to let her make out the shape of the body pounding up the ramp towards her, the size, the mare's face was horribly distorted, she couldn't spot any features or anything resembling one, just bulk around the head, but the body was tall and wide and powerful and covered in things, the mare was huge and Twilight had been charging horn-down because that was a unicorn's last resort, but she didn't have enough momentum yet and there wasn't anything her small form would be able to do against such a large body without the luckiest of horn strikes in near-dark -- "I SEE YOU, YOU LITTLE --" -- Twilight tripped. On purpose. And a fast-sliding little body aimed at vulnerable legs did a lot more than it would have from hitting higher up. The thief was knocked off her hooves, went skidding down the ramp ahead of Twilight, who was already trying to recover and couldn't do it, scrambling to get up again and it wasn't working, they slid back to the ground floor together, skidded a short distance, went into a shelf -- -- books rained down on both of them, with the majority landing on the closer mare who'd hit first. The cries of pain inflicted by multiple atlases gave Twilight her chance. She tried to ignore the pain from where the The Ridiculously More Than Complete Guide To Mazein had grazed her right hip (and a direct hit would have been so much worse), scrambled up, she heard teeth snap at her heel as she moved, steering on memory, but there was another pony who could see her and the glow was enough to let her spot that body, just about as large, she dove to the left a split-second before the trampling, stretched out her right foreleg towards what she was praying was the right spot -- -- the lights turned on. The one who'd gone into the atlases was slowly getting up. The other was braking at the end of her charge, getting ready to turn back. And... ...earth ponies. They're earth ponies. ...I've never seen so many devices on two ponies in my life. Gold there. Silver. That special glint of iridium, so rare and special. The perpetual danger of platinum. And it was all strapped onto multiple belts which wrapped around the bodies of both big mares, devices near the shoulders, hips, over their marks, and on their faces. Goggles on the face of the one who was still on her hooves, cones over the ears, built into a mask. She didn't know what two-thirds of the stuff did, and was familiar enough with the remainder to be terrified. What little fur was visible on the fully-standing one was an unnatural darkness of shadow: dyed. But the mare who was still getting up... was equally dyed. A protective measure against identification. But shapechange workings beyond the outermost cosmetic effects was beyond the reach of normal magic: attempts to change features would shatter ponies from within as static bone moved in the only way it could. It meant the dye was a weak secondary line of defense. The face-obscuring goggled mask had been the first. At least three devices had come off the belts on impact: she could see their edges among the volumes. So had the mask. "Oh, isn't that too bad," the elder softly said. "She's seen my face." The younger, almost fully turned now, hesitated. "We can go. We can go right now --" "-- do you like my face, little sparkler?" the elder half-whispered. "We can get to the door," said the one who'd originally been vocally willing to kill, who now seemed to feel something else entirely. "We can go --" "She's seen me. She can identify me. Cops in every settled zone can look for us. It's never happened before. It's not happening now." All the way up. Hooves starting to paw the floor in a certain way. "And you said... you were fine with taking out a Bearer... So do you like my face, little sparkler? Is it a good thing to have as the last you'll ever see?" And Twilight... was still trying to get up. Then she stopped. Lay still on the floor near the checkout desk, head elevated just enough to see them. "Get out of my library." They stared at her. They laughed. "Seriously," the elder smoothly whispered. "Those are her last words. That's all a Bearer can come up with before the trampling. No magic, little sparkler. You can't cast right now and I don't see a single device. You're not big enough for that horn to do much good, and it doesn't look like a sharp one to begin with. You're tiny, and you're out of ramps. So -- tell you what. New last words. I'll mail them to the precinct in time for somepony to repeat them at your memorial service. One last shot. What do you want ponies to remember you by?" Twilight thought about it, and came up with what, under different circumstances, just might have been the worst last words in Equestrian history. "We're closed for reshelving." Her horn ignited. Partial corona. Single. Double. And she let the energy go. She let it go everywhere. Sparks flew and, given that they were in the heart of the library, nearly all of them hit books. Moving large numbers of objects... they generally had to match, for size and movement patterns alike. She could lift a hundred identical boxes as long as every last one was going in the same direction. Work with too many different shapes, throw in unusual kinetics, and it would tire her out: the animal stunt shortly before Trixie's return to Ponyville had been exceptionally ill-timed. But these were mostly books, with some periodicals thrown in. And Twilight wasn't directing them. Nothing was. The energy acted at random, did as the illness wished, and what Rhynorn's Flu wished to do was scoop up a few hundred books and start accelerating