Taking Measure of the Steel

The Night Guard - Night Mares

Academy Commandant Snowy Peaks regarded the three dangerous creatures before him with icy contempt. They represented chaos. Disorder. Destruction of all he had held dear throughout his entire service in the Royal Guard, from the time he walked through the gates of the Academy and took his oath of office until this very moment. In mere minutes, he was about to betray all of that, the infinite honor of the Royal Guard through centuries cast aside for this… frivolity.

Regrets were one thing, but he had pledged his word to Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, and that word — along with a direct personal order — was the only reason he even considered allowing these three onto the Royal Guard Academy training grounds. No Royal Guard had ever gone back on his word of honor, and he would not become the first, no matter the cost. But this price was high indeed.

At least his heart was lightened by the fact that one of the four had already failed to show up, leaving only three who would need to be ‘encouraged’ into abandoning their foolish quest. The Royal Guard were the best of the best, the finest stallions who had ever trod the soil of Equestria. It should only take a few days to make these weak, pathetic pretenders quit in disgrace, and return the Royal Guard to what it had always been.

“Oh, sorry I’m late! Really sorry! Sorrysorry!” A stunningly pink pegasus in a Canterlot police officer’s uniform fluttered down out of the darkening sky with a cascade of brilliant orange mane flowing out from under her cap and sweeping down her neck in a shortened tangle of braided plaits twice as long as any serving guard ever wore their own mane. Although her matching bright-orange tail was woven into a police regulation short plait, it was tied in a very non-regulation neon-pink bow with little yellow flowers on it. The constant flow of apologies from her did not stop even after she made a perfect four-point landing next to the other three uniformed mares standing outside the Commandant's office. “He didn’t want to get up this evening and it took forever to nurse and the pump wouldn’t seal, but I promise this will be the last time and once he gets used to my new schedule, I’m sure he’ll… I’m sorry?”

A hint of bafflement flickered across Commander Peaks’ stony expression as the rest of the assembled Academy training staff behind him chuckled almost below hearing range. He would have turned on them to unleash the anger that knotted his back, except that meant he would have to turn his tail on the four visually discomforted mares standing in parade rest on the Academy assembly area. Other than the new arrival, the unwanted interlopers had already been holding their positions for over an hour, and yet he recognized the same experienced set to their shoulders as his own staff displayed. If Luna had somehow forgotten about the ceremony, he could see both sets of ponies remaining standing out on the parade ground for hours, determined to outlast each other until the last one standing declared some sort of obtuse victory of the genders.

It would be a stallion, of course.

Still, it was unlikely Commander Peaks would be that lucky. Unlike Princess Celestia, whose precise schedules could be used to set a watch, Princess Luna had proven to be slightly more creative in her scheduling, although her arrival at a scheduled event was just as inevitable as the moonrise.

Not that she was late. The Lunar Princess was never late. Other ponies were early.

The schedule had originally called for the Princess of the Moon to arrive a half-hour ago for the purpose of giving some sort of encouraging speech to the four transferring policemares before they were officially sworn in as ‘Auxiliary Officers of the Royal Guard, Night Division’ and assigned to Princess Luna’s Personal Protective Unit. As much as he hated the idea of being forced to accept mares into what had been the exclusive domain of stallions for centuries, there was a little corner of his mind that had some sympathy for saddling them with that assignment. It took a particularly odd mindset to request duty inside Luna’s Domain of Darkness and Chaos, and although there had been no shortage of volunteers within the Royal Guard Academy, some of them seemed determined to frustrate his desire for a long and uneventful career that eventually would lead to becoming the Commander of the Night or Day Royal Guard like nearly every Academy Commandant before him. At least the ones who left the job with their sanity intact.

His frustration only grew when he considered that the entire disastrous idea had been triggered by some addle-pated idiot guard in the palace who lost his nerve when bringing Her Royal Highness an emergency roll — of all things — of toilet paper. Just because Princess Luna spooked some stupid stallions with that vermin she kept as a pet and her habit of casually slipping out of the darkness behind unsuspecting victims, particularly from the long sort of shadows that had begun to creep across the training grounds as the sun slipped closer to the horizon, did not grant permission for an officer of the Royal Guard to hesitate in carrying out the simplest of tasks that even a foal—

“Good evening, Commander.”

Commander Peaks most certainly did not let out a shriek, whirl around in a flurry of loose feathers, and pant in delayed panic at the sudden appearance of Princess Luna at his side. He might have uttered a small noise, turned carefully, and had a slightly elevated respiration rate at the close proximity of Her Highness to his left ear, but that was all. There was certainly no excuse for the rest of his assembled subordinates to break out in poorly stifled chuckles, and after a single glare brought them all back to proper military discipline, he turned to Princess Luna with a sharp salute.

“Your Highness, welcome to the Royal Guard Academy. As per your orders, the mares you have selected for your personal protection unit have arrived.”

“Thank you, Commander Peaks.” There was a fractional twist to the princess’ tranquil expression and one raised eyebrow that implied that she was able to read his impression of the new ‘guards’ right through his helmet. She nodded briefly before turning to face the setting sun and arranging herself for flight. “Beg pardon, for my diplomatic negotiations with the griffons have caused my schedule to be somewhat rushed as of late. We shall continue this conversation after I have completed my Royal Duty for the evening.”

There was an unmistakable majesty surrounding the Princess of the Night as she rose up into the darkening sky, and all of the noisy activity across the Academy training grounds trailed off to an attentive stillness. The sun dipped below the horizon and the resulting absolute darkness made his heart skip a beat until the cold light of the moon swept up into the sky and bathed the buildings in silver. Stars exploded into existence, spreading across the sky in swirls and bursts until the entirety of the dome of night was covered in their glory. There was an echoing sound between the buildings as every amazed guard and cadet in the Academy sucked in a breath of air and then scattered applause as Luna descended back down to the ground.

She turned to Commander Peaks with a slight nod. “Now, I understand you have some reservations about the mares I have selected for my personal protection unit. Speak.”

“Your Highness,” he began, feeling horribly off-center at the display that Princess Luna had just put on, as well as the beady opossum eyes peering out from inside her softly blowing mane, “as the Commandant of the Academy, I cannot condone releasing anypony to guard a princess who has not proved their worth in the sacred traditions of the Royal Guard.”

“Agreed,” said Luna.

“And that is why I cannot support your decision to place these four — wait. You agree?” Peaks blinked in surprise. The princess did not appear to be making a joke — as she had proved herself worthy of in a very royal fashion over the last few months — but maintained a perfectly even expression of cool royal concern.

“There has been a slight change of plans. The candidates we have selected are experienced officers in the Canterlot Police Department. We have reviewed their files and spoken with them at length. In our opinion, they are worthy of the position, however—” Luna’s voice rose just as Peaks was opening his mouth to protest “—we would be remiss if we were to ignore the advice of our trusted guard. Day Commander Swift Wings and Night Commander Buttercup both requested that the officers be exposed to the Academy for a period of time and pass the final exam before they are permitted within the ranks of our protective unit, and I have acceded to their request. As Commandant of the Academy, it shall be your responsibility to evaluate their fitness for the position over the next week, using the exact same criteria that all cadets are graded upon.”

For just a fraction of a second, Peaks could see an obsidian flash deep inside Princess Luna’s eyes that chilled him to the spine. There was no simple ice in that flicker of darkness, but the merciless cold of space that spoke volumes about the Princess of the Night’s seriousness on the topic.

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~

“Just because I agreed to it, doesn't mean I have to like it,” growled Snowy Peaks as he signed his way down a stack of requisition forms in his office. “I can’t believe that she really expects a bunch of mares to pass the same tests that our Academy graduates need two years of intensive studying and training to pass. Certainly there’s some overlap with their police training, but it’s difficult to see how she can expect anything of these mares except failure.”

“Quite difficult indeed, sur.” Lieutenant Kudzu floated a second stack of forms over for his boss to sign and picked up the first set, sorting them into individual folders that glided across the room in his pale blue magic and settled into the appropriate filing cabinets. The lanky Cajun stallion had been Peaks’ aide for nearly five impeccable years of service now and could have qualified High Expert if there had been a rating in The Care and Feeding of Superior Officers. It was a comfortable position, but there were times he really wished his superior was somewhat more trainable. He coughed gently and nudged four thick folders towards Peaks before returning to his filing with a well-concealed frown. “However, if you were to review their personnel folders from the police department ahz I suggested—”

“I don’t need to look through any stupid paperwork to see how badly suited mares are for the physical rigors of the guard,” snapped Peaks. “Set up some time tomorrow night with one of the trainers who isn’t afraid to hit hard. Drill Sergeant Petunia preferably. It should take less than an hour to bloody their petite little noses and send them limping back to the Canterlot police station filing room where they belong.”

“Yes, sur,” said Kudzu, placing the last folder in the filing cabinet. “I’m surtain they’ll perform ahz expected.”

Sharpening the Blade

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The Night Guard - Night Mares

Sharpening the Blade

Steeling his resolve, Academy Commandant Snowy Peaks regarded the four mares standing at parade rest on a small assembly area on the edge of the training grounds. Each was wearing their Canterlot Police Department cap and field jacket, which some overly-cute joker had dyed to the exact tint of the Night Guard armor, giving them all the painfully-neat appearance of real Night Guards instead of what they were. He avoided scowling and addressed them for hopefully the last time.

“As you may have guessed, we believe it is impractical to integrate you ladies into our experienced protective units without having some degree of knowledge as to your combat capabilities. With that in mind — yes, whoever you are?”

“Lieutenant-Commander Grace, sir! Request permission to speak freely, sir.” The jade-green unicorn mare snapped off a frustratingly-perfect salute, her hoof rising exactly to within a hairs-breadth of the stiff policemare cap fixed on her head as solidly as if it had been glued around her horn. Peaks’ gaze flickered to the fresh chip on the tip of her horn before returning to her pale green eyes.

“While you’re on these grounds, your previous rank does not matter. Most cadets collect rather colorful titles such as maggot, or worm, but due to my deep respect for Princess Luna, I have instructed each of the instructors who will have contact with you to address you as Miss. Does that meet with your approval, Miss Grace?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Request permission to speak freely, sir.”

Those pale green eyes maintained their perfect forward stare, not flickering in his direction even in the slightest, and Peaks fought down a creeping suspicion that the mind behind those eyes was a lot tougher than he imagined. The other three were considerably less disciplined in their stance, turning their heads slightly or glancing sideways in his direction, including the vibrantly pink pegasus who seemed to be in constant motion, either flinching a small muscle or shifting her balance slightly every single moment of her relative immobility. It was quite distracting, and after realizing he had turned his head to watch, he snapped his attention back to Miss Grace and growled, “Go ahead.”

“Thank you, Commander Peaks. I believe you have the personnel folders from each of our precinct commanders detailing our evaluations and state of training. Why is that not sufficient, sir?”

“Because we here at the Royal Guard have totally different operational philosophy with regard to the protection of our assignees than your municipal guard. We guard foreign diplomats, royalty, and goddesses while you city guards deal with muggers and thieves. It’s a whole different playground up here, kiddies. Now suit up. I wasn’t planning on having your combat capabilities tested at this rather surprising phase of your preliminary training, but the Royal Guard specializes in the unexpected. At the insistence of Her Royal Highness, it seems a set of training armor with the additional sparring pads has been provided at an unusually rapid pace, so if you ladies will be so kind as to put on your pajamas, we can continue our little discussion out on the veranda. Dismissed.”

The schedule on his clipboard made for a good prop to excuse his presence, and Peaks lingered around the corner with one ear pointed sideways as the mares fumbled with their training armor and the soft pads that went over the cold steel. He had not even expected armor, let alone safety equipment this quickly, and particularly not with the expert attention to detail that each of the four sets had displayed when he examined them in the setting sunlight a few hours ago. He could not complain. Each of the padded sets — although curved in the wrong places — was almost identical to what a permanent guard would receive for combat training, right down to the blank rank tabs waiting to be filled in.

A certain amount of grumbling filtered out around the corner, somewhat less than a set of male guards would express in the same situation, and he could identify the clear voice of the pink pegasus as she expressed concern about having enough time during training to ‘pump’ for her foal, which brought up a recurring mental image that Peaks tried not to think about.

Finally he heard a second rumbling voice, deeper than many of the stallions under his command. “Vell, ve gots to let the boys show just vat big muscles dey got. Just try not to bruise ‘em too much, hokey girls?”

* * *

Silver moonlight shone down on the sparring circle in a vain attempt to overwhelm the powerful lights that illuminated every corner of the sandy surface. Sergeant Petunia watched Academy Commander Peaks bring his soon-to-be-ex-recruits over to a solid white line and motion towards him. It was a little difficult to suppress the relatively small amount of humor he normally brought to the job, but the Commandant had been very specific in his instructions, and the habitual book-makers among the trainers had let him know just how many bits were riding on his ability to humiliate these mares right out of the Academy gates.

“Okay, ladies. This is Sergeant Petunia.” He gave a short nod to the mares at his appropriate prompt and regarded the friendly nods he got back, including a short smile and a blush from the brilliant pink pegasus who fairly glowed under the floodlights as well as sparkled a little across her rump.

Peaks continued, “Quite unlike his name, he is a very dangerous pony, so he will be handling our first simple exercise. We need a volunteer, so—” he consulted his clipboard “—Miss Thermal, you’re up. Hop on out there.”

The pink pegasus in question gave a quiet squeak and bounced up into the air, the padded training armor over her head and shoulders seeming not to restrict her graceful movements in any fashion. She fluttered partway out into the circle before landing, standing there in nervous anticipation while shifting from hoof to hoof and glancing around.

Peaks suppressed a grim chuckle and said, “As you have noticed, Sergeant Petunia is dressed in ordinary armor without the padded bunny suits you have been given. This is because he is, as I said before, a very dangerous pony. Now Miss Thermal, if you will stand right over there. Yes, there. Okay, Sergeant Petunia will now attack you with a knife, and — oh, don’t look so frightened. This is a training exercise. Now when the Sergeant attacks you, Miss Thermal, you are to avoid the attack and attempt to disarm him, is that clear?”

The pegasus squeaked quietly and Peaks could not suppress a grin.

“Very well, then. Go.”

Petunia darted forward, the long training knife held behind one foreleg. His opponent shot straight up out of reach and hovered just above the bright floodlights, making him squint as he looked upwards and observed that despite the extra coverage granted by the padding over the armor, his opponent was indeed lactating, and the view he was getting could normally only be seen by unfolding the centerfold in his favorite magazine. This was very much not the way sparring normally went, although it was not all bad.

“Miss Thermal,” bellowed Peaks, “could you tell me what you think you are doing?”

“Um. I’m sorry,” filtered down her soft voice, barely louder than the flapping of her wings. “You said to avoid the attack, right?”

As far as Petunia could remember, Snowy Peaks had never lost his composure, but as his commanding officer placed a hoof firmly in the middle of his forehead, he was beginning to look a little explosive.

“And how were you planning on disarming him from there?”

“Um. Well. Since he’s an earth pony, normally I would blow my whistle right now so the rest of the squad could arrest him while I hover up here and keep him in sight, providing support as needed in the event he resists.”

Peaks turned crimson and flew straight up next to his conversational target so as to get the most out of his already-impressive vocal range. “You’re not in the municipal guard right now, you’re in the Royal Guard, and that means when you’re attacked, you fight back, you pin that bastard down, and you make sure he can’t get back up again to attack your charge! Do you understand me or do you want to go back to your cushy little municipal guard job?”

The rather prim unicorn mare stepped forward and called up to the commander, “Excuse me, Commander Peaks, but—”

“Quiet in the ranks!” he bellowed with one hoof pointing down at the three remaining mares. “One more word out of any of you and I’m sending all of you back to your old jobs! Now get your flank back down there, and do what you’re told, Thermal!”

The pink pegasus fluttered down almost like a falling leaf and landed where she had taken off with a rather peculiar expression he had never seen before on a cadet. Actually it was more like a non-expression that extended from her rigid ears all the way to her tail. All of her previous nervous twitches had vanished and been replaced with the fragile immobility of the terrified. The only motion that Petunia could see was the other three mares, all of whom had backed up a step and were sharing glances of concern within their little herd.

“Much better.” Commander Peaks landed and scowled at Sergeant Petunia. “Proceed.”

Petunia nodded at the commander and shifted the knife to his armored left wrist. Peaks was hopping mad, and once he got his steam up, it was better to just shut up and do your job even if the job in question this time was to threaten frightened female trainees with a knife.

It was a nice knife, with a telescoping blade that vanished back into the handle on a thrusting blow so smoothly it was impossible to spot, making it the finest prank knife he had ever owned. More than one green trainee had doubled over in sympathetic pain when it appeared a foot of cold steel had just vanished into one of their fellow trainee’s guts. There was a bet running around the guards about how many of the ‘girls’ would wash out of the first day of training, with only a very rare few holding the ‘none’ bet, including, strangely enough, Optio Pumpernickel. That was going to be a very foolish bet for the frequently-wrong stallion, and embarrassing as Tartarus to explain to his harridan of a wife when he lost his rather substantial wager. Which was going to be in about a minute, if he was any judge of character.

“Now let’s try this again, little mare,” whispered Sergeant Petunia to his target, shifting the knife back over to his right wrist. “Only this time—”

Whatever he was about to say was lost as Miss Thermal darted forward almost faster than the eye could see, one armored pink hoof smashing down into his wrist a fraction of a second before the second forehoof slammed squarely under his chin. With an explosion of sparks from the protective enchantments on his helmet, he flipped head over heels to land with a staggering thump on his back. Once the stars slowly faded away and his vision returned, he could feel a cold line across his throat as he looked up into the wide-eyed, terrified gaze of Miss Thermal. Somehow she had managed to retrieve the knife during his tumble and was holding it firmly in her teeth while panting in shock. With each panicked pant, the dull edge of the knife sawed back and forth across his trachea, giving him a very vivid view of what would have happened to his throat if he had been using a real knife instead of a blunt-edged training weapon.

“You have... the right... to remain…”

“Lieutenant. This is Commander Grace. At ease.” The trim green unicorn stepped out into the circle and helped Miss Thermal to her hooves, pointing her in the direction of her fellow female police officers before helping Sergeant Petunia up. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” said Petunia with a deep breath and a shake of his wrist. “Tingles a little but she didn’t get a clean shot in. Thank heavens for the armor.” He hazarded a glance at where the pink pegasus was being comforted by her fellow police officers and tried to figure out when the last time one of his cadets was patted on the back and given tissues after a sparring session. Bandaged up, maybe.

“Better let me look at it.” Miss Grace moved close to the sergeant, her horn glowing dimly as she adjusted her glasses and then cast a spell.

”Don’t talk. I’ve got a privacy spell going. Just say ouch if you understand.”

“Ouch,” said Petunia rather unconvincingly with a brief glance at Commander Peaks, who was flipping through a set of binders with a sour scowl.

”Good. Daelia Thermal was raped about two years before she joined the force. We’ve always been careful not to put her into similar situations for fear she might hurt somepony.”

“Hurt? Oh. I mean ow!” It sent a little chill up Petunia’s back to see the absolute dispassionate expression on Grace’s face, much as if she had been carved out of a block of ice that refused to melt. Whatever warmth the rest of her cadre of mares was sharing with their pink counterpart did not exist in Grace’s dispassionate gaze, and Petunia looked back at his tingling wrist instead.

”She gets very focused under stress. It’s her special talent after all. You’re lucky she didn’t break something important, like your neck.

Petunia thought about that dull knife blade sawing across his throat and shuddered. “That’s… better, ma’am. Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

“Not a problem, Sergeant.”

Peaks’ commanding voice broke into Petunia’s thoughts as he snapped, “Well, now that you have my delicate flower of a combat trainer back into his normal tip-top shape, why don’t you two try a round at the dance. Sergeant Petunia, pick up your knife and let’s see just how Miss… Grace, was it? How she handles an attacker.”

Grace turned slightly to look at Commander Peaks while still keeping Sergeant Petunia in her peripheral vision, much as one would pretend to be nonchalant about a venomous snake while still holding a stout stick. “What limitations do you wish me to use in this exercise, Captain?”

“Anything you want, Miss Grace. You may consider this to be full combat conditions.”

“Very well.” The green unicorn mare tucked her glasses into a pocket and nodded at Sergeant Petunia. “Whenever you are ready, Sergeant.”

“Right.” Petunia switched the knife to his less-pained wrist and crouched. Unicorns always went for the magical disarm, and this was going to be quite a surprise for the dispassionate municipal guard. “Go.”

Miss Grace’s horn promptly glowed light green, but instead of the expected attempt to grab Petunia’s trick knife, a pair of slim blades no larger than surgical scalpels flickered out from her vest pocket where she had tucked away her glasses. Petunia gave a shouted curse, dodging one blade and swinging sharply at the second blade that darted at him, parrying it to the left, then again to the right as it nimbly reversed course. Taking an overhead smash at the deadly thing, he managed to knock the blade to the ground, setting one hoof solidly on it with a glare at Miss Grace that promised imminent violence, only to freeze in place immediately afterwards. Wide-eyed and straining to remain on the tips of his hooves, he very slowly dropped his training knife into the sand and remained totally immobile, much as if he had become an armored statue in the middle of the sparring circle.

“Sergeant Petunia!” bellowed Peaks. “What is the meaning of this? Why have you dropped your weapon?”

“He doesn’t want to become a gelding, Commander.” A gentle green magical aura lifted Petunia’s obedient hoof and removed the first scalpel on the ground, flying it back over to Miss Grace and tucking itself back into her vest pocket while wrapped in her green magic, but there was still a second faint green glow coming from underneath the nervous trainer. “Commander?”

While Peaks grumbled, Petunia held his frozen position, fully aware of just how firmly the scalpel was being held and how even though Grace had turned partially towards his commanding officer, her cool green eyes never once left his face, maintaining the same expressionless cold gaze she had directed at him after he had attacked her fellow police officer.

“Next! Miss Rose Petal.” The knife that had been tucked underneath Sergeant Petunia in a very sensitive place between the seams of his armor levitated back out and tucked itself back into Miss Grace’s vest pocket as the police officer turned to return to her place behind the observation line and Petunia finally took a much-needed breath.

Miss Rose Petal seemed to be a much less dangerous opponent, looking somewhat frumpy and middle-aged, with the glint of gold around her horn advertising the fact that there was a Mister somewhere in her life. She had a smooth magenta coat, dark enough to almost be considered burgundy, with little hints of pale pink curls peeking through the bottom of her padded training helmet, and he managed to catch a glimpse of her cutie mark while she was arranging herself and getting situated.

I suppose a question mark for a cutie mark would be useful for a police officer. I’ll just have to send her back where she can put it to best use.

It felt a little uncomfortable when the polite unicorn mare stepped forward and nodded with a friendly smile, causing him to respond in kind.

“Are you prepared, Sergeant?” bellowed Commander Peaks.

“Yes, Commander,” replied both Petunia and Rose at the same instant, with a mutually embarrassed look at each other.

“So, you’re a sergeant too?” asked Rose, with a soft smile. “How long have you had your stripes?”

“Over a year now,” said Sergeant Petunia, settling into a combat crouch and passing the knife back and forth between forehooves. “Shouldn’t we be fighting?”

“You can do whenever you want, Sergeant. I’m just talking here. What you do is entirely your own choice.”

“Oh.” Petunia hesitated, looking at the middle-aged mare’s smiling face.

“Your wife must have been very proud of you, making Sergeant. Any children?”

“Actually I’m not married. Never have been.”

“Now that’s a shame. I would think the mares would be all over a stallion in uniform like you.”

“Actually.... I’m really supposed to be stabbing you.”

“But you don’t really want to do that, now do you? I mean it’s part of your job, but it’s not anything you really enjoy. Why don’t you just put down the knife and we can talk? Just for a little while.”

“Okay. I suppose.” Petunia sat the knife down on the sandy training floor and watched in fascination as Rose’s pink magic caused it to skitter away to one side.

“Commander Peaks, is that sufficient, or do you need him in hoofcuffs too?” Miss Rose Petal levitated a set of hoofcuffs in front of the mesmerized stallion and jingled them. “I can have him put them on, but that’s a little beyond our exercise tonight.”

