Soft Reset - A Novice Chronomancer's Guide to Tempomancy

by Foxvolt

15 - Reprieve

REPRIEVE

… Huh. I’m conscious. Not sure how, but first thing’s first.

I quickly open my eyes. It’s too bright. I quickly close my eyes.

My eyes work.

My left hindleg twitches as I send an impulse to it. Not what I wanted, but at minimum responsive.

Sponges. Primitive sedentary aquatic invertebrate with soft porous bodies that are typically supported by a framework of fibers or calcareous or glassy spicules. Not to be confused with synthetically-manufactured porous substances commonly among household washing and cleaning supplies. Several patents were placed and eventually repealed in Manehattan’s Squeaky Clean v. Department of Qual-

Shut up.

No major inhibiting brain damage... For better or worse. At the very least, I'm being mercifully spared the usual migraine I'm afforded most mornings. It'll happen sooner or later.

I try my eyes again, slowly this time. It's harder than it should be, as if they're weighed down by some unseen force, slow to respond to my commands and stinging like they haven't seen light in weeks. It's a holistically unpleasant experience, but I'm used to that every waking moment. Drop in the bucket.

After a few seconds they finally adjust, and I take in the cold stone that surrounds me. The walls, dull gray stone bricks. Floor, unmarked smooth rock. There’s an elevated wooden platform to lay on beside me with the rough hay fringes of what I presume is a blanket hanging over the edge, and an empty bucket ahead of me for… There’s no way.

The only escape from the gray prison in all directions is the short wall behind me, filled instead with metallic bars that run top to bottom. The rods extend past the stone and into the walls and ceiling, the only part that even seems movable is a thin gate that doesn’t seem to have any physical latch or keyhole.

‘There’s no way this is the Canterlot lockup.’

I gather my strength for another attempt to get my hooves under me. I must have made some noise when I came to, because there’s the rustling of armor from outside the bars.

“Hey. Why is there no toilet in here?” It’s a lame first line, but it’s at the forefront of my mind at the moment. “Plumbing. Heard of it? I can recite the history of its’ developments over the last 400 years if you’d like, riveting st-“

I shut up real quick, because staring back at me are two Lunar Royal Guard, and they look pointedly unimpressed with my existence. Suspicion confirmed, not the Canterlot lockup. New suspicion, torture chambers or one of Luna’s personal off-grid dungeons. Basically the same thing, from my briefings on her.

One of them glances off to the right and nods at somepony out of my line of sight. The other one just stares at me, narrowing their eyes as they size me up. I do the same, but subconsciously. Left, Pegasus, just shy of four heads tall. Mid 20’s, pink coat peeking through cracks in the coat-tight scalemail uniform. Scarred keratin left forehoof, primaries freshly preened and tucked.

Right, Unicorn, late forties. Based on how he’s handling himself he’s worked here a while. Jet white coat, which is strange for a lunar guard, but they don’t discriminate. His horn spirals counter-clockwise, and there’s a noticeable avoidance to put pressure on his right hindleg. Likely a permanent injury.

The pegasus gives me another look-over then turns and trots off to the left, to a post unknown. The unicorn, however, lights his horn and I feel myself suddenly pulled to the ground as a set of ethereal wires leap up and string themselves around my hooves. They anchor me in place, and all I can do is swivel my head and flare my wings in protest.

“Hey! Article seventeen, asshole! Excessive-“

“Quiet.” The unicorn’s gravelly voice cuts down my protest, and another ethereal binding springs up and holds my mouth shut. I keep struggling against the bindings, but it’s purely on instinct. I know the tensile equivalent of a trained unicorn’s holding spells are nearly as good as reinforced synthetic thread, there’s no way I can snap that with my tiny figure.

His horn lights up again. For a second I’m afraid he’s about to bind my wings too, but instead there’s a small latch at the bottom of the bars that opens, and a tray with some hay and what I assume is apple mush floats in just above the ground, landing in front of my bound nose. With a practiced timing the latched grate reseals itself, and the magical threads dissipate.

“Asshole!” I yell again, but he’s already turned tail and begun walking away.

