Out of Place

by Dan_s Comments

Out of Options Part 3

Out of Place - Out of Options Part 3

DISCLAIMER: My Little Pony is the property of Hasbro, Inc.
America: Man's Road - written by Jimmy Webb, 1982
Found on The Last Unicorn Soundtrack

Moon rising, disguising lonely streets in gay displays
The stars fade, the night shade falls and makes the world afraid
It waits in silence for the sky to explode
Here I am on Man's road, walking Man's road, walking Man's road
Walking Man's road, walking Man's road, walking Man's road

---

"What's going on, Applejack?" Twilight asked as the pair trailed the rest of the group. Spike, riding on Twilight's back just shook his head.

Ahead of them, Rainbow and Fluttershy were trying to calm down Pinkie Pie. They might have had better luck with an active volcano. Pinkie's head was down and she walked quickly, forcing the others to occasionally canter to keep up. Rarity trotted along, seemingly at peace with what was happening.

"What?" Applejack replied.

"I'm almost sure you're plotting something," Twilight said.

"Twilight, this is Applejack we're talking about," Spike interjected.

"I'd never let somethin' hurt mah friends," Applejack said, "If'n ya'all need ta talk ta th'man, we talk."

Twilight stared at Applejack, who was actively fighting a smile, and wouldn't meet her gaze. "Applejack, what did he do to you?"

"Nothin'!" Applejack said so sharply even Pinkie Pie stopped to look. "We talked, 'bout phil - philoso-." The others resumed walking.

"Philosophy," Twilight said.

"No, study a words." Applejack started walking after their friends.

"Philology?" Twilight asked in confusion.

"That's the critter. Just pointed out that mah Element is 'Honesty', not truthfulness. That ya'all can be truthful, and lie through yer teeth, and ya kin be honest, without sayin' the truth."

"That's just manners," Rarity said.

"Not 'xactly," Applejack said, "Manners sometimes involves lyin', I want no parta that. But sayin' nothin', or answerin' the question they didn't ask, but shoulda, isn't lyin', may be more polite, and is still honest. So, the honest answer Twilight, is I'd never be parta somethin' that would hurt mah friends." She smiled. "The other honest answer is, I don't mind somepony prankin' the pranksters."

The shriek made Rarity's and Twilight's hackles rise.

"That's Applebloom!" Twilight shouted.

"Rein in," Applejack said, "That's also a happy noise." Then her eyes went wide. "Woah Nellie!"

The 'Diane' popped up over the apple trees. Big Macintosh pumping the pedals and steering. Granny Smith beside him, holding Applebloom as the Diane raced over their heads faster than most ponies could run.

"Cutie Mark Crusaders Diane-pilots!" Applebloom shrieked.

"Nope!" Big Macintosh said as they disappeared among the trees of the orchard.

Twilight and the others picked themselves off the ground. Twilight noted that Pinkie's expression had softened, as she stared at someone else thoroughly enjoying not a party she'd created, but a machine she'd created. She shook herself and resumed her angry expression and posture, but her heart wasn't in it anymore.

"But I wanted to stay angry," Pinkie grumped as they walked along. Fluttershy and Rainbow shared a chuckle.

"I hadn't realized how useful that thing was," Twilight commented on the departed 'Diane'.

"Or how fast," Rainbow enthused, her eyes shining with delight.

"You have wings, Rainbow," Rarity pointed out.

"Yeah? But a machine, that flies! On just pony power! That is so cool!" Rainbow enthused.

"HEY!" Pinkie shouted, "I wanted to stay angry."

"Too late," Applejack commented, "We're here."

Seated before the restored barn were Barnum and Sergeant Mile Stone. They were having tea, and sharing a plate of cupcakes.

"What, you didn't come to my party, so you could have one of your own?" Pinkie shouted at them.

Twilight noted that Applejack had settled in to watch the show. Rarity was heading toward the barn doors.

"We didn't know if it was correct to invite you," the sergeant said solemnly, "Most improper to invite you to a celebration you couldn't participate in."

"What kind of celebration?" Pinkie demanded.

"Why, an unbirthday party of course," Barnum explained, "Statistics prove, prove that you've one birthday."

"One birthday every year," the sergeant clarified.

Barnum explained, "But there are three hundred and sixty-four unbirthdays."

"Precisely why we're gathered here to cheer." The sergeant raised his teacup, toasting Barnum.

"A very merry unbirthday to you," Barnum sang as he toasted back.

"To me?"

"To you."

"A very merry unbirthday to you," the sergeant sang.

"To me?"

"To you."

"It's great to drink to someone, and I guess that you will do," they sang together, "A very merry unbirthday to you."

Pinkie's mouth hung open, but the corners were slowly drawing up.

"A very merry unbirthday to us, to us, a very merry unbirthday to us," the pair sang, "If there are no objections let it be unanimous. A very merry unbirthday to us!"

"Ahem, gentlemen. I do believe it's Pinkie's Unbirthday as well," Rarity said as she grasped the handle to the barn.

"Oh dear," the sergeant said and turned to Barnum, "You must have miscalculated."

"That's a good reason not to count mares, you often miss calculate," Barnum said as he grasped the other handle to the barn doors. The two threw them open, revealing the 'Happy Unbirthday Pinkie Pie' banner, and the rebuild Pinkie copter, complete with decorations.

"A very merry unbirthday to she," the sergeant sang.

"To who?" Rarity asked.

"A very merry unbirthday to me," Pinkie sang.

"To you!" Barnum sang, "Let's all congratulate her with a present I agree." He handed Pinkie a stuffed toy version of her copter.