“Huh?” Commander Peaks shook himself awake and scowled at his trainer, who continued to stare blindly forward. “No, you win the round. Wake him up.”

It took quite a while for the real world to seem real again, and Rose checked his reflexes and eyes twice before apologizing for the deception and returning to her spot behind the observation line. He stomped each hoof once to settle his armored shoes and scooped up the knife again, turning to watch as Miss Banehammer trundled out onto the training floor. For some reason, the older earth pony mare had retained her municipal guard jacket and wore it over the top of her training pads. It was somewhat odd behavior, but he supposed she might have just been a little chilly out in the evening air. After all, there were flecks of grey in her muzzle, and her relatively thin mane had been trimmed back to a mere suggestion of dark red bristles down the back of her neck. She rotated each forehoof around once with low popping noises, finally looking up at Sergeant Petunia with a solemn nod and a terse “Ready.”

Sergeant Petunia shifted the knife from one wrist to another nervously. For an earth pony mare, Miss Banehammer was a little on the portly side, and a lot on the older side, most certainly within a few years of retirement plus or minus if the occasional grey hairs in her brown coat were any indication. He was used to facing snot-nosed colts with everything to prove, but facing mares who looked a lot like his mother, or in this case his grandmother, was more than a little disconcerting. Commander Peaks had given him quite specific instructions not to hold anything back in this exercise, and despite trying his hardest, he had been thoroughly thumped three times out of three now by mares! There was no way he was going zero for four. Grandma was going down, and hard.

“Are you going to attack me vit dat itty bitty knife, or is you falling asleep und need your baby bottle?”

“I’ll show you bottle,” snarled Petunia, lunging forward with the knife headed straight for the earth pony mare’s throat. Miss Banehammer seemed to compress as she squatted backwards, bringing one foreleg up to intercept the knife stroke in a circular motion that deflected the blow to the outside even as the blade caught on her tough municipal guard uniform sleeve. With a massive heave, what Petunia had mistaken for fat turned out to be muscle as she trapped his foreleg in a crushing grip and throw, making the world seem to rotate around him in a blur before coming up to smash into his back. Some small voice in the back of his mind took great joy in pointing out the effort the mare had made to avoid dropping him on top of his head even while he gasped for breath at the stunning impact that sprayed sparks in all directions as the enchantments of the armor kicked in to keep him from breaking his spine.

And then the iron grip she had maintained on his foreleg shifted.

There was a loud pop and the sound of somepony screaming while his leg was pulled behind his neck in a direction it was not supposed to bend. A loud gruff voice in his ear brought his screaming to an abrupt stop as it commanded, "You haff de right to remain silent, but if you haff any brains, you've going to tell me where you got dot knife, or I'll dislocate your odder shoulder."

“Steelhead in the armory made it for me, custom! I swear!” Tears poured down his face and into the sand as his foreleg was raised another fraction of an inch and one huge steel-clad hoof descended on the fallen knife blade, snapping it in half.

“Any odder veapons on you?”

“Garrotte in the neckpiece of the armor and a shock crystal in the left front shoe! That’s it! No more!” Rough hooves stripped him of the remaining weapons including the enchanted charged crystal in his armored shoe before a set of cuffs was slapped onto his hooves and he landed on the ground with a thud.

“Hold still. Dis is going to hurt.” Strong hooves gave a sharp yank to his foreleg and the agonizing pain in his shoulder went mostly away, giving him a full view of the grinning older mare. “Dot vas fun. You vant to go two falls out off tree?”

“No, Ma’am,” he managed to whimper.

“Darn. Ho vell. Hey Grace, you vant to give Junior here some help vit dat shoulder?”

Testing the Metal

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The Night Guard - Night Mares

Testing the Metal

“Kudzu, am I a complete idiot?” Commander Peaks glared at the pile of paperwork sprawled across his desk, an implacable foe that had up until this time been his primary nemesis.

“No, sur,” responded his aide, scratching away on a series of notes at the side desk. “I’m quite positive huh Highness, Princess Celestia, would naught have placed you here if she had the slightest doubts about your qualification for the position.” He dunked his quill and returned to compiling his notes while his boss fumed.

“You could have fooled me,” he growled, lifting up a wing and morosely counting the number of damp feathers that fell out. “Look, I’m moulting. What a world.”

“It’s merely the stress, sur. Perhaps some reading will take your mind off your troubles.”

Four thick folders nudged themselves closer to ground zero of the paperwork explosion on his desk, and Snowy Peaks glared at the interlopers. “No. It’s just wasted time. Let’s just get the paperwork subdued for now and we’ll go out to the south gate in an hour. The older cadets are doing a cross-country run and I want to be there when they have to drag those out-of-shape losers across the finish line and out the front gates.”

* * *

“Good evening, Commandant!” The tan unicorn medic saluted as Peaks and Kudzu strolled over to the health station placed just inside the gates. No cross-country night run on mountain roads was complete without at least one cadet having to be dragged across the line with a broken limb, and it was good practice to treat the stretcher-borne pony as quickly as possible. This evening there were two medical ponies on duty, and Peaks raised an eyebrow at the sight.

“Blisters, it takes two of you now to treat a chipped hoof or a cut on our delicate little flowers?”

The other medic promptly proceeded to look every direction except for his, and Blisters scratched behind one ear. “Well, Commander. It’s like this. Princess Luna seems to be taking a real interest in this bunch, and we didn’t want—”

“Here they come, and ahead of schedule,” announced the gate guard. “Looks like we’ve got a stretcher in the back, but Chert’s got the rest all formed up.”

“Companeeeee-QUICK MARCH!” sounded a familiar bellow from out in the moonlit night. It was a voice that could not only peel paint cleaner than a sandblaster, but blister the primer beneath it and carve grooves in steel. Drill Instructor Chert was a solid chunk of raw red the color of hematite, topped by a black mane cropped so short it could have been a shadow. He was a legend in the Academy, which was exactly the reason Peaks had assigned him to the march. Rumor had it Chert had not been born, but instead was chiseled out of a vein of red granite by Celestia and carved into the most impressive form she could imagine. There were taller ponies, and a very few stronger ponies, but none of them could match the endurance of the stocky drill instructor, who could not only march a group of healthy young stallions into the dust, but do it backwards, shouting an unbroken string of obscenities all the way, and then march a second group into the dust an hour later, every day of every month as he had for over twenty years.

I still can’t believe he’s dating one of Pumpernickel’s sisters. The poor stallion.

Road dust had turned the marching cadets nearly a uniform shade of grey in the moonlight, but they were bellowing a marching cadence to the tune of steel-clad hooves and led by a deep but still distinctly female voice.

♫ I don’t know but it’s been said
Mares have got it good in bed
Go all night and through the day
Get them in the family way
Sound off, one, two
Sound off, three, four ♫

“Companeee… Halt! Right-face! Salute!”

Fifty dusty stallions — or at least he could not pick out the differences under the dust — saluted as the bulky form of Chert trundled forward.

“Commandant Peaks, I am pleased to report all the cadets have completed their run with only one minor casualty. Request permission to dismiss them for showers.”

“All of them, Drill Instructor?” His eyes scanned the rows of dusty figures, looking for any gaps or feminine differences that would stand out.

“Yes, sir.” Getting any kind of emotional reading off the impassive earth pony would have been as difficult as determining just how Mount Canter was feeling, so Peaks settled for grinding his teeth for a moment. “Cadets are to assemble in thirty minutes, full armor for inspection. Dismissed.”

An avalanche of heavy hooves stampeded for the barracks, leaving only three dusty figures carrying a fourth over to the medics, who met them half-way. At closer range, it was easy to pick out the forms of Miss Rose, who was holding one end of the stretcher, and the blocky form of Miss Banehammer on the other end. There was a pale green glow of magic around the patient on the stretcher, and Miss Grace kept a solid stream of information flowing to the medics as they worked.

“…green fracture of the lower section of the splint bone with minor contusions to the olecranon, immobilized by spell and mechanical bracing within minutes of the fall. Hello, Commander Peaks. Medication administered: one standard unit of psuedoacetyl-para-aminophenol with magical stabilization, hydration, cold compresses, and I believe he specifically asked if Miss Thermal would ‘kiss it and make the boo-boo better.’ Is that correct, Cadet?”

Even under the dust, the young stallion blushed a brilliant red, still trying to make excuses as the medics trotted him off to the infirmary suspended in their mutual magical fields. Peaks turned his attention to the three dusty mares remaining and glared. “I see you three made it.”

Miss Grace stepped forward and saluted. “Sir, if we are to be ready for inspection in twenty-six minutes, we need to be dismissed.”

His glare did not reduce in intensity, but there was a distinct twitch around his throat as if several pithy comments had been strangled before they reached his vocal cords. Finally he asked, “Where’s Thermal?”

“She took the optional cross-country flight with the pegasi cadets, sir. She chose it rather than running because…”

Grace trailed off, looking somewhat uncomfortable, but Miss Banehammer cleared her throat and helpfully added in a somewhat raspy voice, “She’s still pumping for der young vun, und de running chafes her teats. Sir.” While Peaks spluttered, Banehammer calmly continued, “She said der armor is actually lighter den Standing Vatter, her foal, und doesn’t squirm about so much, so I vouldn’t vorry about her.”

“Dismissed!” Peaks waved frantically at the barracks. “Go! Go!”

* * *

“It’s supposed to be a three hour endurance flight, sur,” said Lieutenant Kudzu, trotting along behind his boss. “The furst cadets aren’t scheduled to arrive for fifteen minutes or so. Wouldn’t your time be better spent getting ready to review the graduating class?”

Peaks didn’t reply, but instead ascended into the air in a flurry of dropped feathers. There were four instructors standing around at the marking cloud, comparing clipboards and stopwatches when he dropped onto the platform and snapped, “Give me some binoculars, Major.”

Taking the offered pair from Major Turbulence, the officer in charge of Night Aerial Operations, he tripped the night-vision enchantment gem on the side and began to scan the returning cadet path. “I want to know the minute any of you see Thermal. The other three finished their cross-country run already.”

“So, Commander Peaks, how did Grandma do?”

Commander Peaks put his binoculars down and looked at the sleek grey Nocturne who was copying down a list of numbers. “Grandma?”

“Technically she’s not my grandmother,” continued Major Turbulence, still engrossed in the line of figures. “At best a third cousin twice removed by marriage into the Stratus clan, but a bunch of the guys used to hang out at their family house and talk shop after work. She made the best maple-alfalfa oatmeal cookies in Canterlot.” He looked up, taking the quill out of his mouth and wiping it off on his soft grey coat. “Sorry, sir. Saliva.”

“Miss Thermal? She can’t be much more than twenty.”

“Not her. You’re thinking of Milkmaid.” The Nocturne flipped over a nearby clipboard with one membranous wing and passed it over to the commander. “I hope you don’t mind us assigning her a handle. She was dripping a little yesterday and the title sorta just stuck. But don’t worry. We found a nice quiet office over at the MWR barn to stick her pumping gear in, complete with ice box.”

“Base this is Green Flight Alpha,” crackled a nearby communicator. “Leading elements are at the outer marker and incoming. What’s the twenty on Milkmaid.”

The Nocturne scooped up the microphone and responded, “Green Alpha this is Base. Milkmaid is over the line and taking a break in the barn, but don’t worry. She’s a good thirty seconds off your Academy score.”

“I’m not the one worried,” crackled the communicator again, “but you gotta break the news to Grandma if she breaks Dandelion's record.”

“Roger that, Base clear.” The Nocturne chuckled slightly as he put the microphone away. “Anyway, Commander Peaks. Dandelion married grandma way back when, and they kinda sorta adopted all the kids in the clan as we grew up, even the ones who weren’t their kids. There must be a half-dozen Dandelions named after him out there, and all of them are just as fast as their — Commander?”

Major Turbulence looked around, but Commander Peaks was nowhere to be seen. The only evidence he had even been at the observation station were a few loose primary feathers left blowing on the breeze.

* * *

“Gotta be cheating with times like that,” grumbled Peaks as he touched down outside the Morale, Welfare and Recreation building and stormed inside, nearly trampling an earth pony janitor towing a mop bucket. “Where’s Milkmaid? I mean Thermal!” he snapped.

“Third floor, Room 301,” he replied, nearly tripping over the mop bucket. “But she’s—”

“I don’t care! Get out of my way.” He half-flapped, half-galloped up the stairs, muttering about proscribed substances and illegal wing enhancements until he reached the right door and kicked it open.

“Thermal!” he bellowed, pointing a hoof. “What did you do to get back so…”

His first impression was that the startling pink pegasus had been peeled, her sweaty training armor scattered across the floor, and some sort of torture device tied to her belly. Whatever it was made an obscene sucking and thumping noise, twitching in a way that he was certain would haunt his dreams for weeks. Miss (and there was no mistaking her gender at this angle) Thermal started, looking up with wide frightened eyes and simultaneously kicking out with one hind hoof. A nearby chair skidded across the floor, rebounded off the wall, and smacked into the back of the loosely held door, neatly slamming it into his face. He stumbled back into the hallway, his emotions a churning mess that matched the sharp throb of pain at the end of his nose.

“S-s-s-sorry,” called out a soft voice from inside the room. “S-s-sir. A-a-are you hurt?”

“No,” he growled almost out of an instinctual response. “I’m fine. I just wanted—”

One of the hardest lessons Peaks tried to teach the cadets was to think before they acted, and every lecture he had given on the subject promptly cascaded through his head. He had just gone pelting off across the Academy to accuse a nursing mare of using drugs or illegal enhancements to boost her speed, and once he applied even the smallest amount of thought to the concept, the charge was almost criminally stupid. Still, there was something familiar about her frightened attitude that matched his years of experience with other cadets, and as he considered, the various puzzle pieces began to slowly mesh together.

There was a minor disturbance from downstairs as he thought, and two familiar voices mixed in with the clatter of hooves echoing up the stairs.

“Grace, hold up. I’ve only got three of Daelia’s shinguards.”

“I’ve got the other, Sergeant. Now hurry up. We’ve only have a few minutes before assembly.”

The startled look on the two unicorn mares as they rounded the top of the stairs and saw him was priceless. Miss Grace and Miss Rose clattered to a halt in their cadet armor and saluted, still damp from their rapid shower and looking more than flummoxed at his presence.

“Sir! What are… I mean—”

“At ease. I see you brought Thermal’s armor?” He nodded at the violet dress armor of a pegasus trainee suspended in the two mare’s dissimilar magical fields, trying to ignore the various bumps and dents that defined a different gender than proper armor was meant to cover.

“Yes, sir!” Miss Rose held herself at rigid attention while the armor rearranged itself in their magical suspension, looking like some strange invisible pegasus standing to their side.

“Very well. She’s currently… indisposed, so just leave it here and go notify the drill inspector that they are to hold their inspection until I arrive. Dismissed.”

The two mares saluted and piled the armor quickly to one side before turning to leave. “Not you, Miss Rose. Stay.” Snowy Peaks waited until the clatter of descending hooves had died away and the fire door at the bottom of the stairs had closed before addressing the remaining mare.

“Miss Rose. At ease.” Peaks looked over the nervous middle-aged mare, seeming more fragile under the interior lights than she had been out in the darkness. “So. Why did you volunteer for this position? And don’t give me that ‘to serve Equestria and be the best I can be’ horseapples. The Royal Guard takes all kinds of raw recruits, and I’ve seen ‘em all. Drug addicts. Criminals. Farm ponies who haven’t ever seen more than two houses together in one place. You four are different, and I don’t mean your gender. If I didn’t know better, I’d think all four of you were running from something.”

“No idea what you’re talking about, sir.” There was a certain inevitability that slid down behind the mare’s violet eyes, making them look much harder than they had any right to be. Then again, Peaks had gotten used to dealing with snot-nosed kids who thought they were hot enough to be raised into the sky by Celestia every morning and put to bed by Luna at night. Rose was quite nearly his own age, and it took a mental shift to look at things from her experienced point of view. Most probably the last stallion to come after her with a blade held real steel honed to razor sharpness, and whatever had gone after her friend Miss Grace had shut her emotions up like a steel safe. Perhaps it was time to settle down with the four folders and do a little extra reading on his new cadets. Purely for curiosity's sake, that is.

He nodded at the pile of armor before trotting down the stairs. “Stay here and help Thermal when she’s done with… her procedure. I’ll hold the inspection until all four of you are in ranks, but don’t expect me to do it again. Dismissed.”

~ ~ ~ ♠ ~ ~ ~

“Don’t talk. Just deal.” Snowy Peaks dropped into the tattered chair and regarded the rest of the older poker players, who had all been laughing vigorously before he slunk into the room. Technically he was supposed to salute since both Night Commander Buttercup and Day Commander Swift Wings were his direct superiors, but the Ritual of the Saturday Morning⁽*⁾ Game was sacrosanct, and anypony caught saluting or discussing work-related policy had to chip in five bits to the kitty.

He dug into his coin purse and tossed twenty bits into the kitty. “Paying it forward,” he grumbled.

Police Commissioner Gourd chuckled, shuffling the cards in his magic while pouring Peaks a bourbon. “Our little angels giving you problems, Snowy?”

“Angels!” scoffed Peaks, lifting a wing and shaking it slightly, which scattered a few loose feathers across their poker table. “Demonic beasts from Tartarus, more likely. Look at this! Premature moulting, and at my young age. Make that bourbon a double, Gourd. Anything good in the ice box?”

“Despite my better judgement, the wife endeavored to recreate your lava-cheese dip recipe this evening,” said Commander Buttercup, opening up the icebox and using one wrinkled membranous wing to scoot a container of chili-topped goodness over to the Academy Commandant, who scowled at it viciously before pushing it back.

“Hedgeballs. Stick it back in. Better skip the bourbon too. My stomach hasn’t quit hurting since those four walked in the gates. Any cottage cheese?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” said Buttercup, his snow-white head still in the icebox. “There should be a number of Aunt Gloria’s snickerdoodles on the table. Allow me to see if I can procure something to calm your stomach while we take your bits.”

“Yeah,” said Swift Wings, making a production out of scooting his chair farther away. “As long as we don’t catch whatever’s making you moult this way.”

“What do you mean ‘we,’ Swifty?” Commissioner Gourd tapped his horn with one hoof. “And I don’t think Nocturne can moult, so that leaves…” Using his magic, he fanned out the cards in front of Swift Wings and grinned when the pegasus shoved them away.

“Laugh it up,” snapped Snowy Peaks. “There were six applications from mares for the Royal Guard Academy in my pile this morning, including a female Nocturne.”

There was a quite solid thump from the ice box and Buttercup emerged, rubbing his head. “Preposterous! None of our mares would leave the family clan structure and—”

“Clan Rye,” scowled Gourd, dropping the cards on the table. “The police academy got their first five female Nocturne applications yesterday, all from Pumpernickel’s family.”

All three stallions looked at Commander Buttercup, who had returned to the ice box and was carefully pouring a glass of milk. The Nocturne placed it in front of Snowy Peaks, and then poured himself a glass out the remainder. “He’s not my clan,” he smoothly stated, taking a sip of milk that soaked his ornate moustache and dripped a little afterwards, “but I’m getting an ulcer of my own from that obstinate bastard.” Buttercup deftly extracted a five-bit chip from his pile and tossed it into the penalty cup with a flip of one membranous wing.

“Gentlecolts. I offer a toast.” He raised his glass of milk high as his fellow poker players duplicated his stance. “To the Princesses, and the stallions who guard them. Long may they endure.”

“Here, here!” A general clinking of scotch and milk glasses later, the three old (and one slightly younger by comparison, as Snowy Peaks preferred to think about it) stallions settled down to the serious business of poker, mixed with what was listed on their schedules as ‘Weekly Intelligence Briefing with Heads of Military and Civilian Forces.’ Technically the topic was correct, because the activities of adorable grandfillies or the progress of hoofball teams could conceivably be intelligence matters, if the point was stretched. It was a strict rule that official conflicts were to be left outside the door, but as the rules of poker became somewhat fluid after two or three bourbons (or milks), so did the rules of the meeting/game.

Everything was going well, and about the time the serious topic was raised about the latest issue of Playcolt, and whether the ‘attributes’ of Miss July had been artificially enhanced, there was a short knock at the door.

“Pardon me, but I just need to—” Miss Grace came to an abrupt halt half-way through the door, her wide-eyed look of shock lasting slightly less time than her former boss or any of her upcoming bosses. With a sudden squaring of her shoulders beneath the cool steel of the Night Guard armor, she saluted so perfectly that all four stallions followed suit.

“Pardon me, sirs! I just need to retrieve something from the ice box. Request permission to continue, sir!”

“Grace!” bellowed Snowy Peaks, dumping his cards on the table and flinging another five bits into the penalty cup. “What in Tartarus are you doing here?”

She saluted again. “Not interrupting your poker game, sir!” Her eyes wandered over the piles of chips, the cards, and then back to Peaks’ reddening face. “I’m sorry, sir, but under the Regulations of the Royal Guard, Section 17, Subsection B, gambling is against the rules, and will have to be reported.”

Without even a pause, Miss Grace saluted again. “Commandant Peaks, I would like to report a poker game ongoing in the MWR building, room 301. It appears three members of the Guard are involved, along with a fourth individual who did not identify himself.”

“Stop screwing around, Grace. Just get whatever you needed out of the icebox and get out,” growled Snowy Peaks.

“Thank you, sir!” A soft green aura opened the ice box and an empty bottle floated out, which Grace observed with minor consternation. “Um… Are there any more bottles of milk in there? Miss Thermal said she had pumped a full bottle last night so Standing Water could be bottle-fed during the examinations tomorrow night.”

“Milk?” said Commander Buttercup, his flowing white mustache seeming a bit whiter in the room’s lighting as one pearlescent drop of milk dripped onto the floor.

“Thermal,” said Peaks in a dull monotone, looking at the thin ring of white at the bottom of his empty glass.

The perfectly straight lines of Miss Grace’s face wrinkled the tiniest fraction of an inch as she looked back and forth between the two senior officers. Her cheeks twitched, one corner of her lips turned up, and both eyes squinted most of the way closed in order to hold back a tidal wave of laughter. “Permission… to be… excused sir!” she managed to splutter out, darting out the door at Peaks’ sudden glare and nod.

Even through the closed door, her explosion of laughter could be heard echoing up the stairwell until the thump of the fire door three stories down mercifully cut it off.

“I’ll be damned fourteen ways to Tartarus,” said Commissioner Gourd. “The Ice Queen can laugh.”

“Ice Queen?” Snowy Peaks dropped several chips into the kitty. “Spill it.”

The police commissioner took his time gathering up the cards again in his magic and shuffling, only continuing once he was sure everypony had refreshed their drinks and after pouring fresh ones for his two embarassed colleagues.

“Well, it’s not mentioned in her file, so it’s no wonder you don’t know,” started the commissioner. “She’s had a lot of nicknames in the force. Windigo, Yeti, Whiplash, Ice Plot, and a bunch I really shouldn’t repeat. Her work is exemplary, but I couldn’t put her on patrol because her partners kept requesting transfers, calling in sick, or retiring.” He paused to refill his bourbon and shuddered. “Nopony deserves what happens to any stallion who tries to get a date with her. They say it’s like talking to a stack of frozen notecards. She sees everything, doesn’t forget anything, and her special talent lets her visually play back those memories like some slow-motion recap of every embarrassing event she’s ever witnessed.”

“So why pawn her off on us?” growled Snowy Peaks, taking a miniscule sip from his bourbon.

“It’s… complicated. Suffice it to say, do you remember about two months ago when the force caught that stallion who had been abducting and murdering little colts?”

“I remember reading about that in the papers,” said Buttercup with a huff that made his snow-white mustache quiver. “I’ve got a unicorn grandcolt about the age of the victims. Can’t say I approved of the way his arrest was bungled, but I can’t say I disapprove either.”

“Wasn’t that the case where the suspect was killed while resisting arrest?” Commander Swift Wings waved a hoof and then brought it solidly to his chest. “Stabbed through the heart, if I remember right.”

“I can believe that,” groused Snowy Peaks. “She’s deadly with those damned little knives.”

“She didn’t stab him with a knife,” said Gourd. “That’s how she chipped her horn.”