’Should I ask where I am? They won’t answer, they’re uptight pricks.’

I start to think about studying the stonework for architectural clues to possibly narrow down locations based on the availability of materials per region, but the rumbling in my belly gets the better of me. I hold a hoof against my stomach until it settles again, then pick myself up and take a small step towards the ‘meal.’

I sit and lean forward, sniffing at it. The hay is dry and flaky, and the mashed apple is literally just a mashed apple. Skin shavings are riddled throughout it, and I have to use my hoof to poke a core seed out of the pile. Yep, that’s great. Could have at least included some greens.

I let out a deep sigh, pondering how it came to this. I was supposed to be killed after I got captured, and there’s no way the Timekeeper would jeopardize his plans just to save me. I don’t know too much by design, but if I were him I’d have killed me like we agreed on. I sift through dozens of interactions with him and other operatives in my mind, snippets of information and details swiftly trying to interlock with others to build a bigger picture, but for the first time in a while the pieces don’t fit. I’m missing some central link, some detail that makes it all work.

I bite at the inside of my lip, tapping my hoof against the stone impatiently. After half a minute of failed ideas and impossible mental timelines, I shake my head free of the theorizing before it can run me into the ground. If I give my mind an inch it’ll take my whole body down.

Shut up. Eat your stale hay.

I lean down and take a huge mouthful, chewing and grinding it into smaller strands. It feels like it’s falling apart into dust in my mouth, but my stomach pushes me forward and I swallow it down anyway. The mush is a bit better, it’s still hydrated at least. If I close my eyes and ignore the peels I can almost imagine it’s apple sauce. I used to love the apple sauce we had when I was a filly. It was expensive to import it from Sweet Apple Acres, but it was always a great treat.

It only takes a minute and a half and I’ve cleared the tray. I might be small, but I’m efficient. I stand up and shake my body out, rolling my shoulders and stretching my feathers wide, enjoying the tingling of my muscles flexing and settling again. I start looking my cell up and down, taking stock of the few details there are.

Wooden platform. Blanket, hay instead of straw. Tray, wooden. Stone, type yet to be identified. Bucket, wood and metal, unriveted. Myself. Metal grate, composition unknown. Lunar guards, scalemail, count unknown. I let my brain do its’ thing, taking in all the variables, compartmentalizing them, and trying to fit them together into something recognizable. The stonework is ancient, nopony sculpts or lays brick like this in the modern era. The floor looks smooth, but looking closer I can see hairline fractures all across it. Not only that, but the walls too.

I take a step back and compare the walls of my cell to the walls across the hall from me, tracing the line of the lowest row of bricks. They’re not even. Whether by faulty design or from sinking into the unreinforced ground over the years, there’s varying points of structural stress all along the walls. It’s not much, but it could be a vulnerability if I had the strength of an earth pony.

Clay-based mortar. The thought strikes me as I’m examining the thin film between layers. Years ago I read a passage on stonemasonry practices of the medieval ages, and before modern mixing or the more recent concrete methods, they used clay-based mortar to meld each layer.

The last piece rotates and clicks, and I might have an idea on how to escape. I’m going to need information, patience, and water.

And a hooficure.

- - - -

I hear the latch to my chambers come undone and I snap to consciousness. I’m not rested enough to fulfill any additional duties yet, but with any luck this will be sister or Crescent with good news.

The door opens and the heavily obfuscated light raises the room from a comfortable pitch black to a moonless night level of darkness. Based on the silhouette it’s Crescent Slash, eldest among the Royal Division and Captains alike. I can presume his report.

“You bring news?” I murmur, letting my head list to the side to face him. Through my mane I see his head shift in what I take to be a nod.

“I've come to report she has awakened, as requested, Nightmother. We await your command.”

“Is sister still with her?” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and kicking at the blanket holding me hostage. Crescent gives pause for a moment, and the hesitation sparks my interest.

“Captain, we have raised a query.” I press.

“Yes, Nightmother. Permissio-“

The corner of my mouth twitches in annoyance, and with a flick of my horn the door closes behind him and the nightlight enchantments fade slightly, allowing us to see one another with our dark sight.

