Chapter 20: Shifting Priorities
Onto the Pony Planet
Chapter 20: Shifting Priorities
Admiral Biscuit
As they walked through town, Fleur let Lyra take the lead. She felt bad leaving Fancy Pants alone with the press, but the last thing Lyra needed was for a reporter to corner her and start asking leading questions about her relationship with Dale.
Noble Voice's line of questioning had done its work, though. Fleur found herself constantly returning to the idea, and turning it over in her mind. If it was true . . . well, what difference would it make? On one hoof, there were serious political implications; on another, why shouldn't a pony find love outside her species? While such pairings weren't common, they weren't unknown, either.
She followed Lyra down a side street, ears swiveling alertly for the sound of hoofsteps, but the streets were completely deserted. It was eerie—Canterlot had a decent nightlife, almost as good as Mareseille; here, they either went to bed early, or something else was going on.
Midway down the block, Lyra turned towards a modest home and shoved open the front door. Fleur followed her in, pushing the door closed behind her, and stood patiently in the entryway, taking in the comforting scents of a home.
She smiled wistfully as a pudgy earth pony wearing a stained apron came out of the kitchen. The ivory mare nuzzled Lyra's cheek briefly before wrapping her in a tight hug. For the first time in hours, the tight lines around Lyra’s mouth and ears softened as she hugged back.
The two of them held their embrace long enough for Fleur to begin feeling very awkward, but she kept her mouth shut. The important thing was that Lyra had somepony to go to—Fleur could build on that, but she couldn't replace it.
“Do you want dinner? I could heat something up real quick, or toss a salad together.”
Lyra shook her head. The earth pony glared at Fleur, who replied with a small shrug.
“How could he say those things?” Lyra looked at Fleur accusingly. “They weren't true—he tried to make me look like a monster.”
That's his job, she thought, but of course she'd never say such a thing out loud. Still, it was time to give Lyra a small dose of reality. “Like it or not, you're a public figure now. Your tiniest action might be scrutinized and interpreted however the public sees fit.”
“That's not fair.”
“I know.” Fleur looked at her sadly. “But that's the way it is. I'm sorry.”
“You dealt with this back in your duelling days, remember?”
Lyra nodded. “It isn't the same, Bon Bon. Then, it was just if I'd done the right thing strategically or not. Nopony asked questions about my personal life.” She turned to Fleur. “Do ponies ever act like that to you and Fancy Pants?”
Fleur nodded.
“How do you deal with it?”
“I ignore them.” She moved closer to Lyra. “I do what I want. Let them judge me, or Fancy Pants—we don't care. If we spent all our time trying to make everypony happy, we wouldn't make anypony happy . . . most of all, we wouldn't make ourselves happy.”
“It's just not fair.”
“Why don't we go sit in the living room?” Fleur suggested. “It'll be more comfortable. You should talk about this. Trust me, it will help.”
“I don't—“
“Tomorrow, you're going to have to go back to the embassy,” Fleur reminded her. “And you're going to have to talk to Dale—you can't avoid that; you are the ambassador. What's he going to think if you're short-tempered, or staying away from him because you're worried about what the embassy staff or other ponies might think? He won't understand, but he'll see you're snubbing him.”
Lyra's ears fell, but she turned to the living room and flopped on the couch. Bon Bon followed, resting her head lightly on Lyra’s rump, while Fleur had no choice but to sit on the floor facing the couch. Bon Bon's eyes widened when she sat down on the floor without a moment's hesitation.
“Tomorrow,” Fleur began, “you're going to go back to the embassy, and you're going to see Dale. I know you're going to have all the things Noble Voice and his witnesses said in your mind, but I want you to think about this instead: you went to another world, and you made friends with a completely alien species. Nopony else has ever done that. Noble Voice might shout out his accusations, and the newspapers will print what they will as a result of the trial . . . but not one of them has done what you did. Of all the ponies in Equestria, the Princess chose you. Not Noble Voice, not a newspaper reporter, not even her personal student. Everypony who whines about what you did or didn't do is no better than a schoolyard bully, and deserves no more respect.”
Lyra hesitantly nodded.
“You've got a lot of good friends,” Fleur told her. “And we'll stand behind you. Fancy Pants and I are never more than a telegram away.” She got back to her hooves. “We'll be in town through tomorrow, at least, and if you need anything—if either of you need anything—come by the hotel. Until then, it has been a great pleasure to serve you.” She walked over to the couch and gave Lyra a brief nuzzle, and a less-formal hoof-bump to Bon Bon.
She let herself out, pausing in the street to look back at the house. She could see the pair through the window, and it brought a smile to her face. Maybe Lyra didn't fully appreciate it, but she had strong supports. Earth ponies were stubborn and patient; it was just the thing that Lyra needed to keep her sane. Things were only going to get more challenging from here.
We are Princess Luna, she’d said. Dale knew that name, but from where? Had it been something Lyra mentioned, or had it been Cheerilee? Try as he might, he couldn't remember.
She was in the book that showed a house, he thought. And the book with the colt who met all the monsters . . . she showed up at the very end, when he was in bed. Dale glanced at his office. He could get the book and have her confirm that it was, indeed, her in the drawing, but it might be insulting to just walk away. He hadn't seen any of the ponies bow before, which meant she was more important than any of the ponies who had come for the embassy fete. She could be a political leader, or a spiritual one.
Dale took a quick look around, observing what the other ponies were doing, hoping they might provide him with some cue. Diamond Mint was watching him, while the nurse had moved to the wall, and was cautiously heading for the front door. Neither of them looked like they could provide him with any help. Without Lyra, he’d have a hard time puzzling out her significance.
“I see Princess Luna in book then,” Dale said carefully. “I get book.”
