Chapter 14: Tempest
Onto the Pony Planet
Chapter 14: Tempest
Admiral Biscuit
"Do you think she’s ready to be moved?" Redheart asked.
"Hmm?" Dr. Stable set Kate’s chart down and slid it off to the side.
"The girl—Ka-th-rin? Is she healthy enough to be moved to the embassy?"
"I don't know." The unicorn frowned and glanced back at the chart, even though he didn’t need to re-examine it to answer Redheart’s question. "Her magical signature has hardly improved . . . although, it is a close match to the stallion's, um, to Dale's. It's worryingly low, still, but perhaps that's normal for them."
"Dale seemed in good condition this afternoon, when I took his clothes to the embassy," Redheart reported. She reached up and began tugging at her cap.
"Here, let me." Dr. Stable turned to face Redheart and wrapped his field around her cap. "I just don't know if it's safe to have her out of our care."
"Is it safer—ouch!—to leave her here, though? She might do better with—stop tugging on my mane—Dale!"
"Sorry."
"You'd think that after this many years of practice, you could do it right." Redheart reached up and wiggled her cap free of the bobby pins. “Give you a pair of tweezers, and you can slip a splinter out in a trice, but I swear to Celestia, as soon as you touch a mare's mane. . . ."
"I know, I know." Dr. Stable sighed. "Why didn't you have Sweetheart do it?"
"She’s stuck upstairs: Ka-th-rin's feeling 'touchy' again. Sweetheart's waiting her out." Redheart rolled her eyes. "That's eating into other patients’ time, you know."
"But what if something does happen?" He slid over on the bench and Redheart joined him. "She's not like Screwy; she's barely capable of functioning on her own. You're lucky she even remembers to use the toilet."
"I disagree." Redheart pulled a cardboard canister of dried apricots across the table. "Did you swipe this from the kitchen?"
"I was hungry!"
"Bad doctor!" Redheart slapped his hoof. "If Apple Cobbler finds out, she'll hobble you—see if she doesn't." She tipped it out on the table. "Half Ka-th-rin's problem is she's completely intoxicated on morphine, and the other half is that she doesn't understand a word we say. If she's with Dale, that at least solves one problem."
Redheart reached for an apricot, but the doctor pulled them out of her reach. "Ah, ah. If she knows you're eating them too, you'll be in hobbles as well, and then who will take care of our patients?"
Redheart made a face. "Ka-th-rin would love it if I couldn't run away." She reached a hoof toward the floating apricots the doctor was dancing in front of her muzzle. "Besides, I'm not the one who stole them. Cobbie'll forgive me."
Dr. Stable kept waving the apricots just out of her reach. "Who's the best doctor in the whole hospital?"
Redheart rolled her eyes. "You are."
"That's my mare." He dropped them back on the table and Redheart stuffed them in her mouth before he could yank them away again.
"Unless Dr. Goodall's still here," Redheart said around a mouthful of apricots. Dr. Stable swatted her with the chart.
"I'm not sure I feel comfortable moving her. This is all she knows—how's she going to react with being transported through town to the embassy? Will we have to carry her? Probably will—we can get a wagon. We might have to use restraints."
Redheart swallowed the fruit. "Goodall could keep an eye on her at the embassy, and Zecora too. You, as well, part of the day. Just to make sure everything's okay. And we'd have to have a couple of nurses—me and Sweetheart, probably, over there twice a day for treatment." She pushed an apricot over the table idly. "Of course, we can get Lecol to keep helping as long as we need—that's another pair of eyes. There’s ample room to have someone there full-time, for as long as it takes for her to be healed."
"Not too many patients are here right now," Dr. Stable said thoughtfully. “So it wouldn’t hurt us if we were a little short-hooved.”
"No; I'm glad Ka-th-rin and Dale came after foaling season." Redheart leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Why don't you soak in the hot tub and think about it, hmm? I'm gonna tuck Rhyme in, and then check on Sweetheart if she isn't down yet."
"I—"
"It'll clear your head. Celestia knows you need it." She tousled his mane and got up off the bench.
“All right. I can run it by Lecol, Goodall, and Zecora tomorrow morning when we get ready for surgery.”
• • •
“Were you and Daddy fighting?”
“No, dear.” Redheart pulled Rhyme's blanket up. “We were talking about a patient. We're discussing treatment options. Grown-up stuff.”
“Okay, that's good.” She wrapped her forehooves around her doll. "It's not nice to fight."
“What did you think about the field trip?”
“It was fun, even if we had to be all the way in the back.” Her eyes twinkled in the soft light of the lamp. “I couldn't barely hear what the . . . Deal said.”
“It's Dale,” Redheart corrected. “Did he speak Equus?”
“I think so?” she said uncertainly. “He said 'good morning,' but then I didn't hear the rest. He was too quiet and his voice was too low.” She turned her ears back up. “Fancy Pants said a bunch of nice things. How come some ponies in town don't like Canterlot unicorns? He was nice.”
“It's complicated.”
“Everypony likes Miss Twilight Sparkle, an' she's from Canterlot.”
Not everypony, Redheart thought. “She's nice and helpful, that's why we like her. Plus, she lives here.” She patted Nursery Rhyme on the head. “What did the rest of the class think about him?”
“Um . . . well, everypony was kind of scared of Deal. 'Cause he was big, like a minotaur. Even from far away, you could see how big he was. Big enough to carry off a foal.” She hugged her doll tightly. “Oh, and there was a griffon too; Scootaloo saw him. But we all agreed that if Miss Mayor said Deal was okay, and Miss Twilight Sparkle said he was okay, then he must be okay, because they wouldn't say so if it wasn't true. They can't lie about things like that. But nopony said anything specific about the other one, the one that's still here. How come they didn't? Is she going to die?”
“Where do you get that idea?”
