The Mare in the High Castle

by ponichaeism

Chapter 8

Scootaloo hurriedly finished her smoothie and tossed it into a trash can. In a shop window, she adjusted her beret, because the other Shadowbolts wouldn't respect her if her uniform wasn't perfect. Stay cool, Scoot, she thought. She slipped around the corner and swaggered down the sidewalk, back to the checkpoint blocking off the March of Triumph. Major Caspain stood at the barricade, inspecting a pony-drawn cart at the head of a line of autocarriages. Scootaloo waited to the side while the major gave the pony harnessed to the cart a stern scouring. A heavy black cloak was draped over her body, but the hood was pulled down, revealing a shaved head and an earmark. The earth pony's coat was orange, almost the same color as her own and the stallion in the donut shop. But she and the stallion were heroes of Canterlot, and it enraged her that this degenerate looked so much like them.

There was a word adults used sometimes, from that old book The Empyrean Herd. What was it? 'Hipploid', or something like that. A thing which looks like a pony, but isn't.

What was this dirt-eater doing here, thinking she had any right to be out of the ghetto without an official work detail?

“Ah'm sorry, ma'am, Ah truly am,” the earth pony said, bowing as low as she could. “But Artie Deco, he's mah boss and a right proper architect, he wants me ta get this here wagon over to the construction site, quick as can be, so's it can be all ready fer tomorrow.”

Don't listen to her, Scootaloo thought. She's lying! All she wants to do is tear down our city!

Major Caspain lifted up a letter of transit and inspected it closely. “'Not to be exposed to air. Signed, Bureau of Harmony.' What's your cargo?”

“Cement. A newfangled kind of cement. It hardens real quick when it's opened up.”

Scootaloo put the coffee cup down on a sidewalk bench and ambled around the cart hitched to the earth pony. A tarp covered the top, strapped down with cords. The sweating dirt-eater's eyes went to her, pleading with her not to look under it and expose her for a liar. But an earth pony knew better than to question a pegasus. Scootaloo hooked a hoof under the tarp and started peeling it back.

“Is there a problem here?”

Scootaloo jumped. The tarp rustled as it fell back into place. She spun around and stood at attention as her idol, Colonel Dash, strolled over; she gaped in awe at the Colonel's easy command of attention and the confident way she carried herself. . A new pair of mirrored shades covered the Colonel's face, and when she looked down at Scootaloo, the filly had never felt so small as when she saw her tiny reflection.

“Colonel Dash,” the major said, also snapping to attention.

“At ease,” the Colonel said. She faced the earth pony and cocked her head ever so slightly. The earth pony, sweating and shaking, stared back with slightly narrowed eyes. Scootaloo got the odd feeling something else was going on, but she couldn't put her hoof on what it was. Who knew what was going on behind the shades concealing the Colonel's eyes?

“Colonel,” the major said, “she claims to have documents from the Bureau of Harmony.” She held up the letter. “I was suspicious about its authenticity.”

Colonel Dash took the papers and read them over, then raised her head and gave the earth pony a sly, knowing look. Scootaloo waited for Dash to snap into action and beat this earth pony back into her place any second now. Her hooves itched to see her idol in action.

“Cement, huh?” Dash asked.

“That's right, ma'am,” the earth pony replied.

“This late at night?”

“Mason Stone, mah boss, wanted it out at the construction site, ready for tomorrow.”

“You work in construction?” Colonel Dash ambled around her in a circle. “You don't look like you do construction. No callouses from holding power tools, no cement stains on your coat.”

The earth pony's ears fell, and her eyes followed. “Ah'm just a delivery pony, ma'am. Ah haul carts.”

The Colonel stopped circling the suspicious dirt-eater. She closed in until they were nearly muzzle to muzzle. Her grin deeped. “Is that so?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the sweating earth pony said as she shrank away from Colonel Dash. “Just like that.”

The air was tense, like the world hung by a thread and a single gust of wind would rip it down. The Colonel stared at the disgusting earth pony, sweating and shrinking away. Get her, get her! Scootaloo thought.

Then, abruptly, Dash turned to Major Caspain. “Do you remember that memorandum Spitfire sent around last month? About the run-up to the millennial celebrations?”

Major Caspain nodded sharply as she straightened her pose, slightly put off by the Colonel's sudden interest in her.

“What did it say?”

“Um, prioritize the apprehension of Changlings. All other concerns secondary.”

Colonel Dash put her tail to both of them. “Let her pass.” With a hint of sarcasm, she added, “That's an order from General Spitfire.”

“Thank ya much, ma'am, thank ya,” the earth pony groveled.

"Get out of my sight," Colonel Dash sneered.

Though she was reluctant to move, Major Caspain stepped aside and allowed the dirt-eater to slip through the blockade. Her cart wheels rolled on the asphalt behind her. The Major waved the next autocarriage up and inspected the driver's papers. Scootaloo grabbed the coffee and passed it to her. She took it with the briefest of thankful nods.