A slight frown crossed her face as he spoke, but her ears remained pointed forward. A month ago, he would never have considered that he might one day be picking up social cues from ear position.
He quickly ducked into the office and dug through the stack of books until he found the one he was looking for. It didn't take long to find the right page: as he'd remembered, the colt was laying in bed after his stressful day meeting monsters, and a blue winged unicorn was holding the moon in the sky.
She hadn't moved, although she'd turned to watch him. He came back out of the office and held the book in front of her. “Is you?” He jabbed a finger against the drawing.
“Yes.” She nodded in confirmation, before continuing her explanation of why she was in the drawing. Unfortunately, none of her explanation was in words which he'd been taught.
“Dale not know words,” he confessed. “Dale not speak good pony words.”
Again, she flinched slightly as he spoke. What does she expect, that I'd be fluent in a few days? Am I not being properly formal? Visions of angry despots crossed his mind unbidden—based on his experience thus far, it didn't seem likely he'd anger her enough to do something unpleasant to him, but he unfortunately couldn't rule out the possibility.
“We. . . .” Luna made a face, and lit her horn. Dale took a step back; while he'd begun to get used to the unicorns doing that, he wanted to give them a wide berth when they did, especially when he was around strangers. Lyra and the doctors might have had his best interests at heart, but he couldn't be sure about complete strangers—although, if she was acting benevolent in a kid’s book, she was probably okay.
She tilted her head down, and a strange image appeared on the ground between them. Dale immediately thought of the hologram messages in Star Wars, as an ethereal miniature Luna appeared on the ground.
The hologram Luna lit her horn, and a moon rose from the embassy floor. It made an arc across the imaginary sky, before sinking into the floorboards. A second pony—this one white—appeared, and lifted a sun out of the floor.
Luna pointed a hoof at the display. “We are Princess Luna,” she said again. “We . . . moon. Our sister . . . sun.”
Dale nodded, even though he'd missed a bit of her explanation. She seemed to be implying that she did things during the night, while her sister did things during the day. Unless he missed his guess, the second pony was the one he'd met on the island.
She stopped the motion of her hologram, with the white pony on one side, and her on the other. The sun and moon were both just above the floor.
“Is she pony Dale met Dale home?” He pointed to the white pony who was looking at the sun.
Princess Luna absorbed his words, and nodded.
Okay. I’m right. The white one is in charge during the day, and she's in charge during the night, he thought. Outside, it was still light, although it wouldn't be much longer. Maybe she’s getting an early start to her workday.
What would we do in America? He looked into her big blue eyes and considered her presence. If the situation were reversed, it wouldn't take too long before the alien met with the Vice President, or maybe even the President. Such a meeting would be a huge political coup, even if the pair couldn’t communicate, and Dale was surprised at the lack of photographers. Maybe they’ll be along later. The bat-winged pony was clearly her guard; every time Dale had looked his way, the pony's eyes had been locked on him, doubtlessly watching in case he were to try something stupid.
That was an irrational worry on their part, he thought. There wasn't much he could do; even if her horn was limited to making holograms on the floor, and her wings were decorative, her strength alone would be enough to put him down. She was the first one he'd seen who was nearly his height.
He was considering the implications of how their size might relate to their authority when she lit her horn again and looked down at the floor, tapping a hoof to make sure he paid attention.
Dale followed her gaze as a small hologram of himself and Lyra appeared on a generic beach. While the details were oversimplified, it was the most amazing simulation he'd ever seen. He'd lived through the transitions from small black-and-white TVs to the 3D technology that everybody was pushing nowadays, but with those it was still an image on a flat screen. He moved off to the side, finally circling halfway around the picture, as he studied it intently.
She got his attention back when she asked him something—he only caught a few words, and shook his head regretfully. “I do not speak much words.”
Luna frowned, and looked back to the image. She concentrated, and the small figure of him brightened. “Dale,” she said plainly. “Yes? No?”
“Yes, Dale.” He tapped his chest, then pointed to the little figure. “Lyra,” he indicated, pointing to the other.
“Dale and Lyra . . . speak.” She said the last word slowly, with careful consideration. “Then?” The two figures cautiously approached, before he bumped a hand against Lyra’s hoof. “Yes?”
“Yes,” he confirmed.
The two simulacra sat down on the beach and took books out of their bags. Their mouths moved, and small symbols appeared above their heads. Dale nodded—that was more or less what had happened.
Encouraged, she moved forward with the replay. Lyra began running across the beach, suddenly tripping over her hooves. The miniature Dale reached forward and caught her, and the pair tumbled to the sand together, with Lyra on top. It wasn't quite how it had occurred, and he didn't know nearly enough of their language to correct it. Still, it was a reasonable enough simulation of what had happened.
He unconsciously rubbed his shoulder. It wasn't completely healed, but it felt much better, thanks to whatever the doctor and nurse had done. There was a slight ache whenever he moved it, but no real pain any more.
The pair finished out their day, uneventfully reading the books, and then Lyra disappeared. The sun went down, the moon rose and passed overhead, and then the sun came back up. Lyra reappeared in a golden flash.
Their day started out the same, until clouds suddenly appeared in the sky, and the two of them scrambled into the woods, quickly reappearing in his camp.
If he'd had any doubts about their lack of actual observance of the meetings, Princess Luna's idea of his camp put those to rest. His tent was oversized, and looked to be made out of bricks, and his dining fly was a camping pavilion. He and Lyra sat on wooden planks and passed their lunch across a wood table. Luna was clearly putting her own spin on the events—no doubt from a briefing she’d received—filling in the details of what she assumed his camp looked like.
They shared their food across the table, and then Lyra came around the table and stood next to him, turning her butt at him. He blushed at the memory of touching her mark. She'd insisted, even though she'd been uncomfortable with it. He nodded in confirmation—that had happened.