“Well . . . yesterday Sweetie Belle overheard her sister talking to Twilight about her, but when Sweetie came into the room, everypony got real quiet, like it was something that she shouldn't know about, and I heard you and Sweetheart talking about how badly hurt she is, and I know sometimes older ponies hide it from younger ponies when somepony is in a bad way, so I thought—“
Redheart patted her on the head. “She's not going to die.” She lowered her voice. “She's got a badly burned hand—that's like what Spike's got instead of hooves on his arms—and we had trouble finding the right spell to fix it. But we did, and it's getting better. We're thinking of moving her out of the hospital soon, and we wouldn't be if we thought she was about to die. Now—did you take a bath and brush your teeth?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That's a good filly. Time to go to sleep, so you'll be ready for school tomorrow.”
"Can you wake me up early so I can have breakfast with Zecora and the pretty white Prench doctor?”
“If they're here, yes you can. I’ll make sure of it.” Redheart reached over and turned out the light. “Good night.”
“Night!”
Redheart pulled the door shut behind her gently, listening to the latch click home. She yawned, looked up and down the hall to make sure nopony had seen that breach of decorum, and then quietly headed for the washroom. She could always check on Sweetheart after a nice soak in the hot tub.
If anypony had seen Fancy Pants, they would have been in shock. Rumors around the Nobles' Council were that he never took off his jacket or tie, and while that was certainly not true—a stallion had to bathe, and he certainly didn’t sleep in his clothes—he would never be seen in public without them, or his trademark monocle.
But nopony besides Fleur ever watched him when he was burning the midnight oil. He was hunched over the tiny writing-desk in the hotel room, papers spread all around him, some balanced on the very edge of the desk and a few more on the floor, scattered around the chair. He was poking holes in his own defense of Lyra. Better that he spot the flaws in his argument and have a counterargument prepared, than be taken by surprise in court.
His tie was undone, and his jacket was neatly hung in the closet. He still wore his shirt and vest, but the top button and cuffs were unfastened. His monocle was neatly set on the side table, its chain providing a protective barrier for his cufflinks.
Will they bring up the possibility of spell modification? Fancy Pants twirled his felt-tip pen around in his field, deep in thought. It's beyond what Lyra could do on her own—based on the evidence from school, but they might imply it was possible . . . especially if somepony helped her. Who would gain from such a thing? Lyra, possibly. There weren't very many ponies who knew about Dale before he arrived. But the spell was one of Starswirl's—I can play that angle. Or should I downplay it? His spells were known for their flexibility.
He cocked an ear as a key slid into the lock, and a moment later Fleur entered, a grin on her face like a cat that had just gotten into the cream.
“Where have you been?”
“Down at the train station.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Picking up on gossip. I called in a favor in Manehattan and found out who's going to be presenting the Crown's case.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “You're going to love this—it's Noble Voice.”
“That's not the reason you look so smug,” he said. “Any foal could have guessed that. Who else would it have been?”
Fleur blew a raspberry. “You're saying that, but you had no idea.” She lifted a page of his notes in front of her face. “Let’s see: ‘What if pros. brings dueling history into question—Lyra's signature spells? Misinterpreted? Can dumb down, Princess Luna won't be fooled.’ As if Noble Voice would ever dumb down an explanation. He loves to hear himself talk.”
“And that will be the rope with which I shall hang him.” He sighed. “At least, on the magic part. He's quick when it comes to motive, though; I'll give him credit for that. His strongest argument is going to be a believable why, most likely.” He tapped a hoof on the desk. “I could ask for a continuance. Give me more time to interview Dale, see if I could get some more information out of him. On the other hoof, Noble Voice's operating under the same handicap. Is he in town yet?”
“No, his train was delayed in Baltimare. His assistant is already here, though, and the two of them have been telegraphing back and forth for hours.”
“And naturally, you just happened to have business down at the train station.”
“Of course! I’d sent a telegram to our estate in Canterlot, and had to wait for a reply.” Fleur gave him a guileless look. “And what better place to read my copy of Equestria’s Railroads than the Ponyville train station? It’s not my fault that the most comfortable bench is right next to the telegraph office, or that I just so happen to know telegraph code.” She ran a hoof through his mane. “If you were hoping he’d miss the trial, Noble Voice will still be here in the morning."
"He wouldn't miss it for the world, I'm sure." Fancy Pants rolled his head around, cracking his neck. “It's fine if he's on time, or a few minutes late. That might work to our favor—if he's had a long uncomfortable night, he won't be able to focus his questions."
“He'll be calling a local guard as a witness, and he's got one with him, too—one of the ones who was with Princess Celestia the first time. He's bringing Professor Laureate from Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. They're trying to wrangle a psychologist, too, but I couldn't tell from the messages if that's a done deal, or who it is.”
"I wish this was a civilian trial. He'd have to give me the list of his witnesses before springing them at the trial. Still, I bet I can get Miss Sparkle to rebut Professor Laureate, if I need to." Fancy Pants scribbled down a note. “I'll have to ask Lyra about the first meeting. So, give. You've still got that half-smile of yours—what else did you find out?”
Fleur rested a hoof on his shoulder. “I remember the griffon that was at the embassy. We saw him a couple of years ago at a play in Manehattan. Remember? He was sitting in a box across the theatre from us.”
“But was never introduced during the reception, was he?” Fancy Pants finished for her. “So, he's not griffon ambassadorial staff. Not then. He probably still had his birth name.”
“And probably not now,” she replied. “You know that the griffons still organize in clans, and his plumage doesn't match the embassy staff's. Unless there was a coup recently, he's got no official standing.”
“They all look the same to me,” Fancy Pants lamented.
“That's because you're a stallion. You don't notice the small details.” Fleur patted him on the shoulder. “I telegraphed a message to Canterlot before I left the station. Princess Celestia isn't going to be happy about this.”
Gerard had flown northeast for hours after leaving the embassy in Ponyville, not stopping for anything except occasional sips from streams. It was a pity he was in a hurry; the land below was teeming with wildlife, and he had to fight the urging of his empty stomach to dive down on a tender, juicy fawn, disembowel it, eat his fill, and carry some home with him for the rest of his clan.
Instead, he focused back on his day in Ponyville. As the strongest endurance flier in his clan, he'd been sent to investigate the troop movements, a mission which had gotten much more urgent when the evening watch received a message from the embassy in Canterlot that new creatures had appeared in Ponyville. The message was vague on details, just that a credible source had discussed them at length at the embassy.
