Chapter 21: Rash Choices
“There are two things that are infinite. The universe, and human stupidity. And I’m not sure about the universe.”
- Albert Einstein
Summer mornings are full of many things, but mostly they are filled with bright sunshine and the joy of unlimited potential. And it was with that potential in mind that a hoof knocked on a door frame a little after breakfast in the small town of Brightly BC.
“Morning kids,” Windweaver said in greeting, looking at the small herd in front of her. “You’re all here a little early. We just finished breakfast about fifteen minutes ago. Anything wrong?”
“Seeker found something where the portal was,” Shield Maiden replied, pointing a hoof over toward where her sister who was doing her usual avoidance of speaking. “She thinks it might belong to the Crusaders.”
“That’s great! I’m sure they would be very happy for anything from home. Well done, Seeker,” Windweaver praised, drawing a blush from the pony that made her red fur an even darker shade of scarlet.
“Thanks,” mumbled the pony in embarrassment, drawing a hug from her soon-to-be adoptive brother from where he stood between both girls.
“Magic may not be a big thing anymore, but she can still find things that are up close to her,” Iron Hoof supplied, beaming up at the older pony.
“Well, we’re just finishing cleaning up, so you can head back into the rec room and wait for them to join you,” the motherly pegasus told the young herd. “They shouldn’t be too long.”
“Thanks Mrs. Harding,” enthused Shield Maiden, before adding, “I mean, thanks Windweaver. Sorry, I forgot for a minute there.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. I know we all decided to use pony names when we are in pony bodies, but we’ve all known each other for years by our original names, so I don’t mind answering to either,” Windweaver née Lynn Harding assured all three of the young ponies. “So go on in, but no bothering anyone until after they finish the dishes, okay?”
A trio of “Okay’s!” chirped out from the small group as they trotted through the door and toward the rear of the now comfortably full large home. The group was briefly hailed by a group of three young pegasi, an earth pony and a unicorn, who were all busy scrubbing plates and cleaning up from what looked like a complete breakfast of pancakes with butter and syrup.
“Hey guys,” Darter called, his silver wing tips nearly indistinguishable from the soap suds in the sink. “What’s up?”
“Found thome stuff,” Seeker stated, the return of her lisp ending her sentence.
“Your mom told us to wait for you guys in the rec room. How long you figure?” Iron Hoof asked, taking up the job of continuing the conversation as Seeker faltered.
“Five more minutes,” Scootaloo replied, drying a plate and passing it over to Skylark. “Unless it takes us longer to clean out the pot that Apple Bloom tried to make a better soap with.”
“Zecora’s recipe shouda worked just fine,” complained the yellow earth pony, hooves scrubbing with industrial energy at the inside of a soup pot. “Ah made her super bubble soap like a dozen times!”
A pop from one side of the kitchen drew every eye to where Sweetie Belle calmly pulled two slices of toast from a toaster. As her two best friends watched in amazement, their culinary challenged compatriot calmly cut the slices into four halves, adding some jam before placing the toast onto a plate and passing them over to Shield Maiden, keeping one chunk for herself.
“Things work a little differently on Earth,” the unicorn reminded the rest, munching casually away on her toast. “I’m done with my part. Anypony need any help?”
There was a moment of stunned silence from Sweetie’s fellow Crusaders and the local ponies shot a glance to each other, looking for an explanation to the shocked surprise radiating off of Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. As the moment stretched out, it was predictably Shield Maiden who took action.
“Anyway… we’ll see you all in the back. Thanks for the toast!” declared the little unicorn, nudging her sister and brother forward while carrying the plate with the power of almost all the magic she could muster.
It turned out to be more than a few minutes before the three became eight and the full herd of Power Ponies and Cutie Mark Crusaders merged into the large rec room, now filled somewhat with the addition of three pony sized beds and the beginnings of new sets of personal belongings for the Equestrian trio.
“So, what’s up? You guys got something we can do?” Darter asked, leading the conversation as he often did. “We were thinking of heading out to the lake today, before it got super hot.”
“Seeker found some stuff from near where the portal was, and she thinks it might belong to either Scootaloo, Apple Bloom or Sweetie Belle,” Shield Maiden began, before giving her sister a nudge. “Show them.”