An apprehensive expression crossed her face, and the picture briefly flickered. The mini-Dale put his hand on Lyra’s shoulder, and the two of them headed for his oversized tent. Dale shook his head, and said, “No.” He pointed to the table. “Books. Learn.”
She gave a self-satisfied smile at his words, and put the two figures back across from each other, deep in study again.
She'd just begun to set the scene for the Coast Guard confrontation when the image flashed and then winked out. Dale frowned and glanced up at her, observing that she was looking up at the staircase with interest.
He turned his head just in time to see Kate begin to descend.
Bon Bon breathed a sigh of relief as Fleur let herself out. She preferred for her life to be simple, regular, and uncomplicated, and lately it had been anything but. Lyra had been gone for a whole month, come back utterly tight-lipped, and then the next time Bon-Bon had seen her had been in the hospital. She had always preferred the quiet life, predictable and stable, but this whole mess had turned things completely on their head.
And now, things weren't ever going to be the same.
She could be happy for Lyra if Lyra was happy, but right now she was obviously not. She was as stressed as Bon Bon had ever seen her, and completely exhausted to boot. The earth pony leaned over and gently nuzzled Lyra's back, wrinkling her muzzle at the sour smell of fear.
I should have been there, she thought. I didn't have to go to market today. Everypony would have understood if I'd missed it. Lyra hadn't wanted her to come to the trial, though. She told me that Fancy Pants said it might get ugly—but maybe I could have done something to help, rather than leave her in the hooves of a bunch of unicorns who don’t even know her.
She snuggled up against Lyra, worming her way into the narrow space between the unicorn and the edge of the couch, and draped a leg around Lyra's shoulders—both for comfort and to keep her from falling off. She pulled in tightly, nestling her head just under Lyra's chin.
Lyra responded by hooking a hind leg over Bon Bon's rump and burying her muzzle in Bon Bon’s mane. She didn't say anything, but as the minutes ticked past, Bon Bon felt Lyra’s heart slow to a relaxed pace. The earth pony waited until Lyra’s breaths were soft and regular before she dared move from her uncomfortable position.
Disentangling herself without waking Lyra was a challenge, especially since one of her legs had gone completely numb. Bon Bon stood awkwardly on the remaining three, her left foreleg dragging uselessly on the ground. A few shakes did nothing but reward her with the painful tingle of returning circulation.
She gave Lyra a fond look, leaned down, and brushed the unicorn's forelock back with her muzzle, before limping up the stairs to the bedroom. She threw her apron into the wicker laundry basket, grabbed the comforter off the bed, and brought it downstairs. With a toss of her head, she draped it over Lyra, smoothing it with her hooves, before she went back up to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Once she was done, she settled in on the couch, taking the opposite end. It was a bit crowded—the unicorn had sprawled out once she'd left—but it was doable. Bon Bon slid under the cover and laid her head on the siderest. She closed her eyes, but sleep proved to be elusive. Yesterday, when Lyra had been officially announced, she’d cheered herself hoarse. Spending the night at the embassy had been fun, especially since she’d sneaked in; it added a little more thrill to the rush she normally felt when she was sleeping somewhere unfamiliar. Now, though, doubts were beginning to creep in. Were days like this going to be continual? Was some reporter from Canterlot going to accost her on the street and ask her personal questions? If he did, he’d get bucked right in the teeth. That would give him something to report.
And Fleur had said that Lyra would have to go back to the embassy. Was that a forever thing? Would she be spending every night there? What if she never came home again? Could the Princess be so cruel?
“Do you want to come to the pub for a late dinner?” Lecol asked.
“Can you bring me back something?” Featherbrain stared out the window at the embassy.
“He won't be out for a while.” Lecol entered Featherbrain’s bedroom, stepping carefully around the mounds of stuff that the pegasus had dumped out of her suitcase in her version of 'unpacking.' “I just got done talking to Nurse Redheart. She said that Princess Luna was there, talking to Dale. I bet the two of them are going to be occupied for quite some time.”
Featherbrain pointed a hoof out the window excitedly. “I saw him earlier. He was in the room with the mare, showing her stuff, I guess. She's walking around—he left, but she comes to the window sometimes and looks out. She put her clothes in the dresser."
“What a concept,” Lecol said dryly, glancing back at the mess on the floor. “Do—“
“Ssh—here she comes again.” Featherbrain leaned out of the window, craning her neck to get the best view.
Out of curiosity, Lecol joined her, arriving in time to see Kate stop in front of the glass and look out. At first, she was focused on the backyard, studying it curiously, but she eventually looked up and noticed the two mares looking her direction. She gave them a tentative wave, which Featherbrain enthusiastically returned.
She watched the ponies for a minute or two, before she looked down at her bandaged hand, and started to lightly scratch the back of her wrist. “She does that a lot,” Featherbrain said.
“The itchiness is good,” Lecol informed her. “It means it's healing. I think we'll have it cured in a week or so.”
Featherbrain grunted in reply, waiting until Kate had left the window to slide over her notebook and scribble out some quick notes in her inscrutable mouth-writing.
Lecol shrugged, and left her to her own devices, headed out the door and into town. She’d have to remember to bring back a dinner for Featherbrain—whenever the pegasus got fully immersed in her studies, she forgot to eat.
There was a tense mood in town that hadn't been present before. A few ponies glared at her as she walked past, and she self-consciously moved closer to the side of the street, where she'd at least be out of their way. She wasn't sure what had brought about the change in tone, although she was experienced enough to know that it was a reaction to something. She'd seen it before in Canterlot, when a large enough group of ponies had gotten fixated on a subject.
When she finally made it to the Prancing Pony, she noticed that the tone of the patrons changed as she walked to her booth, and she could practically feel all the eyes following her passage. She shrugged, and slid into the same booth she'd occupied a few nights ago.