There was a stunned silence as the other three stallions considered his statement. Other than the occasional historical reenactor who practiced the dangerous sport of Full-Contact Tilting, unicorns treated their horns with great respect. After all, any serious injury to it could easily keep a unicorn from using their magic for months, if not years.

“Anyway,” continued Commissioner Gourd, “until the investigation is over and the newspapers find something else to occupy their time, I needed something to get her out of my mane. Look at the bright side, Snowy. You have a Night Guard cadet with more kills than about ninety five percent of your serving guards.”

“Wonderful. I’ll add it to my ulcer collection.” Snowy Peaks rolled his eyes and pushed the remaining glass of bourbon away with a snarl. “Are the other three just as murderous? Because you know they’re supposed to guard a Princess of Equestria! Remember? The one who raises the moon every night!”

“Her Highness spoke directly to all four of them,” rumbled Buttercup, settled deeply into his chair and with a petulant look of stubborn determination encompassing his entire being. “If any are a danger to those around them, she would know. Although I must admit my own curiosity as to what kind of rejects we are receiving from your force, Gourd.”

“They’re sure not rejects,” explained Gourd, flipping the deck over and sorting cards across the table with little flicks of his magic. “If you had drawn a hoof full of hearts and the ace of spades like this, you would want to discard the ace and see if you can draw another heart to make a flush. They’re each darned good at their jobs, but they just don’t fit into my department the way they should. Sergeant Banehammer returned from early retirement when we needed more patrol officers and has been the best officer on the street I’ve seen in years, but she’s garnering a string of excessive force complaints that are troubling Internal Affairs. Lieutenant-Commander Grace graduated from Celestia’s school egregia cum laude and could walk straight into any educational institution as a professor, as long as she didn’t have to deal with students or coworkers. Heck, she could do my job as long as she didn’t have to interact with anypony. And Sergeant Rose Petal used to be the best damned interrogator we had. Lock a suspect up in a room with her and if they don’t confess after an hour, we might as well let them go because they’re innocent. But lately she’s become withdrawn, doesn’t go out on cases unless forced, and won’t even touch domestic violence cases for some reason she refuses to speak about.”

There was a somewhat lengthy pause where three Royal Guards waited impatiently for their companion to fill in remaining information, and Commissioner Gourd feigned innocence. Finally Commander Peaks could not hold himself back. “Thermal’s the worst, isn’t she?”

“Well,” started the commissioner with an uncomfortable roll of his eyes, “she’s got this damned habit of wrapping everypony around her little pink hoof. It’s not even her special talent, but…” He trailed off with a snort and gathered the milk-stained glasses together to put them in the sink before continuing.

“She started as a sky glider⁽¹⁾ in Canterlot as a runaway back before she even got teats. Used to come in with the vice squad every time she needed a good meal and an unoccupied bed for the day. They practically adopted her as a decoy. Just set her up and watch the criminals flock to her. That’s her natural color, by the way. Shocking Pink and Oh-My-Stars Orange. Under the right streetlights, she practically glows.”

Commissioner Gourd sat the bourbon to one side and poured himself a cup of coffee, taking a sip before continuing. “She had some sort of incident on the streets about three years ago, wound up spending a lot of time in the office. Before I knew it, one of the young colts from Larceny had sweet-talked her into the police academy and a wedding ring. I sure as Niflheim didn’t expect her to graduate with honors, but then she turned up pregnant and her brand-new husband fled to Vanhoover. She’s out of sick and annual leave with her foal, so I bumped her to lieutenant about five minutes before I signed the transfer papers. I thought it would at least justify us giving her a few more weeks of administrative leave when she got kicked out of your program.”

“Well, that should be tomorrow,” growled Snowy Peaks. “They’re sitting for the final exam with the rest of the graduating class tomorrow evening. They haven’t had a chance to study, so there’s not a chance they’ll even come close to passing.”

Peaks determined that Commissioner Gourd had a very ominous laugh.

(*) Scheduling for a regular poker game for the Commander of the Day and Night Guard, the Academy Commandant, and the Police Commissioner was a convoluted mess, but Saturday morning had been decided on nearly a century ago, and nopony had bucked tradition since.

(1) Sky gliders are much like street walkers, only in the pegasus section of town.

Testing Patience

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The Night Guard - Night Mares

Testing Patience

Lieutenant Chalk was a light shade of dull white, which matched his personality perfectly. The cadets who attended his history courses had nicknamed him Dusty Chalk, which bothered him not one whit. Nothing bothered Chalk, not annoying cadets asking the same ignorant questions about material that had been repeatedly covered in class, or the endless feeble excuses for missing work or incorrect answers. “No” was the answer for nearly every occasion.

Row after row of Royal Guard Cadets sat in identical seats working on identical exams under his direct observation. Before graduation, the cadets maintained their original coat colors, making an unruly mess of hues and tints that came as close to ‘bothering’ Chalk as anything, but as long as the four colorful mares in the class behaved the same as the rest of the colorful cadets, he was perfectly content to treat them with exactly the same cold disdain.

The problem was distraction. The pink pegasus mare could not possibly know how irritating she was. Every constant ear-flick or twitch in her coat attracted curious eyes, and Chalk kept having to remind himself about his perfectly boring wife and two perfectly ordinary colts at home. In fact, Chalk found it quite difficult to even notice the other female cadets bent over their own papers and scratching away.

He did notice a sound. Somewhere in the building, there was a faint high-pitched wail, sometimes loud enough to be heard, sometimes fading to just fractionally below the threshold of audibility. Every time the wail crested, the pink cadet accelerated her twitching or wing flicking or something equally as annoying, bending over her paper with renewed intensity. Every time the wail faded, she would flick a glance at the door and shift uncomfortably in her chair, which triggered an almost identical shift in several rows of cadets behind her. Eventually the distant wail rose into a rising crescendo of tiny tapping noises, much like the galloping of miniature hooves, with a counterpart of slower clattering hooves behind. The noise grew louder and louder until the double doors to the exam room gave a loud ‘thump’ of impact, and the small blue nose of an infant colt shoved itself into the resulting gap.

“Mamma!” bleated the colt, bringing a startled halt to every single cadet in the room, many of which dropped their pencils and stared.

The rapid clatter of little hooves on tile echoed through the room as the little colt used the opening to wedge the rest of his tiny body through, being followed from out in the hallway by a frantic feminine voice who called, “No, no, no! Standing Water, you come back here right now! Mamma’s taking a test! Oh, no!”

“Mamma!” squalled the little colt, vaulting into the air with the blur of rapidly beating wings that managed to make it over one startled cadet before rebounding off the next one and skidding under a desk. “Mamma! Mamma!” he continued to squall, thumping his head against the bottom of the desk as he tried to stand up.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” wailed Cadet Thermal, trying to look at Chalk and her foal at the same time. “I didn’t get pumped enough yesterday for him and he doesn’t react well to formula because he won’t drink it at all and my mother-in-law tried to keep him downstairs so I could nurse when we had a break but we haven’t had a break and—”

Chalk raised one hoof, hesitated at the look of pure panic and terror radiating from the startling pink pegasus as well as the unanimous look of disapproval aimed at him from every other cadet, and then dropped his hoof onto the pause button of the timer.

“Cadets,” he announced in a parade-ground bellow to make himself heard over the squalling of the hungry little colt. “Pencils down. Turn your tests over.” He waited until the rustle and clatter of curious cadets had died down and the little colt had been silenced by the expedient use of weapons-grade nuzzling.

“Cadets, one of the hallmarks of the Royal Guard is their ability to react to unexpected conditions in the field. With that in mind, I am assigning a fifteen point exercise, at the end of which, I will restart the timer and you will all resume your examination with an additional five minutes added to compensate for the disruption this exercise will cause.”

He nodded to Cadet Thermal and the little colt, who had started rooting around for his meal. “Using only materials available in this room, your task is to construct a privacy curtain for a nursing mother and her colt. Half of your score will be on the aesthetic and practical qualities of the shelter, and the other half awarded for timeliness. You may begin, now.”

Chalk stood up from his chair and watched the room full of young stallions snap into action with a concealed smile and a slight shake of his head for the older pegasus mare who had taken the opportunity to peek in through the double doors. He trotted over and whispered to her in a very low voice, “Madam, no outside individuals are admitted during the exam.”

“I just wanted to get my grandfoal out of your mane,” she whispered back.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered back. “He’ll be back as a cadet in a few years. Half the cadets in this room don’t have that kind of initiative. Just think of this as early admission.”

After reassuring the mare, Chalk returned to his desk and settled down to watch the young cadets work. He really did not expect them to get done in the allotted fifteen minutes.

They were done in eight.

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~

“Sur, the preliminary grades are in.” Lieutenant Kudzu trotted into the captain’s office with a set of folders trailing behind in his magical field. He barely dropped them onto the desk before Peaks yanked them open and began to read.

“What is this!” Peaks glared at the tall white glass that his office assistant placed on the table next.

“Almond milk, sur. I was given to unduhstand yur stomach has been bothering youh lately, and we thought it best to assist.”

Peaks glowered, but he did take a drink, and then after reading a little further down the page, another. “It’s not bad,” he grumbled. “Where are the mare’s grades? I don’t see them at the bottom.”

“Look up, sur,” responded Kudzu, topping off his boss’s glass.

There was an exceedingly long pause, followed by a spray of almond milk across the desk. It took a few moments for Peaks to recover, but eventually he spluttered, “That’s preposterous! Check their scores again!”

“The graders checked three times already, sur.” Kudzu produced a thin folder and floated it over for his boss to read. “Technically, Miss Grace was correct in responding to Question Seventeen in the way she did. She wrote an impeccable defense in the margin of the exam. It seems the reference to Section 47, Subsection 12, Paragraph 7 had been outdated since the update to the Regulations of the Royal Guard seven years ago that split an earlier paragraph into two parts. The graders awarded her an extra credit point, even without which makes her the first cadet since Shining Armor to join the Hundred Club, sur. One hundred point six percent is quite nearly an Academy record.”

“Well, at least…” started Peaks as his hoof began to trace down the page, stopping at the next entry. “Banehammer? You can’t tell me Grandma scored this high. Is there another cadet with that name?”

“No, sur. I believe she missed the question on Twisted Logic. Most everypony does. And like most of the cadets, the graders credited her for the correct answer on Question Seventeen, which technically was wrong, but since Miss Grace pointed out their minor error, they’ve been ‘letting this one slide,’ I believe is the phrase, sur.”

This time Peaks took a deep drink of milk and swallowed before returning to the grade listing. “At least Thermal isn’t… No, there she is. And Miss Rose. All far above the personal protection unit cutoff.”

“Yes, sur. The entire class scored nearly five points higher than average this year. Princess Luna will be pleased.”

“Princess Luna can bite my—” Commander Snowy Peaks considered his next word with great care, taking into account his assistant’s placid look of disinterest. “She’s not outside the door, is she?”

“No, sur. However, there is a cadet who has a special request outside your door. I told her you would send for her when you were ready.”

“Her?” Peaks glowered. “What does Grace want?”

“Just a private moment of your time, as per the open door policy you announced when you became the Academy commandant.”

It took a few moments of grinding his teeth before Peaks responded. “Send her in and get the notes together for our meeting with Supply in an hour. It’s not like she’s going to screw up my life any more than it already is. After the closing exercises tomorrow, she becomes Night Commander Buttercup’s problem. I never want to see another mare in uniform as long as I live.”

“Except for the new cadets, sur.” Kudzu floated two more folders over to his superior’s desk. “Just came in an hour ago. Somewhat older than regular cadets, but one is a quarry worker and the other—”

“Just send her in,” growled Peaks.

It made Commander Peaks feel slightly better and worse to note the nearly concealed signs of stress that peeked out from under Miss Grace’s scuffed armor in the form of an errant string of frazzled mane and one undone clasp on her sidesaddle. Still, the mare drew herself up to a perfect salute in front of his desk and snapped out, “Sir, this cadet has a request.”

“Spill it, Grace,” he growled back. “I’m up to my flank in paperwork today with graduation and the new class starting soon.”

“Exactly, sir.” A folder levitated out of her sidesaddle and was placed perfectly down in front of him. With a growing sense of dread, he read the title printed in neat block letters.

“Internship? Oh, no. You can’t be thinking…”

“Although after assignment we will be on detached duty with the Royal Guard, Night Division, I’ve researched the precedents about temporary placement at the Academy, and believe—”

“Me? What did I ever do to you?” muttered Peaks as he flipped several pages of the request, trying not to notice as another few feathers drifted to the floor behind him.

“As you specified previously, sir, your current peak workload exceeds the capacity of your existing staff. Since I’m only assigned to this detail until an ongoing investigation is completed, I believe the best use of my limited time is to assist you with this temporary workload surge.”

“What,” growled Peaks, “if we put you out in public, are you afraid you’re going to stab somepony else?” He trailed off to a halt, scowling at the obstinate words on the page in front of him.

That was cruel, vicious, and totally uncalled for. Just because you hate what she stands for, doesn’t mean you need to hate her. What would Princess Luna say? Buck that, what would Princess Celestia say?

“Permission to be dismissed, sir!” Peaks looked up abruptly. Grace’s voice was normally cool, but this voice would have frozen a Windigo solid. She still held herself in parade ‘rest,’ if that rigid pose could be considered resting in the slightest, but a faint tremor caused the little bits of her short-cropped mane that peeked out from under her helmet to nearly vibrate with suppressed tension.

“Denied,” he snapped back, gesturing at the cushions reserved for very important visitors into his office. “Sit down before you break something.” He scrounged through his desk until he found the folders he should have read several days ago, and opened up the thickest one. Grace hesitated at the edge of the white and indigo cushions, obviously unwilling to rest her rump where royal rumps rarely rested.

“Sit down, Miss Grace. That’s an order.” He flipped back a few pages to get through the traditional boilerplate at the beginning of a folder and added, “Would you like some milk while you wait?”

“Sir?” Grace’s attempt at self-suspension over the pristine white cushion failed abruptly, and she landed with a thud on Princess Celestia’s rump-rest.

“Almond milk,” he clarified, double-checking the carton. “Although if Kudzu found some lactating mare named Almond, I’m going to run him up the camp flagpole by his unmentionables.”

This time his ice-breaking attempt was rewarded with a definite humorous snort, which he was very careful not to respond to in any fashion, burying himself in the technical details of the personnel folder with more attention paid to what was not written than what was. And everything that was there, was absolutely perfect. Spelled perfect, punctuated perfect, evaluations with perfect scores, even down to the perfect hole in the middle of the report that he was expecting.

“Although you are on administrative leave from the police force due to an incident under investigation, the exact details of your ongoing investigation seem to be missing from your folder, Miss Grace. Care to enlighten your present commanding officer? A short summary, of course,” he added while turning a page. “After all, I’m quite busy.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start, sir.”

He took a moment to glance up and look at the perfect shell that had dropped over Grace’s features, so much like another mare whom he had thought he had known quite well. There was no use in trying to identify whatever emotions churned behind that impassive mask. Princess Celestia had sat in that exact same spot with that same expression several times during his career, the last time a mere week before her sister Luna had been freed from the moon and unleashed on his chain of command, both up and down the chain. Anypony under that much pressure was in danger of exploding, as he had been at one time, and some hidden urge caused him to pass the lesson along.

“Princess Celestia would have you start at the beginning, with tea, and before you realized it, you would be telling her about your grandfather, and how he was just a young pup when his patrol in the northern mountains was ambushed by a rogue griffon, out to prove his claws. How grandfather used to bounce you on his knee and give you rides around the city before your wings could bear your own weight. How he always used to tense up around griffons afterwards, even the merchants in the caverassi, and rub the scar that ran down his shoulder. He never told you what happened to his wingpony that day, but Celestia knew. She knows everypony, alive and dead, even down to the lowest patrolling guard on the frontier. And when grandfather died of old age, even though she never attends funerals, she knew.”

Snowy Peaks tapped a hoof against his breastplate. “His armor still fits. Someday I plan on passing it on to my grandcolt, so that he can take my place protecting Their Highnesses like thousands of stallions before him. Do you understand, Miss Grace?”

“To a degree, yes.”

Peaks turned another page before continuing. “Good. Because I can understand why you would want to serve. There’s a special spark inside both of us that sees danger threatening the ones we love and makes us gallop to protect them. Just not here, Miss Grace. Princess Celestia defends us from cosmic-level threats that could wipe out every pony in Equestria, while all we are known for is standing around and acting shiny. We guard the Princesses. That’s all we got. Take that away, and what does a stallion have that’s worth dying for?”

“We’re not taking that away,” growled Grace, obviously upset for a change. “We’re adding to it by contributing our strengths to yours. Only an idiot would try to make an entire army from pegasi or earth ponies. Would you demote a unicorn if he couldn’t fly, or a pegasus who can’t cast spells?” Grace’s voice dropped an octave before she paused, breathing in and out several times before continuing in a quiet controlled tone that raised a shiver up his neck. “We work together in order to make civilization possible. United, we can be strong enough to protect those we care about. Taking away is what criminals do. They steal and cheat, gnawing away at the trust that society requires in order to exist. Sometimes they even kill, which is the worst sort of theft. They steal a life, just because it pleases them, and there can be no more terrible crime.”

Grace’s voice was scarcely louder than the crackling noise of turning a page, and he tried to ignore it while reading until she added in that same quiet controlled tone, “He was a murderer many times over. We had been investigating the disappearance of little colts around Canterlot, but he covered his tracks perfectly. Four little colts vanished in the middle of the day over four months without a single usable clue other than a vague description. It was the fifth month, and I thought I knew where he was going to strike next.”

A low green glow formed around Grace’s chipped horn, and a market scene appeared in front of her in miniature. It jolted with her movement, filled with young ponies out buying treats while older ponies tried to keep them under control. A middle-aged earth pony seemed to hold center in the illusionary scene, growing larger as Grace slipped through the crowd in her memory until he looked away and grabbed a nearby colt, holding a slim blade across his throat while shouting something. The image blurred with movement, the stallion growing larger in the illusion as she galloped at full tilt across the intervening space—

Until she lowered her horn and slammed into his side in a splash of blood.

“He was blind to me, turned just enough to see my partner and hold a knife to that little colt’s neck, and…”

Grace trailed off, and it was all that Peaks could do to look back down at the folder and pretend to read. Finally, he closed the folder and tossed it onto the disorganized heap covering his desk. “Request approved. Once we’re done with tomorrow’s graduation exercise, I’ll expect to see you here at seventeen hundred hours, showered and ready to get to work on Mount Paperwork, the only mountain bigger than Mount Canter. Is that acceptable, Miss Grace?”

That infuriating transparent shield dropped over her features as Miss Grace nodded at him, seeming just as cold as the northern mountains. “Yes, sir. May I ask what the dress code for proper paperwork perusal is? I understand the incoming class will have need of the tin suit, as there are so few of them in the armory. At present.”

Peaks held his composure as he nodded back. “Once the graduation exercise is over, you may return the clamshell, Miss Grace. Your duty uniform is acceptable within the office. Anyway, Kudzu and I normally break at twenty-three hundred hours, but every year is different, and this one promises to be a nutcracker. We’re processing out the graduated cadets as fast as possible because there’s something going on up north that has the Griffons all feathered up. Princess Celestia has requested extra patrols to be out looking for ‘Him,’ whoever that is. ‘You’ll know it when you see it’ is not a proper intelligence briefing, but that’s all we’ve been given.”

“Ours is not to reason why,” said Miss Grace, her lips forming into a razor-straight line. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Nearly. Since our facility will be paying reluctant host to a number of the fair sex in the near future, I’ve been ‘volunteered’ to create a task force to rewrite the Regulations of the Royal Guard to accommodate their fragile dispositions. Since you have such a deep understanding of the document, there is no greater torture that I could think of to drive you out of the Royal Guard faster than to pass the chairpony position to you.”

“Thank you, sir. I accept. Shall I be responsible for moving any heavenly bodies in addition to my assigned duties?”

Snowy Peaks gathered up a few folders, pushing his box of tissues closer to her and turning for the door with a shake of his head. “No, I don’t think so at present. Kudzu and I have an appointment that I can’t be late for, so if you could tidy up a little before you leave, it would be appreciated.”

He paused at the doorway without looking back. “Miss Grace. If you were to find yourself in the same situation again, would you be capable of…”

Her voice remained perfectly level as she responded, “Four little colts, sir.”

“Good.” Peaks gave a brief look back at the impassive unicorn mare sitting where Princess Celestia normally sat. “You know I’m still going to try to get you ladies to quit and go home, right?”

“You can try, sir.”

Save the Princess

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The Night Guard - Night Mares

Save the Princess

Centuries of tradition ran deep in the halls and buildings of the Royal Guard Academy, deep enough that if it were to form pools in the low-lying areas, there would certainly have been at least one competitive high-diving team formed to take advantage of it. Several centuries ago, what had once been a simple end-of-semester ‘Save The Hostage’ scenario had turned deadly serious when Princess Celestia decided on a whim to take the place of the stuffed dummy who normally took that role.

There were no fatalities, but over half of the class had at least one limb in a cast at graduation that year.

The second and subsequent years, the cadets were required to wear their sparring pads over their armor, and every instructor turned out to supervise (and limit) their enthusiastic role-playing. Celestia seemed to enjoy it the most, waving a white kerchief from her ‘imprisoning’ tower for encouragement while sweaty young cadets fought through muddy defensive positions and ambushes organized by other sweaty young cadets, only to switch positions with their counterparts once the ‘hostage’ had been freed in order to do it all over again. Admittedly, the exercise was slanted in the direction of the assaulting forces, as once a defender was ‘killed,’ his part in the exercise was over, but an attacker could merely run back to the assault point to be considered a ‘reinforcement.’

Unfortunately, Princess Celestia had bowed out of her traditional role this morning due to ongoing diplomatic troubles with the Griffon Empire, and nopony wanted to wake Princess Luna⁽*⁾, so the game of ‘Save the Hostage’ continued with a substitute.

(*) Word had gotten around about what had happened to the guard who attempted to wake Princess Luna up during the changeling invasion. Unfortunately, he had forgotten to bring coffee.

Fortunately, the substitute was Academy Commandant Snowy Peaks, who had the creamy white coat of the Princess, but was lacking about half the primary feathers and all of her benevolent tranquility. Part of his current fuming rage could be excused by the relative rapidity which the Silver team had just overwhelmed the defending Gold team, but most of it was directed at the hesitant apologetic pegasus who was hovering over his head.

“I’m so sorry, sir. Sorry. I yelled at you to get down when we stormed the room but you didn’t get down and I know the exercise rules say you don’t need to but police procedure says to protect the hostage during a rescue mission and you didn’t get down when I yelled and I really didn’t mean to hit your nose when I tackled you but there was this big cadet in the way and he reared up all of a sudden—” Anxious pink eyes darted away from the angry captain to look at the cadet still sprawled out on the floor, being attended to by the second least wanted pony on Commander Peaks’ list at the moment.

“Don’t worry, Daelia,” she murmured, one hoof on the pegasi stallion’s face to hold him immobile and the pale green glow of a spell around his head. “The enchantments on the helmet held just fine. He should be good for another go around just as soon as Commander Peaks gives the order. How are you feeling, cadet?”

“Is she single?” The grinning pegasus took being shoved out of the room by Miss Grace in stride, putting his dented helmet back on and giving a quick wink at the flustrated pink pegasus still hovering over the commandant. Commander Peaks stood back up and took the red-stained kerchief off his nose, starting only slightly when Miss Grace’s soft green magical aura surrounded his head.

“Nothing serious, sir. Minor bruising in the septum, a little blood in the sinuses. Your iron level is a little low and stress hormones are too high.” A sharp sting echoed around the inside of his head and his nose quit hurting. “That should hold you for now, but I’ll notify the mess that you should have more spinach in your diet.”

“But I don’t like—” Peaks scowled and glared at the nearby drill instructor who was acting as a referee. “Stop snickering, Sergeant Gusts. Call the second half of the exercise.”

The broad-chested pegasus strode out on the balcony of the ‘Royal Tower’ and bellowed out over the rest of the exercise field, “Part one of the exercise is now over. Cadets on the Silver team will now be on defense while Gold team will be on offense. Cadets, report to your exercise areas and get ready. We will start in fifteen minutes.”