Colonel Dash, meanwhile, had wandered over to the sidewalk and stood under a red neon sign mounted on the storefront. To the departing earth pony, she gave a long look. Then her gaze wandered around the bustling checkpoint until it fell on Scootaloo, who tried to stand up straighter. A wordless moment passed between the two of them, lit by the vivid red glow. Scootaloo felt uncomfortable seeing her nervous crimson self reflected in the Colonel's shades. She had no idea what she could say to the most heroic pony that ever lived, but she took a stab anyway:

“I think you were right, Colonel.”

Dash frowned. “Right about what?”

Sounding bolder than she felt, Scootaloo announced, “That earth pony was up to no good, and you should've arrested her. Spitfire should know better than to get in your way.”

“That's General Spitfire to you, rook,” the Colonel said coldly.

How could Scootaloo be such a fool? Now her hero was angry with her. She wanted to cry out in apology, or just plain cry, but she stood at attention and held the tears in. She was tough, like all true pegasi, and true pegasi don't cry.

“Rook,” Dash called.

But then she paused as she thought about what she should say. It reminded Scootaloo eerily of the stallion in the donut shop. Just tell me what you're thinking! she thought. I'm old enough to handle it! But before she finished her thought, the portable radio slung into her belt interrupted her. She whipped it from its holder and held it near her ear, but as she spoke her shades never turned away from Scootaloo.

“Go ahead.”

“This is the checkpoint on Broadcrest. We have a situation you should be aware of. There was an altercation between the officer on duty and a unicorn civilian. When we radioed the incident to HQ, they told us there was a flag on her file. We're supposed to get in touch with you."

"Who is it?"

"Name is Twilight Sparkle."

The Colonel's ears stood fully upright. "....I see. What's the charge?"

"Public intoxication and assaulting an officer. She dropped her passport on the ground and another pony, the pegasus in line behind her, picked it up and passed it back to her. The officer in charge wanted to question them for suspected passport forgery, and claims she became belligerent and attacked him first. I doubt it, though. Anyway, we performed the field tests and neither of them are Changlings. It seems like a genuine mix-up, though Sparkle was highly intoxicated when we arrested her. So what should we do?"

Dash pursed her lips and stared up the mountain, at the High Castle. Wondering what the princess would do, maybe. Scootaloo marveled how, even when deep in thought, the Colonel was so collected and confident. So mesmerizing. So sure of herself.

“I'm sending Major Dust to you," Dash said. "When she gets there....let her go. Do nothing."

"Yes, ma'am. And the other one? The pegasus we apprehended, too?"

"Let her go too. We don't want Sparkle to get suspicious."

"Suspicious, ma'am?"

"Just do it, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The Colonel lowered the radio and held it to her chin while she stared into the distance. Then she raised it again and said, "Major Dust, do you copy?"

After a moment of silence, another voice said, "This is Major Dust."

"Go to channel six."

"Copy."

Colonel Dust twisted the dial on the radio to the scrambled channel, then spoke into it, "Is the hatchling in the nest?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm on my way back."

"That sounds like a new academy record for getting settled."

After a moment of silence, the voice said, "Yes, ma'am."

"I need you to do something for me, and it supercedes all other orders. Get over to the Broadcrest checkpoint, as soon as possible. Clayhooves has been spotted, and this isn't her usual pattern. The checkpoint is waiting on you to release her. When you do, shadow her from the air and find out where she's going. She may be meeting our boy."

"But what about....?"

"I can handle things here if I need to. It's little more than babysitting. But Clayhooves....finding out where she's going is far more important. If I have an emergency, I'll let you know."

“You're the colonel, ma'am.”

"I'm glad we agree."

The radio fell silent. Colonel Dash stuffed it back into her belt. She didn't speak, and neither did Scootaloo. Scootaloo wanted to know what her idol was thinking, but she was also terrified of making her angry again. Who knew what thoughts were behind those hidden eyes, so remote and unreadable? The Colonel stood in front of the winged moon symbol stenciled on the APC, so it appeared the wings fanned out on either side of her body. Those unbreakable wings. Scootaloo straightened her neck and tried to stand a little taller, to wear her uniform well and make herself look a little more respectable.

Suddenly, Colonel Dash's shoulders sagged. She said, “Rook, you can go home now.”

“But....what?” Scootaloo's heart wrenched in her chest. “Why?”

“Because I'm ordering you to. It might get....hairy later on.”

“That's why I want to stay, ma'am!”

“Are you disobeying a direct order?”

Scootaloo opened her mouth to protest, then bit down on her tongue and clamped her jaw shut.

“Take the rest of the night off,” Colonel Dash said. “Enjoy not having any real responsibility. It won't last. Go on, go.”

Sadly, Scootaloo said, “Yes, ma'am.”

Trudging away from her idol, she let her head droop down until her muzzle almost scraped the sidewalk. Her beret slid to one side of her skull, but she didn't have the heart to fix it. Her chest felt all clogged up, like she couldn't get enough air into her lungs. She ripped her uniform jacket open and let the cool breeze caress her coat. She beat the streets, heading away from the bustle of the checkpoint, towards the apartment she shared with her foster parents. The sound of Shadowbolts protecting the city and doing their duty as pegasi, faded away.