At least her waitress wasn't rude, and once Lecol was out of everypony's sight, the noise of the tavern slowly picked up again.
Her food hadn't even arrived yet when the door opened and Fleur and Fancy Pants stepped in. She waved a hoof, and the couple quickly made their way over to her. She got out of her seat and gave Fleur a quick peck on the cheek.
“How was the trial?”
“Brutal,” Fleur admitted. “Noble Voice dragged her through the mud. Fancy did a good job though.” She petted him on the head lightly.
“Don't be modest; you did as well, dear.”
“What are you having?” Fleur asked curiously.
“A fresh Spring salad, a tomato, spinach, and cheese quiche, and maybe some apple pie for dessert. Did you know Sweet Apple Acres is here, in Ponyville?” Lecol motioned over the room. “Why, I bet some ponies here actually work on the orchard . . . and I can’t believe how cheap it is. You'd pay twice as much in Canterlot, maybe more, and it wouldn't be as fresh.”
“I know.” Fancy Pants picked up the menu and began skimming over it. “Really, it's hard to see how they make a profit here. I suppose it's just too out-of-the-way for anypony to visit. Shame. It's quite a charming little town, and everypony is just so friendly. It's so much nicer than dealing with all the nobles in Canterlot.”
“They haven't been friendly to me today,” Lecol groused.
“Word about the trial got around.” Fleur took the menu from Fancy Pants and quickly flipped through it. “They probably aren't feeling charitable towards anypony from Canterlot right now. Lyra’s housemate was very short with me. I wouldn't be surprised if they're burning Noble Voice in effigy by the end of the night.”
“Do ponies still do that?”
“In frontier towns, I've heard. Never seen it myself.” Fleur looked brightly up at the waitress. “I'll have a Spring salad, vegetable stew, and a bowl of sugared timothy, light on the sugar. He'll have the salad, the stew with extra salt, and a piece of apple pie. I'd also like a glass of light fruit wine, and he'd like a dark beer. Whatever you think is good.”
The waitress scribbled down their order, then tucked the pencil back in her apron. “Hey, aren't you the ponies who were at the embassy meeting and defended Lyra?”
“Yes,” Fancy Pants said, bowing his head. “Fancy Pants and Fleur De Lis at your service.”
“You done real good,” she said, before turning to Lecol. “What about you?”
“I’m assisting the doctors at the hospital.”
The waitress gave a satisfied smile, and headed back to the counter. Lecol watched her go; she stopped at several tables and talked to the ponies sitting there on her way. More than a few discreet looks were aimed at their booth in the waitress' wake.
“Okay, that was a little weird.” Lecol turned her attention back to her tablemates. “So, how much longer are you two going to be in Ponyville?”
“Until tomorrow afternoon. We've got tickets back on the evening train. Fancy Pants and I want a day to look through town—visit the market and some of the craft shops, and stop in for a brief chat with Twilight Sparkle.”
“Don't forget ordering another dress from Miss Rarity,” Fancy Pants told her. “We aren't leaving town without that. I should like to spend some time with her again . . . perhaps we could have a nice lunch, if her schedule permits.”
“How about you, Lecol? Will you be headed back to Canterlot soon?”
“I have to stay behind, to help with the girl. Her hand isn't healed yet, although she was discharged from the hospital earlier today. I'm sharing an upstairs apartment near the embassy with my colleague, Featherbrain.”
Fancy Pants nodded. “We've met her at a university fundraiser, haven't we dear?”
“Green pegasus, magnifying glass cutie mark, almost never wears clothes?”
“Oh, yes.”
“That's her,” Lecol confirmed.
The group fell silent as the waitress brought their food. She smiled broadly as she set the serving tray on the table with a flourish.
• • •
“Stop by if you can, before you go back to Canterlot,” Lecol said. “We're just behind the embassy. I'll either be up in Ka-th-rin's room, or at the house all day.”
“We will,” Fancy Pants assured her. “I do want to see Dale one more time before I leave. He's a most fascinating creature.”
Lecol gave them a friendly wave as they left, then went up to the counter. She still needed to order a meal for Featherbrain. And while she waited, she could invite the hurdy-gurdy player back to her room for a private concert.
Moller and Richter stood outside the Macatawa Bank, warrant in hand. It was a nice, modern-looking bank, not too far from Dale's house.
“I'd like to think that we're going to find the thing that blows this case wide open,” Moller said glumly, “but I think it's just going to be another mystery.”
Richter nodded. “I got a call from Gray's last night. Nobody there has the slightest idea about the books. They've never seen anything like it.”
“MSU struck out, too. So far.” Moller grimaced. “No identifiable DNA on the sample we sent. One of the professors hazarded a guess that the hair looked equine—except for the color, of course—which at least backs up the witness testimony.” He rubbed a hand through his hair. “But he said he's never heard of any kind of disease or mutation that would produce hair that color on a horse. He said something about problems with the equipment, too. Maybe when they get it fixed, they'll have better luck.”
“Don’t get your hopes up too much,” Richter cautioned. “Getting DNA off hair is a bit iffy. There isn’t any in the hair itself, so you’ve got to get enough follicle cells with the hair.”
“But the hair was in the buckle—pulled out. Should've been roots. You know, those bags did kind of look like saddlebags,” Moller mused. “So maybe we're on to something. Could it have been some kind of experimental animal?”
“What, a Frankenstein's monster? Something somebody created in a lab that got out?”
“Well, why not?” Moller said. “They're always doing weird things to lab mice and flies—why not a horse? Maybe the Russians came up with it, and Dale somehow got his hands on it. Could be some sort of an animal rights nut. Look—here's an idea. He somehow got his hands on a weird horse. One of a kind. He wants to protect it, right? So he heads off to a remote island, where he thinks he'll be safe . . . but through bad luck, the Coast Guard comes. So he flips out and runs to safety, with his strange horse.”