“Okay,” responded the pony, her blue and green split coloured eyes whirling for a moment under her purple mane, as she drew three long and narrow gems out from one of the pouches of the small harness that all the local ponies habitually wore. “These any of yours?”
“OH!” gasped Sweetie Belle, grabbing the gems with her own scraps of magic. “You found them!”
“What are they?” Seeker asked, curiosity overcoming the fear of her speech impediment. “I can’t see much anymore, but those are strong.”
“They’re from Rarity’s Imagination Room,” Sweetie Belle explained. “I was gonna make her a card using those after.. after… “
The young unicorn was overcome with emotion as she remembered just how far from home she was, and found herself unable to continue. A heartbeat later seven other ponies covered Sweetie Belle in a single, massive hug of comfort and reassurance.
“You’ll get home,” Shield Maiden declared. Her voice stating a certainty that was as unchallengeable as the turning of the worlds. “It might take a while but all three of you are going home. We promise.”
“Thanks everypony,” Sweetie Belle replied, trying to wipe her eyes and failing as she could barely move. “Um, could you kind of unhug me? Just for a bit?”
All of the ponies laughed and unpiled themselves from the small white unicorn, and for a time the large room was filled with happy chatter and the sound of games. At one point, Darter went out and came back with a small pouch on a string, so that Sweetie Belle could be sure to not lose the three salvaged gems.
Sun poured in through the sliding glass doors that led out to the backyard, and from there into the slightly overgrown alley behind the houses that made up the block.
“How do I look?” Donavich asked his companions as they pulled up in front of the Harding residence.
“Pretty good, boss,” Captain Watson replied, both of them utterly resplendent in their Class A uniforms. Ebon’s chest was especially dotted with ribbons marking a host of accomplishments and awards.
“You always did dress to impress,” Takamura added, dressed in a fitted pantsuit of neutral colours. She wanted to blend in during this interaction as much as possible, adding to the conversation only if needed.
“I do not see why I had to be here,” Pjetrovic opined from the back seat of their rental car. “I could easily be speaking with our source more, or gathering more information on the town and its other pony inhabitants.”
“You’re here to show off American diversity and demonstrate that we are accepting of all cultures and peoples,” Donavich replied. “In this car we have individuals of American, Russian and Asian descent. Not to mention being of diverse gender identities, isn’t that right… Empress?”
“And I’ll thank you to continue keeping that under your hat,” Takamura tried not to growl back. “The CIA may have come a long way, but it's still an old boy’s club in many respects.”
“As you wish,” Donavich answered, tipping his head towards the Harding’s front door. “Does everyone know their assignments?”
“I’m here to observe the ponies and see if I can actually conduct any sort of physical exam,” Sunday supplied. “We know so little about how the pony body works. Almost any information will be literally trailblazing.”
“My role is psychological analysis and assistance in persuading the Hardings to come to the United States for a visit,” stated the psyops expert.
“My job is to be window dressing,” Prism added, with a heavy sigh of bored frustration. “I am there to look good, and take names.”
“You’re armed, right?” Donavich asked. “Other than with the knock out injectors?”
“Foolish Canadian gun laws,” groused the Slav. “But yes, I have my Glock 42 with me.”
“Then we’re prepared for everything. Let’s go,” ordered Major Ebon Donavich, Task Force Mercury (Commanding).
The four stepped out from the sedan and walked toward the front door of the large, two story house. Behind Donavich’s back, Nao shot her fellow intelligence officer a questioning look that wordlessly asked how ready they were to use their weapon. Their erstwhile leader never noticed the sigh of relief Nao gave as she received a shake of the head in response.
“Hello?” a male voice answered, almost immediately after Donavich knocked on the home’s front door. Looking down, the four Americans saw a strongly built pegasus pony, one silver wing holding open the door.
“Good morning sir,” Donavich opened with. “My name is Major Ebon Donavich, United States Army. Would you be Mr. Harding?”
“That would be me,” Thunder replied, his voice cool and calm. “What can I do for you folks?”
“May we come in for a few minutes?” asked Donavich, his voice warm and pleasant. “We have an offer for your family, and your daughter in particular.”