“I suppose you’re going to run Silver’s defense, Miss Grace?” grumbled Commander Peaks, stepping carefully over to the balcony so he could watch the cadets hustle to their rally points, including Miss Thermal, who seemed to be relieved to flee his presence.

“Sir, no sir! Absolutely not. Cadet Windshear still has the team. He has earned his position.”

Commander Peaks tried not to glance back at her while scowling. “Well, he did select you for your team, I’ll give him that. And he chopped his way through Gold like they were wheat. Did you perhaps give Cadet Windshear any pointers for the defense that I should be on the lookout for?”

“Coming through. Look out below.” Three cadets with a cargo net landed on the balcony, spreading the net across the floor and anchoring it with a pair of statues perched on the edge of the balcony. With matching mischievous grins, they saluted and darted away.

“One or two,” admitted Miss Grace once they had gone. “He’s a bright young lad, and I’m not saying that simply because he selected all four of us for his team. He has considerable leadership potential, and the rest of his class thinks the world of him. He’s the one who suggested Daelia for the hostage rescue team, which seems to have worked out well. Silver will be attempting a modified minimum range defense, conceding the outer walls and allowing the defenders to concentrate their efforts on a minimal number of defensive points. Since our pegasi are relatively outnumbered compared to Gold, a series of blocking strategies are being emplaced.”

“You’re digging holes out in the exercise yard,” observed Peaks, peering through a set of binoculars. “Big holes.”

“Covered holes,” she corrected. “In order to free up more of our cadets for the net towers and spell flingers. You see, once the Gold team ground forces fall into the pits, they are effectively out of the exercise unless rescued.”

The tread of hooves on the tower stairs announced the arrival of Miss Rose, who stopped in front of the captain and saluted while breathing heavily. “Commander, communication from Exercise Captain Windshear. Silver team is ready to proceed.”

* * *

Commander Peaks watched the exercise unfold from his balcony vantage point, although without the flutter of a white kerchief in the breeze to cheer on the enthusiastic cadets as Princess Celestia preferred. In general, he had seen exercises where the defense had been planned or executed slightly better, but this fell extremely high on the list. Restricted from digging the pits deep enough by the referees, the pit traps had still been very effective, holding the earth pony reinforcements to a trickle and causing Gold team to dispatch several pegasus spotters and a unicorn to dig out trapped cadets. With additional defending cadets on the anti-air towers, the Gold pegasi were unable to provide close support to their grounded counterparts, forcing a long and very well-fought siege to capture the towers one at a time. It still came as a shock when he received a tap on the shoulder and both Miss Grace and Miss Rose escorted him away from the window and off the cargo netting still spread across the floor.

“Gold team has enough of the towers down now to make a suicide run at the hostage,” explained Rose. “They only have one chance to beat our time, so they’re massing forces in preparation for the air assault. It’s going to be brutal going through the covering fire from the rest of the towers, but enough will get through to eliminate a couple of mares.” She wrinkled up her nose and both mares fell into a defensive crouch with horns lit in front of him. “Here they come.”

The sound of the anti-air towers firing grew to a fever pitch as the distant dots of flapping cadets grew into identifiable individuals, thinned out by the fire, but five fierce cadets still plunged in through the balcony window.

And then when the two statues glowed with magic and plunged off the balcony rail, five fierce cadets and one startled referee wrapped in the cargo net vanished out the balcony and over the rail, landing with a series of solid thuds outside.

“Very nice touch,” admitted Peaks. “Shouldn’t you have warned the referee first?”

After their surprise setback, Gold team settled down and began to reduce the defenses in a systematic fashion, dropping one defensive tower after another while Peaks watched and Grace made observations, the most chilling of which was “and this is the point where any real kidnapping group would quietly kill the hostage and escape in the confusion.” It came as no real surprise when Miss Banehammer thundered up the stairs and took her place at the doorway while Grace and Rose backed him into a corner and prepared to receive the final assault from the balcony, but he did notice a missing element to their foursome.

“Where’s Thermal?”

“Last I saw she was playing tag vit a bunch of colts in de clouds,” huffed Banehammer. “Dey don’t want to leaf her in the back off der forces, und dey can’t catch her, or at least vitout a kick in de teeth.” She grinned back over her shoulder and called down the stairwell, “Hokey, boys. Who vants to come up und play?”

Evidently the answer to the question was ‘anybody but me’ as the rustling downstairs quieted.

“Hokay,” she shouted, “ve sweeten der pot. Anyvun who comes up de stairs gets a half dozen cookies.”

That seemed to be a sufficient encouragement for attempted violence as the balcony filled with attacking pegasi and the stairwell rang to the sound of padded impacts, some solid enough that Peaks had to wonder at how much actual padding was involved in those strikes. Rose and Grace kept the balcony opening under withering fire, knocking cadets back out the windows nearly as fast as they poured in, with the exception of one cadet who fought briefly on Silver’s side after being zapped by Rose’s mind control spell. It was a valiant defensive effort that lasted far longer than he expected, but it was doomed to failure as two unicorns charging up the staircase managed to blast Banehammer back out of the doorway and his remaining defenders suddenly had to deal with attacks from both sides.

Once the three mares were out of the way and the ‘hostage’ had been rescued, the referee bellowed out the signal for the end of the exercise, raising a raucous cheer across the exercise yard. The congratulatory back-slapping and noggin-rubbing that traditionally occupied the ‘kill team’ was distinctly muted, more directed into polite hoof-shakes and nods of the head, although Cadet Windshear and his fellow ‘casualties’ broke into a very distinct chant of ‘Ther-mal, Ther-mal’ outside the window. The thunder of departing hooves was nearly deafening as the cadets all departed for the barracks where the traditional second unofficial exercise would take place, i.e. attempting to clear their living quarters to the exacting specifications of the training staff while still getting ready for the formal graduation tomorrow at high noon. Sleep was theoretically wedged into that schedule somewhere, as well as a certain number of short extra-academy ventures by colorful young stallions determined to get at least one beer, possibly two in the joyous evening hours before their upcoming post-graduation bleaching.

For the staff, the next several days were to be anything but a joy. There were referee evaluations to be filled out, last-minute assignment changes, grades and rankings to be calculated, gear to be cataloged, repaired, replaced, or reconditioned. Incoming cadets needed records updated, corrected, and compared to possible criminal backgrounds and outstanding warrants. Barracks needed cleaned, the grounds needed upkeep, training equipment needed inspected and repaired, and every single one of the operations needed his hoofprint at the bottom of the page.

The phantom pain in his right shoulder was tolerable. The perpetual pain in his flank who had remained after the exercise, less so.

“Pardon me, Commander Peaks. Permission to speak freely, sir?” Somehow the departure of the happy cadets and tired referees had left the two of them alone in the tower, and Peaks tried not to growl as he surrendered to the inevitable.

“What is it, Grace? You’re already going to be crammed into my office for the next who knows how many days.”

“I know, sir. I’m looking forward to it, but I discussed things with the rest of the assignees—”

“Your marefriends,” grumbled Peaks.

“—and we came to the conclusion that it would still be premature to place them within Princess Luna’s protection unit without additional liaison activity with experienced Guards in the same positions. In addition, the optics of my assignment doing office work for you while the three of them would be assigned directly to Her Highness would cause a great deal of specious speculation by the Royals in regards to the project. This would not only impair our efficiency, but cast a shadow on the new female cadets when they take their assignments at the end of training in two years.”

“I… see.” Peaks thought for a moment. “The political aspect of your separate assignment had not occurred to me.”

“Miss Rose actually brought the subject to my attention,” admitted Grace. “I’ve been a little distracted as of late. In any event, I’ve prepared a listing of suggested mentors for the assignees in the event you should wish to assign them to intermediate training tasks prior to transferring us to Commander Buttercup for any personal protection unit assignments. With Princess Luna’s assent, of course.”

Peaks raised one eyebrow. “Would these ‘suggestions’ place Miss Thermal in the Communication section, Miss Rose in the Advance Security section, and Banehammer in general Security during their mentoring?”

“Actually…” Miss Grace removed a clipboard from her armor’s sidesaddle and leafed through it, a motion that Peaks was beginning to recognize as a coping mechanism for having her neat little world disrupted by an unexpected event. “Yes, only I would pair Lily and Rose together in any Advance Security groups. They work extremely well together and complement each other’s strong points.”

“Agreed. Run it down to the office and have Kudzu cut the orders. I’ll sign them this evening and send them to Princess Luna for approval before I go home. And Grace?” She paused, looking back over her shoulder, somehow seeming much older in the shadowed light of the setting sun with shaded bags under her eyes that makeup was not covering. “Go home, Miss Grace. Get some sleep. That’s an order.”

“I’ll try, sir. Tomorrow after graduation, seventeen hundred hours, your office. Correct?”

“Correct. Dismissed.”

Commander Peaks wandered out to the balcony and looked down into the quiet exercise area, abandoned except for a half-dozen unicorn cadets filling pit traps back in under the gimlet eye of the groundskeeper. It took a moment to realize that one of the dust-covered cadets was female, a disturbance to his normally tranquil moment of post-exercise meditation, but after a few more moments of thought, it no longer seemed to be the horrible violation of ancient tradition he had first believed. Just male and female ponies, working together in harmony to protect Equestria from whatever it needed protection from, be it rampaging elder gods of chaos to unsightly holes in the ground that needed to be filled before somepony tripped and fell into them.

He turned on his heel and set his hooves on the long walk home. Maybe a good night’s sleep would help him see clearly again.

Fraternization

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The Night Guard - Night Mares

Fraternization

Sunlight reflected down the corridor and illuminated the golden letters of ‘Commandant Snowy Peaks’ that had been inscribed into the office door with exacting precision, each letter’s gold foil just as shiny and reflective as the day they had been placed. Nearly every citizen knew the Royal Guard as the point of Equestria’s spear, with their shiny gold armor and proud stallions ready to defend at a moment’s notice, but few realized the many, many hooves that went into the creation and maintenance of that pointed spear, as well as sharpened it, fitted it, fed it, equipped it, and inscribed little golden letters onto panes of glass whenever an office changed inhabitants. A good leader must be wise, intelligent, charismatic, learned, and competent, but all of those characteristics are completely useless unless the leaders have competent hard-working staff behind them.

“Hello?” Miss Grace stuck her nose in the half-open office door, held that way to encourage more effort from the breeze that blew through the corridor and kept the warm and stuffy office from becoming a sauna. “Anypony home?”

“Just a minute.” The rustling of paper from the back office quieted to silence as Lieutenant Kudzu slipped into the main office. “Oh. Miss Grace. I didn’t expect you until this evening. Are the graduation exercises complete?”

“No, it just didn’t feel right to be at the ceremony, even in the audience.” She slipped into a chair and rubbed her eyes. “I bailed out early and thought I’d come over here and get an early start on the paperwork.”

“Couldn’t sleep, I suppose.” Lieutenant Kudzu took in Grace’s flat look and nodded in reply. “I was not eavesdropping. Commander Peaks filled me in on the salient points of your situation, and I had a brief and totally off the record conversation with Doctor Shrink afterwards. He seems to think a pony in your circumstances would benefit by a few therapy sessions. Since we’re between classes, he has a few free hours this week.” An inscribed business card floated out of Kudzu’s uniform wrapped in his light blue magic and hovered in front of Miss Grace, who regarded it with cold disdain.

“Two o’clock tomorrow afternoon?”

“I find it advantageous when working with particularly stubborn individuals on sensitive matters such as this to make the furst appointment without asking permission,” said Kudzu. “Otherwise they tend to waffle and dissemble in a vain attempt to fix the problem by ignoring it.”

After turning the card over several times, Miss Grace tucked it into a pocket of her jacket. “Practical. Rude, but practical.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Grace,” said Kudzu.

The two unicorns began to review the ongoing paper pushing process one stack at a time, Kudzu being very specific about which folders gained what papers and approvals before proceeding to the next section while Grace nodded almost silently with only the occasional question about specific details or exceptions to the listed rules. Coffee was brewed (use tuoh filters or the grounds punch right through) and consumed (there’s a cup on the rack fuhr you already, Miss Grace) throughout the process and its aftermath (down the hall and to the right, Miss Grace, but you may want to knock furst since we have no mares room yet) until the end of the instructions had been reached and the beginning of the paperwork process had been well underway. As Kudzu placed a folder on the ‘Cadets - For Approval’ pile (Battering Ram, earth pony from Hoofington) and picked up a fresh folder from the ‘Cadets - Pending Approval’ pile (Bellerophon, pegasus transfer from Cloudsdale weather patrol), he paused at the introspective look Miss Grace was giving him.

“Yes? Did I miss a step with the previous cadet, Miss Grace?”

“No. I was just contemplating why you would direct me to a psychologist instead of using my present mental instability as an excuse to remove me from my Guard assignment.” A burst of light green magic closed the folder Kudzu was looking through, causing him to look up at her frowning face. “Is this some sort of trick?”

Kudzy brushed a hoof across his chin. “Yes. Now if you could look through the Cloudsdale pile for this candidate’s records, I’ll transcribe his preliminary test results onto his form RGA-10B and we can move on to the next candidate. Perhaps we can even get out of here by midnight for a change.”

“What kind of a trick?” asked Grace, adding a hoof to the folder to keep it closed.

“Well…” started Kudzu, floating his coffee cup over to the pot and refilling it. He stirred in two sugar cubes, a pinch of alfalfa salt, and a tiny sprinkle of nutmeg before sitting back down and taking a sip. “It really wouldn’t be much of a trick if I were to tell you, now would it, Miss Grace?” Pale almond eyes stared into pale green eyes until Miss Grace blinked.

“I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.” Grace opened her sidesaddle bag and removed a container, which she placed on the table almost reverently. Lifting the plastic lid with a small hiss of released air unleashed a scent that made Kudzu’s ears perk up and forced a swallow to prevent an unsightly drip of saliva. One single cookie floated out of the container to hover in front of Kudzu’s nose, shedding a few small crumbs on his unnoticed paperwork.

“Mrs. Banehammer made quite a few batches of her famous maple-alfalfa oatmeal cookies this morning for the cadets. I managed to get the last container.” The cookie floated away from Kudzu’s hypnotized gaze over to Miss Grace, who took a delicate bite. “Delicious.”

“Bribery,” croaked Kudzu with an additional swallow to keep from drowning in his own saliva. “Attempted bribery of a superior officer.” He licked his lips as Grace took another bite of the cookie. “Torture is against the Regulations of the Royal Guard.”

“I’m rewriting them,” she said, finishing off the cookie in a series of long, drawn-out bites and running her tongue slowly around her lips to collect the leftover crumbs while never breaking her rather sultry and inviting eye contact with the unnerved officer.

“Miss Grace!” Kudzu hunched lower in his chair and brought a folder over in front of his chest while trying to control his breathing. “That’s obscene!”

A second cookie levitated gracefully out of the container and floated to a halfway point between the two unicorns. “What kind of trick, Lieutenant Kudzu?”

Kudzu took a deep breath and looked firmly down at the table. “I’m not saying.”

The cookie floated closer, making one circle around his head and shedding a few crumbs on his flattened ears. “Oh come now, Lieutenant Kudzu. All I want to know is why you cared enough about me to schedule…” The cookie wobbled. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” Kudzu’s chin was flat against his chest, making the word more of a mumble than a declaration. “You’re a very attractive young mare, Miss Grace, and I thought if you were able to get control over your… issues, that when you returned to the police force, we might… see more of each other.”

“Oh.” The cookie landed on the table, bounced once, and broke in half. “That’s very… rational of you, Lieutenant.”

“I really didn’t want to break any rules on fraternization, Miss Grace. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“That’s quite all right, I assure you.” There was a pause in the conversation as Grace levitated the two halves of the cookie over to Kudzu, who regarded them blankly before biting down.

“They’re quite good,” he offered through a mouthful of crumbs.

“We should save some for Commander Peaks,” said Grace, putting the lid back on the container before looking at Kudzu with hooded eyes. “Did you really think it was obscene when I licked my lips?”

“Ahh…” Kudzu finished his cookie with a dry swallow. “Let’s just say that I’d like a little time to calm down before I stand up from this chair.”

Both he and Grace chuckled at that, and Kudzu floated a container of almond milk out of the icebox to help wash down the last of the cookies. They had just brushed the last of the crumbs off the folders and settled back into their working routine when Grace abruptly stated, “Technically, we’re under different commands, or at least I will be when this desk assignment is over. I’ll be subordinate to Commander Buttercup while you’re still under Commander Peaks.”

“True,” said Kudzu after a brief consideration of the concept and finding nothing out of place other than the obvious bon mot. “Is that to say you would be open to a personal relationship?”

“Why would I?” Grace turned an impassive face to the very poker-faced adjunct. “It takes an average of seven relationships to find a very special somepony. Even if I were average, that would be six failed relationships hanging over me for the one successful one. Those are not good odds.”

The poker face that Kudzu was trying to maintain gained some smile cracks. “Miss Grace, you are anything but average. Would you at least consider trying a personal relationship outside of the office?”

“Perhaps,” said Grace after a long pause. “Perhaps not.”

“I must warn you, Miss Grace,” said Kudzu from behind an open folder. “My namesake is a quite stubborn plant, able to get into the most unlikely places.”

“I’ll spray,” replied Grace.

* * *

Graduation had gone on slightly longer than Academy Commandant Snowy Peaks had expected, and the news from the grapevine that he got even while the former cadets were still whooping and greeting relatives made him grind his teeth in frustration. An entire empire springing up out of nowhere in the frozen north, and the only words from Princess Celestia had been ‘Remain Calm.’ Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and Captain Shining Armor had been flung into the middle of the situation, and all he was supposed to do was remain calm? There were side-channels of communication that any leader utilized during a time of crisis, and dozens of guardstallions were even now taking unofficial inventory of gear, cancelling optional leave, and wandering by the train station to see how many spare engines and cars were available in the event a mass deployment was ordered. It gave him a cold sensation in the pit of his stomach to think about how many of those brave young stallions stood a chance of going from cadet to corpse in the same week, only made worse by the order that he had heard about.

He pushed open the door to his office, too upset even to be concerned by yet another feather fluttering to the ground as he stepped inside and glared at his two unicorn subordinates. The smooth sided slopes of papers on his desk had been turned into solid cubical towers with small colorful labels such as ‘Needing Signature’ or ‘Return for Clarification’ sticking out of each one.

“Good evening, Commander Peaks, sur,” announced his adjunct with a stiff salute, mirrored by his female assistant sitting to his side. “We’ve made substantial progress on—”

“Can it,” he snapped. “There’s a whole empire that just popped up out of the snow in the north, inside our borders.”

“When are we deploying, sur?” The neat stacks of folders were swept up in dissimilar magical fields, placed on the floor to one side as the stack labelled ‘Graduating Cadets’ was spread out across the table.

“We aren’t.” Peaks dropped into his office chair and took the glass of almond milk that Kudzu floated to him without comment. “Guess who Princess Celestia is sending.”

“I sent the bearers of the Elements of Harmony,” said a soft voice.

Almond milk went flying as Peaks jolted to a sudden paralyzed salute, followed by his two subordinates. Princess Celestia fairly glided into Commander Peaks’ office, giving a polite nod before settling down on her customary cushion.

“Y-your Highness,” stammered Peaks, trying to brush the little white blobs of almond milk off his desk and only managing to contribute little white feathers to the mess.

“I apologise for the abruptness of my visit, Commander Peaks. I was unfortunately detained due to a number of recent events, and I wanted you to get your official orders to you as rapidly as possible.”

A scroll wrapped in Celestia’s golden magic floated over to Peaks, who opened it and stared in open-jawed amazement.

“I admit they may not be the most detailed of orders I’ve given, but things have been so hectic around the castle that—”

“Remain calm?” Peaks waved the scroll, with the two prominent words not only written in bold, but underlined three times. “Remain CALM?! What kind of orders are these? There’s an entire city of unidentified creatures—”

“Crystal ponies,” interjected Celestia.

“—that just popped up out of nowhere—”

“Actually they had been banished by King Sombra,” said Celestia.

“King Sombra?” asked Peaks. “What? Do you know this pony?”

If Snowy Peaks had not been looking at that exact moment, he would have missed the tremor that rippled up the side of Celestia’s face and the rapid blink that followed, but her soft voice never changed even the slightest. “Yes, well over a thousand years ago.”

“He banished an entire empire for over a thousand years, and you’re sending six mares to fight him?”

“And a dragon.” Celestia’s voice and posture were perfectly calm, soaking up Peaks’ aggravation like a tranquil sea absorbing the splash of a single pebble. He sat down rather solidly on his chair, not noticing the blue and green magical aura that had formed around the wheels to keep it from skittering out from under his descending rump.

“Calm.” Peaks’ voice was anything but.

“Yes.” That word could have been carved out of Mount Canter granite, polished to a gleaming shine, and dropped from high altitude in order to make the kind of impact Celestia’s soft voice had as she continued, “The common pony looks up to the Royal Guard in times of crisis. If they are calm, there is no panic in the streets, no screaming and running about, and in particular, no foolish actions. No train conductors who have contact with hundreds of ponies a day being driven to worry by a guard asking about the availability of train cars. No panicked guards opening up weapons storage depots and counting spears in public view. No sudden cancellation of leaves, causing hundreds of families to worry about what is happening to their loved ones. So yes, Commander Peaks. I have been very busy this evening.”

“Oh,” said Peaks, sounding calmer by the minute.

“I think it would advantageous for you to take a few days off, Commander Peaks. Get some rest. Be seen in public. Relax.” Somehow Celestia managed to pass a glance over Peaks at the exact instant three of his primary feathers molted off and fell onto the floor.

With a sudden chill up his spine, Peaks heard Miss Grace clearing her throat. “Your Highness, if I may make a suggestion. There is currently a graduation party ongoing at the Cirrus clan house, which has extended an open invitation to any of the Academy staff to attend.”

“Wonderful,” beamed Celestia, rising up from her cushion and chivving Peaks out the door with one wing. “Do have an enjoyable time at the party, Commander Peaks.” She paused at the doorway and held the door open with a meaningful look at Kudzu and Grace, who followed reluctantly, and in a minute, all three of them were trotting down the road while the Princess of the Sun flew back to the castle for whatever other feminine machinations she was plotting.

“Wonderful,” groused Peaks. “I’ve avoided post-graduation parties like the plague since I became commandant. Now I’m going to be stuck there all night.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” said Grace. “Lieutenant Kudzu and I will circle around the block and go back to the office. You’ll have the deployment outline for the new cadets by morning.”

All the stress he was experiencing seemed to shatter as both Kudzu and Peaks chortled, with Peaks having to stop in the middle of the street and bury his nose under his wing to keep quiet. “Kudzu,” he gasped after a moment to catch his breath, “Please inform Miss Grace of Unwritten Rule Number One.”

“Yes, sur.” Lieutenant Kudzu took a quick glance up into the sky before continuing. “Rule Number One of the Unwritten Rules is simple. ‘You may be smart, but don’t try to outwit Princess Celestia.’”

“And Princess Luna too,” said Peaks. “Recent addition.”

“Quite right, sur,” said Kudzu, resuming a brisk walk. “I had forgotten that.”

“Wait a moment, sirs.” Miss Grace caught up with the other Guards’ brisk trot. “Are you saying that if Kudzu and I doubled back and went into the office to do work, Princess Celestia would show up again?”

“Of course not,” said Peaks.

“She’s a busy mare,” said Kudzu.

“Probably Luna,” said Peaks. “That’s one cold-hearted mare I never want to get crosswise with.” He shuddered. “When I was just a cadet, it took me forever to get used to the bats, but she’s the one who created them that way. Just took a regular pegasus and—” He made a hoof motion roughly indicating a lettuce shredder.

They trotted for a while more before Peaks added, “Of course, you volunteered to guard her.”

“I found Her Highness to be quite droll during our interview,” said Grace. “And the Nocturne are an intriguing pony, very dedicated and loyal. Did you know that Miss Banehammer was married to one?”

“I skimmed her file,” admitted Peaks. “Colonel Dandelion, wasn’t it? He’s been gone for nearly three years now. I wonder if that’s what made her volunteer for the Night Guard.”