She looked up, and by sheer chance saw that earth pony strolling along the March of Triumph, weighed down by the cart. She headed for the arch that representing the courage and bravery of pegasus ponies. A roaring violent rage filled Scootaloo. But Colonel Dash had let the earth pony go because the useless General Spitfire had said to, and Scootaloo didn't want to make her idol angry. But she couldn't stop an earth pony by herself, no matter how feeble degeneracy had made them. Feeling very small, Scootaloo slumped her shoulders and slunk along the sidewalk ringing the roundabout.

There had to be something she could do.

A hoofful of laughing ponies wandered out of a bar up ahead. Their Civil Force uniforms were unbuttoned and hanging loose around their bodies. They might have been off-duty, but the oaths they swore to keep the city safe were always in effect. They would help her keep the Land of the Eternal Moon safe!

Was that your good deed for the day? a tiny voice in the Colonel's head asked. Sure you don't want to walk the rook home and tuck her into bed, too?

She's just a foal, she thought.

A memory came to her unbidden, of Spitfire training her when she was nothing more than a fresh-faced rook. She shoved it out of her mind and gave the command over to Major Caspain, then spread her wings and lifted herself off the ground. It felt good to leave all her problems on the ground for a little while, tune them out in favor of the air rushing through her mane. But another thought abruptly popped into her mind: Is that rook going to replace me someday? Maybe I should take care of her first.

Listen to yourself, Colonel. She's barely out of diapers.

She drew close to the eternal moon. Everypony spent their whole lives reaching for that pale gray orb, and the promise of prosperity and good fortune it offered. It hung there, always watching over them, offering itself up to anypony who reached up and grabbed hold of it. All they had to do was struggle against their degenerate earthly impulses.

Nopony gets anywhere by being weak, she thought, spying the Croup billboard across the roundabout. Spitfire has gone weak, and she's going to lead us all to our doom. If I want to fix that, I need to be strong like Croup Steel.

She landed atop the sturdy and solid Arch of Triumph and walked to the far edge, to observe the thoroughfare running under the monument. Far below, the small speck of an earth pony walked on, lashed to a cart carrying the explosives that would hopefully net the Colonel a promotion to General. She pulled her binoculars off her belt and scanned the distance, homing in on a neon flurry of marquees in the distance, past the rows of city blocks. Now, there was nothing left to do but wait and watch. She unclipped her radio from her belt and settled down to wait. She turned the dial away from the police channels, towards the civilian bands.

A fanfare burst from the radio. The Colonel was about to tune away from it, but she stayed her hoof for a moment. The trumpets dipped down and cleared the airwaves so a stallion could holler a rapid-fire advertisement: “In honor of the upcoming millennial celebrations, Cynic DeKey is proud to present a tale of our princess's triumphant victory over Solara Victa. The River Runs Wild is the story of an industrious and free-spirited unicorn who struggles with keeping her farm intact under the ravages of a tyrant's iron hoof. Nothing in the world could have prepared you for this musical extravaganza. Marvel at the adventure, thrill at the danger, be swept off your hooves by the romance! And don't forget to roll in the aisle laughing at the sensational Trotten Pullit! The River Runs Wild, opening tonight, only at the Chariot Theater! Where memories are made!”

Oh, there will be some memories made tonight, don't you worry about that.

She tuned the radio to frequency 108.5. Thorny Bends would keep her company in this cold and lonely night.

Fluttershy cowered against the wall, her upturned eyes fretfully watching the Shadowbolts swarming around her. Headlights from the street splashed around on the sidewalk, turning the Shadowbolts into twisted and terrifying shadows that played on the red bricks, as sharp as knives. Ready to cut into Fluttershy, document forger. Passport thief. Changling. She knew she wasn't one of them, but did they? How well did their tests work? Would they have to torture her to find out for sure?

She shrank down, trying to turn to ooze and melt into the cracks in the sidewalk.

Next to her, the unicorn seethed, semi-conscious. She mumbled something about the Shadowbolts being murderers, which Fluttershy was not too happy to hear in her current condition. Always keep your own hoof on your own papers, she thought repeatedly. They'd drilled it into her head after talk of the threat posed by Changlings first surfaced. Always always always keep your own hoof on your own papers.

The unicorn woke suddenly by jerking up and pushing herself away from the building. Her eyelids flared open. “Y-you can't do this to me!”

Oh, no! Fluttershy thought. Don't draw their attention!

Luckily for Fluttershy, the comment went unnoticed by the security forces. Unluckily, the unicorn repeated it much louder. A Shadowbolt officer strode over and loomed over the two of them huddled on the sidewalk. A two-tone golden mane spilled out from under her dark purple beret.

“What was that?” she asked.

“You can't do this to me,” the unicorn said. “Yuh-you're supposed to serve us.”

The Shadowbolt clucked her tongue, like a disapproving mother. “Is that so? Would the little unicorn like some tea?”

“I'd like you to release me.”

“Hmph. Well, I guess it's your lucky day. Get up and get out of my sight.”

The unicorn blinked in surprise. Her eyes narrowed, searching the other mare's face for some hint of deception. But the Shadowbolt officer just threw the unicorn's confiscated saddlebag at her. The unicorn caught it instinctively, then stared at it. She got to her hooves, knees shaking and wobbling. When she straightened her legs, she swayed briefly, but her balance returned before long. The unicorn's horn lit up as she magically took the saddlebag and strapped it back around her body.