“Where did they go? And what about Ms. Dybek?”
“Maybe she ran off with them. You know, a girl and her pony.”
Richter shook his head. “If it hadn't taken place in front of three other eyewitnesses, maybe I'd consider that as a possibility. How's he going to have gotten a horse on the island in a canoe, anyway?”
“What if it were there first? Or, he could have taken it in a bigger boat—chartered one, maybe. Paid cash. Or he has a friend with a suitable boat. Leaves the horse there, knowing there aren't any predators on the island, comes back, gets his canoe, and heads back out.
“See, here's why I like the theory. Let's say he's just a little bit nuts. Not full-on basket-weaving nuts, but just a bit loopy. He comes across this thing somehow—let's say it's a research subject that's gotten away. He's convinced it's proof of extraterrestrials, but now he's a bit paranoid. He thinks that the Men in Black are going to find him, so he's got to hide it. Takes it to the island, leaves a note behind; that way if everything goes wrong, he can hope someone'll find it, and maybe put it on the internet. Get him some more publicity, you know.”
“Sure.” Richter took a sip of his coffee. “Okay, let's explore that for a bit. Suppose he did think it was an alien, and did go to the island to hide it. What's up with all the books?”
“He's got to communicate with it. It wouldn't speak English.”
“Of course it wouldn't speak English—it's a horse. That might not have ever existed, despite eyewitness testimony.”
“The eyewitnesses didn't leave the hoofprints in the sand, or the hairs on the bag,” Moller retorted. “Those came from something real, something tangible.” He started to pace on the sidewalk. “So he's got books, and maybe the other books are in its language. Maybe they were all part of the set-up. Some part of an elaborate scam, let's say. I'm just thinking out loud, but what would make this alien horse more credible than a bag full of books written in its language?”
Richter narrowed his eyes. “I've never worked with you before this, so I'm gonna assume you're an okay guy. Nobody I talked to had a bad thing to say about you, but you've got me wondering here.”
“I'm not saying it is so,” Moller countered. “But let's say Dale thinks it's so. He had a ton of old sci-fi books at his house, so surely he's thought about the possibility before. His recent computer history had a bunch of kooky first-contact type sites. I know everybody said he was a pretty decent guy, but that old lady who lived next door said he was acting a little funny over the last couple of months, and that all fits the timeline with his browser history, and some of his more recent purchases. I'm willing to bet once we go through all the evidence, we'll see he was a pretty normal guy up to six months ago—or maybe less—and then the records are going to show him buying all this weird stuff. I'll bet you lunch that this safe-deposit box is only a couple of months old, and that it's going to have something inside that's 'proof' of the alien. Maybe a bunch of pictures, or more hair samples, or some kind of long, rambling manifesto—but I'll tell you what we won't find: his mother's wedding ring, or stock certificates, or any of the kind of things most people keep in safe-deposit boxes.”
“And I suppose the Faraday cage in his garage was supposed to protect him from the 'orbital mind-control lasers?'” Richter made air-quotes at the last part.
Moller nodded soberly. “He's gone completely 'round the bend, of course. Too bad none of this speculation tells us where Kate is.”
“Maybe they got beamed up to the mothership. Him and his horse, and Kate too. Maybe that’s what the bubble was—some kind of tractor beam.”
“Don't patronize me,” Moller growled.
They both turned towards the door as a bank employee unlocked it. Both of them stepped into the lobby, Moller leading. All the employees were watching them—undoubtedly wondering what was going on. “Need to see the manager,” Moller said, waving the warrant. The employee nodded wide-eyed and led them into a small, private office.
“What we need, Mr. Vandervoort,” Moller began, reading his name off the plaque on his desk, “is access to a safe-deposit box. We've got a warrant, and—lucky for you—we've got a key.”
The bank manager nodded and got out of his chair. “What's this about, gentlemen?”
“Kidnapping and assault of federal agents,” Richter said. “If you'd be so kind?”
Vandervoort's face blanched. “Of course.”
He led them to the vault, and briefly examined their key before selecting the appropriate box. He nodded at them, put in the bank's key, and unlocked the box. Moller shooed him off before using Dale's key to open the other lock. He wrapped a glove around the handle and used it to pull out the box. “You know, this is the kind of thing people do in movies all the time, but they never think about how difficult it actually is to get access to a stranger’s box. Remind me to see if Mr. Vandervoort knows who’s got Dale’s other key. Might be another witness to his madness.”
“Do you think there might be a booby trap in there?” Richter asked.
“Doubt it. Not the way a guy like him would operate,” Moller said, slipping on a pair of black latex gloves. “If he was into booby trapping things, he'd have done it at his house, or left his car with a bomb in it. But if you're worried, go stand outside the vault.” When Richter didn't move, Moller gingerly lifted the lid.
The box contained a long tube wrapped in aluminum foil, and a stack of computer paper covered in neat handwriting and bound with a paperclip. Moller set a paper evidence ruler in the box and took several pictures on his digital camera, then picked it up the tube and looked at it with a frown. “Looks like you owe me lunch.”
“Not until we see what's inside.”
“This might not be the best place,” Moller reminded him. “Let's get back to my office, and we'll look at it there. Maybe have someone from the bomb squad give it a look, too, just to be sure.”
“If it's alien technology, it'll pass.”
“Oh shut up.”
Moller dropped the tube in an evidence bag, handed it to Richter, and took out the paper. He shook his head, slipped it into another evidence bag, and shoved the box back shut.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Vandervoort asked as Moller and Richter exited the vault.
“Hope so. Do you know who has the other key?”