Once he'd arrived in Ponyville, he hadn't even had to find a local contact—the first pony he'd met asked him if he was going to the embassy meeting, and then given him directions.
Once all the speeches were over, he had more questions than answers, and was curious to get a closer look at the creature that had allegedly come from the stars. As if that were possible, he thought. Everyone knew that there was nothing up there but cold, unforgiving emptiness. Certainly, nothing could live there. Why, at the tops of the tallest peaks, the air was barely thick enough to breathe, and flight was nearly impossible. One would have thought that it would be warm, since it was closer to the sun, but it wasn't.
Pretending to be Sharpbeak was worth it. Those stuffy nobles didn't know, the guardponies didn't know, and Ambassador Heartstrings surely didn't know. And even if they figure out that I’m not who I said I was, it’s too late.
Once the sun set, he kept his position by following the true stars—those which Luna held no sway over—and the magical leylines which circled the planet. As important as it was, he dared not go to Canterlot with the information he had; while he may have bluffed his way by the guardponies at the door of the embassy, they might have included his name and description on the guest list after the fact. If they had, he might find himself answering awkward questions in Canterlot, or even imprisoned for a night or two before the Griffon embassy could secure his release.
But there were lonely peaks in the Unicorn range where the ponies didn't go, and one of those peaks was his destination. A large cave which overlooked a lush valley was temporary home to a small clan of griffons, and while it was no real eyrie, it had the advantage of being centrally-located, a long day’s flight—for a fast flier—from Canterlot, and conveniently close to the railroad.
Gerard dipped a wing and circled the mountain, his sharp eyes scanning the face for any sign of ponies. Seeing none, he dove towards the mountain, as if he had just sighted prey. He dropped along a fault escarpment in the rock, which hid him from view from all but one direction, flaring his wings to check his speed. Some judicious pruning of the foliage had made this a near-perfect landing field, yet it looked completely natural from a distance.
He dropped down rapidly once he reached a small clearing, and came in for a hard landing, skidding for a moment on the dewy grass before he caught himself. He turned to locate the trail and stepped on a sharp rock they should have cleared from their landing area.
"Rave!" Gerard lifted his hind paw and pulled it loose with the opposite talon. He clutched the stone tightly and flung it as far away as he could, before he loped through the woods, towards the rear entrance to their cave.
As he reached the tree which served as their outer marker, he hooted quietly, his voice very nearly resembling an owl. An answering hoot came from the thicket, and he impatiently pushed his way through, reaching the dark tunnel of the cave. He didn't bother to look for the sentry.
Gerard shuddered as his head entered the cavern. It wasn't natural to have the sky covered, and he'd always had trouble with claustrophobia, something which had almost made him lose his place on the team.
“Brothers,” he announced. “My mission was a complete success.”
He waited while his junior companions gave him pats on the back and shook his talon, and gratefully accepted a half-full bottle of Red Minotaur. With his beak, he tugged the cork out and drank a quarter of the bottle, grimacing as the rotgut burned its way down his throat. He handed the bottle back, and it was passed solemnly around the room, leaving only dregs at the bottom when it came back to him.
He finished it off, and threw it against the wall. “Brothers,” he said again. “Last night, you sent me to Ponyville to see what the pony Princess was up to. I quickly made contact with a pegasus mare, and she told me that there was to be a dedication of a new embassy today, and that all were welcome to attend.
“I listened to their speeches—mostly congratulating themselves on being so clever—and I saw their ambassador. What's more, I saw who they were welcoming to Ponyville. It was some kind of biped, which they said came from the stars.”
He paused, waiting for the chuckles to die down. “I do not know if that is true, or if they found it in some distant land, and wished to inflate its powers. But I wanted a closer look, so I went to the embassy.
“I posed as Sharpbeak, and I demanded that they let me in. The guards fell for it, of course, and presently I was admitted to the embassy. I spoke briefly with Lyra, and shook with her and with the 'alien.' He was well-dressed in traditional garb, but only spoke broken Equestrian.”
“Until yesterday, I had never heard of such a creature. Not even in Griffon legends, which the ponies have long forgotten. It may indeed be an inhabitant of a far-off planet." The elder griffon stepped to the center of the circle. His coat was crossed with old battle scars, and his left talon was missing a toe. “We now know that there was a magical spell which summoned one or more creatures to Equestria from somewhere else, and it is very likely that this is one of them. And it was rumored that long ago, the ponies had spells which let them travel to the sun and moon. Perhaps they have re-discovered and improved them. We must get this news to Canterlot quickly, and our allies will know what to do.” He turned to Gerard. “You were lucky to get in, and were fortunate that Princess Celestia's soldiers in Ponyville have drawn down. What do you think of the strategic situation around the embassy?”
“Their defenses are not very good, Chief Threeclaw. They let me in, after all. The embassy is a converted house with a thatch roof, and not properly defended, although he had a group of guards—both unicorns and pegasi—with him when he traveled. As usual, they are complacent in their security. If this creature is as unique or valuable as they claim, he should be held in a fortress.”
“Lyra should not be underestimated,” the chief said. “She was a grandmaster.”
“That was years ago.”
“Spells and instincts learned are not so quickly forgotten.” Threeclaw retorted. He looked at the faces around him. “We should quickly pass this along.” He tapped a talon against the stone. “Get me Le Quadrille De Homards. We'll use that one.”
“We never use that one,” a griffon muttered as he walked over to a bookshelf.
“Then they won't be expecting it.” Threeclaw swished his tail eagerly. “Gerard, take a piece of paper and write a summary of what you saw. Be concise; we still have to encode it, get down the mountain, and transmit it, and we'll want it done in time for our embassy staff to decode it by the morning.”
“I'll start with a description of the 'alien,'” he said. “In case somebody on the staff knows what it is.” He walked over and grabbed a handful of paper, then stretched himself out on the floor uncomfortably and began writing.
It took five minutes to write the message, then another hour to encode it, despite its brevity. The method was simple: each letter was replaced with a four-digit code. The first two digits represented a page number in the book, and the second two were the line number; the letter thus encoded was the first letter of that line. At the end of each word, they added the letter E, since by design it was the easiest to transmit. They repeated this until they'd reached the end of the book, and then started again from the beginning.
