Armor's Game

by OTCPony

Sowing the Seeds

Fancypants exchanged smiles with Filthy Rich. Together, they pushed through the oak double doors and into the entrance hall of the Riches’ Canterlot mansion. A storm of flashbulbs greeted them as a crowd of reporters stood ready to hear the latest pronouncement from Equestria’s joint kings of business.

They took their positions behind podiums, each bearing the logo of Rich Industries and Toffeenose Mining. The grand staircase of the mansion stretched up behind them, an appropriate piece of symbolism for these two captains of industry leading Equestria to ever greater heights. Or so they’d both agreed when they’d worked out the stage management of their announcement.

“Mares and gentlestallions,” drawled Filthy Rich. “Thank you all for coming. Today, myself and Mr. Fancypants are happy to announce a new business venture between our two companies, one that we hope will be of benefit to all of Equestria.”

“By now we will all be aware of the crisis our small farms are facing,” continued Fancypants. “The so many of our young ponies are deployed with the Army that small holdings risk becoming unprofitable. A bad business, I’m sure we all agree.”

“Now, to comment on the current war is perhaps beyond even the considerable qualifications of my business colleague!” said Filthy Rich, to a general chuckle. “But what sort of ponies are we if we allow our young mares and stallions to return home to failed farms and destitution?”

“This is why we are today announcing a new joint initiative between Rich Industries and Toffeenose Mining to invest in our small farms,” said Fancypants triumphantly. “We invite any farmer in difficulties to apply for financial aid from either of our companies, to be paid back according to the individual ability of each. Through this, we hope that together we can provide financial security to not just our farmers at home and our young ponies fighting abroad, but to all of Equestria!”

Fancypants and Filthy Rich exchanged smiles again as the crowd of reporters rose to their hooves, cameras flashing and shouting questions. A very good business.

***

“So what do you think of that, Berry?” said Diamond Tiara snootily. “What do you say to me after my daddy had to step in to save that farm of yours?”

Berry Pinch shied away, shrinking closer to her desk as the immaculately-coifed heiress to the Rich fortune stood over her. “Well?”

“Yeah, your daddy, not you!” snapped Dinky Hooves from across the schoolroom. “And he doesn’t expect a thing back from it!”

“Oh, is that so?” demanded Diamond Tiara huffily. “Well, I wouldn’t really expect a filly with parents like yours to know how ‘interest’ works.”

Silver Spoon giggled as Dinky stood up. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“All right class, settle down!” said Cheerilee, slightly louder than usual as she pushed through the schoolroom door. Diamond Tiara blew a raspberry at Dinky as the Unicorn filly sat looking daggers at her.

The classroom of foals watched, some attentive, some yawning, some with glazed expressions, as Cheerilee took up a chalk and began to write out the lesson plan on the blackboard. All except for three fillies huddled over a single desk at the back of the room, poring over a book and speaking in hurried whispers.

“Find out any more about the humans?” whispered Scootaloo.

“Nah, best Ah’ve got so far is that they walked on two legs,” hissed Apple Bloom.

“So all we have to do is pull up the ramp on the Clubhouse!” whispered Sweetie Belle excitedly.

“Wha’ if they pull it down again?” asked Apple Bloom.

“We can break it up and throw bits at them!” said Scootaloo, grinning.

“Yeah, an’ then how do we get out?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Scootaloo dejectedly. “Hey! Sweetie Belle can levitate us...!”

“I can’t even lift a pencil yet,” said Sweetie Belle sadly.

“If you picked us up, you could fly us down!” said Apple Bloom.

Scootaloo looked down at her wings. “Yeah, about that...”

“Oh yeah, sorry...”

“GIRLS!”

The Crusaders looked up to see Miss Cheerilee and the entire class looking at them. “Would you perhaps like to share what is so much more important than my lesson?”

“Uh, I, wha’...” began Apple Bloom.

Cheerilee trotted over and examined the book lying on the desk. “The Origin. I’ve told you three about this before.” She sighed and picked it up. “You can have this back at the end of the day.”

***

“BIG MCINTOSH!” came the screech from the Sweet Apple Acres tool shed. “Where in tarnation is the bobbed wire?!”