The two stallions sang, "A very merry unbirthday to she."

"Ya'all, it's Twilight's Unbirthday too." Applejack smiled at Twilight's near horrified expression.

"It's a regular epiclectic," the sergeant said.

"No runs, no drips, no errors?" Barnum asked.

"I'll let you explain that to the kids,"

"A very merry unbirthday to you," Barnum sang to Twilight, "To me?"

"To you," the sergeant answered, "A very merry unbirthday to you."

"To she?" Rarity asked.

"To you," Barnum told Twilight.

"Let's all congratulate her with a present I agree," Applejack sang.

The entire group sang, "A very merry unbirthday to she."

"Oh, a little yellow pad," Twilight said of the gift she'd been handed, "I can always use more paper."

"Another Pinkamena Diane Pie special invention besting the sorceries of even the Great and Powerful Trixie!" Barnum removed the top sheet, and carefully stuck it to Twilight's horn. She tried to shake it off, but it stuck there. He removed it, and stuck it back to the pad. Twilight shook the pad, but the odd paper remained. She began to grin. Barnum removed it and stuck it to her horn again. Spike looked over Twilight's shoulder at the pad, and the paper stuck to her horn. Twilight's manic grin worried him a little.

"Sticky notes?" Spike asked, "Put them in books -"

"On walls on doors on books on chalkboards on windows on -" Twilight exclaimed.

"Wait," Pinkie asked, slightly frightened by Twilight's expression, "Those things are actually useful?"

Barnum stood on his hind legs, on Pinkie's head. "In another world, in a far away land beyond all dreams and nightmares, an invention just like this languished in obscurity for 30 years." He shouted, "Such a crime against sentient creation must not be repeated in Equestria!" He jumped down.

"That's a load off my mind," Pinkie said.

"A very merry unbirthday to all, to all," the sergeant sang, the others joined in, "A very merry unbirthday to all, to all."

"Let's have a celebration, hire a band and rent a hall," Barnum sang.

"A very merry unbirthday, a very merry unbirthday," the others sang, "A very merry unbirthday to all."

---

Miss Twilight approached the sergeant. "Excuse me, but the word you wanted, was epidemic."

"I thought that was a random set of tastes," Barnum said.

"That's, eclectic," Twilight said.

"Isn't that something powered by a generator?" Barnum said.

"No, that's electric."

"Isn't that a bunch of people who vote?"

"That's an electorate."

Mile Stone began nudging Pinkamena away from the pair as they played.

"They're missing the party games," Pinkie protested.

"That's a diuretic," Twilight said.

"No, the other one."

"An emetic?"

"Exactly, and why does it take two to help a doctor or nurse?" Barnum asked.

"They're playing one of their own," he explained.

"They're having fun?" Pinkie could hardly believe it.

"So if it's a pair of scissors, what's the singular?" Twilight asked.

"A knife," Barnum replied.

"Yes, ma'am, a great deal of fun."

"I'll take your word for it," Pinkie admitted, then watched as Fluttershy settled near the pair and just listened.

"Of course it does, for very large values of two, and very small values of five," Twilight said.

"Would that be considered putting Decarte before the horse?" Barnum asked.

"She's a wild one," Applejack said.

---

The sergeant half-trudges along, his face nearly brushing the dirt, as I walk spry and happy. I'd resigned my commission, and am looking forward to the upcoming tasks.

"How did you manage it?" he asks, "I feel like that mare sucked every detail of my life from me."

"I used a series of tactics: nonsequitors, bursting into songs that had absolutely nothing to do with the question. But asking counter-questions was most effective. One extremely simple tactic was more effective than all the others."

"What tactic was that?" the sergeant asks as he raises his head.

"Why?"

"Because I'd like to know if we meet her again."

"Why?"

"I'd like to think I - " He stops and stares at me. "What is the atomic weight of asphalt?"

"Why?"

"To prevent spontaneous combustion of albino penguins."

"Why?"

"Because I wouldn't think to use a trick any five-year-old has outgrown."

"Why?" I ask and smile.

He begins walking again. "Because I underestimated her, but I shan't again."

"Why?"

"Ecks."

"Why?"

"Zee."

"Why?"

"Because."

"He's center field."

The sergeant gets in front and stares at me. "Lad, do all of Equestria a favor, and do not marry that mare. The planet couldn't survive your offspring," he says, and covers my mouth with his hoof.

---

Rarity looked nervously at the flying disk of dough that Sweetie Belle and Pinkie Pie were tossing into the air. Elsewhere, the Cakes and Applejack were supervising putting more ingredients on a completed disk. "Is this safe?" she asked and stifled the urge to use her magic to capture the disks and return them safely to the ground.

"Of course not," Barnum told her, "This is deepest magic that even the gods tremble before. For when my people first stole fire, we created such a charm that even the gods forebears the Titans were laid low."

Rarity glared at him. "I think I'd like you to write my ad copy," Rarity said sourly, "Except you'd tell people my clothing would give them superpowers."

"Um," Fluttershy said, "I think this one is ready." She pointed to the oven specially constructed for this new baking.

"Got it," Twilight said as she wielded the baker's peel to lift the heavy iron pan from the oven. "This is the most unpastry-like pastry I've ever heard of."

"It smells great!" Rainbow Dash hovered over the pan as Twilight looked at the combination of tomatoes, onion, garlic, cheeses, mushrooms, herbs and spices all in a flaky crust.

Applejack and the Cakes loaded another into the oven and closed the door. Fluttershy dutifully watched that one too.

"What is it called again, lad?" Mile Stone asked.

"Pizza."