“Speak freely here, Crest. I loathe repeating so.” I prop myself up on a forehoof, looking him over from the other side of the room. He’s large for a pegasus, if you were unable to see his wings you would likely think him an earth pony. His age has sapped the color from his mane, leaving what was once a rich brown the dull and flat gray of the wise, though the years have not taken his spirit. His hooves support a heavily muscular build, with a slick gray coat and a Cutie Mark of a crescent moon. It blends in a gradient from white at the center to the same gray as his coat at the ends, as if to mimic a fading scar. I’ve allowed myself to become familiar with him over the years since my return, and he has provided us an outlet for our many stresses on more than one occasion.

“Your sister is in a fragile state, Luna. I know you have your ways and I won’t pry, but I’ve seen that look of hers before. It could do you both good to discuss the mare plainly, and her place here, rather than guiding the situation from the shadows.” He keeps a level eye and tries to keep the tone of lecture out of his voice, likely out of respect to the crown. It’s appreciated, nonetheless.

I mull over the words in my head, chewing at my lip as my eyes slowly drift to the floor while I think it over. He is likely correct, but for all the things that I may be capable of, addressing Twilight with her in a way that sister wouldn’t shut me out? Impossible. She keeps her student close to her chest, though whether for love, pride, or necessity I cannot know. She has taught the mare well; Astute and logical, with a decidedly strong sense of tongue-in-cheek wit. It all screams Celestia, though who am I to judge the nature of her prodigy?

“We find it difficult to discuss such matters with her. She is… Guarded, even to us.” It stings a bit to admit it, but it’s the truth. “We have also just completed a three hour neurological miracle surgery by modern pony standards, and we are exhausted.”

Crescent gives me an unamused look, as if to assert dishonesty in my words.

“That sounds like excuses, Luna. All due respect.” He smirks a bit while I glare at him, but I don’t take the bait. Instead I turn away and let my head fall backwards back onto the mound of plush pillows, staring at the swirls and dots decorating the enchanted canopy as they mimic the passing night sky.

“Perhaps, but also perhaps not. ‘Tis an honest excuse. Regardless, sister will wish for a time with the mare.”

I hear him sigh from the door, and he begins to shuffle over towards the bed. There’s a light rattle and a thunk! as he sets his helmet on the nearest nightstand. I turn to look at him as he hops up into the bed with me, but he pushes past and sits beside my head, reaching over with a hoof to pull my messy ethereal mane away from my face.

“Even immortals can’t escape feelings, Luna. You know that better than any of us. Even if it’s hard, you’ll be happier if you have a sister you can lean on, instead of dance around.”

I reach up to cup his hoof in my own, holding it fast against my cheek. I pick myself up and shift to the right, closing my eyes and laying my head in his lap, careful to angle my horn away from him while I hum contently.

“We thank you for your honesty, as always.”

I feel him take a breath to continue his thought, but I nuzzle my head up against his stomach needily, and he lets it go. Instead, he leans forward and presses the end of his nose to the side of my head, draping a hoof around my shoulders in a hug and caressing my face with the other.

In the many years of my banishment, perhaps even before then, this is what I had yearned for most. To be comforted, to be understood and accepted. He may not be Celestia, though nor are any of the others whom find their way into my bed. He is happy to console and bring peace to my mind, and that is enough. Right this very moment, it is enough. And until tomorrow, enough is all I need.

- - - -

Why didn’t I create a spare amulet? Why didn’t I practice fine reconstitution medicinal spellcraft? Why did I let Star Swirl meander away? Why didn’t I see this coming? Why didn’t I-

I slam a fiery hoof into the earth below me and the hill rumbles and shakes. A small explosion of fire erupts from beneath my bare hoof as I scream as loudly as I’m capable, putting the Royal Canterlot Voice to shame. A moment later I feel the ground slump an inch lower as the dirt and rocks shift away from the small crater of an impact.