“What do you want with my little girl?” Thunder shot back, immediately bristling at a perceived threat to his child.
“The heavens, sir,” Nao supplied, sliding up alongside Ebon and discreetly nudging Captain Watson back as she recognized the need for her interpersonal skills. “We want to give her the skies, and all the stars in heaven above.”
“Oookay,” Thunder drawled out, relaxing a bit as his curiosity rose.
“All we want to do is come in, speak with you and your family for a few minutes and lay out an offer that I’ve been tasked to present to you,” Ebon added, avoiding an urge to get down on one knee so that he could be closer to eye level with the pony. “Afterwards, if you want us to go away, we will. There are no strings attached. If you say ‘No’, we go. But if you say ‘Yes’ I guarantee you’ll be impressed.”
“Honey,” called a voice from inside the house. “Who is it?”
“It’s the American military. Seems they want to offer us something,” Thunder replied, over his shoulder. “Should I tell them to go away?”
“Ernest Thunder Harding, you will do no such thing,” Windweaver commanded. “Invite them in.”
“Well, you heard the wife. Come on in,” Thunder said, holding the door open a little wider.
Several moments later the four Americans were sitting in the Harding living room, with Thunder perched on a large ottoman with Windweaver sitting on the cushion of a recliner near him.
“Some introductions first,” Ebon began. “I’m Major Ebon Donavich, US Army. With me is Captain Cassandra Watson, Army Veterinary Corps, as well as Officers Nao Takamura and Kyo Pjetrovic of the CIA.”
“CIA?” Windweaver asked, a single eyebrow rising.
“We’re here as civilian oversight,” Takamura stated, smoothing her pants and noting an odd purplish discoloration in the centre of the hardwood floor. “Considering past… errors in judgment, it was thought that keeping things as controlled as possible would be best.”
“I like how you call an armed kidnap squad an ‘error in judgment’,” Thunder replied sarcastically.
“They’ve come a long way. The christian thing to do is to hear them out,” Windweaver stated, pausing before adding with unexpected firmness, “before we show them the door, that is.”
“It was a dumb thing to do,” Pjetrovic bluntly threw into the conversation. “Men thinking with egos and not heads. A big part of this is to say, ‘We fucked up, and we are sorry’.”
“That… is rather more candid than I was expecting,” Windweaver responded, fluffing her wings a bit before addressing the vet, who hadn’t made a sound from the moment Thunder had opened his front door. “And what about you? Hello?”
Watson blinked and shook her head for a moment before blurting, “My God, your fur is gorgeous! Is it natural or did you do something magical to give it that gloss? And your wings! I’ve never seen actual, silver, feathers before. White, sure. But not actual silver coloured ones.”
Everyone else in the room laughed for a moment at Watson’s enthusiastic rush of words and praise for Windweaver’s fur and plumage, who responded only with a purplish blush from the metallic black of her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” apologized Watson, blushing herself. “Like Eb… Major Donavich said, I’m a vet and I specialize in equines and camelids, which is why I got tapped for this job. To see an equine like yourself makes me want to run my ha… I just… I mean... It makes me very happy to have met you.”
“Well praise for my wife’s beauty aside,” Thunder said, giving his wife a loving look, “I believe you said something about an offer that brought you here.”
“Indeed,” Donavich said, fixing Watson in place with a split second glare of reproval as he took a leather folder out from beneath his coat. “I have here a personal invitation from the Commandant of the United States Air Force Academy for your daughter, Skylark, to come tour the facilities in Colorado Springs for a week. Culminating in a flight with the Thunderbirds.”
“I—” Thunder began to say, before he was interrupted by the dopplering approach of his youngest child.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!,” the young pony squealed in excitement as she flew into the room, dusting Pjetrovic with her feathers just before her magic gave out and she plowed headlong into her father. “Can I? Can I? CanI? CanIcanicanicanicanicanicanicani.”
“Give your father a chance to breathe,” Windweaver said, pulling her usually taciturn daughter off her landing spot, as the other women in the room tried to hide their amusement at Skylark’s reaction.