Big McIntosh sighed, unharnessed himself from the plough and walked sedately over to the tool shed. He’d taken delivery of ten new rolls of fencing wire only last week and so far they’d only had to use four of them. Granny Smith had seen him storing the wire away, so it wasn’t as if she didn’t know.

Sweet Apple Acres was in no danger of failing like some other farms in the area, but with Applejack away with the Army, things were much harder now than they had ever been. And Granny Smith wasn’t helping. Nopony could ever say that Big Mac didn’t love his Granny, but her eyes and ears were going and it was time for the matriarch of the Apple Clan to slow down. When could he tell her? Not now; it would leave him even more short-hoofed, but it would have to be soon. As soon as the war was over and Applejack was home, then they could tell her together.

Granny Smith stood squinting into the tool shed when Big Mac arrived, looking the same as she had for as long as he could remember: snow-white mane and tail done up in proper buns, legs frail but steady, her face wrinkled but still loving. “Big Mac, did you use all tha’ fencing wire?”

“Nope,” said Big Mac, with infinite patience.

“Well it’s gone and disappeared somm’ere! You know darn well we need to keep spares!”

“Eyup,” he said calmly. The wire was still there, he was certain of it. He walked slowly over to the door to look in. Maybe Granny Smith’s eyesight was worse than he’d feared. Or could it be something more serious?

“Wha’...?” he muttered, stopping mid-step. The back wall of the tool shed, where he’d left the six spare rolls of barbed wire only yesterday afternoon was utterly bare. Absurd thoughts filled his head. Had there been a break-in? If so, why had none of the other tools been stolen?

“Well,” rambled Granny Smith. “Sure it’s around here somm’ere. Maybe I’ll ask Apple Bloom later...”

Apple Bloom. “Eyup,” said Big Mac, through gritted teeth. As Granny Smith hobbled away back to the farm house, Big Mac spun on his hooves and galloped off into the West Orchard.

As he ran he told himself he was mistaken. Sure, Apple Bloom and the Crusaders had done some dumb things in the past, but she knew better than to steal vital farm equipment. Didn’t she?

Weaving through the apple trees, Big Mac pushed into the clearing that held the Cutie Mark Crusaders’ tree house, and stopped dead in his tracks.

The trunk of the tree was utterly swathed in the missing barbed wire, which reached up the trunk and on to the Clubhouse balcony, snaking all the way around the tree house leaving only a small gap for the door. The ramp had been pulled up. All the windows were totally boarded up, and crudely-carved wooden spikes had been nailed to the walls to stop anypony from getting close. “CMC No Surrender” and “Humans Out” had been daubed on the walls in white paint. From a flagpole newly mounted on the roof, a flag bearing the CMC emblem fluttered and snapped defiantly in the wind.

With the sound of dozens of locks being undone, the Clubhouse door opened a crack. Apple Bloom emerged from inside, wearing her CMC cape over hockey pads and sporting a cycle helmet. “Oh hi, Big Mac! Is it time fir dinner yet?”

“N...nope,” stammered Big Mac.

Scootaloo appeared next to her attired similarly and clutching a club. “Good! Having The Origin taken off us cost us valuable human-defence preparation time! Come on, Apple Bloom! We need to test the scooter escape chute!”

The door slammed shut again.

“Nope,” muttered Big Mac as he backed away slowly. “Nope, nope, nope, nope...”

***

Blueblood turned off his radio with a glow of his horn. So this was Fancypants’ plan: mass investment in Equestria’s failing farms. It was an admirable strategy: socially responsible, likely to be profitable, and good for the ponies of Equestria as well as being good for business.

This of course meant that he could not allow it to happen at all.

How to go about it? The obvious thing to do was to destroy either Toffeenose Mining or Rich Industries. The latter was a difficult proposition: most of Filthy Rich’s investments were in agriculture and he could hardly poison every farm in the land, but as for Toffeenose Mining, Fancypants had dozens of large mines, and no matter how well-maintained they were, Blueblood knew from first-hoof experience that a mine was a disaster waiting to happen.

A smile plucked at his muzzle as he thought of the consequences of Fancypants being ruined. That it would bring personal satisfaction to Blueblood as well as forward his plans was an excellent bonus. Fancypants was said to be a very good friend of a certain Unicorn living in Ponyville. A certain Unicorn that had once spurned him at the Grand Galloping Gala...