---

"Lad, are you sure this is safe?" the sergeant looks at the new, two-pony 'Diane' I've built with Pinkie's help.

"Of course not. But as opposed to walking back to Canterlot, it's relatively safe," I reply. I'd completed my checkout over an hour ago, and stowed the gear before that. "Besides, I can carry you. It's you who'll have to figure out a way to keep me from going splat."

He checks all his 'cold-weather' head gear, and steps onto the frame over the pedals. "As long as I don't have to steer," he says, "It looks bloody complicated."

"It is. It would be worse, and a lot more maneuverable, if we didn't have to use all our limbs to power it. I've already talked with the lady about a newer version that would let us get the maneuverability back, and still keep a simple control layout."

"What do you mean 'us'? As soon as 'us' get back to Canterlot, I'm never setting hoof on one of these again," the sergeant tells me.

Taking off into the dusk is a bit dangerous, but there's to be a full moon tonight and running into the Wonderbolts or an aerial patrol would not be good. I'd be too tempted to try and run circles around them, and I'm not a good enough pilot to pull that off safely.

The flight goes smoothly, the glow of Canterlot provides us a beacon to home in on during the entire flight. And an encouragement to continue.

Our reception committee is somewhat more disturbing than expected. "SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY!"

"Of course, your Nightjesty," the sergeant remarks to a figure I can't even see, "Should we follow you in to land? Or just hover here."

The Diane shudders slightly, and comes to a complete halt: forward movement and the rotors. "WE CONTROL THE VERTICAL, WE CONTROL THE HORIZONTAL." A moment later, we appear back in 'my' workshop. And I can see who I strongly suspected had arrested us.

"A little demonstration of who is really in charge around here," I mention to the sergeant.

"I hardly needed one, lad," the sergeant whispers back, "Nor should you."

"WHAT IS THIS?" her Nightjesty walks in front of us and demands. Both of us bow, the sergeant's far lower than mine.

"It's a heavier-than-air flying machine," I tell her, "Pony-powered, and able to reach from here to Ponyville in a simple hop."

"Speak for yourself, lad," the sergeant says.

"WHY WOULDST SUCH A DEVICE BE NECESSARY?" her Highness winces slightly as the echo of her own voice comes back at her. She stares at us, since we weren't getting it as bad as she was. "PLEASE, remove your earmuffs."

"They aren't exactly earmuffs," I say as I pull mine off, "They are a headphone and throat mike combination. Lets you hear, and keep your ears warm at the same time."

"Your Highness, we brought you and her Majesty a present," the sergeant says, "If I may?"

Luna nods. The sergeant retrieves the small toys from the cargo pod on his side.

"Are those the new uniforms?" she asks.

"Yes, Nightjesty," the sergeant says, and produces the two stuffed toys. They are a pair of 'dazzle-painted', stuffed alicorns. Both the same size, although with slightly different patterns. "Miss Rarity did enjoy the challenge, and thought you'd both appreciate an unbirthday present."

"Un-birthday?" her Nightjesty asks.

"Lad, don't sing," the sergeant warns as he removes the uniforms from the cargo pod, "A bit of a prank we pulled on their resident party-thrower. Celebrating a day, because it is not your birthday."

Her Highness looks away from the sergeant and stares at me for several moments. "We understand."

"It goes away with a bit of rest," the sergeant confides, "Your Highness."

"The device is based on a one-pony, general use prototype. This one is a two-seater, and a strong enough mare or stallion could carry another person, or the equivalent weight. I should be able to build one that two strong ponies could carry a large weight, or move for an extended time, or some combination."

"Why shouldst thou desire such a thing? Are not pegasi chariots, balloons, and one's own wings sufficient?" her Highness asks, "And most unicorns could lift a weight themselves."

"It's more complicated than that."

"Thy weird is ever thus," her Nightjesty remarks sourly. Instead she looks at the uniforms that Mile Stone was laying out on one of the bed frames. "They are, supposed to be menacing?"

"A certain intimidation factor was requested, Nightjesty," the sergeant says, "They are far less intimidating to children, your Highness. Miss Rarity truly is a miracle worker."

Princess Luna looks over at me.

"Your Highness, I would guess that children are all right with something slightly scary, but that is still familiar. These are similar enough to the Day Guards' uniforms that they still carry the connotation of 'the Princess' soldiers'," I explain, "I admit, I'm guessing. They scare me plenty."

"We will consider them," her Nightjesty said, "Sergeant, please return to your family. We grant you two days' rest, for your exemplary service in Ponyville."

"Most gracious," the sergeant says.

She looks over her shouder at me. "We would grant you surcease as well, but our sister has plans for you. We advise you to avoid the 'Sunny Days' column for the next two days." She vanishes.

"You never did tell me who that ruffian with an inkwell is," the sergeant says.

I tell him.

"Please tell me you're joking, lad," he says.

"I can, but I'll be lying. I'm afraid it's an idea her Majesty got from reading my mind," I say, "And it has proven effective in spreading absolute drivel as 'information'. That's called disinformation."

"Lad, I am going to take the next days off. And forget I know that people I admire, can even think that way," he says as he leaves, taking the new uniforms with him.

Neanderpony is on guard outside.

Evidently, someone knew we were coming, I think as I head to one of the two made up beds, I need some sleep as well. Then I look at the machine, and the door. There's no way to get it out of here! I realize, Okay, funny joke Luna. Ha, ha, it is to laugh. I settle in and am soon asleep.