I pull the hoof away, and beneath the smoldering dirt and grass is the charred remains of a sunflower, facing the sun one last time as it crumbles into ash. The moon should be up by now- I’ve long since set the sun- but sister has been rectifying the small mistake of allowing Twilight to maim her own mind with forbidden magic that we had agreed to reserve for world-threatening emergencies. Of all the moronic, uncalculated, brazenly ignorant-

I scream again, my mane and tail erupting in searing flames that explode out in all directions, burning and scorching the surrounding plains and burning brighter than a star in the night sky for miles. Some ponies in the outskirts of Baltimare might see me, from the many miles away, or even get a picture of my tantrum, but to tartarus with it.

Of all the traitorous and deceitful actions she could take, to use Twilight as bait! TWILIGHT! She knows! She knows what she means to- Is that why she did it? No, Lulu wouldn’t do that out of some sense of spite… Would she? No- but… No.

The world around me is shimmering, and the superheated air burns my lungs as I breathe it in, but the feeling reminds me to control my outbursts. ‘Meter the frustration, Celestia. Be angry, but don’t be too angry. You’re a danger when you’re too angry.’

I take in another deep breath of burning oxygen and hold it, then force it all out in a flaming huff of embers and smoke. The flames recede from my mane, now content to simply glow a bright gold as a beacon against the night.

“What happened, Lulu? Why won’t you simply talk to me?” I mutter into the empty sky, casting my gaze to the clear and starless night. It’s a free canvas, with unlimited potential. I stare at the daunting prospect blankly for a minute or two, then I decide I’ll do something selfish myself. Turnabout is surely fair play here? Nothing malicious, but something to show Twilight’s importance in a way even she could grasp.

I summon the old magics of sky forging, the familiar pull of the heavens on my horn made more foreign by the lack of a celestial body. I reach out with my magic, grasping firmly at both mine and sister’s birthrights, and then I pull. Both sun and moon obey my command, and I will them to the skies once more. My sun resists slightly, not used to rising from the west, but it yields, hidden just beneath the horizion from which it had set. The rich and vibrant reds and oranges creep over the barrier between night and day, tinting the canvas with life, but they’re fleeting as the moon reclaims the eastern sky beyond sight, threatening to suck up all the tints and hues to leave the sky a dark and void black.

That’s the struggle of it all, if you think about it. It’s poetic if you take the time to appreciate the nuance behind the subversive nature of the sky and its’ crowning jewels. One to brighten, one to stand among the darkness. Neither to perpetuate, but never to cease trying.

“Neither of them should last forever, Lulu…”

I pour everything into my horn. Polaris’ set position as my guiding light, I pull from Luna’s moon, ripping free a small shard and moulding it into a tiny sliver of lunar material, setting it gently among the Majors in the very center of the sky, evenly spaced between both sister and I. Once I’m satisfied it’ll hold fast against the pull of the land, I reach out and siphon a sliver of myself from beyond the horizon. There’s a pang of emptiness left in its’ wake as it shoots across the sky, but I brush past it.

With a final coalescence, the lunar core of the new star is ignited as it explodes across the night sky in a brilliant arc of light, likely waking every mare, colt, and filly in Equestria to witness its’ grandiose birth.

There’s a slight breeze that rolls across the land and blows past me as the massive wave of pressure from the fusion makes landfall, but by the time it reaches Equestria it’s harmless.

I look up at the night sky, illuminated by a single brilliantly shining beacon to the north, and smile. This will be my testament to our future. Though unconventional it may be, it’s one of the highest honors either sister or myself are capable of bestowing, crown or no.

’Perhaps she’ll recover swiftly, and be able to see her new star herself.’ I muse, letting my body relax as I slump to the ground after the taxing process.

As an afterthought I paint a wide aurora running across the frozen lands, to give it a proper backdrop among its’ otherwise empty night sky. I haven’t the artistry of my sister, nor the skill of a great painter, but commanding the heaves in all its’ forms is my birthright, mother shun me if I can’t make at least one good star in it.

Looking behind me I see the city lighting up in the distance, and a few black dots rise up from the skyline to witness the rare event from the air. I smile inwardly, looking back to the first astral creation I’ve birthed in millennia. It’ll need a name, and some institutions will be furious with me for not scheduling such a monumental change to a major navigational system, but that’s all unimportant for now.