“No; we have no requirement that the box-holder inform us. I have no next-of-kin listed for Mr. Paard, nor has the bank been notified of anyone else able to access his accounts or box in his stead.” He smiled faintly at Moller. “I took the liberty of checking while you were in the vault. Now, are you done with the key? And is Mr. Paard done with the box?”
Moller looked at the key. Technically, it was evidence, and technically, he should hold on to it until the court case. At the same time, the case—when it came—could be months or years off, and it wasn't fair to the bank to keep the box out of service for all that time. “Tell you what. I'll send a fingerprinting team out this afternoon, to print the box. If you've got a locksmith standing by, I'll tell them to let you change out the lock on the box, but I've got to keep the key for evidence. Is that fair?”
Vandervoort nodded. “I'll make the call.”
“And listen—if Mr. Paard does come back—or if you notice any activity on his account—you call me, okay?” He handed the manager a business card. “Don't wait. Flag his account or whatever it is you do, and call me right away.”
A soft nicker from her Guard caused Luna to drop her spell and raise her head. The girl—the one they had called Ka-th-rin was on the stairs, and Luna immediately focused on her. She'd already gotten a good sense of Dale's measure—both from her dreamwalking and from Lyra’s testimony during the trial—but the girl was a complete unknown. Like Dale, she had no appreciable magical aura around her, which was unheard of in all the sapient species in Equestria.
Her hesitant, clumsy steps on the stairs bespoke some kind of intoxication, and while she rested her hand on the balcony to steady herself, it was her bandaged hand, which could not serve her particularly well in case of a fall.
Luna noticed Dale getting back to his feet and stepping off to her side—and her Guard saw the movement, too, and also moved aside, giving himself a bit more space. She snorted, and the thestral sheepishly bowed his head. Dale remained at the ready.
He's already attacked her twice, Luna thought. What sort of animosity lies between them? She narrowed her eyes and watched the girl for any sign of aggression, but as she completed her journey down the stairs, her movements were closer to those of a curious drunkard—a sight which Luna had seen often from her tower.
“Kate, this is Princess Luna,” Dale said slowly. The girl paused briefly. Was that an introduction? Is Kate-this-is another form of her name, or is it a title? Luna mouthed the word slowly, quietly, wrapping her tongue around the strange syllables. It was easier to say than 'Ka-th-rin,' but she couldn't very well use it unless she was sure it was proper.
Her skin was paler than his—almost ashen—and her mane was a golden-wheat color, still in remarkably good condition given her stay in the hospital. She's either obsessed with her mane, or the nurses have taken very good care of her. Considering how dazedly she's moving, it's probably the latter. I ought to give those nurses a commendation.
The girl muttered something in reply to Dale, and picked up speed as she marched across the room towards Luna. Her Guard quickly moved to intercept.
Dale also reacted, although he was slower, and had to go around Luna. He was almost to the girl when she dropped down to her knees, lifted her good hand, and gently placed it on the Guard's muzzle.
“Hold,” Luna commanded, barely suppressing a snicker as he went cross-eyed looking at her hand. His wings had snapped open at her touch, and he cautiously folded them down as she began running her hand gently up his muzzle.
She began babbling at him, and although she didn't know the words, they were spoken in the same tone of voice that she'd heard some ponies use towards a favored pet. Luna was above that; she only spoke proper Equestrian to Tiberius. To do any less would be disrespectful.
Dale moved to the girl's side and gripped her shoulder, speaking softly to her in their language. She shook her head in response, lifted her good hand, and lightly scratched the thestral's ear.
He pushed her off with a hoof and stepped back, moving just out of her hand range. She reached for him, but Dale kept his hand on her shoulder.
The two of them held a brief conversation. Luna paid careful attention. Dale's slow and methodical method of speaking to Lyra was good for learning, but didn't give the sense of how the language was supposed to flow.
Finally, Dale shook his head, and spoke more slowly to her. She nodded each time he'd finished speaking, and then looked over at Luna eagerly.
He got to his feet, and moved halfway between her and the girl, then he bowed again. She grimaced. Such acts of supplication were usually reserved for ponies who were frightened of being punished.
“Kate is. . . .” he began hesitantly, then reconsidered. “Princess Luna, is Kate.” He pointed a hand in her direction. Kate bowed, then giggled when Luna ducked her head. “Kate, Princess Luna.
“Kate, um, want to pet you.” He made a patting motion with his hand on the top of his head.
Conflicting thoughts quickly ran through Luna's head. From the reports I got after Lyra's first meeting, and from her courtroom testimony, Dale is generally stand-offish, although he has slowly become more affectionate. Not to the point Noble Voice implied, though—if that truly was Lyra's hope, she's grazing at the wrong pasture. But stallions are more reserved, and that might hold true for their species as well. If that's the case, it would be unwise to not accept the gesture, as she may have more authority to treat than he does.
“We accept,” she said, turning her head to face Kate. “Come forth, Ka-th-rin.”
She nodded eagerly, and shuffled toward the alicorn, while both Dale and the Guard watched closely. Kate held out her hand, pushing it toward Luna's nose insistently. Luna leaned down and nuzzled it gently, holding steady as the girl gently pet her nose.
But when her hand strayed up into Luna's mane, she jerked back as if she'd been burned. Luna felt the spark of magic, and pulled her head back. I should have remembered they were sensitive to magic.
Kate didn't give up, but she kept clear of Luna's mane, settling on running her hands across Luna's cheek, and then down her neck.
Dale barked an order at Kate, and she let go. She looked at Dale, and he shook his head. Kate crossed her arms and gave him a dirty look, but she backed away from Luna.