They had formerly used a simple substitution cipher, but ponies had used letter frequency analysis to break it. This was much more random, and the 'codebooks' they used could be picked up in any Prench bookstore, so their presence was completely innocuous.
To prevent counterintelligence figuring out which book they were using, they didn't ever transmit a title, but rather began every message with the same phrase—in Lyonnais instead of Prench or Equus—encoded with the book they were using. On the other end, a griffon would go through each of the dozen books so employed, until he got the correct phrase, and then he would know which one they'd used.
Once it was done, two of the smallest griffons—Ganix and Gorka—took the message and headed down the mountain, towards the railroad tracks. While they were waiting for the message, they had dusted their white feathers with wood ash, giving them a curiously mottled look. As ridiculous as it appeared, it was very effective camouflage.
They quickly arrived at a bend where the tracks swerved to avoid a rocky outcropping the ponies hadn't wanted to blast their way through. The telegraph key was well-hidden in a small cleft, and Ganix grabbed it free while Gorka looked up and down the tracks to make sure nobody was coming.
He didn’t seen any smoke from a locomotive, but sometimes it was hard to tell in the mountains—there were too many things that were too close, and the rails didn’t go straight at all. He stuck his talon on the rail, and then his head, feeling for vibrations. He’d been told that it was possible to know a train was coming by feeling the rails vibrate, but all he felt was a slight magical tingle.
Satisfied it was clear, he grabbed the spool of specially insulated wire and ran it out to the tracks, clipping one lead to the near rail, and the other to the ground rod they'd installed months ago.
“Who should we say it's from?” Ganix asked.
“Who did we use last?”
“Erm, Vanhoover.”
Gorka tapped a talon against the rocky ground, “Let's . . . let's say Vanhoover again. Make the EIA think they're on to something.” He grinned devilishly as Ganix began transmitting the call sign for Vanhoover station. Since they were tapped into the line, there was no way to know where the message had actually originated, but he'd bet his pinfeathers that there were EIA ponies trying to find out. As soon as they got this one, they'd be falling all over themselves to get back to the Vanhoover station, a copy of the message in hoof, demanding to know who'd sent it. Further down the line, the ponies would just relay the message until it got to the Canterlot station, where it would sit—nopony came to collect these messages. One of the staff at the Griffon Embassy had a house next to the tracks, and an automatic receiver in her basement. Every morning, she’d take the tape off the receiver and load it into her saddlebags, and bring it to the embassy, where it would promptly be turned over to the wizened griffon who headed their espionage department.
He fluffed his wings as the transmitting key clicked out the code. There was something so wonderful about using the ponies' own communications systems against them. It was a rush every time. His father had had to rely on encoded letters, and one never knew who was reading those. With the telegraph, though—everybody on the line got the message, but nobody knew who it was from or who it was addressed to, and Gorka thought that was much more satisfactory. Spying was better when it was done in plain sight, right under the oblivious muzzles of the ponies.
Luna stood on her balcony, her nose to the air. Her eyes were half-lidded, gazing beyond the horizon. She had been standing that way for an hour, and Dusk Glimmer was starting to get worried. Ever since Twilight had first gone to the Crystal Empire, Luna had seemed more preoccupied than usual, and Dusk wasn't sure if that was a sign of her gradual reintegration into Crown business, or a sign of something else.
She knew that Luna preferred to be undisturbed when she was on her balcony at night, so she kept herself busy inside, dusting around the piles of parchment and strange foreign books on Luna's desk, every so often looking out the Prench doors to see if Luna was still in the same position. Then she returned to her rounds, even though the room was already entirely dust-free.
For her part, Luna was watching over Equestria the way a ship's captain might watch the seas around her ship. She saw nothing of concern, yet she had a feeling that things were quickly coming to a head, and her senses were working overtime to determine what that threat might be. While Celestia may have had the advantage of knowing how ponies thought and acted, Luna had always been the better tactician. Well, almost always—her string of successes was marred with one humiliating defeat.
Off in the distance, over Ponyville, she could see faint flickers of lightning in the clouds. They haven't had any rain since the creatures arrived—the farmers must be having fits. A delayed rainstorm was the only reason the pegasi would set up a nighttime storm. They might have been getting pressure from Cloudsdale, too. Unfulfilled cloud orders had a way of rippling out over Equestria, and it could be weeks before the weather was back on schedule.
It's no bother. I've never minded flying above storms. She walked off her balcony and went back into her tower. All the law books she thought she'd need were packed and delivered to her guard tower, and she was certain that her thestrals were eager to leave.
She stuck her muzzle into her bedroom, where Trixie was fast asleep in the new bed her servants had finally assembled. If you are still here when I return, I'll know what kind of pony you really are, she thought.
“Dusk Glimmer?”
“Right here, Princess.”
“We must hie to Ponyville. Thou art in charge of our ward’s welfare for the duration of our absence. Keep a close watch on her, yet let her have her freedom. Should she make reasonable demands, thou shalt do thine utmost to fulfill them.”
Dusk Glimmer bowed. “Very good, Princess Luna.”
Luna leaned in close to her. “Thou art a good parent—we ask that thou dost treat Beatrix as thou wouldst one of thine own.” She gently nuzzled her maid on the neck and turned and walked out to her balcony.
She jumped over the low railing, snapping her wings open as she cleared the edge. Luna banked towards the barracks, hovering in front of the wide archway of their ready room. The wooden doors were open, and her two thestrals were waiting for her, their armor secured and polished to a dull gleam. The junior thestral, Darkwing, had bulky saddlebags strapped over his armor containing the legal tomes Luna felt she should bring along. Nightshade was wearing a red crystal medallion around his neck. Normally, the night guard patrolled without any lights, since their eyes were well-suited to the dark, but for a long flight like this, there was the possibility they could collide with another pegasus, especially as they neared the thunderstorm over Ponyville.
“Art thou ready?” Luna asked them. Both nodded.
Without a response, Luna dropped and inverted, rolling upright as her flight came level. Behind and above, the thestrals leapt into the night, following their Princess.