“Thanks dear,” Thunder commented, rubbing his belly for a moment; before turning to address Donavich while looking at the CIA officers. “As you may have noticed Major, my daughter has a love of flight and flying, but you knew that didn’t you?”
“After the Windigo Event, we drew up detailed dossiers of all the major players in Brightly, especially the Power Ponies and anyone close to them,” Nao admitted, unabashed at Thunder’s suspicious scrutiny. “And although I can’t be completely sure, I would imagine every other intelligence agency around the world has done something similar.”
“So you knew how our daughter would react to this. Which means you want something in return, or should I assume this is another kidnap attempt, only with better bait this time?” Thunder asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.
Nao didn’t miss the change in the stance of all three ponies in the room, nor did she fail to notice several young eyes trying, and failing, to peek around the corner unobserved. The Brightly ponies had been burned by the outside world enough times to be wary of strangers bearing gifts. She was about to do her best to reassure Thunder and his family, when to her surprise, Donavich spoke up.
“We would like several things in return,” Ebon began, leaning forward and speaking with the open, warm voice that Nao remembered charming her on more than one occasion. “In exchange for you and your family coming to Colorado as guests of the US military, we would want your goodwill. We would want to have your trust, again. We would like you to accept our apology, and tell the rest of Brightly that we are sorry, and that we would like to make it up to them as well.”
“That’s all?” Thunder demanded. “No tests, no trying to separate us and take a pony apart to see what makes us tick? No ‘terrible accident’ of us all dying in a plane crash, with no bodies ever recovered, nothing like that?”
“That only happens in bad movies,” Prism snorted.
“Precisely,” agreed Donavich. “However, if one of you wants to spend time in a wind tunnel so pegasi aerodynamics can be examined, or if one of you is willing to allow a 3D scan of their body so we can do computer modelling, no one is going to refuse. But those sorts of things would be wholly optional on your part. If any of you say ‘No’ to something, then ‘no’ it is, and we’ll accept that and move on.”
“I’m willing to consider the offer, with one immediate condition,” Thunder stated.
“And that is?” Donavich asked, a pleased smile on his face.
“Polaris comes with us,” Thunder tersely replied.
“Martin McCrae, Canadian Rangers,” supplied Pjetrovic, seeing Ebon’s confusion at the name. “Pegasus pony, marksman. Special ability, can use almost anything as a bullet for his service weapon. Codename: Polaris. Like the missile.”
“Oh,” Donavich muttered, thinking rapidly, until a knock on the door interrupted his train of thought.
Everyone in the living room looked at each other with equal amounts of questioning confusion, and when it became clear that no one was expecting anyone new to be knocking Thunder got up and opened the door.
<Five minutes earlier>
“Okay, are you sure we’ve got the right address?” asked the man behind the wheel of the older rental car.
“Go a couple of blocks and take a left at the intersection with a blue house and it should be three doors down on the left,” replied his companion. “Trust me, I had to come to this crappy little town a few years ago. I know the area.”
“‘Crappy little town’ is right,” snorted the first man, sneaking a quick look in the mirror to check on his grooming. First impressions were important. “I’m surprised this place even has a name, never mind is an actual town. They don’t even have a Starbucks here, if you can believe that.”
“At least Bella Coola has that,” responded his passenger, who was both more sensibly dressed and more casually groomed than the driver, who had insisted on taking the wheel despite having just come up from Vancouver. “This place is so out of touch that the one time I tried to buy something in town, they actually used an old swipe machine and carbon paper on my credit card.”
“No wonder the premier sent me up here to rescue these pony kids,” whistled the driver, enjoying the car’s air conditioning. “These people are so backward they’re probably beating their kids with belts. Spare the rod, spoil the child and all that nonsense.”
“I read the briefing packet you brought up with you. Seems the father was involved with the Ministry as a youth. Tragic case that slipped through the cracks, but I didn’t see anything in there about anything current, not even anonymous allegations,” commented the passenger, quickly flipping through pages on a clipboard. “Father is now a local farmer and firefighter, mother is a homemaker and well respected.”