“My commanding officer dismissed the charges,” the Shadowbolt explained. “Because of your brother's sacrifice. Now go on, before I change my mind."

Without a word, the unicorn held her chin up and walked down the sidewalk and through the checkpoint. The Shadowbolt looked after her, then opened her wings, sturdy and powerful, to take flight. She flapped once, twice, close enough for Fluttershy to feel the wind they created brush her face. But the officer remembered Fluttershy existed and whipped her head around to lock eyes with her, and something flashed across her face. Disgust? Pity? Fluttershy couldn't tell.

Whatever it was, Fluttershy was deeply thankful the pegasus said, “You can get along too,” and then lifted herself up and flew into the night.

Fluttershy saw her own saddlebag lying on the ground, near the APC. Nopony was paying much attention to her, so she crept forward and stalked over to the saddlebag, reached a trembling forehoof out and snagged the straps, then backed away. She didn't dare turn her tail on the angry swarm of security forces, buzzing like hornets. She tensed herself to run if anypony made any sudden movements, and backed towards the opening carefully, so careful--

Her tail hit something. Somepony shouted. Fluttershy twirled around, her heart leaping into her throat. But it was only the purple unicorn, rubbing her temple. Her bloodshot eyes met Fluttershy's, and a look mingling contempt and despair flared up inside them. Then the unicorn gave Fluttershy a rough shove, but she was still very uncoordinated.

“Watch where you're going, featherbrain.”

The unicorn turned stiffly on her hooves and strode away, occasionally wobbling to one side. But rather than hate her, Fluttershy pitied her. She looks like she could use a friend. But definitely not me. I'm so weak and spineless, I'm not fit to be anypony's friend.

With one last look over her shoulder, to see if she had attracted anypony's attention, she slunk past the checkpoint.

Applejack felt a stranger in a strange land. She had passed precious few of her own kind on the cold city streets, and the unicorns and pegasus ponies threw her hateful glares that silently demanded to know why she was dragging her carcass through the part of town where only good folks lived. Why she was reminding them, with her very presence, that earth ponies still existed. Perhaps it'd be different if, instead of a heavy canvas cloak, she wore a work detail vest and went about cleaning up the trash with a pegasus hovering nearby. Working hard to make the shining city shine. Maybe then they'd be glad to see a dirt-eater like her.

What did they see in her? The Winter Rising? Did they expect her to tear out her earmark and occupy the radio stations, sounding the call to rise up against cruelty and injustice? That was her parents' war, and it ended with both of them swinging from the trees. No, nowadays the earth ponies' war was rolling a cart full of explosives into a crowd of innocents, then lighting the fuse and hightailing it. The only weapon ponies like Hammer had to fight with. But it wouldn't work, she knew. The hammer would fall on Hammer. Just like the aftermath of the Winter Rising, the precious hoofful of rights the unicorns deigned to give earth ponies would dwindle a little bit more.

But what else could she do, with Hammer threatening her family? The only thing that let her get through this awful life with her sanity intact?

No way out. No way free. Nowhere to run.

Sighing wearily, she rolled the cart on down the sidewalk. She had ta've known Ah was carryin' a cart full a'explosives, she thought. Ah saw it in her eyes. So why didn't she take me inta custody?! Everythin' would bea whole bunch easier if'n she'd jus' arrested me. Ah could'a been free a'this terrible, terrible burden. But she let me go, and now Ah got ta carry it.

She walked down the March of Triumph, past her kin tending to the trees. The earmarks, the shaved heads, the looks of defeat; she knew that face intimately. And these trees, the ones lining the cobblestone road that ran through the grass, she knew these trees very well, too. This was where the militia had strung her parents up, with a hundred other Winter Brigadiers. Left to rot and to swing in the wind. And the irony of it was that her parents had already told her why, in great detail, when she was younger:

After the first civil war, some five hundred years ago, the High Castle had done away with feudalism and let the unicorn bureaucracy run society, and it worked out swell for a while. But then the Moonblight started to rot the crops away, and a terrible famine swept the land, leaving everypony on the verge of exhaustion. The princess discovered some provincial bureaucracies were hoarding food from the High Castle. Enraged, she called up an army of pegasi to march on them and take the food. The fighting trampled all over the precious crops they were supposed to be nurturing and left the whole nation even more starving, and the treasury went broke from the cost of importing food from overseas. As the army marched, they plundered the rebel towns and farms and burned them down, even though the earth ponies in them only did what the unicorns told them to, like always. Her kin were summarily executed by the thousands, because they always got the brunt of the blame whenever there wasn't enough food. The soldiers strung them up from the trees they tended, right alongside the apples and cherries and oranges.

'Strange fruit', they called the swinging bodies.

When the fighting was over and the rebel lands surrendered, the High Castle brokered a peace with the unicorns, but all the earth ponies got was an edict. The Edict of 674, making all earth ponies wards of the state, because only the stern hoof of the military could keep the earth ponies in line and 'encourage' them to produce more.