---

The next days' 'Sunny Days' column speculates on my time in Ponyville as an odd attempt at youthful rebellion, and an effort to give a poor suffering Earth Pony inventor a powerful patron (both a unicorn and someone in the capital). At least it paints the Mane Six in a positive light. Although I need to remind her Highness that she needs to be flat-out wrong occasionally, or her alter-ego will actually undermine her position.

The walk to the library is a weird one. There are still the undercurrents of jealousy of 'Celestia's toy', but there's also a slight undercurrent of pity for me as well. 'Poor kid doesn't understand they know everything' cut through to the heart of it. For once, I detour into the civil service wing. The guard doesn't try to stop me, which I should have raised suspicions.

The stallions before me are older. They look like they are the age I was back on Earth, I think, Hmm, I didn't think 'back home'.

"Gentlecolts, I thank you for your time, and I'd like to know about the process and procedures necessary to bring manufacturing here. If somepony developed a new device, what governmental hurdles would they have to face in getting it out to the public?"

The pair are beyond perplexed by the question. "There would be a survey of location to verify that the device isn't inherently dangerous," Sir Peaceful Warrior explains, "As part of the patent process. They might ask for and accept a government grant or low-interest loan, but really, as long as there are no complaints against the manufacturer, there are no hurdles to overcome."

"Not at the Canterlot level. They would have additional restrictions at the local level," Minister Chair Maker adds, "I am curious, what is the genesis of these questions?"

"You shouldn't read too much into that ridiculous 'Sunny Days', even when it points to you," Peaceful Warrior adds a touch fatherly, a touch patronizingly.

"There were some scurrilous accusations several weeks ago about favoritism in rain distribution. This office showed the figures, and the reasons for the uneven distributions. Why couldn't even farmers remember that certain crops require more rain at different times and we try to accommodate those needs?" he sounds angry at his and his office's profesionalism being questioned, "If any of the complainers needed more rain, they could have contacted the local mayor and he or she would have told us. It's not like we hoard the stuff."

"There are people who look at any hero or authority figure, and immediately see the enemy. I've even met people who rail against not having rules. I guess because without rules, they can't complain someone is limiting their freedom."

"If you can find a way to deal with that, we'd be most appreciative," Chair Maker says, then glances nervously at Peaceful Warrior, "If you wouldn't mind, we have -"

Peaceful Warrior closes the door to the office.

"A delicate problem."

"That perhaps you can be of assistance, vis-a-vis your current project perhaps being, inadequately or insufficiently staffed in the expert classes. The not inconsiderable gratitude of certain high government officials could be expected for allowing us to redirect your staffing problems to personnel. Although we could not provide direct assistance in any official capacity. And while the official to most greatly benefit would be unable to acknowledge your most welcome assistance, for fear of undoing the raison d'etre of the entire plan. I can say, with some confidence, that even in retirement, a wise voice and guiding hand would become available, and would be extremely fortuitous to a young pony whose start at court has been, shall we say, less than completely stellar, and would in fact change your complexion from the courtesan to the cosmopolitan. Any additional laurals from the success of your project or projects would be entirely your own and your staff's as you would care to disseminate those successes."

Chair Maker stares at Peaceful Warrior. "Do even you have any idea what you just said?"

"He said for possible future advice and counseling, I need to undertake a mission: hiring an assistant, that has you two absolutely petrified," I reply.

"Did he really?" Chair Maker asks.

"I wouldn't go so far as to call our understandable trepidation petrification more a . . . " Peaceful Warrior says, searching for the right world.

"Pissing ourselves, rolling on the floor, and screaming would do it," Chair Maker says flatly.

"Pardon me for asking, especially asking bluntly, but who is this assistant and why is it so dangerous?" I ask.

They tell me.

"Gentlecolts, I'll get back to you." I dash from the room. Brushcut hard on my heels. I manage to get to a bathroom before I start laughing so hard I nearly make myself sick.

"Are you all right, sir?" Brushcut asks as I hang onto a counter and try to start breathing again.

"I'll be fine," I tell him, "Please go tell the elegant gentlecolts I said 'yes'. I'll be waiting here, trying to breathe."

"It might not be a laughing matter, sir," Brushcut says.

"It is, Sergeant, but not for the reasons you think," I gasp. He leaves and returns a few moments later.

---

The trip to the library is as usual. Although more ponies simply get out of my way, rather than expect me to dodge them. This leads to one where we mutually dodge into each others path.

"I'd offer to dance but they'd never let the music in," I tell the bewildered filly, "So I'll stand still."

"Thank you," she scampers off, as if afraid.

"Does Ponyville really have that bad a reputation?" I ask, "Or is it just me?"

"There were reports you'd openly defied her Highness, and went to Ponyville on your own. Everyone expects you to be sent to the moon any moment," Brushcut offers, "I don't know where they hear these things. But that's the rumor, and rumors fly fierce around here."

"So either I'm the next moonshot, or I have something over on her Highness," I sigh, "Why can't people - ponies understand that sending her sister to the moon was an act of desperation? She didn't want to kill her, and she lacked the power to heal her, so she had to wait."

"Most ponies don't see it that way," he replies.

"Just out of curiosity, of the five of you on regular rotation, three joined the Night Guards," I say as I collect books for the morning's reading, "Do you mind telling me why?"

For the first time, the gruff soldier looks nervous. "A lot of reasons, I guess the biggest one for me, is that Princess Luna seemed to need me more. I love both Princesses, but serving Princess Celestia, she needed police and a few bodyguards. Serving Princess Luna, and I can deal with threats that are real, and out there. I never realized the things happening under the cover of night."

"Weren't there always night patrols?" I ask.