There was so much more Luna wanted to know, but she cautioned herself to be patient. Dale hardly spoke Equestrian at all, and it would still be a while before he could carry on a meaningful conversation with her. Still, overall she was pleased with what she had accomplished. He was friendly towards her—almost deferential—and Kate had also greeted her. Dale had indicated that she'd gotten the events on the island correct enough, which was a huge weight off her back. She never would have forgiven herself if it had turned out Noble Voice had been right. More importantly, her impression of him was that he was of as good character as she'd seen in his dreams.
Luna glanced over at her Guard. “Thou shalt inform one of the servants or Guards at the embassy that we wish a formal meeting in Canterlot with Dale and Ka-th-rin—if she is able—as quickly as can be arranged, and order that Lyra shall also attend.”
He glanced around the empty room, before heading for the door to carry out her instructions.
“We thank thee for welcoming us into thine House,” Luna said, looking Dale in the eyes. “Thou art a worthy stallion, and we eagerly anticipate working with thee.” She bowed formally, touching her left knee to the ground, before rising and turning to face Kate. “We wish thee haste in thy recovery, and we also eagerly await thy visit to Canterlot.” Once again, she bowed. When she rose, she walked all the way to the front door before turning back to face them. “We grant thee the protection of our House, for as long as thou art in our domain.”
“Well, you got your motive right,” Richter grudgingly admitted. He was reading through the loose papers which had accompanied the tube. “Except that Dale didn't buy the horse. He saw it on North Fox, along with a dozen others. He says that it came over to meet him, and made a sign in the beach that it was going to come back.”
“Be nice if he'd thought to take a picture of it,” Moller said. “These days, when every damn phone in the world has a camera, how did he forget to do that?”
“He gives a decent description. Tallies with what the witnesses said.”
Moller nodded, and checked the mirror before changing lanes for the US-131 interchange. “Does it say in there what we're going to find in the tube?”
“Some sort of super-advanced alien hair. Don't you even say that's why MSU can't identify the hair they found.”
“What, exactly, makes an alien hair super-advanced?”
“He says that it can block some radio signals. Spends nearly a page talking about it. It was the thing which convinced him he wasn't crazy.”
Moller grunted, and turned into the parking lot at the barracks, sliding into his usual space. “Guess that's why it's wrapped in tinfoil.” He got out of the car and looked up into the clear sky. “Last night,” he said, “I didn't go right home. I got in my car and I drove north. Sometimes I do my best thinking in a car. Called my wife, told her I was working a case and I'd be home late—you ever do that?”
Richter nodded as he bumped the door shut with an arm. “So?”
“So I went all the way up to the White Cloud exit. Drove a couple miles into the Hiawatha National Forest, and pulled off the road. Just sat in the car for a little bit, then I got out and looked up. It's easy to forget just how many stars there are. Can't see them with all the city lights.”
Richter looked up at the sky dubiously. “I guess, but—you can't be taking this seriously.” He waved the papers in front of Moller. “Rantings of a madman. Sure, he sounds convincing, but that's just because he believes it.”
“When we open that tube, we're going to see his proof. If you're right, it's going to be something completely ordinary. Maybe a bit weird—maybe he was so far 'round the bend, he couldn't see the forest for the trees—or maybe it's going to be inexplicable. Like the bubble on the island. Or the disappearing footprints.
“If it is something we can't explain, we need to get real experts on it. Like, real scientists. Give them everything we've got, and see what they make of it.”
“The FBI has the best forensic team—“
“So? So far we've struck out. A veterinary college can't identify the hair—never mind our own forensics labs. None of your cult experts, nor your school of wizards can figure out the books. We're going to have to take this all the way if we want to know the truth.”
“And you think that will help us find Kate?”
Moller jabbed a finger in his chest. “We've got nothing, and you know it. We've got boxes and boxes of evidence, and it all adds up to we don't know.”
“I'm not participating in your madness,” Richter growled. “I'll go solo—use what I've got. Get a federal judge to seize all the evidence.”
“You want to prove me wrong? Fine. I'd love to be proved wrong. Let's go up to my office, and let's open that tube, and let's see what's in there. And you know what? I hope you're right. I hope it's something dumb. Something only a lunatic would think was proof. Because then we'll know.” He leaned over Richter. “But if it isn't—we'll do it my way.”
Richter's eyes flicked down to the tube. “Deal.”
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Got a couple more minor tweaks for you to take a look at in the GDoc. If only I'd been on about 20 mins earlier, I could've gotten them in before you posted....
Also, happened to think of the possible city name Maris/Mareis. One of those might work better than Mareseille, as long as people can figure out how to pronounce it properly.
Yay! New chappy!
The parts with Moller and Richter used to be my least favorite. No offense to them but they're not dealing directly with the ponies. But as things progress and they start to question things and butt heads they're really growing on me! Just watching these two makes me eager to see how badly human society is rocked.
The ponies and other species on/in Equestria haven't had their entire worldview shattered because they have dealt with other species for what appears to have been their entire recorded history. Plus Celestia's influence means that Equestria is a bit more politically stable when compared to you average earth democracy, monarchy, republic or other form of government. When coupled with the initial groundwork she appears to be doing with the other factions on the pony planet (browbeating griffons, talking nice with buffalo, ect) it really paints a stark contrast between how well Equestira seems to be adjusting to such things and how poorly earth is likely to react!
Aww, Kathrin got to pet the horsie. Looks like Celestia knows what Lunas going to be doing for the next few months.
As for Moller and Richter, somone needs to get one of them a certain wig, and a broken flashlight. that, and just hope that reality comes calling saying it would like to withdraw its patronedge of their investigation.
that, and they look in the tube the first time, and its Celestias hair, andstarts trashing the offices computer system, then they look in the empty tube a secodn time, to makesure, and theres a cupcake and invitation waiting.
heuheu
Prediction: They're going to try to counter the hair's frequencies, and this will allow for two-way communication through Celestia's hair! Just like this guy and his head-mounted snooper array!
samandfuzzy.com/img/comics/000993.gif
Great stuff. Keep up the good work!