“Vespera.” The word rolls out of my mouth, and I smile again.

‘Old Ponish, though she’ll likely know what it means.’

As much as I would love nothing more than to decompress at the edges of Equestria’s border under a very late twilight sky, I need to get back to Canterlot. I’ve indulged my emotions enough, the ponies need their ruler.

I charge the long-distance teleport spell, and in a moment all that’s left where I was sitting is a black hilltop, topped by a charred dead sunflower.

- - - -

“Twilight Sparkle.”

I slam my hoof down onto the ornately carved desk. In a wide sweep, I throw everything over the side and watch as the maps and scrolls fly through the air in chaotic disarray. The old mahogany groans in protest at the abuse, but it’s handled much worse.

“Twilight Sparkle, Twilight Sparkle! Blast it all, if I have to loop again because of this I’ll spend an entire loop just to jump straight to this time and burn that entire township to the ground!” I raise both forehooves into the air and prepare to slam them down again, but rational thought quickly returns to quell the urge. Slowly, I let them fall onto the now-empty desk, leaning forward on it for support while I consider my next move.

There’s a knock on the door about ten seconds later, and Hot Streak, my clerical assistant earth pony, pokes his head in.

“Timekeeper, you good? Not to interrupt but lik-“ His eyes go wide as a bright eldritch green bolt strikes him between the eyes. The spell is fast and efficient, as his coat and skin degrade and flake into a brittle stone-like dust, spreading and crumbling away from the point of impact. In less than half a minute, he’s a distant memory as I shove the door through the pile of debris to close it.

Good, peace and quiet again. I used to hate having to do that when I traversed to Beta timelines, but I’ve done it so many times now it’s practically a chore. So much simpler to shelf the alternate timeline discussions this way than have to explain that nothing I do will matter in a few minutes when I traverse back to the Alpha. Nothing personal, it’s simply the most time-effective process. I’m sure they’d understand.

Back to the issue at hand; Twilight Sparkle didn’t submit, didn’t even consider it. She’s intelligent, skilled, and has the backing of both Celestia and her sister. The disadvantages here are insurmountable. Killing her- truly and irreparably killing her- would likely cause a country-ending conniption fit, either by policy or by fire. Quite likely the latter.

I could wait for her to die of old age, but with a wellspring of her size she’ll likely make it to two hundred fifty barring fatal accidents. And if she learns my Delay spell? She could stretch those years across centuries.

I can’t kill her, out-waiting her would mean starting from scratch and giving Celestia possibly another millennium to plan on how to track me, and she won’t see the reason in my method, making recruitment an impossibility. I’m out of easy options. I could attempt to prevent a major event leading to her rise to prominence in Celestia’s eyes, but that runs its’ own risks if the events leading to their coupling were more than happenstance. If it was divined and I were to interrupt the natural flow of events, it could tip her off prematurely.

With a huff I leave the table be and fall back into my chair, losing myself in thought until another pony rasps on my door. Bucking hells, I need to stop deviating in populated areas, being interrupted defeats the entire point of occupying a beta timeline.

“You may enter.” I think to just vaporize them too, but if this is who I think it is, I could benefit from knowing what he’s about to say when I return to the alpha.

A tan earth pony shoves the door through the pile of ash and dust, spreading it in a small semicircle on the floor and stepping gingerly over the spread. He glances around the room at the disheveled books and scrolls, then back to me with his signature friendly smile.

“Hey, uh… Did you need Mace to clean that up? Happy to grab her. Sorry, wasting time, pet peeve, I know- I just wanted to know if the dinner party in Manehattan is still going forward this Friday as planned. Got Hot Streak to plan the logistics, I’m covering the infiltration, just need the go-ahead.”

I give him a hard gaze.

“You know full well the plan hasn’t changed, ask what you’re going to ask.”

He keeps smiling for a bit, but the fascade falls away quickly into a hard stare of his own. He swallows and raises his head, hoofing at the ground uncharacteristically.

“Is she…?”