Of all the advertisements she passed on her way up the March of Triumph, only one had earth ponies on it: a billboard high up on an apartment building advertising Daemo-brand Livestock Solutions. A professional-looking unicorn mare with a hair bun and cat's-eye glasses glanced down sternly at the pedestrians. Company owner Lacey Daemo herself, according to the label under her. Along the length of the billboard, hundreds of miniature earth ponies spelled out the company name and arranged themselves into its logo in perfect, orderly rows. 'Absolute Discipline', the tagline said.

Nowhere to run.

With the military transformed from a temporary militia to a permanent professional institution in charge of managing the country, the bureaucracies were slimmed down and a lot of unicorns found themselves out of a job. In a fit of insight, they capitalized on the bankrupt economy. That was the start of the corporations, when they resurrected the old guilds from the Reawakening. They started small, as circles of unicorn craftsponies drafting new ideas and machines, but it grew and grew until their ideas sparked first an agricultural and then an industrial revolution, and their industrial age was still going in the present day. Coal power, steam power, electricity, all products of the corporations. And of course, the military was their first and greatest customer. Tanks, locomotives, airships; all the better to transport materiel across the enormous expanse of the nation. Cannons, explosives, armor, all sold for profit, an arrangement both sides were exceedingly happy with. The pegasi had weapons to keep control of the nation, and the unicorns had their bits.

And as the corporations' ideas became more complex and needed more hooves to come to fruition, as always, they turned to the earth ponies. They petitioned the High Castle for hooves to work the assembly lines, and the High Castle had graciously granted it. And so the earth ponies were shipped from their farms to the cities, to build the weapons the pegasi used to keep the princess's peace. But after the military sank money into a few too many costly disasters, the industrialists had another grand idea: repeal the Edict of 674 a little bit. Loosen the leash on the earth ponies and let them pick where they wanted to work. That way, the more successful a firm was, the more earth ponies they could afford to hire.

'Freedom', they called it.

'A choice between slavedrivers', her parents named it.

But, again, the High Castle went along with their petition. The earth ponies were provisionally freed and given the semblance of choice. But on every corner, there was the military to keep order. To remind the earth ponies of where their freedom came from. Soon, they split the urban military garrisons off from the military proper and renamed it the Civil Force, but a change of name didn't change what they were or what they did.

And on that day twelve years ago when the Winter Brigade rose up for freedom, for true freedom, the Civil Force had been right there to beat them back down into the dirt. To show them who had the power. And the militias, all those soldiers come back from overseas, were all too eager to string the Brigadiers up from the trees, just like they had three hundred years ago. Strange fruit.

Nowhere to run.

Heh. Ah ain't a stranger in a strange land, Ah'm strange fruit in a strange land. She laughed at that, but it was little more than a broken, harsh scoff.

She crossed the intersection of the street that circled the park and the March of Triumph. Down the March, which led straight to the base of the High Castle itself, she saw the marquee lights glowing from around a distant corner. On the corner was a unicorn with a little souvenir cart. A foal toddled away from his parents, who were looking at the knick-knacks, and crossed AJ's path. It smiled up at her and drooled happily. He was too young to speak or understand the warnings about earth ponies. He was just a lump of unformed, unshaped clay. His father stepped away from the souvenir cart parked on the sidewalk and shoved AJ roughly away, even though she hadn't moved an inch. The foal's mother scooped him up and hugged him tight, whispering soothingly in his ear. The three of them backed away from her. The foal waved at her, but she didn't dare wave back. They'd punish her for that. They'd punish her most everything.

She looked at the souvenir cart, and the mustachioed owner. He glared at her with unbridled contempt, cursing her silently for driving away his business, commanding her to stop looking at his ware sin case she infected them with degeneracy from a distance. The souvenirs spread out in front of him, little glass and pewder tchotchkes shaped like the city's landmarks. There was a little Arch of Triumph, a High Castle, a Princess Luna, even one of the whole city on the mountain. Did it have a tiny Applejack on its streets, wandering aimlessly through a pointless existence?

Nowhere to run.

She stared up at the mountain above. Why is this mah life? she wondered as the unicorns and pegasi skirted around her, like a pile of dung left on the sidewalk. They make a big deal outta 'choice' and 'personal responsibility', but the only choice they give us is ta do what they say, no matter the cost. Her gaze lifted until it came to the pale moon, like a heavy eye staring down at her. No matter how much AJ tried to suppress it, the despair in her heart swelled until she couldn't breathe. The urge to flee swelled up inside her. To unharness the cart and run like the wind, take her family and sneak out of the city, braving the danger and hide in the countryside. Ponies were made to run across the open country, not live in these cages of glass and steel and stone and concrete. But the countryside didn't exist anymore. It was a long-gone legend that lived only in her heart. Now it was all factories and tracts of farmland patrolled by pegasi. Nowhere to hide from the Civil Force. The buildings around her loomed a little taller and pressed in just a little tighter.

Maybe Ah should just take the bomb somewhere quiet, set it off, and get all this over with. Forget what everypony else wants outta me, a'cause Ah can't take this anymore. There ain't no other way outta here. Life is just hardship and pain, and lies we tell ourselves. Lies about glorious revolution or some kinda 'World to Come'. Lies so's we can keep going, hoping there's something good ahead. But there never is, is there? There ain't no way outta life but death.