The flight to Ponyville was always easy, since it was below Canterlot. Even without the lights of the village to guide her, Luna knew exactly where she was headed, and maintained a fairly high altitude as they cleared Canterlot.
As they got close, she could begin to feel the flickers in the leylines as lightning discharged. Some pegasi were particularly sensitive to it; one of the castle servants’ coats stood on end for hours before a storm rolled in, and anypony who touched her got a shock.
The trio circled over Ponyville, keeping a watchful eye out for weather pegasi. Below them, they could see dozens of lights moving around as the night patrol maintained the storm. The lightning had diminished in frequency, but Luna could still see fairly frequent flashes.
She pointed a hoof down to where a cluster of pegasi were standing around a hole in the thick clouds, and they dropped down into the center of the group. As soon as they were spotted, pegasi began backing away from them even as they bowed.
“Princess Luna,” a stallion said. “What are you doing here?”
“We have Crown business in Ponyville,” she said. “Pray, who doth guide this storm?”
“Parasol,” he replied. “She’s down with Sky Wishes’ team, on fire patrol. We set up a deluge at the beginning, to try and wet things down, but sometimes a tree or house gets hit and set on fire by mistake.”
“A wise precaution. Have ye had any such accidents?”
“Nothing major for a few years,” he told her. “The last fire was a woodpile near Roma’s house. It was under trees and stayed dry, and then one of the trees got hit . . . it should have been cleared, the tree was half-dead. But we saw it before it got out of hoof, and moved some rainclouds right over it.”
Luna nodded and peered through the hole. It took her a minute to resolve the upside-down view of Ponyville with her memory of the village, but before too long she located the library, where a few lights were glowing in the upstairs windows.
“Thou shalt inform Parasol that we wish to commend her beautiful storm.” Luna looked back at her guards. “Come, we shall visit our sister’s student at the library.” She dove through the hole in the clouds, and was followed by her thestrals.
A very soft knocking at the hotel door drew Fleur's attention. Fancy had been up later than was wise, going over his notes and formulating his strategy for tomorrow. He might have stayed up all night, but she started undressing him after she woke to use the bathroom and saw he was still working.
She'd gotten most of his clothes off before he even noticed what she was doing, and was worrying that she might have to levitate him over to the bed; fortunately, he'd gotten the hint as she slipped his shirt off.
Fleur hadn't had to do much more than groom his mane before he was fast asleep, but she found that Luna's dreamscape was beyond her—at least, temporarily. She could smell rain, and it put her on edge. Ever since she was a filly, she liked playing in the rain, but now that she was a full-grown society mare, she hardly ever had the chance.
So, when a gentle tapping—not much louder than the first raindrops falling on the hotel's awning—came at the door, she turned to face it in annoyance. Now who would be calling at this hour? She disentangled herself from Fancy Pants and slid out of bed, tugging the door open before she was all the way across the room.
A surprised-looking guard stood on the other side of the door, sheets of official paper tucked under his wing. Fleur glared at him. “What brings you by at this hour?”
“Um.” He shifted on his hooves, turned his head and looked at the paper, then looked back at Fleur with an uncertain expression. “I, ah, I'm sorry to wake you, but I was told to deliver these charge sheets.” He relaxed his wing and let them fall; Fleur grabbed them with her horn before they could hit the ground. “I'm just following orders,” he added defensively.
Fleur relaxed her expression slightly. “Charge sheets,” she said flatly.
“That's all I know,” he mumbled, shifting his weight backwards. “I should have just slipped them under your door.”
“No, you shouldn't have,” she told him, and slammed the door in his face. Fleur went over to the desk—still covered with Fancy's papers—and sparked the oil lamp alight. Turning the wick down to give her the barest illumination, she read the warrants. The flickering light as the wind gusted across the lamp's chimney and the sudden increase in rain were appropriate for her mood, and for a moment she found herself wishing that the guard who'd delivered the message would be struck by lightning on his way back to his billet. No, better that he should have been struck on his way here, she thought darkly, looking back at the bed. I have no choice but to wake him. These can't wait until tomorrow.
She turned the wick up, and began sparking the rest of the lights in the room. Then she reluctantly trudged across to the bed and yanked the covers off, before putting a hoof on Fancy's withers and unceremoniously shaking him.
“What time is it?” he muttered groggily.
“I just received new warrants,” she informed him. Fancy Pants' head jerked up and he scrambled to his hooves.
“Where are they?”
She floated them towards him, and he snatched them halfway, bringing them to his face. Rude, yes, but it could be overlooked.
“Deliberate sabotage? Dangerous creatures?” He glanced up from the sheets. “That's utterly ridiculous.” He turned to Fleur. “Tell me, how did you come to receive this?”
She told him about the guardpony's quiet knocks, and his desire to simply slip it under the door. Fancy Pants furrowed his brow in thought and began pacing, the sheets following along beside him. “What’s your game?” he said to himself. “Why the new charges?” He suddenly stopped in his tracks, and looked back at Fleur. “This is a good thing,” he said. “This may work in our favor.” He skimmed the documents again, before setting it back on the desk. “They've gone too far. Yes, I can deal with this. Fleur, dear, do you think you could find a source of good espresso? I don't think I'll be getting any sleep tonight.” He turned his ears as thunder echoed through the room. “Never mind. I forgot there was a storm scheduled for tonight. I'll just go without.”
"A good mare must provide for her stallion," Fleur said. "I'll find some."
It was a beautiful day to be on the lake. The sky was perfectly cloudless, and the wind was just enough to be cooling, without raising any real chop. Dale paddled the canoe easily, knifing it through the waves towards North Fox. Lyra was standing just behind the bow thwart, and it would have been nice if she'd been paddling, too, but of course she couldn't because she was a pony and ponies can't hold paddles.
“What's that noise?” she asked him.
“It's nothing,” he said calmly. “Just the sound of the canoe going over the waves.”
“Really? Because it sounds like an outboard motor.”
Dale cocked an ear. It really did sound like an outboard motor. He turned around, spotting a boat racing up behind them. He recognized it instantly—it was a Coast Guard boat, and Kate was standing on the bow, lightly gripping the machine gun. I wonder why they have that out? he thought, before the water around the canoe turned to froth as a distant booming rumble came from the gun.