“It’s always the ones who are ‘respected’ that have the biggest skeletons in their closet,” noted the driver, making the turn. “This file was marked ‘Urgent’ and ‘Top Priority’, and on top of that, they sent me all the way up here from Vancouver. That spells abuse or some other trouble that the Minister can’t directly comment on. My money is on the cycle of abuse repeating itself through the father.”
“There’s the house,” said the passenger, pointing out a home with a pair of cars parked in front of it. “How do you want to play this?”
“We start polite, but firm,” the driver informed his passenger. “Be ready for avoidance and for the parents to refuse to let us check the children or the living conditions. No matter what, we aren’t leaving without making sure those kids are sleeping in a better environment tonight.”
“Hello?” Thunder asked, to the two men standing on his doorstep. Both men were dressed in what could be called ‘business casual’, with one of them sweating underneath an immaculate leather overcoat that was hanging loosely open.
“Good morning,” opened the taller of the two, a well built man with a high, tight haircut and the top of a dragon tattoo poking up the side of his neck. “My name is Steven Tamatzui. This is Ryan Stevens and we’re with the Ministry of Children and Family Development.”
“Okay, what can I do for you?” Thunder asked, confused as to why a pair of social workers of all things, would be at his door.
“There have been some disturbing allegations and we are here to make sure that the children are okay. May we see them?” Steve asked, in a tone that made it more of a demand than a request.
“What sort of allegations and by whom?” Thunder demanded, not budging an inch.
“Excuse me, I think I need to help deal with this,” Windweaver said, to the now wide-eyed and surprised Americans. Donavich sent a questioning glance over to the two intelligence officers, both of whom replied with fractional shakes of their head.
“Due to privacy laws I’m not permitted to reveal the details of the allegations, but I can assure you that they are serious enough to warrant a health and safety check,” Steve continued, while Stevens made a few notes as to what was going on.
“You people did sweet fuck all when I needed help,” Thunder growled back, memories of his painful youth igniting his outrage and fanning it into instant flame. “The Ministry wasn’t there then, or at any time when me and mine have needed help over the years, so what gives you the right to stand at MY DOOR and demand to be let in.”
“My husband is a good person and we are good parents,” Windweaver added, her own growing sense of upset revealed by her lashing tail. “You have no cause to demand anything.”
“Uh, did you want to go to the rec room and show my brother that Air Force stuff?” Skylark asked, timidly tapping a hoof against Donavich’s leg to get his attention.
“Of course we can,” Nao assured the young pegasus, who was visibly attempting to shy away from the growing conflict at the front door. “Let’s go show the other ponies the offer. Could you lead the way, Skylark?”
Together, the four Americans and one pony made their way out of the living room and toward the back of the house, pausing only to catch a brief look of gratitude from Windweaver as tempers continued to flare and flame, with old wounds mixing with new suspicions and conjectures.
“What the hay is going on out there?” Scootaloo asked, as the five entered the rec room. The ponies had obviously been in the middle of some sort of board game, when the Americans and then the social workers had disrupted things.
“There are some people at the door who are… concerned for your well-being,” Ebon commented. “Perhaps somewhat excessively. Thunder is attempting to dissuade them.”
“Diss…wade?” Apple Bloom repeated, trying to parse the meaning of the word.
“It means make them go away,” Kyo explained, sitting cross legged on the floor.
“Are you… are you Equestrians?” Watson asked, eyes the size of dinner plates focusing on Sweetie Belle. “I’ve never met an Equestrian before, or been this close to this many ponies. I really like your mane. Can I touch it?”
“Sure!” chirped Sweetie Belle. “As long as you're careful, that is. Rarity says that manes take a lot of work to maintain.”
“Who is Rarity?” Nao asked, eager to gain new intelligence.
“She’s my sister, back in Ponyville. She’s one of the Elements of Harmony and everything,” Sweetie Belle stated proudly. “Those are her gems on the board.”
Four pairs of human eyes shifted to where three brilliant blue gems sat, each one as long and as thick as a man’s thumb, their physical value perhaps in the billions of dollars but their value as objects of research and study making them absolutely priceless. Major Donavich froze as his mind replayed to him his orders to obtain items of magic or any of the missing Equestrian gems at any cost, and here in front of him were three absolutely pristine and unknown diamonds that were undoubtedly capable of things beyond his imagination.