But she wouldn't do it. She could already tell. Not with her family out there to despair over what she'd done, and possibly be hurt by Hammer for her failure. No, she had to press on, through life's little torments and indignities. For Big Mac and Apple Bloom and especially dear old Granny Smith, who'd already lost a child during the Winter Rising. Applejack couldn't bear the thought of her sweet old granny outliving a grandchild, too. It'd just about break her heart to pieces.

Applejack picked her head up and started walking again.

Sudden rough hooves grabbed her from behind. She tried to gallop away, but the cart was too much of a burden, so there was nowhere to run to. The forelegs lifted her off the ground and ripped the harness away. She kicked and fought to get free, but only kicked empty air. With a heave, she was thrown to the sidewalk. Her flank slammed into the concrete, wrenching her spine. She planted a foreleg on the pitted, cracked ground to lift herself up, but when she put her weight on it, her knee buckled. She fell to the sidewalk, face-first.

“Awful long way from your hole, huh?” a chuckling mare asked.

Applejack raised her head. A half-dozen pegasus ponies stood over her, wearing either scowls or smirks of delight. They wore Civil Force uniforms, and wore them very proudly indeed, with their chests puffed out in self-importance.

“Ah-Ah got papers,” Applejack mumbled. She nosed her saddlebag open and drew out the forged letters of transit with her teeth. “The High castle, they give me permission ta be here--”

One of the pegasi snatched the letter, crumpled it up, and tossed it aside without reading a single word. The paper ball rolled over near the sales cart's wheel. The owner looked up from it to the pegasi, his lips worming up and down.

“Well,” the mare in charge said, “we don't give you permission to drag your degenerate carcass through our city.”

“Hey,” the souvenir cart owner said, “if she's got papers, maybe you should let her go.”

The mare turned to him, her brow drawing down into a steely snarl. She flared her wings out dramatically, extending them to their full length, and stalked over to the sales cart. The unicorn shrank back slightly, all his racial dominance fleeing from him.

“Help,” Applejack croaked.

The unicorn's eyes flicked to her, then back to the mare. He licked his lips, preparing to speak, but before he could she reached out like lightning and slammed his muzzle down into the cart's counter. He shot back up and fell away.

"Every day we're patrolling these streets, putting our lives on the line,” she growled, her dark eyes never leaving the unicorn. "We sweat and bleed so wimps like you can run your little factories and trinket booths. So don't you tell me what to do, understand?”

The unicorn hesitated for a moment, then scampered to his hooves, turned tail, and fled down the March of Triumph.

It was useless, Applejack realized, taking in the pure hatred etched on those faces. Everything else in the world seemed to fall away except the self-conscious pounding of her heart. It knew it would likely soon stop beating, and wanted to remind her of what she would lose. But no matter what she said, nothing would stop them. They'd just call her a liar. They were on a war path, looking for a battle to fight, just like the rest of the pegasus race.

Little better than animals, the lot of them.

That's-that's not true, she thought. They....had their heads full a'lies, that's all. Ma an' pa said so.

Right before they were....killed by 'em. Giving in to her hatred lent her a small bit of comfort, of vindication. She might die, but she was right about the pegasus ponies.

Stop it, she thought again. Ah'm no better than they are if'n Ah think that.

The pegasus mare faced Applejack again, eyes blazing with anger. She scooped a glass keepsake made to look like the city on its mountain. Then she plucked up a roll of tape lying next to the gift boxes and walked back to the circle of pegasi.

“Hold her up,” the mare said. Two of the pegasi wrestled AJ off the ground. They pulled her forelegs out, painfully stretching all the muscles in her chest. She struggled a few times, but they held her firm. “Now,” the mare in charge said, striding over with the keepsake held in an upturned hoof. “Open wide, dirt-eater.”

Oh, no, Applejack thought.

Her entire body broke out in pinpricks. Her stomach tied itself in knots. Sudden tears leaked from her eyes. They were going to give her a glass jaw. She renewed the struggle to free herself, but the pegasi tightened their grips and stilled her. They were too powerful, and she was so tired. As the other mare approached, Applejack shook her head, begging her not to, but the gesture was feeble and heartless.

“Aw, you scared?” the pegasus cooed.

She put on a sympathetic smile and stroked Applejack's cheek tenderly. Then she slammed her forehoof into Applejack's chest, making her gasp. AJ tried to grit her teeth, but the pegasus was too quick. She yanked open AJ's mouth and shoved the glass souvenir inside. Applejack practically had to unhinge her jaw to stop from biting down on it and shattering it. The sharp points and curving edges of the Canterlot model on her tongue and cheeks felt fragile between her teeth, just waiting to cut her mouth and throat to ribbons and make her drown in her own blood. All it was waiting for was a blow to break them into tiny glass daggers. The mare ripped a strip of thick tape off the roll and pressed it over AJ's mouth, sealing the glass model inside.

“Doesn't taste as good as dirt, I'll bet.”