“Why are they shooting at us?” Lyra asked curiously.
“Because you're an alien! Help me out—pick up the paddle and use it!” he shouted back, but it was already too late. Somehow, the boat had circled around them, and was approaching from the bow. This time they weren't going to shoot, they were going to ram them and there was no way he could paddle fast enough to—
He sputtered and spit water out of his mouth. Aside from the floating paddles, there was nothing to be seen of the canoe. Behind him, the Coast Guard boat was sinking, the stern stuck comically in the air as it slipped beneath the lake. He began swimming towards Lyra, but a strong pair of hooves grabbed him under the arms and pulled him away. He looked up and saw that Kate was riding on the back of this green pony, and he started struggling and dropped back in the water, next to Lyra. He reached over and grabbed for her as a wave broke across his face and—
Dale woke up with a gasp. For a moment, he was completely disoriented—he was in bed, that much was certain, but where? And why was the booming noise from his dream continuing, and why was his face wet?
A brilliant flash of lightning answered all his questions. A blurry image of the room burned on his retinas, and he began blinking his eyes even as he was sliding out from under the damp covers.
He shuffled across the floorboards, trying to see through the afterimages of the last flash. Dale jerked in surprise as a wet curtain hit him in the cheek, followed immediately after by a wind-driven facefull of rainwater. He slammed the window shut and latched it, before wiping his arm across his face.
Lucky the weather held off until tonight, he thought. If this storm was that close, I'm surprised that they wanted to have the speeches outside, unless they've got more confidence in their weather forecasters than I would. Another bright flash illuminated the room, and he suddenly realized he was standing in a puddle. The wood floor was soaking wet in a wide arc from the window to the bed.
There will be towels in the kitchen, he thought. Need to dry the floor before it's damaged. Wouldn't that be something, to ruin my room the first day I'm in it? He returned to the bed, and slid his hand around the side table until he'd located his glasses, then went out into the hallway, trailing his left hand against the wall until it ended. Okay, this is the top of the stairs. Remember, there's no railing, and they're spaced wrong. Tentatively, he stuck a foot over the edge of the abyss, slowly lowering it until he felt it touch wood. He slowly shifted his weight forward, and put his other foot beside the first, then worked his way to the edge of that step.
He eventually made it to the bottom, and considered kissing the floor. First thing tomorrow, he reminded himself, tell them to put in a railing. That's more important than the plumbing.
As he reached the foyer, he looked at the front door, and wondered if the guards were standing outside, or if they had the good sense to seek shelter from the rain. He hoped they had—the thought of standing out there while wearing metal armor gave him a rather vivid mental image he hoped wouldn't come to pass.
It took several minutes in the kitchen to locate the towels. They were in a drawer he was certain he'd checked twice before. Dale grabbed a handful of them and headed back through the dining room, carefully skirting the table. He stopped for a brief look outside, before returning to the base of the staircase.
Thank heavens I don't have to pee, he thought. On a night like this—I wouldn't want to set foot outside the door, and even then I probably wouldn't stay dry. I can't imagine how inconvenient it would be to have to deal with this every day. I'll be so happy once the plumbing is finished.
He heard the windows rattle as a fresh gust of wind blew through the house. It brought with it the scent of damp soil, and he suddenly remembered that the downstairs bathroom window had been left open.
Dale went in the bathroom, which was also thoroughly soaked. He yanked the window shut and latched it, noticing that the rain had washed all the mud off the sill. With a regretful sigh, he got down on his knees and began mopping up the water in the bathroom.
He had to go to the kitchen twice to wring out the rags in the sink, and he was glad he'd seen Starlight using it, or else he would have assumed that its plumbing wasn't connected, either. Disappointingly, all the food from the party was gone—he would have liked a midnight snack, since he was up.
Once he was satisfied that the bathroom floor was as dry as he could make it with the tools at hand, he headed back to the staircase.
Going up was a little quicker, since he at least had the advantage that if he fell, he'd fall towards the stairs, although the open side was still quite disconcerting.
It took very little time before the towels were soaked and so he decided that rather than walk up and down the stairs, he'd just go into the bathroom and wring them out in the bathtub. In the morning, it could be emptied out, and if he couldn't find a stopper for the drain, he could just prop that end up on some of the tiles that were scattered around in the unfinished room.
As he walked down the hallway, a soft snort caught his attention. He followed the source of the noise to one of the other bedrooms and peered through the door before he could ask himself if that was a wise idea.
At the head of the bed, Lyra was lying on her side, half-covered by a comforter much like his own. Her face was buried in the mane of a white pony, who was lying on her back, the covers kicked down behind her hind hooves. Her mouth was open, and every now and then when her chest fell, she'd make a quiet snorting noise.
She looked vaguely familiar, but in the dim light Dale couldn't be sure that he'd seen her before, and her position was obscuring her cutie marks. She had a dark streak along her belly, and at first he thought it was her coat, but the longer he looked the more certain he was that it was mud. Is she the one who came in through the bathroom window? he wondered.
Dale shook his head and headed to the bathroom. He propped the tub up on a short stack of floor tiles and wrung his rags out, then walked down the hallway back to his room. He looked into Lyra's room as he went by; she and the other pony were still in the same position.
If she is the one who sneaked in through the window, why would they leave the door open? Maybe it's a weird kind of situation—maybe the white one wanted to stay away from someone who was at the reception. Now that they're all gone, it doesn't matter who sees her.
He knelt down on the floor of his room and wiped up some more water. There could be a political factor in play, too. Seems like these types of weird shenanigans were always going on in Washington, and every now and then some senator or congressman got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
That would make sense if they weren't both girls, he told himself as he walked back to the bathroom. What if they just don't like sleeping alone? That could explain why the beds were so big, and maybe even why she gave me that drawing back at the hospital.
I hope they don't think that I want to share a bed with Kate. Dale looked up at the gigantic bed looming beside him. That just wouldn't be right. He stood up, dripping cloths in hand. No, I already told them that I wouldn't, back at the hospital, so they shouldn't be surprised when I won't here, either.