"There were," he explains, "But her Highness Celestia's power is the Sun, and daylight. While her Nightjesty's is darkness, and the moon. We can see things, do things at night we could never do as Day Guards. A cockatrice in Everfree, we'd have to wait until the sun came up, and deal with it. Her Majesty sees everything under the sun, her Nightjesty sees everything under the moon, we aren't guessing and hoping so much at night anymore."

I nod, and continue studying Equestrian patent law, and learn it's very different.

---

Lunch comes early, with a runner from the Princess. The green coat and yellow mane don't give me a clue to which Princess. Lunch with Celestia, or a 'midnight-snack' with Luna? I wonder as we hurry behind the excited colt-page.

Oh crap, both! I realize as I enter. There's a buffet, and a place set for me at the table with their Highnesses, and about twenty other ponies. Stallions and mares, all older, all chatting amiably. I don't recognize any of them, and Brushcut departs with all the swiftness decorum allows.

I take my place, halfway down the table, between two elderly mares, who look at me as if I smelt bad. "So, you were in Ponyville, during that terrible infestation," one drones, "However did you deal with them?"

"A local expert lured them back into the Everfree forest," I reply politely. No one has food on their plates, and there are no servers to be seen. Their Highnesses are chatting, and if they aren't moving, evidently no one else can either.

"Do go on," Celestia says to the entire group, then returns to her conversation with Luna.

Okay, another Princess 'Trollestia' trick, teaching everyone to not be so hidebound, I think, and shock several of the guests by getting up. I offer my arm to both of the old mares, who seem stunned I would take the Princess at her word.

I use my horn to serve up a few items, and hear a few chairs moving as everypony starts realizing that I'm not going to the moon. Time to really mess with their heads, I think as I take the two plates I'd filled, to the head of the table. More gasps as I serve their Highnesses.

"Why, thank you," Celestia says.

"WOULDST THOU PROCURE THE SALT?" Luna adds.

I bow, and move the salt cellar to their end of the table, before returning to the highly depleted buffet. For old timers, they sure can tie on the feedbag, I think as I collect a plate for myself and return to my place.

My two table mates are staring at me as if I'll become a cockatrice any second. The grizzled old stallion on the opposite side of the table nods pleasantly, then returns to his conversation about gardening. Sounds like they're rehashing an old argument, I think, And I don't think a 'young colt' suggesting a scientific experiment would be welcome.

The dinner continues, and continues, and continues. I haven't felt this alone, in a long time, I think as the plates are cleared by the servers who place the desert before us. A sherbert creation that is more sculpture than food. Again there is the paralysis that no one moves unless a princess does, and both are still talking about current events, and past events, and planning for future events. All the while, the sherbert sculpture slowly becomes modern art.

The instant Luna takes a taste, it becomes open season on half-melted sherbert. The sounds of spoons on glass becomes the predominant noise. It's good, but not that good, I think as I see the hurried, almost frantic effort to down the whole thing as quickly as manners and decorum allow. I guess when the princesses are finished, so is everyone. I feel vaguely disappointed, but understand the lesson being taught. Too many are too tied to tradition, and outward shows of respect, they can't be themselves. Even with their Highnesses permission.

"P.T. McHorsefly," Celestia says, and the entire room goes silent. I stand at attention at my place.

"Present, your Majesty," I answer and bow.

"You went to Ponyville, despite what we had discussed. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" her voice is inquisitive, rather than stern.

"With respect your Majesty, your Highness did not forbid me. And I believe the benefits greatly outweighed the risks," I reply, "The mission succeeded, although it could have gone better. I will not repeat those mistakes."

"Very well," Celestia says, then glances at Luna, who nods. "You may go."

Dismissed. I bow, and head for the exit. The conversations behind me rise, but I can't pick out any thread from the hubbub.

I hope they learned something, I think as I close the door behind me, Because I could have spent the time doing something more fruitful. I sigh. Her job is to watch over all of them. One pony's discomfort against breaking a centuries-old paradigm that stands in all their way. She's only got one answer.

I'm amazed there isn't a guard waiting for me. I could run to the city gates, out into the wilderness, and they'd never find me, I briefly consider, And they'd hunt me down in about two days. Unless I hid myself in the Diamond Dogs' caverns. But I have no desire to be a miner the rest of my life.

Out in front of my room, there is a guard, different livery than the Day or Night Guards, and while it's hard to tell, this one appears to be a mare. She comes to attention as soon as it's clear the door to the room is my target. Neanderpony comes trotting in.

"It's okay, Claire, he does belong here," he says to the guard.

She stares at me fiercely. "I dunno Fluffy, he doesn't - "

There some sudden eyeball dancing as Claire realizes what she called him in public. Neanderpony/Fluffy realizing I heard it. And both of them trying to make as threatening a front against me as they can. I sit back and study them for a bit.

"Now, perhaps to purge my mind of what I obviously couldn't have heard," I say, "What is going on, especially, what am I getting myself into?"

Neanderpony sighs. "For you, probably nothing."

I consider the possibility, then go for broke. I walk through the door. The room had not substantially changed since this morning. Then a fireball flares from my bunk, and is gone.

Neither Claire or Fluffy is willing to advance past the doorframe.

Terrific, I think as I'm left with the question of advance or retreat. I advance, and playing goldilocks, is the unicorn filly from the dragon day incident. Except her tail bag and muffler are missing. Her mane looks like someone caught fire in an instant and painted it on her, and her tail is similarly colored, but is twitching. The alarming part is not I recognize her, and she's my 'assistant', but she's curled up the bedding like a bolster, and she's got her nose buried in it.