Applejack's eyes were so wide, they felt about ready to fall out. She wordlessly pleaded with the pegasus ponies, begging them not to, but she found no empathy.

“This'll all be over soon,” the mare said, turning around and raising her hind leg. Preparing herself for the final kick.

“Wait,” another pegasus said. Applejack looked to him in desperation, hoping against hope he'd grown a conscience. But the pegasus only asked, “What if the horn gets help?”

The mare looked around the street, which wasn't crowded, but neither was it empty. The ponies passed them by, deliberately not paying any attention to the six Civil Force soldiers. “You're right,” she said. “Let's find a nice, quiet place.” She grinned at Applejack. “Where we can be alone.”

The pegasus ponies pulled her forelegs, sending her flying onto her back. As they hustled her away, dragging her along the sidewalk, she struggled to break free and also not accidentally swallow the glass model in her mouth or bite down and shatter it. She kicked the air with her hind legs, trying in vain to get free, but she found no purchase, could land no blows. The pegasus ponies dragged her into the shadows of a dark alley.

Nowhere to run.

That earth pony better get what she deserves.

Why wouldn't she? When Scootaloo went to the soldiers, they seemed very concerned when she told them about the suspicious dirt-eater. After stuffing her uniform into her saddlebag, that is, so they wouldn't question why she didn't take care of the problem herself. It hurt her pride to feign helplessness, but when the safety of the city was on the line, Scootaloo considered the price worth it. She was a good pegasus for putting a stop to that.

She rounded the corner onto her street. Her apartment building stood ahead, and a light shone in her kitchen, halfway up its fifteen stories. Probably her foster parents sitting down for dinner. I wish Colonel Dash was my foster parent, she thought. Light Breeze and Crosswind were nice enough, but fell pretty short of the pegasus ideal. Middling, at best. How could she look up to weather patrol ponies? She liked them, yes, but respect had to be earned, and she couldn't fully respect ponies who were given wings and yet spent their lives kicking clouds around. Some ponies just wasted their racial heritage.

On the sidewalk, a pegasus lifted off and took to the air. Scootaloo watched with envy as he soared up to a balcony on the top floor. No flying for her. Just stairs, all the way up, she thought with a groan.

Her ear caught a noise from the pavillion across the street, a grassy park where the ponies of the neighborhood could keep fit. She crossed the street, keeping alert and watching the shadows for the source of the noise. Softly, she trend the grass and pressed between the ring of trees surrounding a marble statue of Princess Luna, valiantly leading two soaring pegasi at her flanks into battle. There, in the statue's shadow, a dark shape with its muzzle pressed close to the dirt moved.

“Poke!” the shape said. “Poke!”

Scootaloo watched from the treeline. Every time that simpering, lisping voice spoke, she ground her teeth a little harder. She stalked around the trees, getting closer to see what he was doing, angling herself so the colt was framed against the moonlight streaming down from the sky. His muzzle was against the ground, and he reached out with a hoof and tentatively poked the dirt. It wasn't until he started singing a song from the radio, one of those Cheerilee and Her Orchestra swing songs from the High Castle's official stations, that Scootaloo realized what the foal was doing.

“This is how we make our garden grow, we must make the flowers grow fast, not slow.” Rumble hummed a jaunty brass riff. “Because a flower that ain't blooming, means a unicorn out there is fuming!”

Scootaloo couldn't bear to look at him poking his hoof in the dirt and disgracing the wings on his back. Her jaw hurt from grinding her teeth so much. Every single thing he did filled her chest with a great and terrible loathing, an itching, crawling disgust. The taint of degeneracy, infecting her from a distance. Rumble's brother, she dimly recalled, had been executed for treason. A defeatist, they called him. Degenerate. Rumble had weakness in his blood, and there was no place for weakness in the Land of the Eternal Moon. Her fury rose in her chest and choked her gorge. But there was power in anger: the passion to reject and stave off degeneracy, and change things for the better.

Rumble prodded the dirt experimentally and called out, “Poke!” again.

“What are you doing?” she called.

Rumble shuddered and spun around. When Scootaloo drifted from the treeline and into the moonlight, he shuddered. She wished she had put her uniform on, to make the effect even more terrifying for the little snot, but it was still stashed in her saddlebag. It didn't matter, anyway. Even without it, the pathetic foal cowered against the statue's pedestal, shaking himself to pieces, as she slowly approached him.

“Nuh-nuh-nothing, Scootaloo,” he said, huddling over. “Nothing.”

“I asked what you were doing, not what you are. What was that song you were singing, huh?”

She stopped over him, brought to fury by his babyish coat, so tender and soft.

“Ch-Ch-Cheerilee and Her Orchestra,” he said.

“Isn't that dirt-eater music? I swore I saw a pair of wings on you.”

Scootaloo had to admire the bravery the little snot had in saying, “I l-l-like it,” to her.

“Are you a dirt-eater?” When he didn't answer, she shouted, “Well, are you?!”

He flinched and sobbed, “No.”

“Then what are you?”

Rumble swallowed heavily. “A p-p-pegasus.”

Scootaloo's dropped her voice to a soft whisper. “Oh. Is that so? You're a pegasus, but you listen to music meant for dirt-eaters? And you go around here, in front of my home--”

“It's my home, too,” he squeaked.