He made his last trip into the bathroom and simply dropped the towels into the bathtub, then he paused one more time in the doorway at Lyra's room. Maybe Lyra is just afraid of storms. She didn't seem to like it too much when it started raining on the island.
His bed was wet where he had been sleeping, but it was big enough that by changing sides, he was able to sleep in a mostly-dry spot, although the top of the comforter was still damp. He didn't care; he was exhausted. He hadn't slept well in days. He rolled on his side away from the window, in the hopes that would at least cut down on the flashes from the storm.
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MUCH GRIFFON
SO SPY
NOT FRIENDLY
SO EDITED
I'm almost surprised that nopony told Dale what the weather schedule was to be that night. What an oversight for them to make, considering he is a foreign diplomat. They could have offended him with the poor weather.
Huh. So the griffons might just try and take Dale to see what they can get from him. Also, next chapter = Dale meeting an alicorn?
4417756
Taking it one step further... That's something I've never seen brought up in any first contact stories.
Also, what if we bring superstitions into play? Someone in Dale's position could be horrified/ecstatic because they believe the weather means something that the ponies don't. Or, those in the ponies' position could be worried about such a thing and try to communicate that to Dale. Talk about confusing... (I'll have to remember that one.)
Well, the plot thickens. I have to say, the Griffon spies are quite clever with that set up. And Fleur isn't too bad at espionage herself.
Dr. Stable, Nurse Redhart and Nursery Rhyme are adorable.
damn, dale is gonna get involved in some shit
Another excellent chapter. I always love the updates to your works here.:D
I don't think the digits on a talon are called toes. I think.
And does Dale sure like making assumptions. Lyra sleeping with another girl? Must be afraid of storms. :|
Just when I started to REALLY get into the chapter you end it. Carry on.
I always get excited when the email notification for this fic shows up!
I like how you get to see what so many different ponies (and griffon) are doing in this chapter. Also thought it was funny that Bon Bon sneaked in to spend the night with Lyra.
Knew it was Bon Bon!
In other news, seems like the griffins are going to be sticking their beaks into the trial tomorrow. Spies for the win!
Warped wood is terrible to deal with, especially new!
Keep going! ;)
"That would make sense if they weren't both girls, he told himself as he walked back to the bathroom."
Is Dale here just automatically dismissing the possibility of the existence of homosexuality/bisexuality among aliens? That is rather strange of him.
4418090
Just because two girls sleep together doesn´t mean they are lesbian.
Interesting chapter. I liked the bit about Gryphon cryptography and wiretapping - reminded me a bit of The Cryptonomicon (though thankfully lacking its creepy attitudes towards women and relationships).
Dale shooting ninja-griffons would be good. Time to show some firepower of humanity.
4419377
Aren't you grossly missing the point we're making? Nobody's blaming Dale for not *assuming* lesbianism -- we're asking about why he's assuming lack of such.
You never fail to bring a jolt of joy when I see an update to this...
And always a pang of sorrow when I hit the end of the chapter...
Can't wait to see the the next one! a few thousand words are never, ever enough!
Evil griffon spies!
Time to drop the sun on their continent again and remind them who's boss!
They're going to think he wet the bed, lol!
4421380
More likely the weather team captain will be apologizing profusely for getting a new ambassador soaking wet because no one told Dale what the weather would be.
Then the maids because he had to clean up the mess himself.
Then the guards when they find BonBon had snuck in right under their collective noses.
Luckily, Dale's the easy going type and will just let it go, unlike some Canterlot nobles that would fire everyone and demand new staff.
4417835
And why would the gryphons want to kidnap Dale? He's demonstrated no unique abilities besides talking funny and scritching ponies behind the ears. And the other one keeps trying to cuddle everypony... but that's just the meds making her happy as Pinkie Pie at a party.
Nice simple trick, thought slightly more complex and keeps it more flexible is to use a prime multiplier, which far larger numbers are used these days, that way a single book keeps wrapping round that many times before it repeats.
Just had a quick look at 802.11ad, they might be using MUMIMO from the transmitter, but they stiull aint using dispersed signaling, coding and formation on the reciever. Think of it this way. If you have a high speed link, you use two channels, select your numbers on both according to the first method, then use a third sequence to say which numbers get swapped between the channels. Think thats simple? Modern Routers have 256 channels and bit swap at transmission rates. So, imagine selecting 64 channels each time, and swapping those around. Or, you can use Newtons Heliograph for DWDM style optical telegraphing.
Those Griffons really have some Gaul dont they. Maybe they might find out they have Britany off more than they can Choix.
4422305
Yes, but he's new, unique, interesting, potentially valuable, and - most importantly - he's not theirs.
Yet.
4422638
Mmm, I suppose they could turn Dale into a bargaining chip for concessions between the pony and gryphon empires... after they find out how utterly innocuous humans are when you get right down to it. Oh, we're pretty clever but Dale's a grandfather so trying to fight his way out of trouble is unlikely, and I have reservations about Dale channeling the spirit of McGyver to gimmic his way home.
Now... the gun is another matter entirely. That technological leap in the paws of some power-hungry tyrant could lead down very dark and bloody paths. If the Princesses knew what it really was, they should have turned it to slag the moment they laid eyes on it.
4422832
See, that, right there, is reason enough for them to want him. They have no idea what he might be able to tell/show them but they want first crack at whatever it is.
4417756
Yes, that was an oversight on their part. Probably slipped the mayor's mind, with all the preparations, and she never passed it on to Lyra.
4417835
You'll just have to wait and see.
Dale's desire to be clothed could be considered a superstition. Certainly, from the pony's view, he insists on wearing clothes in social situations where clothing is not required.
4417968
Nopony ever expects the pretty Prench pony.
Thank you!
4418090
According to my visual dictionary, they are. Inner toe, middle toe, outer toe, and hind toe.
4417984
One of the joys of being the first ambassador to a new nation.
4418077
Thank you!
4418201
Sorry. . . .
4418090
4419283
Given Dale's age and upbringing, it's unlikely to occur to him until later, and possibly only if he sees other signs that point at it (like Lyra and Bon Bon making out in front of him . . . that kind of thing) Don't forget, Dale's adolescence was during an era when interracial marriage and homosexuality was still illegal in many states. It wasn't the kind of thing that was talked about, and in most parts of the country it wasn't the kind of thing that was overtly
4418712
Thanks!