“I would suggest you ask her, Commander. She’ll be at the party.”

* * *

It was, determined Peaks, a very impressive party. This early in the evening for normal parties with his subordinates, the soft drinks would still be out and little foals would be starting to drop off to sleep. The Nocturne lived on a nocturnal schedule, so most of them had just woken up a few hours ago, leaving energetic foals underhoof and overhead, as well as happy cadets from elsewhere and young future cadets trying to get some of that cadet-ness to rub off by close proximity. Nocturne clans tended to stick together due to their preference for sleeping in a giant fuzzy lump of ponies all nose to tail and get your wing out of my ear that Peaks had never seen as appealing, except in pairs, which triggered a little jolt of curiosity about Banehammer.

He was well aware of rumors and reputations surrounding the handsome night pegasi and their romantic preferences. Nocturne were a small minority in any community, and channeled their attempts at preventing inbreeding into what some referred to as aggressive outbreeding. Far more than one young mare with an infertile or inattentive husband over the years had ‘hung their stockings’ out one night by leaving their window open with a set of four damp socks blowing in the breeze, and then turned up eleven months later at the maternity ward with an energetic young colt or filly. In most cases, the offspring matched the pony type of the mother, but occasionally a dark bat-winged foal would be the result. In that case the mother would receive a nighttime visit by several serious Nocturne elders, an agreement would be reached, some understandings would happen, and the new mother would emerge into the world with a different colorful young foal while one of the Nocturne clans would gain a new member. Sometimes the ‘Nocturnal Surprise’ might even happen two or three generations later, but the clans had never turned down one of their own, and always supported the birth mother afterwards.

Only on extremely rare occasions would a Nocturne foal be kept by non-Nocturne parents, or a non-Nocturne remain in the clan until they became adults, but several colorful little ponies mixed in with the charcoal-grey of their brothers and sisters in the crowded and happy house. He wandered from cheerful greeting to happy introduction until he found himself in the voluminous kitchen of the huge house, looking for a shock of stubby red mane in the middle of a sea of purples and greys.

“Ho! Boss!” Banehammer fairly surged up through the chaotic swirl of mares, holding a dark blue pegasus colt under one foreleg. The little colt squealed when he saw Peaks, little pink-tinged wings blurring in a frantic motion that actually dragged the older mare a step in his direction before she planted her hooves. “No, no, Standing Vatter. Your mamma vill be back in a minute, und der boss he not vant to giff you a piggy back ride round de house. Sit, sit, Commander Peaks.”

He took the proffered chair and settled down at a corner table, taking in the gaze of a half-dozen young Nocturne mares with a little bit of trepidation and accepting the offered cookies with a pleased bite. “Maple-alfalfa oatmeal. Very nice, Grandma.”

She blushed. “Dot’s nuttin. You chould taste Pecan’s pecan rolls.” A rather embarrassed young Nocturne mare was pointed at, and Banehammer continued, “You dropped in at a vonderful spot, Commander. I vas just talkin vit der girls about future careers.”

With a stunned shock, Peaks realized that not only were the young mares gathered around the table all about the same age as new Academy cadets, they all possessed the somewhat subdued musculature of female pegasi — both of the Night and Day variety — who worked out extensively. Concealed muscles rolled beneath oiled coats, little sparkles of gold and silver piercings showing in ears and wings, and two of the young mares even sported faux-leather jackets. The broadest-shouldered of them all seemed to be the most brash, looking him up and down with hooded violet eyes and a subdued smirk.

He decided to take the metaphorical minotaur by the horns and leaned in close, almost nose to nose with the arrogant young filly. “You haven’t got a chance of getting through the Academy,” snarled Peaks. “I’ve seen hundreds of young punks just like you pack their bags and go crying home to their mamma, and those were stallions.”

“Are you sayin’ we ain’t tough, old bird?” snapped the young pegasus in response, leaning forward to put her nose directly in contact with him. “‘Cause my girls are the toughest of the tough.”

“Big words for tiny fledglings,” snapped Peaks back, enjoying a vaguely cathartic sensation at finally having something to take his frustration out against, and having that something as female to boot. “Spring intersession at the Academy starts in a few days. That’s a one week introductory course for weaned little colts that lets them play at being Royal Guard Cadets. If you and your little fillysitting club can make it all the way through Hell Week, I will personally kiss your cutie mark in front of Princess Celestia.”

She recoiled back across the table. “You’re joking.”

He responded with a feral grin. “Little bird, over the last few days, I’ve seen four mares go through our little Academy sandbox like a tornado. It will be my pleasure to see your bent tailfeathers go dragging out the gates. Are you going to take me up on my offer, or are you all little peeping chicks?”

“I don’t have to listen to this crap,” snapped their leader, standing up from the table.

“Peep,” chirped Peaks with a growing smile.

“We’re leaving,” she snarled, turning towards the kitchen door with the rest of the young mares seeming uncertain about following. One of them whispered something in her ear, which made her tail thrash momentarily. “He’s bluffing,” she snapped in response.

“The Royal Guard does not bluff.” To Peaks’ amazement, it was Banehammer who had said the words that he was thinking. The heavyset older mare stood up from the table and stepped over to the young pegasus, who suddenly looked a lot smaller by comparison. “If der Commander says he vould kiss your flank in front of Celestia, den he vould. You go think about that, und if you vould still vant to enroll for a veek of fun and games, come by and ve’ll sign you up. Othervize, the other offer is still good.”

The pegasus grunted with narrowed brows and a ferocious scowl before turning and stalking out the door without another word, followed by the rest of her flock. Peaks did notice a few carefully wrapped packages of cookies rapidly tucked into purses and sidesaddles before the takeoff of her followers, as well as a quick peck on the cheek for Banehammer from the last Nocturne filly out the door, which he tried to ignore as Miss Banehammer trundled back over to their nearly empty table and sat down with a whoosh of air.

“Commander, I vas just trying to get them vork delivering pizza instead of hanging out at der mall.”

“Oh.” Peaks tried not to notice the number of mares in the kitchen staring at him because of the scene he had just gotten done throwing. In fact, if there had been an Academy record for throwing a scene, he was fairly certain he had just set a record.

“You’ve been udder a lot of stress lately, haven’t you, Commander Peaks?” The fumbling of a small colt around his ankles and his subdued hungry bleating distracted Peaks from having to look into those tired golden eyes as Banehammer kept up a somewhat humorous observation of her commanding officer. He reached down with a forehoof to scratch the little colt behind one ear while trying to come up with an excuse for blowing this so out of proportion that he stood a chance of gaining another half-dozen young female Royal Guard cadets.

“Then again, dey remind me a lot of me at dat age. Haffing them in the Royal Guard vould certainly cut down on the petty crime rate.”

“I didn’t join the Royal Guard just to avoid jail, Miss Banehammer,” groused Commander Peaks. “I joined in order to…”

Actually there had been the possibility of jail in my future before Iron Rod visited my school on a recruiting drive. Young blood, full of fire and updrafts. The world was our thunderhead, just waiting to be bucked.

“So is that why you went back to the police department, Miss Banehammer?” asked Peaks, thinking back to a younger time and trying to imagine an ancient era before Luna’s banishment where there may actually have been female guards. “Did you have a sense of civic duty to avoid recidivism?”

With an explosive snort of derision, Banehammer grabbed a cookie out of the bowl on the table and bit down. “Naa. I vas sitting around der house like I had every night since my Dandelion had passed into the Shadowlands and I got to realizing something. Dat’s all I vas doing. Vaiting. Ho, ya, I was tutoring the young rockheaded colts for their Academy exams und volunteering at der blood drive every couple of months, but dot vas it. So I got up off my flank und valked down to the station. Even fit in my old uniform.” She thumped her chest with one hoof. “Veight lifting keeps you young.”

“I remember Dandelion,” mused Peaks. “Built like a brick wall. Did you meet him at the gym or did he pick you out of a life of petty crime like Miss Thermal?”

Banehammer fought back a sly grin. “Ho, no. My Dandelion, he found me as a tender little flower, just in from Tramplevania vit stars in my eyes und dreams of Canterlot filling my little head. He sure showed me vhat vas vhat. Brought me into de Stratus family und made sure I got my education. Showed me a lot more too, you betcha.”

The older mare reached under the table and pulled out the little blue pegasus colt who had been nipping at Peaks’ legs in an attempt to gain attention. “Dot is probably why I like Daelia so much. Und her cute little colt, yes you are. Who’s grandma? Say grandma for me.”

“Mamma!” declared the little colt, wriggling almost out of her grasp.

“He brought you into the family?” Peaks waved a hoof at the surrounding kitchen and the large house, home to at least a few dozen of the dark pegasi. “I thought most of the Nocturne who married outside of their… clan, moved in with their spouse. I mean, it doesn’t happen very often, and—”

Banehammer cut off his embarrassed rambling with a snort. “I got to like sleeping in a warm heap vith the rest of the family. Sure, it can get a little awkward vhen you’re kissing and cuddling up in der middle of der day vit some third cousin that you thought vas your husband, but ve managed. Raised two vonderful children of our own, four from his family, und more grandchildren that I can count, not counting vhatever veeds he vattered.”

“Veeds? I mean weeds?” Peaks blinked. “He was unfaithful to you?”

“Ya, I knew my husband was watering der veeds on the otter side of der fence. So? As long as he had vatter left for his little flower, dat was fine. There isn’t too many of the Nocturne, sir. If dey didn’t spread their genes around, dere vouldn’t be any of them left after this long.” She shrugged. “Dat’s how I met him in de first place. Vas hanging my vashing out on der vindow to dry und I didn’t know dat was a signal. I vas just a sweet little innocent filly in der big city vhen dis handsome young stallion comes sveeping through my vindow—”

“Did you hurt him?” asked Peaks, fairly sure about the direction of the conversation.

“Cracked three ribs und fractured his jaw.” Banehammer accepted a juice bottle from a passing mare and tried to entice Thermal’s little colt to drink from it. “Took me two days to nurse him back to health and a week to get him out of my bed. Oh, he vas a stinker.”

A smile crept onto Peaks face and decided to stay for a while, encouraging its residence by the application of the last cookie in the bowl on the table. He crunched away on the cookie while thinking of his own mother and the other family members who had shared his life. “I was in Fillydelphia on detail when I heard he died. It seemed awfully sudden. What happened?”

“Vell, his heart gave out in der middle of some veed vattering. She’s a nice young mare; ve meet once a veek vit her little filly, and der Stratus family, dey support her some. Ve always vanted to go to Neighara Falls, but never had der time. Ho vell.”

Standing Water took this opportunity to proclaim his rejection of the juice bottle with a violent forehoof strike, fully worthy of any of the Academy trainers in the strength he put behind the blow, and in accuracy in which it drove the full bottle of juice across the short distance between him and Commander Peaks’ face.

“I’m sorry!” squeaked a familiar voice behind him as a streak of brilliant pink darted past him. Miss Thermal twisted to catch her colt in midair as he flailed his tiny wings into a frantic blur and shot out of Banehammer’s grasp, rebounded off Captain Peaks’ shoulder and flung himself at his mother with a delighted cry. Peaks had almost turned around when his mind drew a connection between a hungry little colt and a lactating mother, turning back to his original position with a motion that was supposed to look natural and he suspected just looked filled with masculine embarrassment.

“Good evening, Miss Thermal,” said Peaks. “Miss Banehammer and I were just talking about the good old days back when we joined our respective units.” With a sudden shock, Peaks realized that the young pegasus was not only so much younger than the two of them, but actually young enough she could have been a daughter to either of them.

“Ya, little vun. Pull up a cushion and sit down. You can nurse Standing Vatter vile ve talk. Der Commander, he’s seen a teat or two before, I’ll bet. Commander, you got two colts and a filly, right?”

“And a grandfoal on the way,” he announced out of reflex. “My daughter in Vanhoover is due in a few months. Hopefully I’ll be done moulting by then—” he shook a few remaining feathers on one wing “—and my wife and I can fly out there on our own power. Lousy timing. We’ll be in the thick of the new cadet class then.”

“We can’t always schedule foals,” said Thermal from behind him, backgrounded by the sound of a nursing colt. “Did you hear about the crystal city that just showed up by the Pericorn mountain range, sir? They say the bearers of the Elements of Harmony have been sent there to welcome them to Equestria.”

“I’ve… heard that, Miss Thermal,” said Peaks in the calmest fashion he could muster. “Princess Celestia seems to think there’s nothing to worry about. Perhaps we’ll even get some female crystal ponies in this year’s upcoming guard cadet class.”

“That would be nice,” she admitted. “According to the records, over half of their guard force was female.”

“Half—” Peaks spluttered to a halt as Miss Banehammer pushed a glass of apple juice over to him. After a calming drink, he continued, “Half? How do you figure that?”

“Well, Sergeant Rose visited the deep archives this afternoon after the news came out and looked in the duplicate copy of arrest records we keep there from other cities. It took her a while to dig that many centuries back and the records are a little muddled, but the Crystal Empire had a lot of female names as officers in both the civil authority arrest records and the military discipline records. I cross-referenced them with birth and death records of that era to get a rough idea of how violent a society it was — not very by the way — before giving them to Lieutenant-Commander Grace a few minutes ago for a final summation. There was a lot of chaos in their last few years before the Crystal Empire was sealed away in shadow. I think their king went a little—” Thermal’s voice became very soft “—crazy. A lot of the records vanish at that point. Ponies fled the empire, and those who were captured were forced to work in the crystal mines until they…” Thermal’s voice faded to inaudibility.

“That’s… impressive, Miss Thermal.” In order to fill the conversational space and to take his mind away from the suckling noises behind him, Peaks continued, “You seem to be well suited for police work. Why would you want to work with a bunch of sweaty Royal Guards who don’t do much more than just stand in front of doors and look shiny all day?”

For an attempt to shut out the infernal sucking noises, it failed dramatically and quite silently.

Stuck with no desire to turn around and face a nursing mother, Peaks fumbled around for words that refused to emerge until a very quiet voice behind him said, “I want to protect ponies so that nothing like what happened to me will happen to them.”

“Ya, that explains vhy you joined the police, Daelia, but vhy vould you volunteer for this bunch of sveaty young bucks?” asked Banehammer with a snort. “They’re not very protective of sveet young things. Dey guard the Princesses, after all.”

“It needed done,” said Thermal in a firming voice. “Princess Luna… had a very bad thing happen to her. She feels all broken up inside, just like me, and if I can protect her from that happening again, I will.”

The silence that filled the kitchen was thicker than any oatmeal served at the Academy mess hall, and Peaks was abruptly aware of nearly a dozen female Nocturne staring in his direction, their golden eyes fairly glowing in the dimly lit kitchen. Finally, one of them coughed gently and stepped forward.

“Commandant Peaks? My name is Ru. Is that introductory course during intercession at the Academy open to anypony?”

“Yes,” he replied reflexively before his brain could take control of his mouth, adding, ”but it’s tough. Tougher than the regular course. Hell Week is pure Tartarus with eight in ten attendees dropping out before the end. Any stallion… or mare now, I suppose. Anypony who gets through it without breaking should be able to make the regular Guard training schedule.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “I suppose you’re interested.”

One of the other Nocturne mares tried to pull Ru back, but the stocky mare shook her off and stepped farther forward instead. “Yes, sir.”

“You don’t call me sir until you’re a cadet, Miss Ru. Go talk to my adjunct upstairs if you want to apply. He’s with Miss Grace.”

Peaks watched as the Nocturne mare flipped her membranous wings and stalked away to the consternation of several other nearby mares and what he feared was a few disguised admiring looks.

“Now you see what you made me do?” he complained to Banehammer. “Not only can’t I convince you four to quit, I’m recruiting for the First Nocturnal Amarezon Guard Battalion. I need a drink.”

Miss Banehammer shook her head and stood up. “Nacht, I think you need to go home, Commander. Spend a little time vith der vife. Your adjunct vill keep you informed if anything needs your attention, und you never know how much time you have vith the ponies you love before they are taken away.”

“You’ve got a very nice wife, Commander Peaks,” said Miss Thermal in a muffled fashion that made him quite positive that if he turned to look, she would be doing something embarrassing. “She’ll be glad to have you home for a few days between classes. I know I always appreciated it when my husband was around.”

“You know, I think you’re both right. See Lieutenant Kudzu for your new assignments over the next week or so. Try not to break any of your mentors before I transfer the four of you over to Commander Buttercup.” He stood up and stretched before turning for the door. “Thank you, Miss Thermal. Miss Banehammer. Or I suppose I should get used to calling you Specialist instead of Miss.”

“You can call me Lily, as long as ve aren’t at the office, sir. Vould you care for an escort home? There are some bad places in town along the vay, and if ve’re lucky, maybe we can get mugged.”

He considered the offer. “You know, I think I’ll take you up on that. Maybe we can recruit the poor mugger. With my luck, she’s probably a mare.”

Training Period

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The Night Guard - Night Mares

Training Period

“I suppose I’m supposed to welcome you to your new training assignment,” growled Comm Sergeant Stroganov, looking at the eye-burning pink pegasus mare standing beside Commander Snowy Peaks. There was a certain aggressive attentiveness to the mare, as if she were rigidly holding herself in place to give all of her attention into staring straight forward with orange-tinted wings tucked solidly onto her firm flanks and the armor of the Night Guard resting far too comfortably on her pink back. At her side, Commander Peaks in his uniform jacket managed only to look bedraggled by comparison, nearly completely moulted and with the tips of white pinfeathers beginning to repopulate his wings, but otherwise seeming rested and relaxed, and not at all disturbed by the abomination to stallions he had brought into Stroganov’s office.

“Sergeant Stroganov, please address Specialist Daelia Thermal with a modicum of respect. I’m the one who requested Night Commander Buttercup assign her to the Communication department for training while the finer details of their protective detail assignment to Her Highness are being worked out.” Peaks somehow even managed to sound serious about the assignment, and Stroganov decided that bending a little was a far better alternative than having a major planetary body dropped on his head for insubordination.

“Yes, Commander.” Turning to the mare, he continued, “Are you aware of the important tasks the Communication department is responsible for, Specialist Pink? I mean Thermal.”

“The Communication section of the Royal Guard is responsible for all communications between elements of the Guard in all local and remote locations utilizing encrypted telegraph, heliograph, selenograph and other forms of insecure messaging,” snapped the pegasus, still staring at that spot on the wall with such intensity that Stroganov almost turned to see if perhaps she was reading off a projection. “In addition, this section is responsible for personal delivery of sensitive materials by direct pegasus post or by relay of same for distant positions unreachable by conventional means. A security rating of Secret or Top Secret is required for all couriers of sensitive materials, which I am not qualified for due to my husband being unreachable in Vanhoover at this moment. As such, I can only be utilized for messages classified as Urgent or General Staff level unless directly designated by the Office of the Princesses with an exemption. Is that sufficient, sir?”

There was a long pause before Sergeant Stroganov gave a terse nod. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“By the way,” said Peaks, removing an envelope from his armor and hoofing it over, “here are her exemptions, direct from the Office of the Princesses and signed by Her Highnesses.”

“So if an Equestrian diplomat were to request you to deliver a message directly to Princess Luna, what would you do?” asked Stroganov with one eye on Commander Peaks, who had just developed a most unusual smirk.

“Validate the identity of the diplomat, and convey the message to the Foreign Service Office of Diplomatic Communication for delivery, sir.”

The answer had been rattled off nearly verbatim from The Manual, and Stroganov fought back his own smirk as he continued, “What if the diplomat explains that the message is absolutely critical and insists that it has to go directly to Princess Luna right now with no delays at all?”

“I would ask the diplomat to validate the Prime Security Code of the Day which is Sugar Niner Seven Hotel, sir.”

Set back a step, Stroganov thought furiously for a moment to remember the daily code response. “The diplomat validates with the response of Foxtrot Two Seven Echo Echo.”

“Is the diplomat the only pony around, sir?” Specialist Thermal blinked and turned away from the spot on the wall to look into his eyes. She had very nice pink eyes and a coy little smile that showed a few perfect white teeth as she continued, “Because if he is, I’m going to pound his head into the ground and put the cuffs on him once he’s unconscious. According to procedure, Prime Royal Guard security codes are not shared with any other departments or cabinet offices for any reason. The only way the ‘diplomat’ could know those codes is to have read my mind or extracted them from another Royal Guard. Is that correct, Sergeant ‘Cheezy’ Stroganov?”

Sergeant Stroganov swallowed. “Welcome to the Communications section, Specialist Thermal.”

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~

The sound of a typewriter stopped echoing through the paper-packed office as two mares in Night Guard armor picked their way over to an apparently unoccupied desk. Specialist Banehammer tapped one hoof gently against the top before a solid whump from underneath made the desk hop slightly, dislodging one stack of paper in a long sliding avalanche that stopped in Specialist Rose’s pink magic aura.

“Pardon me, sir. We’ve completed the paperwork that Sergeant Ecks said we needed to get signed, and we’re ready to begin our assignment. All we need is his approval and we can get to work on the mentoring process. I’m sure we have a lot to learn about how the office works.”

Rose smiled and brushed back a short lock of pale pink mane while watching the nervous stallion lift up the sheets of paper he had been picking up from under the desk and arrange himself back on the chair.

“He’s still in a meeting.” The tan earth pony shuffled a few pieces of paper while Rose settled into a nearby chair, still smiling. “It may take a while,” he added.

“That’s fine. I’ll just wait. Lily, could you get Corporal Linseed and I some soda, please? I believe there was a machine down the hallway.”

“How did you know my name was Linseed?” asked the young stallion once Banehammer had trundled out of the room. “I heard from Corporal Shots that you dropped by yesterday, but I didn’t think—”

“It’s on your jacket, dear.”

“Oh!” Linseed threaded his dropped piece of paper back into his typewriter and lined it up carefully before tapping several keys. With a sour grimace, he rolled the sheet up so the typo was on the platen before grabbing an eraser in his teeth.

“Try this.” A stick eraser floated over to the corporal and sat down next to the paper. “At the department, we had to fill out paperwork all of the time, and I found this brand of eraser works so much better than the ones they bought for the supply cabinet.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Linseed carefully erased his typo and rolled the paper back into the typewriter while avoiding looking at the smiling mare. “You’re right. It works a lot better.”

“The right tool for the job, is what our desk sergeant always used to say.” Rose remained sitting with a certain air about her that indicated a willingness to remain in her seat for days if needed to see Sergeant Ecks.

Linseed returned to typing, finishing one sheet and glancing sideways at the smiling mare before clearing his throat and whispering, “Sorry about everypony else giving you the runaround.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” whispered Rose back. “Lily and I have had a wonderful time visiting all of the offices to get the signatures that Sergeant Ecks said we needed. I don’t think we could have gotten a guided tour that would have shown us more of the support base of the Royal Guard.” She took a moment to cast a quick glance at the corner office where the elusive sergeant was most probably sequestered and lowered her voice again. “We had to go through a few snipe hunts in the police department too. I once was sent down to the supply room for a can of beat wash for the patrol officers.”

They shared a quiet giggle, both taking a look at the closed door to the corner office before returning to their activities, although Linseed seemed bothered by something. Eventually he looked up from his typewriter and asked, “Why did you need to wash beets in the police department?”

Rose paused and closed her eyes for a moment. “No, beat wash. You know. A police officer walks a beat in the city. It’s the section of the city they’re responsible for patrolling. That kind of beat.”

“Oh.” the corporal returned to typing with a sideways glance. “It’s slang, like calling the bathroom a head, or the graduating cadets pingers?”

A girlish giggle escaped Rose. “Yes, but not that dirty.”

After typing for a while longer, Linseed looked up and cocked his head to one side. “So what did you bring back?”

“I went down to the market — my husband is a grocer there, by the way — and got a bottle of their vegetable wash. I told the officer that it was the perfect tool for the job. It could not only wash his beets off, but also his carrots, celery, and peas.”

The corporal snorted cautiously, as not to disturb his boss’s solitude, and returned to his paperwork. After a few more sheets of typing, he whispered, “You know, it’s been really busy around here lately since we heard about the Crystal Empire. Princess Celestia even came to visit the sergeant yesterday.”