Great, horses may not have the sense of smell of dogs, but it's better than humans. So what dreams is she having? I think as I consider awakening her, Naw, at least not like that. So this is the challenge, 'Fluffy' is right, not a challenge. Glory Bell, the niece of the current head of the civil service. I can see where 'so beautiful it's a curse' could get a young teenager into trouble, both from unwanted attention, and from being able to get whatever you want from manipulation. But for me, the solution is simple.

I head over to where we moved the Diane on Princess Luna landing us in here. The power-train still either needed parts beyond even my ability to build them, or the machine would lack the full abilities of a modern helicopter.

"Wha!" came from the bed, and the girl nearly fell out of it she got out so quickly. "I wasn't doing anything!" she explains immediately.

"Other than sleeping," I reply, not lifting my head from the tables of calculations, and pages of diagrams. "Sorry about the delay, I had to be reprimanded in front of the court, it took a little time."

She makes sure her shorts are in position before she walks over. The two guards are watching as though observing a live rattlesnake, from inside its coils. She walks over, and stands in my line of sight.

"Aren't you going to say something?" she asks, a teenager's challenge to another.

"Your mane and tail are very beautiful," I tell her, and ignore her jaw drop as I try to force the diagrams and my memories to yield up a better control system. "With magic this would be easy, but I want to stay away from that. Too easy to neutralize." I put the paper aside, and start sketching the system for a four-rotor helicopter that could depend on differences in thrust to maneuver as needed.

I'm halfway through, when she speaks up again, "You're serious, that's it?"

I look up at her. "Well, I do find the alicorn physiognomy more pleasing than the standard pony type, but that's like saying a sunrise over a mountain is prettier then either the sunrise or the mountain itself," I tell her, "Do you know anything about multi-input transmissions?"

"You are joking," she comments.

"I was told you had an interest in machinery, and this item in particular. You want to help, fine you're hired, welcome to the team. Now we get to work. The problem I have, is it can't perform at top efficiency because the limbs needed to provide control inputs are the same limbs needed to provide motive power. And using a limb to do both, or worse, splitting the control actions between two pilots, would make it too tiring to fly practically."

"You are serious," she says.

"Of course." I sit back. "How much do you know about me?"

"Just rumors," she says, then blushes, "And what I've read in the papers."

"There's no stallion alive that could do the things that Sunny Days has alluded to in her column. I have an interest in machinery, and her Highness has graciously decided to see how much of what I know can be made practical and helpful to her subjects."

"But you didn't invent this," she protests. In the background, the two guards are unwinding from preparing to dash over and separate a war. "An Earth Pony in Ponyville did."

"Pinkamena Diane Pie, yes, hence the name 'Diane'. But she only built one, and a single seater, and only suitable for short hops with minimal cargo. I want to develop that idea into something that is a tool, not a toy."

She stares at me in confusion. "I was there at your speech on 'dragon day', but you really are serious. Make this, thing, into a practical machine? For what?"

"Flying crane, air ambulance, scouting, cargo vehicle, even equip it with a gas bag and increase the maneuverability and long-range lift capacity of existing airships," I said, "If you want to move 1000 tons somewhere, you have to use the railroad or a ship. What if you need it where there are no railroads, and the roads are donkey tracks?"

She seems to consider, but still stares with trepidation.

"Look, the first thing I need another pair of hand for, is taking this apart. While I appreciate Princess Luna wanted to keep my arrival with this machine private, it's too big to fit out the doors, and I think asking one of the Princesses to teleport it elsewhere would be problematic."

"Plus, you need a place to put it," she says, "And I know a place." She grins. "I know exactly the place."

"Where's Nightmare Moon when you really need her?" I ask.

She laughs, and dashes off.

"STOP!" I shout.

She freezes, and turns to look at me.

"You forgot the rest of your clothes," I note the tail bag and muffler.

"I'll be back for them," she says, and runs out the door, with her guard in pursuit.

"How did you do that?" Neanderpony asks, "Even with my wife standing there . . . she's quite attractive."

"I think your wife is also smitten with her, so are a lot of people - " I shake my head. "Ponies! Sheesh. Old habits die hard. But like I told her, ponies aren't attractive that way. And I still haven't really figured out what beyond clean limbs and symmetry is a pony standard of beauty. Some of the Ponyvillians and a lot of the ones around here vary from blobs to creepy, and they are supposed to be attractive."

"Maybe I should introduce you to Hurdy Gurty," he says, "A musician, she's also my sister. But not pretty enough to be one of the Royal Players."

"I probably couldn't tell her from Twilight Sparkle except by coloring," I admit.

"If you needed help dismantling this thing, why didn't you ask?" he asks.

"I have no idea what extent I have authority over you or any of the others. Some barely speak to me, others are friends. I didn't want to intrude on your duties."

He nods. "Frankly, you scare the road-apples out of all of us. Half of us are betting you could fly to the moon and back."

"Maybe I should make a spacesuit and tell 'Sunny Days' my secret plan to get to the moon, explore it, and return."

"I'd like to get Sunny Days alone in a room, with a beam with plenty of spikes driven through it."

"I think you'd lose, if my suspicions are correct."

"You know who she is?"

"I know Sunny Days is not a unicorn, pegasus or earth pony mare," I tell him, "So look somewhere else for answers. And it isn't me either."

---

"Hey, Fleetfoot! Is Spitfire around?" Glory Bell asked as she walked through the Wonderbolts' practice area.

"She's with Soarin' and Surprise," the Wonderbolt told her, "In the head shed."

She nodded and trooped to the building where the 'bosses' hung out.