4418862
You'll have to wait and see.
4419723
Thank you! Haven't read the Cryptonomicon.
4419890
Generally, ambassadors aren't allowed to shoot people (or griffons). Plus, he doesn't have the gun.
4420504
Thank you! Next chapter will be in three weeks; there will probably also be a side story.
4421103
Griffons share said continent with ponies, making the destroy-it-with-fire option a less palatable choice for Celestia.
4421380
It's mostly wet at the head of the bed, so they'll just think he drools a lot.
4422305
It's going to be a while before things run smoothly. Especially since they're not done remodeling the embassy yet.
4422345
I considered something like that, but I don't believe that they have the calculating technology needed to do that kind of thing on the fly. They could make code-books that do that for the spies, yes, but if those code-books are found by the ponies, they have to come up with a new system. So much easier now that your average home computer can now run a horrendously complex algorithm in fractions of a second.
:
<groans>
4423195 I was thinking canon map-wise.
4423373
Technically, the canon map doesn't say that griffons don't share a continent with other ponies. IIRC, Saddle Arabia isn't shown on the map, but we know it exists. LIkewise, Maretonia isn't shown, although like Saddle Arabia, we've seen important delegates from there.
4423079 No prob.^^ And wonder just how much he's learned of their language by the time the trial starts.
4423440 Well, the arrow direction one toward the griffons points across the ocean. That does seem to indicate their homeland is across the sea, implying another continent or island nation.
4423155
It's basically 1100 pages of that sort of stuff interspersed with discussions about science, engineering, mathematics, history and philosophy and WWII combat scenes. It has 4 protagonists and takes place across 2 different time periods. It's the only novel I've ever read that's basically said "stop the plot for a minute, I have some graphs and equations I need to show you".
It would be my perfect novel if not for a couple of flaws like the mild misogyny or one character's distracting obsession with their dick.
4423079 Don't worry, I forgive you. I very much enjoy your writing style, just like work I might bitch about something but everyone knows I really love it.
Why is the government charging Lyra again?
Fleur stands out a a multilingual mare... maybe she knows MORE than just Prench... Maybe she is the type of mare who might consider returning to the station and hearing an interesting book mentioned in another language... followed by gibberish... Maybe a book who's name she recognizes natively, what with her Prenchness... Would be pretty attention grabbing to hear Lyonnais text speaking of a Prench book one were familiar with...
4423758
Yes, that's true. However, in canon we've heard both griffons and ponies talk with a French accent, suggesting that they might occupy the same distant continent or island.
4424883 Well, given that Gustav and Gilda both live in Equestria, and Equestria's been at peace for centuries (no sign of any epic pony wars in the past after Celestia took the reigns, after all), I suspect there's been a great amount of immigration and emigration for those species with advanced civilizations and more outgoing cultures.
The ponies, griffons, and minotaurs all seem to have enough highly extroverted, Type A personality members to really get some movement going between their respective lands.
While there are 'homelands' for each species, they've likely become quite mixed over the ages.
And as we're seeing, new races are still making contact and beginning to move about: zebra and Saddle Arabians.
The dragons are the least likely to ever make a formal 'peace', as they seem to be primarily solitary except for their migration period, and they regard all smaller creatures as not worth their attention, or 'namby-pamby'. Many of the adults also seem to lose a good portion of their intelligence, becoming more animalistic and territorial. I regard it as being similar to tunicates, which lose their more 'advanced' chordate characteristics when they mature and become sessile adults.
The changelings interest me for the singular reason that they have apparently managed to be completely hidden up to the failed invasion. Tied into this, their origins intrigue me with several compelling possibilities (the most interesting being Flutterponies corrupted by Discord by their own request when their lands are frozen by windigoes attracted by the pony tribes' hatred), as do the motives possible behind the sudden desire to visibly take over after successfully remaining completely undetected for so long, which would seem to automatically obliterate all their significant advantages.
4424341
Celestia is worried about something going wrong in the future: the griffons demand Lyra's head on a pike, the Coast Guard gets to Equestria and demands Kate back, Kate gets loose from the hospital and goes on an aggressive petting rampage throughout town, etc. If Lyra has already been tried, Celestia can simply say that the ponies have already tried Lyra in accordance with their laws, and as far as they're concerned, that matter is closed.
4423784
Doesn't sound like something I'd be too interested in. I've only read one novel that I can remember that came complete with drawings (8.4, a speculative novel about massive earthquakes in the New Madrid fault zone), and they were kind of distracting. But the book wasn't too preachy, so it was all right.
If I'm reading about technical stuff, I'd rather just read a technical book.
4423589
Not much, since the trial starts in the morning.
4425059
Yes, I agree 100%. It's probably even more complicated than IRL geopolitical borders, since we know that animals capable of flight can land on, and live in, clouds. If, hypothetically, the pegasi aren't getting a good deal for producing weather over the Minotaur homelands, there's nothing to stop them from pushing their entire city somewhere else, where they'll get a better deal.
4425979
It has an odd tone, and it took me a few tries to get through it (though once I got into it, I read the whole thing in two days). I'm not sure that I'd recommend it for the writing. But...in the book, some of the characters use a cipher codenamed Pontifex, also known as Solitaire. It is based on a deck of cards, and it was invented for the book. Not some sort of half-assed throw-some-steps-together bullshit, but an honest to god cryptographic algorithm designed in accordance with Kerckhoff's Principle. You can read about it in an appendix, or here. It turns out that it's flawed, but I can't help but love a book that goes to that much effort.
there's only one universe I can think of that you might have gotten that particular bit of fanon from ...
4428721
Well, I read the description of the code, and I don't understand it. Math isn't what I'm good at.
I agree, though, that an author who puts that much effort into a detail on his book is to be respected.
4429270
That's also where I got the detail that she's an auxiliary guard.
4425992 Except for pegasi, I meant to say!
They're clearly racists.
I really hope this doesn't become one of those fics that add a new plot point and get excessively blabby and overly long.