“Yes, I know. Something about the reinstatement of a number of canceled leave requests. I presume it’s very disruptive to your office routine.”

“You aren’t kidding,” he grumbled, shoving a stack of paper back into the upright position. “I’ve been here for five years and this is the worst it’s been.”

“If you’d like, I’ll ask the sergeant if we could help your office with the papers for a day or two. I understand how these paperwork piles tend to multiply if they get too tall.”

Rose smiled shyly as the young stallion looked up, fidgeted for a brief moment as if he were going to say something, then turned back to his work. Eventually he looked back up and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“You’re welcome, Corporal.” She remained sitting patiently as the stallion stuffed several folders, making an uneven pile that he straightened after a quick glance in her direction. The tension in the office grew until he finally looked up with sorrowful brown eyes.

“I really didn’t want to participate in the runaround we’ve been giving you ladies, Ma’am. Corporal Shots and Sergeant Ecks, they said it was for your own good, but it just don’t seem right. You just want to protect the Princesses like us, right?”

“Of course, Corporal. That’s all any of us want.”

“It’s just with all the news about the Crystal Empire, things have gotten all twisted around in the section. They say—” Linseed’s voice got very low and he lowered his head as if he were afraid of being heard “—he has returned.”

“He who?” Rose tilted her head to one side and raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound as if Princess Celestia’s ex-coltfriend has come back.”

Corporal Linseed relaxed and snorted at the idea, shaking his head and smiling. “As if she’s ever had a coltfriend. Twilight Sparkle, maybe.”

“Well, if there was any threat from this Crystal Empire, I’m certain Princess Celestia would tell us,” declared Rose with a gentle nod. “Personally, I think we’re more endangered by a paperwork avalanche.” She stood up and rearranged the sidesaddle on her armor. “You know, the sooner we get to see Sergeant Ecks, the sooner we can get situated. A friendly Crystal Empire will make Lily and I quite busy with advance work for all of the curious Royals who want to make the trip. Could you do us a favor?”

“Good point.” The young stallion rolled the completed form out of his typewriter and paused, seemingly conflicted for a moment. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just let me in to see Sergeant Ecks for a few minutes regardless of what he told you,” said Rose. “I’m sure he won’t mind once he hears what we have to say.”

Corporal Linseed paused while he thought, then stood up with his lips compressed into a thin line. “You’re right. We’re spending far too much time running you ladies in circles that we should be spending on our jobs. But I should warn you, he’s going to be mad. He’ll probably bust me back down to specialist again.”

“Don’t worry, Corporal. Everything will work out just fine.” Rose followed the young stallion to the office door and waited while he knocked.

“Sir. Specialist Rose is here to see you.” There was a shuffling noise, as if a deck of cards had been dropped and a comfortable chair had been abruptly moved, a few rapid hoofsteps, and then the sound of a different door opening inside the office, potentially a back door used for a rapid getaway. Then there was a quite solid sound of metal against metal, much as a fast moving Royal Guard running into an unexpected immobile object might make.

“Excuse me, sir.” The powerful voice of Specialist Banehammer was only slightly muffled by the intervening walls, and Corporal Linseed looked back at the tranquilly smiling Rose.

“You set him up,” he whispered.

“Not me,” she whispered back.

“Get out of my way, you worthless bitch,” bellowed an unidentified voice from inside the office that could only belong to Sergeant Ecks. “I have a very important meeting to attend, and don’t have time for this foolishness.”

“Certes, thou dost.” The second more powerful voice was unmistakably Luna, and the sound of armored hooves scuffling backwards away from the back door followed, as did the rather solid ‘Whump’ of an officer’s rather large backside returning to the comfy chair it had just vacated.

“Sometimes the best tool for the job is a sledgehammer,” said Rose, her soft smile not changing one iota. “Don’t you agree, Sergeant Linseed?”

“Ah. I’m not a sergeant, ma’am.”

“Sergeant Linseed, get in here,” growled the low voice of Luna from inside the office, sounding just a little like she was ordering lunch.

“I think that’s only a short matter of time,” whispered Rose as she gestured to the office door. “Your office may be short a sergeant in a few minutes. After that, it’s just a matter of assigning the right pony for the job.”

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~

There was a distinct whistling noise that accompanied Commander Snowy Peaks as he trotted back in the door to his office, wearing his uniform for a change instead of armor while his feathers regrew. The whistling could have conceivably been a tune of some sort, if not for the fact that the commander did not whistle, and could not have carried a tune if it had handles. He drew up to a halt in front of his desk and regarded the perfect stacks of paper with the rainbow of little colored sticky notes giving a circus air to his working table.

“You two certainly have been busy while I’ve been out of the office,” he remarked, trying to figure out just why watching the two unicorns standing there seemed so unusual.

“Welcome back, sur,” said Lieutenant Kudzu with a sharp salute.

“You’re looking much better, sir,” said Specialist Grace with a matching salute. She was also wearing a uniform today instead of armor. In fact, both of them were in uniforms, despite the fact that Peaks could not think of the last time he had seen Kudzu without several pounds of steel wrapped around his torso. Well, other than the Officer’s Club showers.

As he worked his way through the Ritual of Intercession Paperwork, Peaks had to admit that even with as much as he did not want mares in the guard, having Grace in the office was a gift from the heavens. Color-coded notes flowed by in an endless stream with Kudzu playing the role of ‘In’ by floating over folders for his signature while Grace played the role of ‘Out’ by taking the signed folder and dispatching it to whatever appropriate section deserved having yet another infernal lump of papers dumped on it. Morning passed rapidly with the coffee having Kudzu’s certain flair to it, possibly barley salt mixed in with the creamer (soy, thankfully). It was actually pleasant, although there was something bothering him about the highly productive morning activity, even though he tried his best not to think about it.

From such thoughts came madness.

Still, his father used to tell him that when everything was headed your way, you’re probably flying the wrong way down a one-way street. There was no sign of conflict between his long-serving adjunct and the female temp; in fact, they worked in an almost synchronized fashion, with “Here you go, Specialist Grace” and “Thank you, Lieutenant Kudzu” exchanged at every opportunity. It was only when they took a break for lunch — delivered by a nameless rating who apparently had been given the order earlier — that Commander Peaks finally twigged to what was going on.

The afternoon transitioned from purchase orders to transfer requests as the stacks in the office slowly eroded away, helped by a soft tissue massage spell from Specialist Grace that kept his signing hoof from cramping up and a perpetual re-inking spell from Kudzu to keep him from having to stop every so often to reload his inky ammunition stocks. He tried to keep his good humor, but the constant string of “Beg pardon, Specialist Grace” and “My apologies, Lieutenant Kudzu” that passed back and forth between his two aides finally made him scoot his chair back and glare at them.

“Stop it, you two. Just kiss already.”

“Sur?” Kudzu looked much more Kudzu than he had ever looked before, staring at his superior with an expression of critical affront and high dudgeon that only missed adding exasperation due to the lack of available space on his slender face.

“I have no idea what you are speaking about, sir,” added Grace in a perfectly ordinary tone of voice and an expression that mimicked Kudzu with two exceptions. The extent of her emotional reaction was a single raised eyebrow and the faintest pouting of the lips that somehow insinuated that the delicate facial features in question had never been touched by a stallion before. In fact, it was that slight movement that enlightened Peaks to something that he should have noticed earlier if he had not been so preoccupied.

“You’re wearing lipstick.”

Lieutenant Kudzu reacted first, straightening up and rubbing the back of one hoof across his face. “Sorry, sur. It helps me express my inner mare.”

Grace turned and gaped at the perfectly serious stallion, and then burst into laughter. It was blatantly obvious that she had little practice with the emotional reaction, the uncontrolled braying turning only worse when Kudzu pouted in perfect feminine fashion, puckering up to make a moue with his lips and bringing one hoof up to fluff his short curly mane. There was a fairly substantial thump as she fell off her chair and rolled around on the floor, clutching her gut with all four hooves while Kudzu took a moment to look at his chuckling commander. “Two years of theatre classes at the university, sur. Played Yum-Yum for a week’s worth of sold-out shows.”

Peaks patiently waited until levity had faded and the normal impassive expressions of his adjunct and temp had returned, although it took too far too long for his comfort and involved a certain amount of brushing off little flecks of dropped paper from both of his aides.

After returning to work, they stamped and signed their way through nearly half of another pile before he added, “I just don’t want my desk used for immoral purposes while I’m not in the office.”

“Heavens forbid, sur,” said Kudzu, floating over another form to sign along with the summary sheet.

“I notice you qualified your statement, sir,” said Grace, closing a folder and placing it in the correct stack for distribution.

“Or while I’m in the office too,” he quickly added.

An entire stack went to its ultimate fate before the outside door vibrated to the blow of an impacting hoof and Night Commander Buttercup popped his face into the office without waiting for a response. “Peaks, may I speak with you for a—” He paused, his snow-white mustache quivering as he looked around the office and the relative order that had been brought out of the paper avalanche chaos.

“We’re remodeling,” said Peaks, not pausing in his signing and stamping for a second.

“Right.” The older Nocturne officer took a skeptical look at Grace before switching his golden gaze to his fellow commander. “I desire to appropriate Kudzu this evening for assisting in the collection of ‘Special’ Night Guard candidates among your collection of new graduates.”

“Poaching all the clever ones before Swifty gets his hooves on them?” Peaks clucked his tongue. “What a naughty colt you are, Commander.”

“Not nearly as naughty as some of these reprobates, Peaks. I merely wish to get them in harness before their inevitable post-graduation drinking spree turns into a crime spree.” The Night Commander eyed Grace, who ignored him. “Perhaps I should include your—”

“Careful, sur,” warned Kudzu before glancing back at Peaks.

“He’s right,” said Commander Peaks. “If you’re considering using a derogatory profanity in front of Specialist Grace, please remember that her special talent allows her to replay every single detail of that event visually and audibly for the enlightenment of our superiors. Both of them.”

Commander Buttercup raised one eyebrow and flicked a somewhat ragged ear acquired earlier in his career. “Are you implying that if I were to use an unfortunate adjective to describe your female staff member in less than glowing terms, that said discussion might wind up in front of Their Royal Highnesses in rather short order?”

Commander Peaks looked at Specialist Grace.

Specialist Grace looked back.

Peaks nodded his head.

A lime-green glow flowed from Grace’s horn and a somewhat smaller version of the room and the ponies inside formed out of her magic, complete with motion and somewhat tinny sounding voices. The entire scene, from Buttercup’s abrupt entrance to his last sentence, played out in front of them before the magic faded away and Grace returned to placing folders in piles, apparently oblivious to the stunned Night Commander.

“Perfect recall,” said Peaks. “It was in her file. Seems to be quite an advantage in her other line of work.”

“Not always, sir,” added Grace.

“That is unmitigated horsehocky,” snorted Buttercup, his membranous wings giving a short flap that rustled the stacks of papers in the room. He grabbed a falling folder from under his wing and opened it up. “Tell me all you know about Cadet Blade.”

She shrugged. “Pegasus, excellent to exemplary scores in all of his categories, top ranked in sparring and strategy, fair to mediocre scores in STEM categories that would normally indicate a lack of proper preparation for the Academy, but combined with deficiencies in his immunization record and personal contacts…” Grace trailed off and looked straight into Buttercup’s eyes. “Unusual interest in his record from the Night Guard Commander would tend to weigh my evaluation into highly positive territory, except for the educational issues. There’s no photo in the file, but there were two different points in the final assault of ‘Save the Hostage’ where a pegasus matching his physical description gained entry into the hostage chamber.”

Two glowing green images of a dark-blue pegasus in flight being struck by a bolt of magic appeared in the room, one pink bolt, the other green, and Grace continued, “Without speculating to the background of the cadet, I can say that his reaction to fire is different than what it should have been, considering that both Royal Guard and Police units receive training to block magical attacks with the enchantments on our armor or uniforms instead of trying to dodge completely out of the way. His experienced dodge appears instinctive in the midst of battle, more what I would expect from a major city street thug accustomed to real violence than a product of your Equestrian post-secondary educational program.”

Both of Buttercup’s fluffy white eyebrows had climbed during Grace’s description and remained stuck high in his mane even after Grace made the illusionary cadet images vanish. He took a breath to regain some composure and added, “What if I were to tell you his name is actually Shiv?”

Grace blinked. “Two years ago, the Manehattan police department broadcast an arrest warrant for a pony named Shiv with roughly the same physical description as Cadet Blade. Shiv was facing charges of Assault, Criminal Damage to Property, Misdemeanor Theft, Arson, Robbery and Public Urination on a Police Officer. We received notification six months later that the Manehattan police had lost track of him, and were considering that a certain gang dispute involving an earth pony thug named ‘Breaker’ may have resulted in his death. I presume the two ponies are the same, and that you knew of his criminal history when he enrolled?”

There was a very long pause as Commander Buttercup stood silent with his mouth drawn into a thin line. Eventually he turned to Peaks and said, “I’ll take her for a few hours tomorrow. If I believe she is insufficiently prepared for a position as my temporary adjunct, I’ll return her for reassignment. That is, if it is acceptable to you, Specialist Grace?”

“Agreed,” said Grace, “under the provision that I be ensured alternate Friday evenings off.” At Buttercup’s inquisitive glance, she continued, “I’m currently pursuing the possibility of a personal relationship.”

There was a very long silence in Commander Peaks’ office.

For Want of a Nail

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The Night Guard - Night Mares

For Want of a Nail

Historians view the clash of vast impersonal forces as seen on the battlefield and the diplomatic negotiating table as the true pivot of any major conflict. On a deeper level, sociologists view interpersonal conflicts and cultural memes as being the true driving force behind these wars and battles. Celestia considered all of them to be completely wrong. In her opinion, there were very few conflicts in Equestria that could not be solved by the proper application of tea at what she determined was a pivotal moment, applied not to the combatants and generals, but to other ponies considered inconsequential to the conflict.

With this in mind, the ongoing tea could have been considered an event more groundshaking than the Minotaur Red Uprising⁽*⁾ or the Neighpon Airship War⁽¹⁾, as the result was to shape the course of Equestrian culture for the foreseeable future in ways that mere bloodshed and destruction could not match.

(*) Quelled with a single tea between General Earthshatter’s mother and Rebel Commander Bonebreaker’s young sister, with Celestia in attendance, of course
(1) The tea that preceded the peace treaty took place between the manedresser to Emperor Blazing Sun Rising Into Clear Skies, the head masseuse for High General Sour Apple Crumb Cake, the speechwriter for One Low Water Bridge, and Princess Celestia. It was a particularly difficult tea. A second plate of fudge crisps had to be baked, and three entire pots of tea were sampled.

It was a relatively normal tea in the Rooibos room, a small and cosy tearoom in the south wing of the castle with no fewer than seven windows and a crystal chandelier imported from Zebrica several centuries prior. Recent additions to the room from the Zebrican ambassador included several fierce masks and grass-tufted spears for the stereotypical ‘look’ that the room was needing, in addition to a quite solid table made of ebony and several comfortable stuffed cushions in striped patterns so cleverly done that Celestia once had tea with the Zebrican ambassador in the room and lost track of her several times.

The elderly snow-white Nocturne who occupied one end of the table and the somewhat less elderly greying violet pegasus who occupied the other end of the table were not what historians would consider pivotal to the ongoing conflict, but the degree of importance that Celestia placed on their intelligence reports could be deduced by the fact that she had been taking tea with the older mares weekly for over a month so far. In fact, several foreign intelligence services had been driven into a frantic tizzy over the fact that the Princess of the Sun had carved⁽²⁾ this much time out of her schedule for the wife of the Royal Guard Day Commander and the mother-in-law of the Royal Guard Night Commander.

Celestia did not mind one whit. The two older pegasi were absolute fountains of information about many subjects, from the various trivialities of current events to a number of insightful clues about how Luna’s little integration scheme in the Royal Guard was coming along. Between the mint crisps and a rather complicated Apple Lemon Pomegranate white tea which Miss Cozy had not quite perfected yet, they laid out a rather impressive pattern of facts that Celestia recognized with a sinking heart. Not all wars were meant to be won, but indications of this conflict showed that even though Luna had won most of the battles, she was losing the war.

It was a heavy burden, but she kept up her pleasant disposition through the tea and the rest of her activities of the Day until later that evening when she met with Luna at dinner for a few minutes of precious privacy.

(2) Princess Celestia’s schedule had a density just slightly higher than granite, and even minor changes in that schedule could cause aftershocks all the way around Equestria as the various tectonic plates that made up the government shifted in response. More than a few foreign powers had assigned the codename ‘Quake’ to Twilight Sparkle for just that reason, and they treated any visit of the bookish purple unicorn to Canterlot as if the Four Horses of the Government Apocoltypse⁽³⁾ were dropping by for a little constructive mayhem.
(3) Overtime, Scandal, Budget Cuts, and Forced Resignations.

The small private dining room tucked into the south side of the Royal Residence had seen many changes over the last century, but the one change that Princess Celestia appreciated the most was the occasional presence of her sister when their mutual schedules could be wedged open enough for a leisurely hour of morning or evening discussion over food, or as Luna tended to view it, food over discussion. This evening was somewhat more tense than usual, with the return of the Crystal Empire and the inevitable conflict with the Griffons over its proper ownership. Despite the diplomatic mission sent to the griffons, or perhaps because of the odd diplomatic mission sent to the griffons⁽⁴⁾, their conversation remained circumspect until the servants had departed and only the two sisters remained at the dinner table, watching the beautiful sunset until Celestia broke the silence.

“Luna, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid our little experiment with the Royal Guard is just… it’s not working out well.”

“I am more worried about the diplomatic mission to the Griffons by our northern province, dear sister.” Princess Luna shifted uncomfortably on her cushion while smearing an unhealthy amount of butter across a roll and following it up with half of the jam bowl. “I will admit to a certain amount of dissention in the ranks, however. There have been four retirements in the Night Guard over the last few days, and one for whom we wish the chastisements of old were still in force.” She took a rather vicious bite out of her roll and talked while chewing. “Has there been any progress with finding the Royal Gelding Irons, Celly?

“No, and even if we could find them, you know you’re not sending any of our Guards home with fewer parts than they had when they took the oath, Luna.” Celestia marinated a piece of steamed asparagus in cheese sauce and bit the end off. “No matter how tempting,” she added.

“There are nearly a dozen mares signed for the new cadet class at the Academy,” said Luna, paused in momentary thought as she gestured with what was left of her sticky roll. “The ball appears to be rolling well, if I understand the phrase correctly. We have heard many positive comments from the stallions at the sparring rings about how the candidates acquitted themselves during combat training.”

“Fighting is not the answer to fitting in, Luna,” chided Celestia. “You of all ponies should know that. How is your wing feeling, by the way?”

Dark feathers unfolded and a gentle flap resulted in little more than a pained wince from the Lunar Princess. “Perhaps I should take a few more days before I return to sparring. You should try your skills against our guards again too, Celly. It would do you good.”

“Perhaps someday. I do not think we have any pads in the armory in my size anymore.” Celestia shook her head and placed the piece of cake she had picked up back onto the dessert table. “In any case, although our guards may view our new additions as proper sparring partners, they are not accepting them as guards. Unless something is done, the new class of mares scheduled to graduate from the Academy in two years will face a preconceived idea of their role from their fellow Royal Guards that does not view them as equals, but as lessers.”

After a moment of consideration, Luna said, “Perhaps a separate force would—”

Celestia did not have to say a word.

“True,” grumbled Luna. “Separate, they would never be accepted as equals. Perhaps if we were to manufacture a crisis that would draw them together in order—”

This time Celestia did not even have to change a single muscle in her expression.

“Harumph!” Luna picked up the piece of chocolate cake that Celestia had put back on the dessert cart, jabbing a fork viciously into its creamy center and not stopping until only a few damp crumbs remained.

“We must trust in Harmony, Luna.” Celestia took one last sip from her glass of mineral water before pushing her chair away from the table. “Until then, we have a great number of duties to attend. Tomorrow I have a meeting in Fillydelphia, and I know you have a full slate of meetings and appointments this evening. With the reopening of the Crystal Empire, we shall both be quite busy for the next few weeks, and perhaps the solution to our problem will present itself in an unexpected fashion.”

(4) The events of Luna’s diplomatic attempt with the Misty Mountain aerie are detailed in Diplomacy by Other Means

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~

Daelia Thermal fought back a yawn as she kept an eye on the light traffic flowing through the Royal Hangar. The Communications section had couriers out all over Equestria flying confidential messages to and from every Royal Guard installation large enough for a landing spot, and she suspected more than half of them were simply cries for guidance from nervous guards. The colorful lights in the sky from the newly returned Crystal Empire were something different and strange, and much like Standing Water, even the best trained ponies in the Royal Guard reacted to the strange with a sudden urge for reassurance from their mother. She could see some poor overworked unicorn in the Correspondence section with a copy spell and a stack of blank papers, putting out a constant string of Remain Calm and Pony On orders, although she was starting to think that sending the orders out with a small plush Celestia doll would be more calming.

As Royal Guard chariots rolled in, it was the Dispatch section’s responsibility to check off their arrival times, have Maintenance do a quick once-over for any problems, move the chariots from one place to another within the cavernous hangar by means of the shallow cloud layer laid over the stone floor, and prepare them for departure again as needed. Her task this evening was Special Royal Communications Relay. If a courier message arrived by chariot that required the immediate personal attention of Her Royal Highness of either Sun or Moon, she would be the one responsible to directly deliver the missive. There was a certain tradition to the post, and Sergeant Stroganov had explained that the somewhat dented and scratched coffee thermos issued was not under any circumstances short of death itself to be opened or consumed by the duty officer, but instead kept for the rather difficult task of waking Princess Celestia before the dawning of her sun, or Luna in the inverse. The exact instructions had been “Open it under her nose and stand back. If she doesn’t move, check her pulse, and for heaven’s sake, do not grip the thermos with any force or you’ll lose a hoof.”

She had chosen her observation post with great care. Her wing with the golden ring around a primary feather was displayed closest to any approaching ponies, and there were no comfortable chairs or perching spots within reach for any casual conversation-seeking stallion to rest while trying to ‘get to know her better.’ The Dispatch Sergeant at her side was a crusty old Nocturne with a series of healed vertical slashes across the near wing that showed up as white scars on his dark coat and wing membranes. And more importantly, he also bore a glint of gold on his left wing too, which he had explained came with a wife from Clan Rumble, three children, seven grandchildren, and an upcoming retirement in a few years that she suspected had been ‘a few years away’ now for decades. He was an unmistakable master at the art of determining just what reason a young stallion had for approaching, dealing with that reason, and sending them off before they could find an excuse to settle in for conversation.

Of course that didn’t stop him from chatting as they sat through their evening shift. She had always enjoyed the company of Nocturne when she was a young skyglider in Canterlot. Even the ones who were not in the police force were comforting and gentle, generous with tips and never turning into some controlling freak who wanted to tie a young mare up. Even when Garrison had convinced her to actually enter the police force, she found the Nocturne there were just as kind and gentle off duty as on, even at her wedding to Garrison and afterwards when he had fled to Vanhoover, leaving her alone in Canterlot with a bulging belly and no relatives. She tried not to think about what had driven him away so suddenly, but during long nights like this, her worry tended to come out in her conversation, and the nice Sergeant was a very sympathetic listener.

* * *

The night train was filled with the low clicky-clack of the tracks and the rumble of the rails as it sped on the way to distant Fillydelphia, filled with snoring business ponies, drowsy vacationers, and the occasional piercing shriek of small foals who did not like where they were going or the method being used to force their compliance, and had no problems verbally expressing themselves. Two mares dressed in the armor of the Night Guard sat on comfortable cushions near the front of the passenger car, trying to look out the window at the dark night and ignore the warbling screech of an earth pony infant with an earache in the back of the car.

“You iss sure dat using the sleep spell on der little colt vould be bad, right Rose?” Miss Banehammer had given up on the book she had brought and the ineffective earplugs, turning instead to the game of What Could We Do To Shut That Kid Up that all of the other passengers in the train were playing in their own minds.