I wonder what will happen if the tube is empty.
Who knows, Celestia's hair may have a shelf life. After a certain amount of time with no magical input does it just become regular mane? Or does it perhaps vanish all together, perhaps even evaporate into nothingness.
Or you know, their MiB theory may just have more credence than they thought. I don't know, I'll re-read and theory craft after I sleep off my booze.
The meeting between Kate and Luna didn't go nearly as badly as I'd feared it would.
(Small miracles.)
Is it bad that I find Moller and Richter's slow decent into madness vaguely amusing?
Now I imagine the omake scene where Luna meets Dale, and he tells her that Noble was right. Seems like quite a laugh, though Bon Bon would need to have words with Lyra about increasing their herd without considering their living arrangements.
Some idiot is going to go "Blasphemy!" or "The world is not ready for this." and burn the hair.
i thought dale took some pictures during his meetings? they didnt find those yet?
a vary interesting chapter to say the lest I cant what to see ware this is going.
5325462
I'd guess they'd continue to find no leads, wondering what happened to Dale and especially to Kate, right up until the ponies reappear out of the sky one day.
At which point, Moller gets to say "Told you so".
They are about to find Celestia's hair, and bricks will be shat.
Nice, new chapter. Loving the way you are writing the Earth-side investigation.
Nice cliffhanger, and gonna love imagining Richter's dumbfounded expression. XDDDD
What's the deal with Kate? Does she still have drugs left over in her system, or does she think she's dreaming or something?
Now I just wonder why Celestia('s hair) blocks radio signals. Like, is there a scientific reason for magic's inner functioning coming up?
Thestral Guard... petted.
Princess Luna... petted.
Who next?
I love this stories continued commitment to the communication and cultural barriers . every other hie story all too quickly takes the easy way out.
5326046
She's on morphine I think?
Wow, you bounced all over the place with this one. Almost feels like you were trying to include as many cliffhangers at once as you could.
I think I need to talk to my doctor about this whiplash.
Also, Dale's impending reaction to the rumors about Lyra... Or Kate's...
This one was left out. :/
5325337
No worries! I just fixed all but one of them (the last one's a rephrase, and I can't think of a good change).
I think I like Mareseille better. Maris seems like a bit of a stretch, dunno why.
If I ever do a story set largely in Prance, I'll have my mom come up with a bunch of French pony puns.
5325362
It gives them a huge advantage, but they've also got a bit of a disadvantage, since they'd likely assume that all sapient life behaves like Equestrian sapient life.
It gives them a monstrous advantage. She can literally throw herself into a project that will take centuries to come to fruition, and know she's not going to have to worry about her successor ruining it.
5325410
That's an oddly specific prediction.
5325462
Thanks to both the comics and the show, we know that sometimes Celestia's mane doesn't flow, and we also know that Luna had a normal mane post-banishment. That does suggest that it might stop 'working' after a while. But you'll just have to wait and see!
5325518
Were you expecting Kate to run up to Luna, throw her hands around Luna's neck, and yell "Horsie!" To which Luna would banish Kate to the moon?
Not at all.
5326046
She got a nice big dose of morphine with her dinner, before they brought her to the embassy.
5326053 it's an amazingly advanced and highly powered manipulation of electromagnetism.
5325351
5325432
Thanks!
There better be more from Earth's side in the next chapter... such cliffhanger, much tension.
5325416
The investigation is about to take a surreal turn.
5325528
I've considered putting a couple omakes in the side stories, but I haven't done it yet. This would be a good premise.
I did write a parody of CSI chapter 8.
5325611
Historically, weren't there a few inventions that met that fate? (and, in some cases, the inventor, too?)
5325624
Dale took pictures of the writing in the sand, but none of the ponies. He meant to--he built the Faraday cage to house a camcorder--but then he decided not to, in case it made them angry.
The Coast Guard took pictures of the bubble, which Moller and Richter have seen.
5325664
Thanks!
5325813
As it was when Dale found it, the hair is something that they can't easily explain, nor will an expert be able to explain it.
Just imagine when scientists finally meet Celestia--they'll all want a hair sample or two to play with.
5325824
Thank you!
5325967
Poor Richter. At least Moller's kind of prepared for the possibility; Richter's going to be blindsided.
5326053
No. I don't know enough science to come up with a good theory on how it might work, but I can come up with what its effects might be.
5326901 is right about it being on the electromagnetic spectrum (which is why it causes radio interference); it's so pervasive, it's how the ponies built their telegram system, and it's why they have lightning. It's also how they found Earth.
5326063
Well, she hasn't met any crystal ponies, yet. Or minotaurs, buffalo, griffons, diamond dogs, hydras, manticores, breezies, mules. . . .
5326100
Thank you!
5327002
ahhh thanks, i couldnt remember, i knew dale was gonna do something with a camera.
5325813
5325824
Thank you!
5325967
Poor Richter. He's about to have the rug pulled out from under him.
5326100
Thank you! I was dissatisfied with there being very few language barrier fics, especially ones where the barrier persisted, so I decided I wasn't going to have a quick solution.
5327062 you know, if they had a horn to horn mindreading spell, then a set of long range wires could allow for long distance telepathy. that's a big if to be sure, but within the realms of conceivability.
5326415
Sorry . . . it just kind of worked out that way.
The good news is it's going to be a while before he can understand enough of their language to know about that. Which means if he's reading the court transcripts after he's mastered their language, he's either going to say, "They thought I what?" or he's going to turn to Lyra and snicker, and say, "I guess they were on to us all along."
5326683
Correction made; thank you!