“Goldfish is dead, yes.”

He takes a second to process it, but quickly his back straightens and he lets out a deep sigh. He knew the moment she was caught what it meant, they both did.

I’m a bit surprised to see him back to smiling so quickly, though. Even for Dear Friend, rebounding so quickly from such morbid news is unnatural.

“I’m glad, then. She was having a rough time of it, I’m happy she’s done suffering.”

I raise a brow.

“Optimism from you is hardly genuine, Friend. I wouldn’t fault you for being upset, you did recruit her only recently.”

Dear Friend was the definition of a low-life when I found him. He sold narcotics in the streets of Manehattan for a living, after Duke Beaches set him up for a political fall when his wife admitted to having an affair with him. After being shunned from high society, he found he had nowhere to utilize his special talent to the fullest, and that void was the exploit to win him over. With me, I allow him to utilize his talents to their fullest not for personal gain, but for a great and noble cause; The saving of Equestria from the Diarchy and the Classist ruling society that had shunned him. So long as he believes that, he’s mine.

It plays to his ego, gives him purpose, and turns him into an extremely loyal piece for my board. Even the end of this week will mark the potential establishment of a new feed of information from the Duchess of Manehattan herself, whom has ties to Celestia’s internal information agency. It would be a great boon, and nopony else within my reach would have the suave persuasiveness to pull it off as Dear.

“No, really- It might sound awful out loud, but I’m used to seeing colleagues go the short way. I try to look at it for what it’s worth, what’s that word you use? Prismatically, eh?”

“Pragmatically. I admire the forward thinking, though take your time if you need to. We have all the time in the world, remember.”

He blinks at that. He glances around the room again and then quickly back to me and opens his mouth, but he hesitates. Something I’ve never known him to do.

“Is something the matter?”

His ears perk up and he snaps out of it, back to his perpetual performance again.

“Oh, no! Sorry, I was just thinking about it again, and… Maybe you’re right, boss. I think I’m a bit jumbled up after the last couple days. Going from Ponyville for months, now Manehattan, I think it would be best we delay. I need to be at my best for this, we can’t lose a line to SMILE because I let my nerves-“

“Please, say no more, Dear.” I let myself relax a bit. It’s a waste of time that he couldn’t just have admitted it from the start, but it explains him acting differently.

Frankly, I agree. He should take some time, let me rearrange the event for next month for when he’s at his best. I don’t want him fumbling like this when he’s in front of duchess Beaches again. If she doesn’t bite, all this goes up in smoke, along with our line to Celestia’s secret informant agency.

“I’ll handle things here, discuss where you’ll be with Hot Streak, and reconvene no later than the twentieth of next month.”

He blinks again, but quickly smiles in appreciation.

“Right, will do, boss. Sorry for the hassle. By the by, where is Streaks?”

Oh. That’s right, I disintegrated him in this Beta. I glance past him at the pile of ashes blocking the door. A shame, I suppose that’s as far as this line of dialogue goes.

“I believe they went to lunch, check in again soon. Until then you’re relieved of duty for the time being, go and do… Whatever you need to.” I make up something remotely plausible, if you put aside the fact that it’s half past three and the lack of any genuine effort in my words. This timeline is now worthless moving forward, everything from here on deviates from the Alpha. Wasting time explaining anything to this fake copy of Dear does nothing for me, no point putting forth the effort.

“Oh, right. I’ll just-“

As he turns away I reach out with my horn, muttering the verbal component for my severing spell. I don’t hear whatever he says next as I’m pulled and torn across dimensions. The lurching discomfort is only momentary, and nearly instantly I find myself sat back in the center of my office, perfectly tidy save for the few residual particulates of mana still ebbing through the air after my Divergence ritual. The floor before the door is clear, my scrolls are in order on my desk, and nopony else is here to ramble on about their personal issues.

I allow myself a small sigh. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I could simply clone myself to assist my efforts. Surely I’d be further along usurping the throne than this? Even my most dependable pony is having trouble keeping up and it’s getting tiring, all the hoofholding. But I’ve had my moment of respite, I’ll need to play my part all the same as them if I’m to get much further this time.