He relished for a moment the anger that rose inside him as he remembered what that bitch Rarity had done to him that night. Not just spurned him, when she should have been on her knees before a stallion of his birth, but humiliated him before the entire court! Yes, he would take great satisfaction in punishing that parvenu whore one day. Now, that day might well be far closer than he had ever imagined a few months ago. Destroying her friend Fancypants would be a welcome first step.

Of course, he realised after a moment, there were practical issues. The Blueblood Mining Consortium had a good deal of investment tied up in Fancypants’ new operations in the Crystal Empire, and his most reliable proxy was currently being invalided home to the military wing of Canterlot General Hospital after shooting himself in the hoof.

Blueblood cursed Twist Turn’s stupidity. He’d known he might have to take extreme measures to get out of the Army, but he hadn’t expected Twist Turn to go so far as to actually cripple himself! That wasn’t worth an extra ten thousand bits! Still, at least Cordwainer’s brother had shown that he was committed and loyal, if not particularly intelligent. His plan would have to be on hold for at least a month.

And yet, he thought suddenly, that might solve his investment problem nicely.

He stood up from his desk and strode to his office door. He would have to have a look at his stocks portfolio, he thought, as the gong rang downstairs, and then of course he needed to get Twist Turn’s letters to the pro-Parliamentarian press.

But first, dinner.

***

In a down-market diner in the heart of Trottingham, Cordwainer laid a plate of hay fries on the table.

“Thanks,” muttered Rough Charger. In one shaking hoof he held a chipped mug of builder's tea. He took a fortifying swig before digging into the fries.

Cordwainer sat down opposite him. He’d much prefer to carry out this dirty business in a dark alleyway. Quicker, less talk, and he wouldn’t have to endure these vile surroundings. But to meet there would have made Charger suspicious, so he’d held his nose and picked The Greasy Spoon.

The security guard finished the fries quickly and seemed more prepared to talk. “Listen, you know there’s been ponies asking after that warehouse.”

“You said. You also said they weren’t police.”

“Yeah, but they looked official.” Charger’s eyes swept the grimy restaurant, as if he expected the police to burst in at any moment. “Look, I knows you’ve got something going on, and I don’t wanna know what it is, but I ain’t going to jail for you.”

Cordwainer sighed. “We didn’t want it to come to this, not for you, but it should be possible for my boss to get the police off your back.”

Charger’s eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“With the right bits in the right hooves.” Cordwainer pulled a small wooden box from the nondescript grey hoodie he’d been forced to don for anonymity. He laid it on the sticky tabletop.

Charger frowned and opened the box. Inside were dozens of gold coins stacked in neat rows.

“Another five thousand for your trouble,” said Cordwainer, smiling. “Would we really give that to a pony we were going to throw on to the tracks?”

Rough Charger gave a relieved smile. “Heh, yeah. Thanks.”

“It’s no problem at all. We’ll get the investigation stopped.”

“Great. I can’t tell you how much I needed this...”

Cordwainer listened as Charger rambled on. Blueblood had known the security guard had money troubles and so had been an obvious target for the warehouse plan. He’d known that because Blueblood owned the holding company: nopony could possibly expect the owner of the company to use his own lots in carrying out the crime. They’d hidden their operation in plain sight and had got away with it. Or so they would by the end of the day.

Ponies had an extremely low tolerance for taxine, a toxic substance found in the seeds of the berries of yew trees. Yews were popular shrubs for ornaments, so Charger’s death wouldn’t incriminate Cordwainer or Blueblood: Cordwainer had taken a dozen seeds from a tree at the mansion before he’d left for Trottingham, then ground them to a fine powder and sprinkled them over Charger’s hay fries. The security guard had just ingested enough taxine to kill four fully-grown stallions. If there had been any odd taste, he had dismissed it as cheap cafe cuisine.

Five minutes later, Cordwainer said his goodbyes and left the cafe, throwing his hood over his head as he walked. Charger would go to bed feeling slightly ill, and would be dead before the morning. Maybe the investigation would turn up a pony who remembered seeing a stallion in a hoodie eating with him that night, but by then that stallion would be in Canterlot again, wearing a tailcoat and polishing silver.

Comments

[The_Machinist]

When are you going to get humans involved?

[The Good Boy]

ya when are you going to get to that

[Valumior]

4782341

Seconded.