"Hey GB," Soarin' said and grinned, until Spitfire stepped on his hoof.

"Hey GB, what brings you out here?"

"I'm in," she told the Wonderbolts, "I got my uncle to convince his lackeys to get him primed, then he swallowed the bait, hook, line and sinker. Poor guy thinks he's getting outside build space."

"You know," Spitfire offered, "He might actually be a nice guy."

"Nice or not, he's still bought and paid for by my family's money. Even Celestia's chosen has a price, and a cheap one at that," Glory Bell answered.

"Hey guys, take five, okay," Spitfire said. The other two Wonderbolts left to discuss the plan. "Look, we aren't the plaster alicorns you want us to be. We can be bought too," Spitfire said, "We do our job, but we're still performers."

"But you're trying to be the best. And you are the best!" Glory Bell countered, "All the high and mighty are too busy trying to climb the greasy pole to just spread their wing and soar."

"Not everypony wants to soar. Some might want to be very good on the ground," Spitfire said, "Fine, he took you in as a favor, or as a payment. Don't make the assumption he's like - too many of the Princes around here."

"You've been to those parties too. You haven't been just a trinket dangling in front of them," Glory Bell replied, "And you haven't been just a message scroll to someone else in your family."

"No, I'm a trained pup expected to smile and listen as they describe tricks that will never work, or keep silent in the face of claims that anypony can do what we do, without a legion of behind the scenes experts and the dawn to dusk training regimen. I also never had the opportunities you do: your education, your family's contacts, and your good looks. Drive is great, but knowing which fork is which, and being born into that society is still a big advantage."

"Yeah, but it also means that's all people see," she replied, "I want to make a difference without all that!"

"Don't ignore your advantages, if you really want to win. Even we 'artists' think that winning is important enough to hold nothing back. Natural talent won't make you the best, but with a bit of practice and hard work, it'll take you a lot farther than just hard work."

"Okay, I promise. But I think you'll see I'm right about this." Glory Bell turned and left.

Soarin' and Surprise entered, followed by Fleetfoot.

"I don't understand that girl," Soarin' admitted.

"She's been given everything. Except her looks, and that's all most ponies see," Spitfire said and glared at Soarin', "She wants to earn something," Spitfire continued, "Something that can't be counted off as something 'daddy' bought for her."

"No hard work, future guaranteed, what's she got to worry about that's got her so agitated?" Soarin' continued.

"Trying to matter, to rise above," Fleetfoot said, "Are you telling me that if you were as rich as her, you wouldn't still be flying? You wouldn't still be a Wonderbolt?"

"Are you nuts? Of course I'd still be flying!" Soarin' exclaimed.

"Let her play," Fleetfoot said, "You didn't get direct orders from her Nightjesty to let them pass, like Surprise and I did. I think GB is playing with a fire she doesn't understand. I doubt she'll get burned too badly, but she is up for a few shocks."

Spitfire frowned at that. "I don't want that filly burned at all."

---

She watched the odd unicorn, Celestia's latest favorite, carrying the disassembled device out of the castle proper. Glory waved to him, and fought off a smirk as he waved back. That's it, come to mama, she thought, This is almost too easy.

She was soon trotting alongside him, with their keepers trotting alongside each other. "Thanks for the help, I was hoping to have someplace other than just off the main corridor to do some work. Also it bothers me that the door only locks from the outside. Makes any kind of security problematic."

"Are you afraid of someone stealing your secrets?" she asked.

"Good Lord no," he replied, which shocked her, "More like them stealing a half-finished idea and hurting themselves. From what I can tell about patent law here, it's practically nonexistent. Anything you design, goes almost immediately into the public domain. That almost ensures only hobbyists and people with sponsors invent anything. Couple that with a small manufacturing base, and almost nobody has the incentive, or resources, to be a full time inventor."

"You think that's some kind of plot?" she asked.

Please, don't make him one of those 'Lunar Republic' nuts, she thought, I won't be able to keep a straight face long enough.

"No, it's more a case of personality. You've got a huge number of basically layabouts here, and they are more interested in diversions that inventions. There's no desire to create something the entire population can use, because there's almost no way to make enough of them."

"You still make it sound like a conspiracy," she replied.

"Oh yes," he said sarcastically, "The evil plan to provide everyone enough food and shelter, so anyone willing to put out the minimal effort won't starve or die of exposure. For a people who are more group oriented, it's a natural paradigm. For people who are more individualistic, it presents problems."

She glanced at him, then her brow furrowed. "So, it's not Celestia's fault, it's - whose fault?"

"It's not anyone's fault. It's a natural consequence of pony psychology and physiology. If yours was an aggressively expansive people, you'd see things differently. But you people control your environment and have access to many skilled artisans and reliable magic. The need for mass production isn't as great. Ponies don't need clothing, except in the harshest weather or as decorations, so there's no need to produce ten thousand identical shirts. Shoes are more simply made, and more durable than cloth and wood, so again, no need for new shoes for everyone every three to four years. There are no major external threats, so weapons and armor don't have to be ginned out in the thousands. You simply don't need ten thousand electric potato peelers, so the need to make them is less."

She tried to think of something, anything to say, and failed miserably. He's either insane, or operates on a completely different level.

"Say, isn't that the Wonderbolts' training area?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes," she replied, "I've got a little pull with them." She hid her smile expertly.

"At least you won't lack for test pilots," Fluffy said.

"Test pilots?" she blurted out, then turned to Barnum, "Why would you ask them to be test pilots. Aren't you competing?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" he asked, "These Dianes may fly, but as fast or as maneuverably as pegasi? Only in my wildest dreams. These will serve a completely different purpose."