I hear a knock on my door, and I trot over to my desk, blinking any trace of my Divergence spell out of existence before sitting down at the tidy study.

“You may enter.”

This is where I’m comfortable. I know how everything plays out, what to do and say, and how to say it. Dear Friend, your special talent may be your charisma, but even you can’t outmaneuver me. Not in my element. There’s only one pony capable of that, and she’s hiding away in Canterlot Castle.

Dear Friend steps into the room looking as confident as ever, and I take a deep breath.

“Good afternoon, Friend. Did you have a question?” I prompt after he fails to begin the conversation.

“No, not particularly, I just wanted to let you know I’ll be leaving for Manehattan first thing in the morning. I’ll be borrowing Hot Streak for an hour to get my route settled and make a few drops on the way, if that’s acceptable, Timekeeper?”

I blink this time. This is an entirely different conversation from the one I just had. Didn’t he say Hot Streak already plan his route?

“Yes, I was thinking about that, and I think it might be best for us to postpone until next month. Some ponies backed out last moment, and I need to be absolutely certain this proceeds smoothly.”

He looks confused, but nods slowly in understanding.

“Okay… That’s a shame, but the Beaches will be there whenever we’re ready, I guess. Where did you want me stationed in the meantime?”

“No need to have you stationed for the time being. After recent events I believe it would do you some good to take a breather, as it were. We’ll resume this line of discussion by the 20th, but in the meantime stay in contact with your SMILE informant wherever possible. Save for that, enjoy your first month off since your last mission.”

I expect to see a slew if different emotions run across his face when I order him to take time off, but he simply stands there with a straight face and nods.

“That obvious, huh?” He glances around the room, idly hoofing at the ground. “I won’t say no boss, I never do, but know that I’m still the best pony for the job. You can count on it.” He forces a toothy grin, but I’m already sifting through my notes, rebalancing the schedule to accommodate this massive upset in expectations.

“Quite right, Friend. If that’s all, we’ll reconvene soon. And also… My condolences.”

He strangely doesn’t react to that either, he just continues to smile, though the teeth are gone now. He gives a small (and as always, unnecessary) bow, and trots out of my office.

I keep staring at the door for a while after he leaves, contemplating what just happened. Something drastic shifted in his approach to the conversation, it was entirely unlike the Beta timeline. What are the differentials?

I glance across my tidy desk, tomes and scrolls piled and assorted neatly. Looking over it I stare at the door again, and the clean floor beneath it.

Ah, that’ll do it.

Friend deduced something from the state of the office and changed his thinking in the moment. It explains the unnatural sentimentality and lapses in character, but it doesn’t tell me what the purpose or rationale for it was. He seemed perfectly fine in reality. Well, this reality, anyway.

“Tartarus with it.” I curse, abandoning the conjecture and mulling over what to do next. The chance of getting detained without an opportunity to reset now that… She… Is involved is high, though I have several variables to solve before I can plan this portion of events next try.

I’ll wait a bit longer. Stay out of the brunt of things, minimize profile, gather information. When I can figure out what makes Sparkle tick, what Friend’s submotives are, and anything on Celestial’s information network, I’ll reset and commit it to memory.

With a tired sigh I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes and bringing a tired hoof up to them, draping a fetlock over my face to block the light of the room. My joints are starting to ache, and I’ve barely been awake a day and a half since the Everfree ambush. I need to find years to save by this point, if I reach my endgame at a hundred thirty years old again the chances I meet my end get much higher.

That, and these appearance altering charms are a pain to recharge. Can’t have anypony thinking I’m a frail old colt, image is everything when recruiting in the later stages, though there might be an angle appealing to age equating to wisdom.

Topic to delve into another time, however. I have a few hours before I need to be in Saddle Arabia, and the preparations are already in place. This body needs some real rest. I cast a simple Alarm cantrip over the door, then my muscles and bones relax for the first time in weeks from their perspective. I’ve slept in Beta timelines at least every three days, but this Alpha body needs to recuperate in a way my magic can’t fix.

Two hour nap, then we get back to business.