“Don't interrupt me,” Scootaloo sneered. “You come around here, making my home degenerate by pretending to be an earth pony. That's going to cost you.”

“Please, no....!”

Should've thought about that before you betrayed our race. There was no sympathy in her for a pegasus who casually threw his birthright away like that. Stabbed his nation in the back. She bolted forward and grabbed him. As he thrashed to get free, she dragged him to the grass and threw him down.

“So you wanna be a dirt-eater, huh?” she yelled, digging up clumps of earth and shoving them into his sobbing, whining mouth. “Here, eat up!”

He tried to spit the dirt out, but she kept shoving it in until muddy spittle dribbled down his lips and chin. Then she put her hooves on the back of his head and shoved it down into the upturned earth, rubbing his face in it. He struggled to get free, but never made a move to fight her directly, which only made her angrier. No pegasus spirit. That body was wasted on him. And yet, despite that, his wings still worked. They beat the air to lift him off the ground. But she was still stronger.

“Might as well rip these off,” she said, grabbing his wingtips in her fetlocks and bending them back as she sat on his back. “A dirt-eater isn't going to need these, is he?”

He mewled his pathetic cries and spat wet earth out. A real pegasus wouldn't cry like that. Rumble could never guard Canterlot, could never do anything to help his society. His wing bones reached the breaking point. Just a little more pressure, and they'd snap in half. Go ahead, she thought. Why should he have them if he's not even going to fight back? Nopony owes him anything. Nopony gets anything if they're not willing to fight for it. But she didn't want to spoil her fun so soon. She relented and let go. He scrabbled around in the dirt, where he belonged, before jumping to his hooves and making a run for safety. She gave him a swift kick in the flank as he scurried away and sent him sprawling face first into the grass. Her eyes watered up, she laughed so hard, but she wiped the tears away in time to see Rumble run out of the park, crying.

Scootaloo waited a few moments, then got up and walked towards the apartment building, feeling big and tough and distinctly pleased with herself. Was this how Colonel Dash felt, when she kept the city safe? One day, maybe she'd find out, but for right now she was hungry.

Comments

[Effectivekill]

More and more I wish for this canterlot and all its pegasi and unicorns to get nuked. You are writing a damn fine story.

[ponichaeism]

4800403

Well, the sun is a giant nuclear reactor.

Keep that in mind as we plunge forwards.

[Reese]

"net the Colonel a promotion to General a promotion."
I'm pretty sure that that repeated bit at the end is a typo; I'm not sure what it would mean otherwise.

Nice bit of history there.

[Ravemastaj]

For some strange reason, Scoots reminds me of this. She seems like she would be the first one to sing.

On the other hoof, I doubt Spitfire would remember the words.

[ponichaeism]

4803697

Scootaloo's song would be this:

except she totally wouldn't get that it's supposed to be ironic, and take it completely at face value.

[Ravemastaj]

4804499
Ugghhhhh, kids today and their grungy music

I totally know the song for this arc, though, and I can almost guarantee a version of it will be playing in the theatre when the whole shebang goes down. When you've got the story of the Princess's victory going on at the same time as a coup de'tat, with an empowered unicorn farmer fighting the world in the lead role, it would be the most fitting.

"For what is a mare, what has she got
If not herself, then she has naught

To say the things she truly feels;
And not the words of one who kneels

The record shows,
I took the blows,
And did it MYYYYYYYYYYY WAYYYYYYYYYY!"

EDIT:
Just visualize "I Did it My Way" in three arcs itself (Spitfire, Rainbow Dash, and Applejack). It fits, depending on how the next few chapters go down...

[AugieDog]

4808676

As long as:

We're doing songs, here's the one that's actually mentioned in the chapter.

Mike

[Ravemastaj]

4819929

Oooh, nice catch. They wouldn't write a song like that today, not one with any impact anyway.

[ponichaeism]

4822827

Not true. The Last Internationale are getting some serious airplay where I live, and their logo is literally the anarcho-communist flag.

Their first protest-song-masquerading-as-a-hit-single is entitled "Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Indian Blood", and they also have such crowdpleasers as "The Ballad of Trayvon Martin", "Workers of the World, Unite!", and a cover of Woody Guthrie's "Deportee".

And I love it!

[Ravemastaj]

4824530

I stand corrected. Nice to see a libertarian streak exists somewhere (in this country?). It's good to hear that these guys are getting some airtime, and they do have some talent.

Definitely listening to them now.

[Balancer]

[Cudgeon Kurosaki]

This story angers me at how broken everything is. You have a talent of making me say "You shut up!" to characters that are saying really twisted things, almost unimaginable things (which you imagined them saying). I also want to slam Scootaloo's head into the ground repeatedly and very violently. I commend you good sir.

[Sunny]

This gets ever more uncomfortably dark and dire. A mirror of the worst excesses of humanity in a world that should be sunshine and rainbows. And the stomach knots in uncomfortable silence. Well done.

[Twilightsparklefairy]

Please tell me there's a happy ending... Somehow, though, I doubt that's gonna happen with how the story's been so far.