"I'd love to hear what that is," Fleetfoot said as she stepped out from between two buildings.

"Easy, it's a cargo carrier," he replied readily, "It's not meant to be as fast, as high-flying, or as maneuverable as a well-trained pegasus. But it can be nearly a match for one, carrying a hundred or two hundred extra pounds. If some foal slips off a mountain trail and breaks all four legs, it won't be the Wonderbolts they call in to carry a doc out to the kid. It'll be a Diane team. It won't be the local 'Best Young Flier', who carries the foal back to the hospital. It'll be that same Diane. Do you and your team really want to carry the express mail from here to Fillydelphia? Or if you want to carry a mess of gear to some performance you're giving, you won't strap it to your backs. You'll put it in an underslung cargo pod, and fly it there aboard one of these, or have a crew do it."

"So this isn't some plot to 'equalize' things for the poor downtrodden Earth Ponies?" Fleetfoot asked.

Bell felt her skin burning to a hidden blush.

"No, I've got that gizmo in the tools. Of course, it will work as well for any type of pony, so it just equalizes everything," he replied happily.

Her head swimming, Bell followed Fleetfoot and Barnum. But, no it's a trick. He can't really mean that.

"What's that crack supposed to mean!?" Fleetfoot said.

Knew it!

"I mean, I've never seen any flyer do that maneuver. I didn't say it can't be done, I just haven't seen it."

"Well big mouth, I want to see you pull it off," Fleetfoot said.

"Fine, I just need a second seater, a rope and a bucket of rocks." Barnum grinned at Fleetfoot. "And I know where to get the first."

I knew it! Bell thought and trotted happily after them.

---

The reassembly goes faster than the others expect. I wonder if Pinkie even knew why she put the break down points where she did, I ponder, Probably, but I doubt anyone would believe they were anything but happenstance.

"Will this do?" Spitfire asks as she approaches with the rope. Soarin' is carrying the bucket of rocks.

"That'll do fine," I tell them.

The stallion sets down the heavy bucket. "That is one weird lookin' gizmo," Soarin' says.

"Wait until it takes to the air," I tell them as I go over the connections. Then I put the rock bucket in a centerline position. "Fleetfoot you sort of lie on the frame, now please move the controls as I instruct, I want to make sure the links are solid."

She does as I request, also learning the names and how the controls affect the flight surfaces. After ten minutes of assembly, and fifteen minutes of checks, we're ready to fly.

"Just run the pedals?" she asks incredulously, "It can't be that simple."

"It isn't," I reply, "Until we've checked you out, you're just an engine. Once you have some experience, I'll let you actually fly the thing."

We start pedaling, with the transmission in the 'starter' gear. The rotors spin, and the air flows down over us. A gear change and the blades really start to bite the air. The lift off is smooth, except the gasp of surprise from my copilot. The other Wonderbolts jump back in surprise. I take it ahead slowly, letting Fleetfoot get used to the feeling of the machine and the rhythm of the pedaling. We head out onto the test field where the Wonderbolts practice. We're moving as fast as a pony can run. We run the slalom. Nothing to write home about in terms of speed, but the Diane is much bigger than a pony, and the control response is crisp and precise. Fleetfoot is watching our progress in amazement.

Now we head out to the speed track. Soarin' and Surprise are way ahead of us, but Spitfire is pacing us, a short distance away. We haven't lifted more than ten feet off the ground, in case we have to bail out. Soarin' races over the speed course, and makes a tight circle around us, as if in challenge.

But I have something else in mind, I think as I set the controls, and we begin accelerating backwards.

"Cheater!" Fleetfoot shouts, and grins.

Soarin' tries to fly backwards as fast as we are, but can't quite manage. Spitfire keeps pace, but isn't as steady. She's grinning at the challenge. Again we can't match the speed of the experts, but that isn't the point.

"Okay, take it forward, and we'll get you some experience flying this," I shout over the wind and rotor noise.

Fleetfoot isn't as sure on the controls, and I have to make a few adjustments, but after the third time around the track she's feeling confident enough to try and catch Soarin' as he practices flying backwards. The pegasus is too deft, but he has to work at it.

"Okay, let's do that maneuver," I tell her, she looks over and reluctantly lets me retake the controls.

The 'secret maneuver' is a basic pylon turn. A helicopter doesn't need to make such a maneuver to do what I have in mind, but a pegasus would. Once we're in the tightly banked turn, I let Fleetfoot hold the controls as I lower the bucket of rocks.

I note Fleetfoot's surprise, and see a bit on Spitfire's expression as well. Forgot you were beating us with a big container of rocks as ballast didn't you, I think as the bucket lowers relatively straight down. Spitfire is opposite us in our circling, studying the maneuver and figuring out how to duplicate it.

With the bucket touching down, I begin hauling it back up. Fleetfoot handles the controls expertly. With the bucket stowed, I signal for her to land the Diane.

---

The Unbirthday Song
From Walt Disney's "Alice In Wonderland"
Written by Mack David, Al Hoffman and Jerry Livingston

Comments

[Yuudai5life]

Everything you write and have written is pure gold. Some people have trouble reading it, but you obviously put a lot of time and effort into everything from vernacular to personality creation. It's all so professional and hard to believe is actually a FimFic. Your incredibly gifted writing skills are so great, that they honestly put many other writers on this site in the dust.

This is all just my opinion of course.

[Vaalintine]

So who was the one sleeping in his room when he got back? They didn't seem to actually be named anywhere I saw.

[ramdom_player201]

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Glory Bell