“It’s too dangerous to use on a young pony,” explained Rose patiently. “It’s not his fault that his ears didn’t pop right when we came down off the Canterhorn. With luck, his first good yawn will clear his tubes and shut him up. My little fillies always cried at first when we took the train to visit relatives in Manehattan.”

“Und they all survived too,” grumbled Banehammer in a rather good-natured fashion, tapping her breastplate. “If I vasen’t in this tin suit, I’d go back and offer some advice to the mother, but I don’t think dat’s a good idea now. Haff you notice the way other ponies look at us, Rose?”

“My granddaughter didn’t recognise me,” said Rose. “She just looked at the armor and started squalling. Feather said she wouldn’t nurse for hours afterwards.”

“Yaa.” Banehammer snorted. “Standing Vatter, he not care about the armor one vhit. He just tinks his mamma is in a funny dress. Der rest of the ponies, not so much.”

“It’s a symbol,” said Rose, touching the gleaming dark armor with one hoof. “Like the police uniforms, but more so. Police officers are supposed to protect ponies and fight for them if need be. Royal Guards are supposed to die before letting anything past them.”

Banehammer snorted again. “Like changelings, or Discord, or Nightmare Moon, or even that mountain of papers back in the Advance office.”

“No, not quite.” Rose’s face twisted as she thought. “My… grandmother told me once that all of Equestria is just Princess Celestia’s back yard. She doesn’t really rule, per se. Technically, the Parliament runs the country and passes the laws, but the Princess is hired by the Parliament to do the things it can’t do like raise the sun, appoint moral ponies to the judiciary, and administrate over the bureaucracy. The Guard is in effect a metaphor for the Princess, and as such, we carry a little of the Princess along with us wherever we go.”

“I don’t think der boys consider us to be carrying any of Princess Luna in our pockets,” grumbled Banehammer, trying to find a more comfortable spot on her cushion now that the squalling noise of the colt had faded.

“But we are,” said Rose. “We’re headed to Fillydelphia to provide advance security for Princess Celestia’s visit tomorrow morning. We get to liaison with the chief of police there, check on the preparations for her visit, make sure the meeting room is secure—”

“Und other critical things like checking der lunch to make sure it has cake,” added Banehammer. “Und vhen the big boys driving the chariot land, they’ll ignore us like ve vas poo.”

Rose stopped flipping through the stack of papers she had gotten out and sighed. “Yes, I suppose so. All we can really do is our jobs, and trust in harmony that they’ll come around.”

Banehammer scoffed. “Harmony could use a svift kick in der teeth.”

* * *

There was a certain harmony to a properly executed Changing of the Guard in the Canterlot castle, where forces of Night gave way to the Day guards in elaborate rituals watched by many early rising ponies. Every single morning, there were a bare minimum of a dozen eager young faces gathered to eye the handsome young stallions who marched, flapped, and saluted to the rhythm of the drums and lone trumpet. The dark flag of Night was lowered, folded, and marched away by the retiring guards while the radiant flag of Celestia’s sun rose up the flagpole at the exact moment the sun’s rays illuminated the parade ground.

Where the public eye was less attentive, there was less pageantry and more warm camaraderie. Civilian members of the Royal Hangar crew exchanged high-hooves with their Guard counterparts as the Day crew filtered in, interfering somewhat with the activities of the castle staff. Princess Celestia was scheduled to depart on a trip to Fillydelphia sometime mid-morning, which meant a rush for the Celestial Phaeton to be examined, waxed, polished, loaded, and then left to sit for several hours until the drivers showed up to drive it out of the hangar. There should have been some natural disagreements as the castle staff and the Royal Guard civilian employees of Day and Night tried to occupy the same space at the same time, but the recent appearance of the Crystal Empire meant their interactions were mostly limited to “Have you heard anything since yesterday?” and “No, have you?”

Specialist Daelia Thermal twitched and shifted positions as she waited on her somewhat late replacement, at which point she would waste no time shedding her armor and becoming Mommy again, which was a growing concern as Standing Water had not nursed very well early this evening, and milky hydraulic pressure was building beneath her. She let out a explosive breath when she saw Lieutenant Hackamore trotting across the sunny cloud-covered hangar floor in her direction, but twitched in annoyance as she caught a glimpse of his folded wings when he saluted.

“Specialist Thermal, I am here to relieve you.” Hackamore suppressed a cough as Daelia frowned.

“Um. I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re very prepared to run messages to Princess Luna with your wings in that condition.” Daelia fidgeted at the look the stone-faced officer was giving her. “Sir.”

“I’m just fine. It’s just a little moulting. I’ve got a few days before it cuts into my work hours, so get lost and let me take over the post.” Hackamore reached for the clipboard containing the courier records for the evening, but hesitated as Specialist Thermal flew straight up and hovered overhead.

“Ah. No. Sorry. Really, I think you should call for a replacement. Sir.”

Lieutenant Hackamore scowled and lifted one hoof. “Listen you little—” He coughed into the upraised hoof and scowled even fiercer. “I outrank you. Now get down here and give me that clipboard. That’s an order, Specialist.”

An ear-piercing tweet blasted through the Royal Hangar, stopping all work dead in its tracks as every pony in the building looked up to where the brilliant pink pegasus had just blown into her whistle. “Excuse me. Sorry. Could the Duty Captain please come over here? Please? We have a little dispute.”

A rather irked Nocturne in violet armor flapped over as the rest of the hangar crew returned to their work, each keeping a careful watch on what was happening out of the corner of their eyes. Captain Billow landed next to the irate lieutenant and joined his glare up at the hovering pegasus. “Thermal, what in heaven’s name are you trying to pull? It’s not bad enough I have to take double-shifts, so give Lieutenant Hackamore the—” Giving the angry officer a sharp glance and taking one step back, Billow continued, “Lieutenant, open your wings.”

“Sir?” Despite his best effort, Hackamore’s wings twitched, and a single blood-tipped feather floated to the cloud-covered hangar floor.

“Feather Flu,” growled Captain Billow after a closer inspection revealed several more bloody feathers about ready to fall out. “Dammit Lieutenant, we’re short hooved enough without you playing martyr. You know ignoring the symptoms will just lay you up for weeks instead of days. How am I supposed to replace you in the roster?” His eyes darted to where Miss Thermal was drifting away. “Specialist Thermal, do you think you can pull a double-shift along with me today? I’ll scrounge through the duty roster and see if I can scare up somepony for the afternoon shift, but between a flu outbreak and all of the commo crew flying to every corner of Equestria, the only way I could replace Lieutenant Typhoid over there is to have Princess Luna take a shift.”

“Um. I will if you need me to, but I need to make some arrangements, sir. I’m already late to pick up my foal—”

“Mamma!” A rather frustrated deep violet mare with her mane tied back in a matronly bun flapped into the hangar with an upset little pegasus foal in her grasp. She was obviously one of the castle staff from her starched two-tone outfit nearly being a uniform of its own, and identification tag hanging from a Royal Blue lanyard, but there the resemblance to order ended. Her mane was starting to frazzle in little frantic wisps of mauve and turquoise that floated around her head in a fuzzy halo, and a brilliant orange foal bag stuffed completely to the brim and then some with various support equipment was awkwardly braced across her back. The little pegasus colt gave another strident cry of recognition and burst out of Miss Strata’s grasp in an explosive blur of wings.

“Mamma!” Once again, all work in the hangar came to a screeching halt, only this time the reason was a little blue blur that streaked across the cloud-covered floor in huge wing-driven leaps, rebounding off the stunned captain like a trampoline and flinging himself straight up into Thermal’s grasp with a happy cry.

“I’m sorry, dear. He got away from me again.” Strata flapped closer and shrugged out of the foal saddle, dumping it onto the cloud-covered floor along with the diaper bag. “I really can’t stay, Daelia. The prince is going to go insane if I’m not there when he starts the meeting.”

“Ma’am, you can’t… I’ve got an operation to run… Prince?” Captain Billow shot a glance at the back of the hangar as if some horrible monster was about to stampede in and begin making demands. “You work for Prince Blueblood?”

“It pays the bills, Captain.” Daelia took a moment to let her mother-in-law kiss her on the cheek before she blurred away in a flurry of wings. Standing Water bleated with hunger and nuzzled for his delayed breakfast while his mother faced the captain with a nervous smile.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I really need to get somewhere to feed him.” Standing Water took that opportunity to deliver a sharp nip, and Daelia added, “Real soon.”

“Ahh…” Captain Billow was by no means slow, and had heard about what had happened in the Academy exam room, which caused him to entertain an idea he had never considered before. “Maybe we can find some sort of accommodations for you, Specialist Thermal. Could I get the two of you to serve as Special Royal Communications Relay?”

Five Minutes Later…

The sounds of a happy feeding foal were muffled by a neatly constructed but still temporary cloud construction at the side of the Royal Hangar, allowing a little privacy in a small walled room with enough space for Specialist Thermal to keep her head poked out and watch for couriers. Her front end took care of logging entries in the logbook and greeting the puzzled messengers as they arrived and departed while her rear end took care of breakfast, leaving only her hollow middle missing out on food of its own.

“Pardon me? Miss Thermal?” Sergeant Petunia made his rather uncertain way into the hangar with the rather cautious prodding of non-pegasi when faced with a cloud floor. The whiteness lapped at his ankles and knees as he walked forward, stopping a respectable distance away from her impromptu privacy shelter as if perhaps there was some ferocious monster hidden inside making the sucking and smacking noises. “Captain Billow caught me on the way home from the training grounds and said I was supposed to bring you lunch. Or breakfast.” He eyed the rather flimsy cloud stall and stifled a yawn. “I could leave it over here for when you’re done. I should be getting to bed anyway.”

“Food,” growled Daelia, sounding a little like some ferocious beast before blinking and ducking her head. “I mean, yes? Could you bring it over here?” She shuddered to the impact of an impatient little colt head-butting her in the barrel again. “I just got him situated.”

The paper bag turned out to be waxed with cloud repellant and as Petunia spread the contents out on top of it, Daelia began to nearly inhale the contents. “There’s so much here,” she mumbled through a full mouth. “I can’t possibly eat all of this myself.” She shuddered under the impact of a little blue head again. “Sometimes he’s so hungry and so fussy at the same time. I can’t help but think he’s allergic to something. Here, you can have the grapes.”

“Thanks.” The sergeant watched her demolish a few corn muffins and a banana while eating the grapes, wincing every time Standing Water head-butted her. Finally after he had run out of grapes, he volunteered, “Mum alway used to yank the teat away when my little sister head-butted her.”

“Really?” Daelia licked away the crumbs from an oatmeal bar and dove into a blueberry bagel, or at least as much as she could dive in without one hoof to brace the bagel against to tear off chunks. She had learned that Standing Water viewed a three-legged mommy as something that was fun to tip over, so during feeding, all four hooves remained firmly braced. This time when he butted her in the stomach, she abruptly shifted to one side and listened to his bleat of surprise at having to scramble for the breakfast spigot again. “I hope that works,” she whispered as if somehow he would have been able to hear his mother conspiring against his dining preferences.

“It took Mum weeks,” admitted Petunia. “M’little sis, she’s a powerhouse. It was either that or cracked ribs. Jus’ a little brotherly advice, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” It did seem to calm her foal down, and Daelia added, “I’ve never gotten brotherly advice before.”

“I’ve never gotten to give much of it either,” admitted Petunia. “When yer whole job is bouncing snotty young colts off the sand, it don’t make for many close personal relationships. Leastwise those that don’t come with fracutres and discombobulated limbs.”

The rest of breakfast passed relatively quietly until the food (solid and liquid) had all been eaten and a snoozing Standing Water had been freshly diapered. After crafting a little bit of cloud into a bassinet and arranging a blanket in it for his nap, Daelia tucked her foal in and crafted the surrounding cloud walls into a denser privacy wall for him, pressing in with her hooves to pack the cloud into a solid, foal-proof barrier against the inside wall of the hangar and leaving a few small holes for ventilation.

“There,” she declared. “That should hold him for an hour or two. Thank you, Sergeant Petunia. For breakfast and for not being upset about…” Daelia waved a hoof and bent it at a sharp angle. “You know. The knife thing.”

“Think nothing of it, Ma’am. I’m looking forward to our next training session so you can show me how you did it.” He mimed lowering his hoof and raising his chin until he was laying upside down on the hangar floor, waving all four hooves in the air. “Just saw you move once, and then all I could see was sky. It was a nice knife though. I’m going to have to order another one sometime.”

Petunia raised his head at the resulting silence and scrambled to his hooves as he noticed Daelia with her lips drawn into a tight line and breathing in short pants. “Whoa, sorry Ma’am. Didn’t mean to resurrect any old ghosts.”

“I’m sorry. That’s… OK… Sergeant…” She fought the cascade of memory to a halt and took a deep breath. “It just sneaks up on me when I least expect it.” After a few more deep breaths, she added, “You know?”

“Yeah.” He looked over his shoulder as if he were hoping for another courier to stop by, but the cavernous hangar was only lightly filled at this time of the morning. With so many chariots out on messenger missions, even the maintenance crews had returned to putting unneeded coats of wax on the few remaining glossy chariots as an effort to find something to keep themselves occupied. “Miss Grace… I mean Specialist Grace explained it to me. A stallion who would do that… Yew ever find ‘em, make sure and tell me. The Royal Guard takes care of its own.”

“If I find him, I’m going to have him arrested and see him stand trial,” she whispered back. “If I’m not a damned chicken and freeze up like that.”

“Yer not a chicken,” protested Petunia. “No chicken would go diving into this job with a little foal to boot. Ain’t no stallion that I know of ever had the stones to try it solo neither.”

“I’ve got a husband.” She kicked a piece of cloudstuff to one side. “He’s just in Vanhoover with ninety thousand bits worth of jewelry from the police evidence locker and some floozy from the parking enforcement division.”

“Oh.” Words seemed to evade Petunia like they normally did, fleeing underneath the thin layer of cloud that protected the stone floor of the hangar from the tramp of armored pegasi hooves. “Do you miss him?”

“If I hadn’t missed him, he’d be sitting in a jail cell right now. I just barely clipped him above one ear. I was pregnant at the time. It threw off my kick.” Another chunk of cloudstuff got punted to one side and burst into nothingness as it hit the wall of the hangar.

“They think ya let him go intentionally, don’t they?” Daelia nodded and Petunia fidgeted. It is said that if you only have a hammer, all problems look like nails, and the only thing the burly earth pony really knew was directed physical violence. Well, and hoofball, which was specifically directed physical violence of a socially acceptable nature.

“Tell ya what,” he volunteered. “Yew need sumpthin’ to take yer mind off of things. Hows about you show me how you did that disarming maneuver, and I’ll help yew brush up on yer kicks between couriers checking in. We got a good chunk of empty space here in the hangar, and if’n yew gotta take off to run a message up to Princess Luna, I’ll stay here and watch the crumb cruncher. He’s a cute little sprout.” Petunia fought back a yawn. “It’ll help us both stay awake.”

“We don’t have any pads.” Miss Thermal reached out and poked Petunia in one furry white shoulder. “We could get hurt.”

“Naa. Not if we’re careful. Anything over so many kilopascals of impact and the enchantments kick in. Go ahead.” He tilted his shoulder towards Daelia. “Give it a good solid punch.”

She poked it again, only perhaps just with the tiniest bit of additional force.

“Oh, come on. Hit me like you’d hit your husband.”

A minute later when he picked himself up off the hangar floor and dusted the cloud off, he added, “I deserved that. Maybe I should have picked a different example?”

Miss Thermal peeked out from behind her hooves. “A-are you ok?”

“A mite sore.” He rubbed his shoulder. “The sparks yew saw was the enchantments on the armor kickin’ in. They’re about an order of magnitude stronger than the ones woven into the police uniforms.”

“I knew that,” she said with an irritated huff. “I’m not a dummy.” She looked around the hangar with an evaluating expression. “You’re right, though. It would keep me awake during the slack time and help work out some frustrations. It’ll be like being back in self-defense courses with the other girls.”

“Yew took self-defense courses?” asked Petunia, unconsciously favoring one wrist.

“Taught them for the last four years.” Perfectly pink-and-orange wings stretched as Daelia swept into her warm-up kata, feeling the blood circulate in her legs after being sedentary all night. She darted up, rolled to one side, and spun into a series of short petit jetés from dance training, ending in a short flying kick that made her pant for air. “My wings are still pretty well toned from all the flying I did with my foal, but my legs are horribly out of shape.”

Petunia rubbed his jaw while nodding. “Yeah. We can work on that.”

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~

Surprise can be a good or a bad thing, depending on the pony or thing doing the surprise, and whether the surprise is something you wanted to happen. Celestia had a very firm idea of the importance of surprises and the ponies being surprised, i.e. very important, and other ponies. Princess Cadence had never been a very satisfactory foil for any of Celestia’s ‘surprises’ even as she had become older and more mature, which she put down to a bit of an inferiority complex at being constantly compared to her ‘aunt.’ Twilight Sparkle had been very fun to surprise, but only in very limited circumstances that did not involve her favorite student diving into a pile of books to figure out just why the little trick that Celestia had done was supposed to be funny.

It just sucked all the fun out of a good practical joke. That, and the detailed fifty-page report on the history of whoopie cushions and their practical uses that would inevitably follow.

Having Luna back in the castle again was a pleasure that filled Celestia’s heart with joy, her voice with song, and the cash boxes of various Canterlot joke stores with bits. Which explained why when she stepped out onto the Grand Celestial Skyport and her chariot was not waiting for her scheduled trip to Fillydelphia, her first thought turned to her sister. Perhaps some arcane little trick or stunt was in the process of developing, or maybe even Twilight Sparkle had decided to join their little games. Nothing materialized, however, so she calmed Kibitz and assured him that the schedule was still intact, with plenty of casual time at both ends to accommodate the meetings even if she had to fly herself to the destination (to which he reacted in much the same shocked fashion as Rarity facing some of Luna’s old wardrobe).

It would have taken five minutes to trot through the corridors and stairs of the castle back to the Royal Hangar, but she could see it from here, and given Luna’s sense of humor, the Celestial Phaeton would be delivered to the platform just as she trotted into the hangar, and vice versa, for however many times it would take to be appropriately ‘funny.’

With the delicate grace that only an alicorn could muster, Princess Celestia swept up into the air for a short flight and glided to a near-silent landing just inside the hangar doors, although after a moment’s worth of observation, her stealth was somewhat unnecessary.

Inside a roughed-out cloud fence, there were four Royal Guards engaging in a very restrained sparring match. It was fairly common for her guards to exert themselves in physical contests such as hoof-wrestling or jogging outside their duty stations, as well as the inevitable sparring inside the training grounds. On rare occasions she had even seen them rough out areas for training when bored or trying to fight anxiety. But she had never seen her off-duty guards pack to the edge of a makeshift training circle with such concentration before. They were all watching a burly unicorn courier being held in a cautious headlock by a second guard, with Specialist Thermal and a second earth pony guard nearly at nose-length away giving the match a spirited evaluation.

“...so you can see how Specialist Trotters here looks fairly well trapped. Corporal Knack even remembered to have his elbow bent around his other hoof for a change to keep the chokehold in place no matter how much Trotters wriggles about.”

“His technique is a little different than in the dojo,” said Thermal with careful examination of the trapped joint. “With the armor, you don’t have to worry about a counter breaking a collarbone or cracking your shins. Still, it’s very dangerous. You can collapse a carotid artery even if you’re careful.”

“Right,” agreed the earth pony, who Celestia finally recognized as Sergeant Petunia. “We don’t normally use this hold in combat, but we do practice countering it, just in case. Okay, Trotters. Let’s see if you can remember our little lesson from last week. Go!”

The unicorn courier shifted his weight forward and thrust out with one hind leg in a restrained blow that barely raised sparks from the impact of the guard’s armor and shoes. The ‘attacker’ staggered slightly, and Trotter twisted to escape the hold while lighting up his horn.

Bad move.

The defending courier’s magic went out like a light as the attacking guard slammed his armored forehead into it, making the courier stagger in pain and slap a hoof against his side to ‘tap out’ of the exercise. Both attacker and defender took a moment to sit down and get their wits about them as Sergeant Petunia chided the unicorn. “What do I tell you every time in the ring, Trotters? If you’re grappled, never try to use magic. Roll to one side or kick his legs out from under him.”

Thermal cleared her throat and turned to the spectators. “If we could get an earth pony volunteer now, we can — Princess Celestia!”

It was amazing how those two simple words spoken in Thermal’s panic-stricken squeak caused every pony on the hangar floor and a few in the rafters to abruptly change their behavior. Maintenance ponies returned to intensely waxing already intensely waxed chariots, couriers with delayed missives edged towards the exits, and over a dozen Royal Guards around the ring suddenly displayed an intense desire to teleport elsewhere, even the non-unicorns.

“No need to stop on my regard, Specialist Thermal,” said Celestia, trying conceal a giggle as the four drivers for her chariot began to buckle themselves into the harness with expressions indicating they had just arrived and were shocked, shocked to find this degree of laxness among the other guards. “In fact, I happen to have a few minutes before I really need to leave anyway. That looked fascinating. It’s been years since I’ve been in the ring with any of the guards. Do you think one of you fine gentlecolts could show me that move?”

One gold-clad hoof pointed, eliminating the totally unnecessary step of finding a volunteer, and Celestia picked her way daintily into the circle with a burly pegasus following, looking much as if he would rather be peeling potatoes for the next century. He braced at her request, slipping up behind Her Royal Highness, Diarch of Equestria, Princess of the Sun, Sol Invicta, She Whom He Had Sworn To Protect With His Life, and tentatively slipped a foreleg around her neck.

“That’s not very tight, Sergeant Hammerlock.”

His grip tightened to the point where it might have slightly inconvenienced the breathing of an asthmatic foal.

“Sergeant,” she began, “if you do not tighten your affectionate grip, I shall tell all of your fellow guards just exactly what you did with the daughter of then Commandant Buttercup twelve years ago on the night after your graduat—”

Panicked muscles drove a powerful foreleg across Celestia’s throat, cutting off her wind and any more embarrassing revelations. Princess Celestia reared up just enough to get her forehooves off the cloud floor, and displaying a flexibility not found in mares a small fraction of her age, slammed both of them backwards into the sergeant’s armored barrel with a muffled clang that drove the breath out of his lungs in a mighty ‘whoosh.’ She then pitched forward, tucking her chin down and heaving her hindquarters up in a short forward roll that ended up with a somewhat flattened Royal Guard lying directly underneath of the Solar Princess. With a grin, Celestia spread her wings and waved her hooves in the air, wriggling against the flattened solder like she was scratching an itch on her back until a struggling Sergeant Hammerlock tapped out with a hoof against the cloud floor.

After a nimble roll to one side, Princess Celestia stood up again and bowed to her gasping opponent. “Thank you, Sergeant. My sister was right. That was fun.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” gasped Sergeant Hammerlock from his semi-prone position with no apparent desire to stand at any time soon. “We are at your command.”

“Oh, no more this morning,” she said, casting a glance at where the chariot was waiting with all four drivers attempting to put on an air of complete innocence and patience. “Why don’t you go down to the armory and see about having them make me a set of sparring pads. We can practice some more in a few days.”

“Your Highness?” If the bulky pegasus had looked out of breath before, he looked nearly suffocated now, and continued to maintain his somewhat popeyed and stunned expression until Celestia’s chariot had vanished out of sight to the north.

“I think she likes you,” whispered one of the nearby guards.

“I think she broke a rib,” whispered Hammerlock. “Somepony help me to the infirmary.”

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~

Captain Billow was not in a good mood. His wings itched, the first two pegasi he had tracked down to serve an extra shift as Special Royal Communications Relay had turned out to also be in the infirmary with a mild case of Feather Flu, and that only made his wings itch more despite the fact he did not even have feathers. He had finally managed to get one of the newly-graduated cadets — a fuzzy-cheeked young pegasus named Blade — to ‘volunteer’ to staff the position under the condition that he be permitted extra rounds in the sparring circles over the next week, and the sight that greeted his eyes when he returned to his duty station made him grind his teeth in frustration.

A rather lumpy section of cloud had been formed over against the wall, guarded by one of the off-duty front gate guards who was standing just as straight and sincere as if he were standing in front of Celestia’s door.