them. The first ones began to fly over her head. Twilight was gratified to see a decent percentage of hardcovers. And then the screams began. She didn't see most of what happened, for the sane thing to do was get to shelter, any degree of it available, and so she pushed her small body under her librarian's bench and used the checkout desk to shield her right side. But she saw enough. The books flew through the air, and too many of them went nowhere that would help, for that was how randomness worked: a number just wound up in different sections, at least three exited through different (closed) windows, and she thought she heard one simply put itself back. But with the sheer numbers involved, some of them were going to head for the mares. The mares who screamed, tried to dodge, get out of the way -- which just put them in the path of books which, until they'd moved, weren't going to hit. The impacts resounded. The hardest ones came from volumes where Twilight had been lucky enough to have them land spine-first, which gave them the stopping power of a very large brick. One particularly satisfactory thud said The Ridiculously More Than Complete Guide To Mazein hadn't been done for the night, and it produced the loudest scream of all as a kneecap shattered. "We've got to get out!" the younger screamed. "We can't --" "I'M GOING TO KILL --" "-- your foreleg's broken! There's too much noise! There's broken windows! Somepony's going for the police right now, you know it! Please, sis, please -- we've got to go now!" Another impact: hind hoof into side. The younger gasped. "And now she knows we're related," the elder snarled. "Get me out of here. Get me out before you do anything else..." They staggered to the door, taking more hits along the way... ...gone. Twilight's horn went dark, and she waited for the very last of the crashing sounds, plus ten seconds for safety, before she risked coming out from under the bench. Slowly got to her hooves, muscles aching from something more than illness, and looked around, just in time to see the first of her neighbors come through the open door. "Twilight!" somepony gasped. (She wasn't sure who: her vision was starting to get blurry again.) "What happened? What happened... what happened to the library?" She forced herself to look around. Squinted. Books. Books everywhere. Books on the floor. On benches. Outside, since the window-breakers would have landed eventually. On the ramp, in the kitchen, covers open, pages visible, books which were upside-down and fallen open in a way that would crinkle pages, books twisted and scattered and put through chaos, and that was before she got to the magazines... "Oh... oh dear..." "Twilight?" asked that not-yet-identifiable pony. "Is -- is anypony going to the police?" The room was starting to spin. Or maybe that was just her. "Because the thieves were just here. And then they left." "We've got a pony on the gallop," came a stallion voice, somewhere behind the first pony. "Miss Sparkle, what happened?" Hooves and mouth and brain and hundreds of books everywhere... "Somepony? Please go upstairs and check on Spike. The bed shielded him, but he's not going to wake up for a while, they drugged him and... oh..." Twilight sighed as all four knees sagged, as she gulped at the air and did everything she could not to faint, "...this is going to be so much work..." The thieves were on the run, or at least on the very severe limp. Every doctor for ten gallops around had been alerted to watch for a large earth pony mare with a broken kneecap. There had been no word yet -- but then, there hadn't been time for them to travel very far. And Twilight was assessing the damages. Windows needed replacing. No books had been lost, but some had been damaged, and one of those had been a volume whose wound made her want to weep -- but she had hopes that the Bradels could bring it all the way back. Snips' mother had skills. The library was also being cleaned up. But for that, she had help. "It's funny," Applejack remarked after her nimble mouth replaced another volume. "What happened in the end." "How?" Twilight asked, after failing to match the same level of mandible dexterity. "Well... y'didn't have magic. An' y'solved it -- with magic." Applejack shrugged. Spike slowly trudged by, paused, yawned deeply. "What did you think she was going to do?" "Dunno," Applejack admitted. "It sure ain't what Ah would have done, but Ah'm bigger. An' no horn. Still... kinda typical, Ah guess. Typical Twi. Even when she can't cast, she goes an' casts..." And all Twilight could do was ruefully shrug. "We should take a break soon," she said. "I want to take Ratchette to the police evidence locker." She glanced over to where the mechanic was working on the Periodicals section. "We got seven of their devices, including the ones which got knocked off by the books -- but three of those are broken, and I want to find out if she can get them running again. I know what the goggles do, and I'm pretty sure the completely-discharged one is their Intensifier. I'm lost on the rest. But if they're something we can use, once the police don't need them any more, and if no original owner is looking for them... finders keepers." "She'll have fun," Applejack decided. "For her idea of fun, anyways. Twi?" "What?" "Feelin' any better? The flu?" "No. Still at least two and a half days to go." "Yeah." A pause. "Feelin' better -- 'bout the rest of it?" She thought about it, went to get another book, paused to rub Spike's spines. Hooves. Mouth. Brain... "Much." ...friends. And family.