“If you don’t let us in, we will have the RCMP here to require you to let us in,” carried the angry voice of the social worker from the front door. The words and tone drew the eye of all of the ponies, but the eyes of the humans were all on Donavich, as each of the women with him recognized the look on the man’s face, and dreaded it.
“It’s ‘Downtime’,” Donavich ordered, in a tight, controlled voice.
“Are you—” Watson began, her fingers still woven in the hairs of Sweetie’s mane.
“‘Downtime’, now,” insisted the major, his hand going into his pocket.
“Sorry,” Cassandra apologized, as she pressed a small device against Sweetie Belle’s shoulder.
“Hey!” exclaimed the pony, “What was that…”
As the Cutie Mark Crusader collapsed into a boneless slump to the floor, the other three Americans moved swiftly and decisively to inject the other seven ponies in the room with the powerful ketamine derivative meant to incapacitate Foxfire. Within a matter of seconds each of the magical equines lay on the floor, having been taken fully by surprise.
“Why?” Prism asked, as Donavich scooped up the three blue diamonds.
“Equestrian gems. All other considerations are secondary to securing more of them,” replied the major bluntly as he stood up.
“No, you ca— can’t have those,” Apple Bloom slurred out. The little pony couldn’t move, could barely speak, but her earth pony vitality and Apple Family determination had kept her conscious where the others had succumbed to the powerful sedative.
“We can’t have her telling the others where we went. Grab her, and let’s go,” ordered Donavich. “They’ll give us the Medal of Honor for this.”
“If they don’t shoot us for starting a war first,” Takamura replied darkly, as the four quietly made their way out the sliding glass door that led to the back of the property, Apple Bloom slung over Watson’s shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
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Didn't we just get done talking about "bad movies"? Dude, if y'all had stuck around and offered to throw literally all of the money at getting social services to sod off you'd be in a much better position.
These might even be good social workers, legitimately believing that they're acting on a threat to children. It will be interesting to see whether they respond to the children being missing by attempting to arrest the parents, or by helping in the search.
*angry horse noices*
/me cuts Penalt off from buying any more manure or windmill parts.
"That only happens in bad movies!"
*proceeds to act exactly like evil government military from the movies.*
I'm not even remotely mad at the social workers. "Oh don't worry, we're fine, everything is fine, you can leave now" is what they hear every single time. It's their job to make sure everything actually is fine. You can always apologize for ruining someone's day by being too thorough, but you can never apologize enough for ruining someone's life by being too lenient.
10988153
It's not like the movies are ever inspired by real events or anything. The USA performing radical and violent insurrections and schemes through the CIA? Never....
If IRL... I would reject my American citizenship
I’m surprised they didn’t grab all three of the Equestrians, one for each tribe along with the gems would be a major boon.
My Dad and one of the neighbours had a bit of a beef with each other when I was a kid. Soon after, an RCMP and child services agent showed up at our door. Thankfully they were polite about the accusation, and I wasn't taken.
Also, I wonder if the US military might be blamed for submitting a false accusation? These two 'unrelated' incidents were timed almost perfectly...
10991798
Unsure, tbh.
A tale from my youth now follows.
Back in the day, my father was one of two engine machinists in the area. As such he got a lot of trade from people interested in cars and engines in general. This included a constable from the local RCMP detachment, and soon Constable Zuk was a regular fixture at our house, regularly stopping by during his breaks to talk about engines, and especially vintage Mustangs, with my Dad.
Twice, the Constable, who has long since travelled to the Summerlands, gave my father pointed, but gentle warnings about things.
"Heard you were making moonshine. Just don't let me hear that you ever sold it for money, otherwise I'll have to come after you, and I'd rather not."
"Heard your boy (not me, I have brothers) zipped around a roadblock and beat a radio call to stop him at another checkpoint. No one got the licence plate but those '65 taillights are pretty distinctive. Be a good idea if he came by in the morning for a chat, eh?"
It was from Constable Zuk that I learned that policing can be done humanely. That a community can be protected while upholding the law at the same time. I wish there were more cops these days like Constable Zuk, who saw himself as a guardian far more than an enforcer. Rest Well.