A pair of Royal Guards was locked into what appeared to be a mutual wrestling hold while sitting inside a somewhat ragged looking circle made out of tufts of clouds in the middle of the hangar floor.

A number of the idle maintenance ponies had gathered to one side of the entertainment to watch, gathered into small groups and pointing at particular interesting moves.

And both Miss Thermal and Sergeant Petunia were keeping their distance away from the two stallions locked in a hold, and apparently trying to determine which of them had the advantage at the moment.

“‘Ten-HUT! Officer on the floor!”

A stampeding wave of crisp salutes and wide eyes greeted Captain Billow, looking so much like the time he caught a half-dozen of his little nieces and nephews raiding a cookie jar that he had to suppress a snort of laughter. “I hate to break up your little training session,” growled Billow, “but if you gentlestallions have nothing else to do, I’m certain that the maintenance crew on the parade grounds needs a few volunteers with tweezers to crop the grass.”

Billow uses Intimidate. It’s highly effective.

In mere moments, the surplus of curious stallions had been dealt with, scattering to their respective tasks with such vigor that most of the fragile cloud fence around their ring was also scattered to the far corners of the hangar. The awkward guard at his shoulder almost scurried off too, having to be restrained by a hoof and subdued into staying put with a firm glower.

“Specialist Thermal, I brought your relief. He’s been briefed on the job, so you can take off whenever you want.”

“Yeah,” said Specialist Blade, eyeing the female guard with a certain degree of hesitancy that did not seem to disturb the young mare at all, and taking the offered clipboard without taking his eyes off of Thermal’s wings. “Thanks.”

As Thermal collected her things and headed for the lumpy cloud structure stuck to the hangar wall, Blade leaned over to him and whispered, “She’s another mare in the Guard?” At Billow’s quizzical look, Blade added, “I ran into two of them at ‘Save The Hostage.’ Vicious old hags. Nothing like that.”

“Yeah,” grumbled Billow. “Looks like we’re stuck with them.” The two of them watched the young pegasus trot over to the Nocturne guardstallion standing in front of the small cloud structure, pausing at the regulation five strides away and lifting her head with a look of intense concentration. Folded-up wings perfectly level, face composed, and posture so perfect she could have posed for a recruiting poster, Specialist Thermal took the regulation three steps forward and saluted, a brisk and exacting movement of the hoof that was mirrored perfectly by the ceremonial guard, both of them holding the position without a single twitch.

“Master of the Post, I request relief!” snapped the guard in the ageless and hallowed tradition of the Royal Guard.

“Watch Guard, I am here to relieve you!” snapped back Thermal in perfect counterpart with exactly the same cadence and tone used by the guard changing ceremony several hours ago.

“I stand relieved. The watch is yours. Guard well the Princesses,” replied the guard, dropping his salute simultaneously with Thermal and engaging in the rather formal march and countermarch steps that ended with him marching out the hangar door as Thermal held her perfect stance next to the cloud structure. Finally she relaxed, with a whoosh of a breath held for too long and a quick step over to pick up her foal entertainment and restraining gear.

“They do have a few advantages, I suppose,” admitted Billow, watching Thermal twist into her foal carrier saddle. “Still don’t think they’re Royal Guard material, though.”

“I don’t know, sir,” said Blade, watching Petunia help put the saddle on with no small amount of trepidation. “There’s a couple of them that I sure as taxes wouldn’t want to cross, but I’m not quite sure I’m ready to take orders from any of them.”

The temporary cloud structure was cleared away by the sharp application of several petite pink hooves, and Thermal bent over the cloud bassinet in the middle with a soft coo that turned almost instantly into a panicked shriek. Chunks of cloud went flying as the young mother flung the empty foal blanket to one side, pawing through the rest of the packed cloud material while screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Standing Water! Where are you?”

Lost and Found

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The Night Guard - Night Mares

Lost And Found

The corridors of the castle rang under the rapid trot of Commander Swift Wings’ hooves as he maintained a brisk pace towards the hangar. The messenger who had delivered the message had been curt, precise, and totally unbelievable. The whole Royal Guard being deployed throughout the castle to search for one lost foal? Inconceivable.

Still, while he was hustling along the corridors, the guards who were running by in the opposite directions seemed to be concentrating on their orders quite well, either barely pausing for a brief salute, or heads down and looking along the floor and behind benches for the rather difficult target of a hiding foal. He climbed the back stairwell to the Royal Guard Hangar two at a time, feeling the creak of old tendons and the ache of his bones far too much for this early hour of the afternoon. The idea of retiring and letting Peaks step into his armored orthopedic shoes had been bothering Swifty for nearly a year now, and a sharp twinge of arthritis in his wings brought the idea back in full force as he reached the top of the stairs and stopped cold.

Commander Snowy Peaks was standing there much as if he had been waiting for Swifty’s arrival, with his counterpart, Commander Buttercup of the Night Guard standing right by his side. They both held a hoof over their lips to forestall Swifty’s impending outburst, and pulled him over to the side of the stairwell for a quick consultation.

“Situation?” asked Swifty in a quiet whisper.

Buttercup yawned before responding, his sharp white teeth proving a sharp counterpart to the bags under the nocturnal pony’s eyes. “Specialist Thermal’s colt is missing. Apparently he escaped from durance vile sometime late this morning, and nopony noticed until a little less than an hour ago. She had built this little structure out of clouds for him to nap in, and the tyke managed to escape, evade the sentry, and vanish somewhere out into the Academy training grounds, or maybe even the castle. But that’s not what’s so interesting. Take a quick peek, and don’t say anything.”

Commander Swift Wings leaned out from his concealment and took a long look at the floor of the Royal Hangar. Two unicorns had taken over the center of the floor and were snapping out orders and receiving reports just as professionally as if the whole operation was a military invasion, and it took several moments before Swifty eventually recognized that the second unicorn was female. Nominally, Lieutenant-Commander Grace of the Canterlot Police Department was only a lowly Specialist in the Royal Guard, but she was acting in perfect coordination with Lieutenant Kudzu, snapping out ‘suggestions’ that Kudzu would place his stamp of approval on before the reporting Royal Guard would flap or gallop away on their assigned task. Just off to one side, a second unmatched pair of guards had set up a mapping table with the grounds of the Academy and castle laid out in miniature, moving little shaped figurines of guards and chariots around in a rather determined effort to ensure all of the exits were covered and search parties properly distributed. Specialist Thermal had the somewhat overfocused expression of somepony restraining an emotional outburst through dedicated work, and the earth pony trainer Petunia at her side looked just as caught up in the details of the ongoing operation as she was. There were even civilians in the mix of ponies who reported on their progress in the search and were deployed out again just as quickly as they had arrived, both uniformed members of the police department as well as several pierced and tattooed young mares wearing the copper brassards of the Hell Week trainees.

After retreating to the company of his peers, Swift Wings took a moment to compose himself before whispering, “Peaks, I’ve never seen an ad-hoc operation like this flow so smoothly in all of my years. How long have you been sitting on Kudzu’s promotion to Captain? Because if you don’t promote him tomorrow, I’m poaching him for my staff.”

“He’ll need alternate Friday afternoons off,” mused Buttercup with a badly hidden grin. “He appears to be attempting a romantic engagement with my new adjunct.”

“Poor bastard,” whispered Peaks, taking a brief look into the busy hangar. “Gourd is going to throw out his back laughing. The joke’s on him. Male or female, she’s doing a heck of a job out there. He’s going to be mightily peeved if Grace winds up at our poker table some day.”

That elicited a brief snort of derision from Buttercup, but the Nocturne did sneak a peek out of the doorway himself, dropping his gold wire-rim sunglasses down to be able to see the activity in the brilliantly lit room. After a moment, he posited, “The two of them do seem to function tolerably well together.”

“What did Kudzu do, Snowy?” asked Swift Wings, taking a peek of his own. “Defeat her in battle? Put a nose ring on her? Find her True Name?”

“No,” said Peaks. “Although I do think a ring may be in their future. I wonder what the kids will look like.”

“Alicorns,” declared Buttercup. “Neurotic, over-controlling, brilliant alicorns.”

“It will be nice to have a few more around,” said Princess Luna.

Silence reigned. After a very short reign, it abdicated its throne to the Princess of the Moon, who cleared her throat and regarded the three rather startled commanders with an upraised eyebrow clearly hinting that the surprise was over, and it was now time for some judicious saluting and bowing, although quietly enough as not to gain attention from the ongoing activity out in the hangar.

The three commanders obliged. They were, after all, well trained by Luna’s sister, as well as married, which carried its own training regime, if somewhat different. After an extremely short and quite direct briefing to their Princess, the three commanders stood relaxed and waiting for their orders, which after a moment of uncomfortable self-examination, they realized were also coming from a female.

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~

“Ten-HUT! Princess on the floor!”

All across the Royal Hangar, what work was still taking place froze to a halt in a frenzied spasm of sharp salutes from both Royal Guards and even civilians, who were carried away in the general enthusiasm of the activity. Princess Celestia preferred to stride into a situation with a brisk pace and a sharp look about her that brought a secret terror to the heart of any present as they reviewed their recent activities for secret sins that she might have uncovered.

Luna glided.

There was a certain art to being able to drift down a set of stairs with long, slow paces while casting one’s gaze from side to side, never actually looking at anypony but never actually looking away either. Where Celestia tended to unnerve ponies who thought they had done something wrong, Luna induced a certain primal terror unfounded in any actual wrongdoing, for who could possibly remember any of the crimes which they may have committed in their slumber?

She detested the reaction. But she still glided. It was useful and fun.

With Commander Swift Wings stuck in an awkward pace halfway between a trot and a walk beside her, Luna descended onto the hangar floor and up to the two unicorns who were coordinating the search.

“Captain Kudzu. Specialist Grace. How goes the search for the missing foal?”

Both unicorns were drawn up into such identical salutes that Luna was uncertain which one would speak first, but after a momentary hesitation, Kudzu dropped his salute and responded, “Your Highness, the search parties have quartered the entire Academy and most of the castle, with details placed in strategic locations to avoid the possibility of the target sneaking back into already searched areas. Cadets from the Academy are assisting with the operation, primarily in support roles such as the extended sentry details. So far, the results have been inconclusive, with no signs of the missing foal, not even a hoofprint.”

“I see,” said Luna, turning slightly. “Specialist Grace, how about the civilian side of the search.”

Grace dropped her salute with exacting precision and rattled down the facts just as neatly. “Descriptions of the missing foal have been passed along to the Canterlot Police, and a search of the nearby grounds has been ongoing. Hell Week candidates have been paired off with serving Royal Guardstallions in order to extend our search perimeter, and the staff of the castle has been alerted to the operation. Everypony is cooperating fully, but still nothing, Ma’am.”

“Hmm…” Luna lifted her head and looked over at the plotting table. “Specialist Thermal, will you be all right? I know this is a stressful time for you.”

“I’ll be fine,” she replied in a perfectly ordinary and unstressed voice that raised goosebumps up the back of Luna’s hackles.

“Indeed. Specialist Grace. Show me the last known location of the foal, please.” Luna followed the dark green unicorn as she trotted through the ankle-deep cloud over to a rather ragged lump of trampled cumulus scattered around the wall of the hangar.

“Specialist Thermal was serving a double-shift this morning, because we’re a bit short-hooved at the moment, Your Highness. She created a Type Two field expedient shelter out of clouds against this wall, as you can see, Ma’am,” said Grace, levitating up a crumpled blue blanket out of the scattered clouds. “She tucked Standing Water in for a nap while carrying out her second shift. He wasn’t there when she was relieved at noon, leaving nearly a three hour window in which the foal may have escaped or been removed.”

“I understand, Specialist,” said Luna, examining the bits of scattered cloud. “All the more reason to resolve this unpleasant situation as quickly as possible. Have any forensic spells been cast upon the infant’s resting spot?”

“Yes, Your Highness. No traces of teleportation magic, substitution, transmutation, illusion or any other kinds of unicorn magic were found. It’s as if he just vanished.”

“Let’s get a better look at the situation, Specialist Grace. Stand back.” With a soft glow of indigo magic, Luna lit her horn and illuminated the little scraps of cloud scattered around from Miss Thermal’s frantic search. They quivered in place, hesitant at first, but eventually flowing back toward the central position as the blue blanket leapt out of Grace’s levitation field. The blocky structure reassembled itself against the wall of the hangar, the blue blanket zipping inside between several scraps of cloud before the structure finished its magical reassembly.

“Do you recognize the spell, Specialist Grace?” said Luna almost casually after the cloud fragments had settled back into place.

“An inverted entropy spell,” said Grace. “Although I’ve never seen anypony with such a delicate touch as to be able to use it on clouds.”

“Very astute. Now, while I hold the structure together, I will need somepony to examine it for clues as to the young colt’s departure, not you, Specialist Thermal,” continued Luna, stopping the fast-moving pegasus in her tracks. “Captain Kudzu, would you assist Grace?”

The two unicorns took their time examining the lumpy structure from the outside, eventually having Luna levitate it up so they could check the inside walls for signs of tampering. After a few minutes, Kudzu got up close to the bottom edge of the structure and squinted. “Your Highness, I think you missed a chunk. There’s kind of a notch to the bottom of the shelter right here.”

“Moles,” blurted out Petunia. There was a semicircle of curious onlookers a reasonable distance away, and the blocky earth pony stallion blushed at the sudden attention he received. “I mean, Your Highness, ‘e’s an energetic little blighter, after all. Could ‘e have tunneled out?”

Luna did not immediately respond, but a broad chunk of the thin cloud floor to one side of the flimsy structure glowed indigo and flipped over, revealing a trench through the underside of the flat cloud. “The little scamp,” said Luna, her hooves clattering along the underlying stone floor as she trotted briskly forward, making another section of the covering cloud glow indigo and flip over. “He tunnelled under the cloud floor in this direction.” Piece after piece of flat cloud flipped as Luna progressed across the hangar floor, eventually stopping at the chariot parking area. “His trail comes up here. What was parked in this location?”

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~

An hour ago

It felt good to get out of the castle every once in a while and stretch her metaphorical wings. The sky all the way to Fillydelphia was as clear as it could be, and the drivers of the chariot flapped in perfect synchronization, leaving Celestia nothing to do but look around at all of Equestria spread out below her and enjoy the freedom of a relaxing day. Admittedly there was a teeny thread of guilt at leaving Luna alone in the castle to deal with any disasters that were certainly going to sprout forth from the cracks between the stone walls like ambitious weeds whenever the gardener took a vacation, but her sister was a big mare and did not need her hoof held any more.

Besides, the city council meetings in Fillydelphia were always catered by an elderly couple who made the best cakes.

No paperwork, no complaining bureaucrats, no endless requests to make decisions that others were too timid to make on their own. Sometimes she felt like the oldest mother of quadi-septup-quint-to-the-nth-degree-uplets in Equestria, but for now, she could just be herself, allowing her warm sun to shine down across her back and extending her wings just the least little bit to allow the wind to whistle through them without actually affecting the handling of ‘Mare Force One’ as the Royal Guard liked to refer to her transportation when they thought she was not listening. It was an opportunity she reveled in, and if only flying herself were an option, she would have been up into the sky in a flash, but having a princess show up at a meeting reeking of sweat would be positively unthinkable.

Maybe on the way back.

While gliding along in the chariot, she preferred to close her eyes and try to absorb the entire experience through her skin, even through the distraction of young healthy stallions working up a sweat upwind of her nose, but the wind high in the sky washed away weeks worth of tension and stress, centuries if you counted worrying about Luna’s return. Relaxation flowed down her back with the wind, swept her mane and tail into long ornate curves, and brought a previously unexperienced scent along with it. It smelled a little like ammonia, or perhaps that one time a nest of mice had been found in her chariot, but the rustling noise from underhoof was far too loud to be mice. In fact, it sounded a little like—

“Mamma?”

Instincts

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The Night Guard - Night Mares

Instincts

It was, determined Celestia, a little pegasus colt curled up in the luggage and folio bags that filled the bottom of the Celestial Phaeton in preparation for her meeting in Fillydelphia. Contrary to popular opinion from many ponies with rather strange views of their Diarch, Celestia did know what an infant was, even though she never had one of her own. She was also aware of which pokey-out or pokey-in bits the two different varieties of infants possessed, as well as many other informative little bits of trivia about the reproductive system of ponies that would have stunned Twilight Sparkle into a coma. What she was not aware of, was what this little colt was doing in her chariot.

“Aren’t you a little cutie,” cooed Celestia, hunching her neck down to get a better look at the shadowed interior of the carriage in the hopes of perhaps spotting a nervous mother or even a older nanny type concealed behind the luggage. After a quick detection spell just to make sure, Celestia hefted the little colt up into the wind, which he reacted to by instinctively opening his wings and buzzing them like a little sewing machine.

“Your Highness?” drifted back on the slipstream as the drivers all looked back over their shoulders, resulting in a rather unsteady ride until the superior officer motioned his subordinates back to work.

“Corporal. How far are we out of Fillydelphia now?” asked Celestia, more as a courtesy than out of actual curiosity. It was obviously less than five minutes, and the little colt squirmed in her magical grip as the carriage began a long descent to landing.

“Five minutes, Your Highness. Um. Is that Specialist Thermal’s little colt?”

“Standing Water,” said Celestia, bouncing the infant in her magic to his great delight. “I knew I had seen him before. Any idea how he managed to stow away on my secure carriage, Corporal?”

“Um. No, Ma’am.”

She spared the corporal a single glance and let him squirm for a moment. “Are you quite certain, Corporal Capricorn?”

“Ahhh… Yes, Ma’am. I take full responsibility.”

“Very well, then. Once we land, I’ll have one of your fellow guards run the cute little tyke back to his mother.” Tiny flailing limbs propelled the colt almost out of her magic before she caught him again, which he seemed to find quite amusing, in particular when his soggy diaper was caught in the slipstream and vanished behind the carriage.

“Only with enough rope,” muttered one driver.

Despite Standing Water’s continued escape attempts, the carriage came floating down into the Fillydelphia mayor’s private landing spot unscathed and still bearing the number of ponies it inadvertently carried upon departure from Canterlot. Mayor Marble stood in his customary spot, flanked by the two mares in Night Guard armor who had been sent as an advance team, and all three of them regarded the little naked colt that Celestia was carrying with a certain degree of pop-eyed amazement.

To his credit, Mayor Marble recovered first, stroking his magnificent handlebar mustache with one hoof and grinning enough to make Celestia consider if he might possibly be related to Pinkie Pie.

“Your Highness,” he rumbled in a deep tenor, “allow me to be the first to offer congratulations on the birth of your handsome young son. What’s his name?”

“Standing Water,” responded Celestia automatically. “And he’s not—”

“Mamma!” declared Standing Water, wriggling his bare rump in joy as he recognized his name.

“Can I hold him, ‘Mommy?’” snarked Mayor Marble, somehow managing to grin even wider as he held out his forehooves.

“Ooooh, you scoundrel,” chided Celestia, some of the infectious grin sneaking onto her own face. “Just for a few minutes before we send him back to Canterlot. His mother is going to be frantic.”

“Be careful, Your Highness,” said Banehammer, moving a little closer. “Standing Vatter, he doesn’t like—”

The moment the little blue colt realized he was in the hooves of an unfamiliar stallion, his giggling turned into a shriek of panic, squirting out out of the mayor’s grasp like an overstressed bar of soap and rebounding off the cobblestones to leap straight back up against Celestia’s warm neck. There was astonishing volume to those little lungs and his shrieks of panic echoed around inside of Celestia’s head to the exclusion of anything else. Even Luna would not have been able to make herself heard over his shrill screaming until a gentle patting on his back and a few soft words cooed into his ear calmed him to a few blubbering sniffles.

“As I vas saying,” continued Banehammer, taking her hooves off her ears, “Thermal’s little colt, he not like some ponies.”

“My ears,” whimpered Mayor Marble, cringing away from the colt.

Other than Banehammer, none of the Royal Guard were acceptable to Standing Water either, not even when Corporal Capricorn did an entirely adorable routine that curled his bottom lip and made funny noises which he claimed worked marvelously on his own little colt at home, but earned him a sharp bop on the nose from a wailing infant who clutched onto Celestia’s neck like a little blue tick. One of the drivers was promptly promoted to a courier and sent back to Canterlot to explain that the situation was completely in control, even though it was not, and that the chariot would be returning promptly with Standing Water just as soon as the critical meeting was over and the appropriate restraints were fitted to restrain its exuberant little passenger.

The meeting, since it was the whole reason for the visit, took top priority, and Celestia carried her unexpected visitor to the city council chambers for a most unusual and quite brief discussion.

* * *

“So, Mayor Marble,” said Celestia, trying to get a strand of her mane out of Standing Water’s vice-like jaws. “I understand you wanted to see me about a new section your fair city is adding to the main park, but I fail to see — Ouch, you little scamp — fail to see exactly why I needed to travel all the way here just to look over a few plans.”

Celestia’s acute eye swept across the city council, all of whom had volunteered their services at coltsitting and all of whom had been loudly rejected by the little colt.

When the mayor failed to reply, looking away from Celestia and seeming to find a nearby spot on the wallpaper absolutely fascinating, the Director of Public Works cleared her throat with a quiet, “Ahem. Well, Your Highness, actually… there have been all kind of rumors about this ‘Crystal Empire.’”

And she actually made air quotes with her hooves, which caused Celestia to almost snort with laughter, but she shamelessly passed it off as one of Standing Water’s brisk tugs on her mane.

“I assure you, the Crystal Empire is peaceful and not a threat. My niece Cadence is there right now, helping guide the crystal ponies back into our modern Equestria and WILL YOU PLEASE NOT TUG THERE? Oh, not you.” Celestia boosted the little colt up from where he was seeing just how long he could suspend himself by grabbing a chunk of mane with his teeth and pulling up his legs. “In summary, the Crystal Empire is fine, the crystal ponies are friendly, and I’m certain they would all welcome visitors from Equestria, particularly if they brought lots of bits to buy souvenirs and took lots of photographs. Cadence says they sell some of the most amazing snow globes. Anything else?”

Police Commissioner Cudgel stood up and cleared his throat rather nervously with a sideways glance at where Rose had taken up her guard position inside the door to the meeting room. “Well, Your Highness. There has been considerable concern about how the Griffons would react to the appearance of a city inside what they consider their domain.”

“They consider anything they can see to be their domain,” interrupted the Director of Public Works before being shushed by Mayor Marble.

“Anyway,” continued Commissioner Cudgel, “we’re not going to see any new hostilities with our friends and neighbors to the north, are we?”

“No,” said Celestia quite firmly, while trying to figure out just how to phrase the results of the rather complicated relationship that Luna’s diplomatic efforts had created. “The Misty Mountains aerie has recently had a… unexpected change of leadership, and their new Wingmaster is most assuredly a friend to all ponies. Now, since there are no further security issues, did you have any other issues of importance?”

The Director of Parks stood up as his colleague sat down. “Well, Your Highness, there was the matter of your new statue.”

“As tall as the one you already have of me in the park?” said Celestia, struggling to keep Standing Water away from his newly discovered glittering toy and getting repeated blows of a tiny wing to the face for her trouble.

“Yes. A little taller, actually.”

“No.” She spit out a small feather. “Spend the bits to put a statue of Luna beside mine. See if the same sculptor is available, Cold Chisel I believe is his name. Same price, if he’ll accept.”

And he will. He’s been asking for Luna to pose for a lot of sketches lately, some of which she won’t show to me.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Anything else?”

“No, Your Highness,” sounded the chorus as the council could not keep their eyes off Standing Water’s attempt to scale Mount Celestia in pursuit of the sparkling gem on her tiara.

“And have a nice trip back to Canterlot,” added Mayor Marble.

* * *

In Canterlot, a panting Royal Guard covered in sweat dropped into the Royal Hangar and regarded the busy nerve center that it had become before calling out, “Who’s got Communications Relay duty? I’ve got a message from Princess Celestia for Specialist Ther—”

There was a blur of eye-burning pink across the hangar floor and Specialist Waverider found himself suspended against a nearby wall with two bloodshot eyes just inches from his own.

“Standing Water? Where is he?!”

“Fillydelphia with Princess Celest—”

The blur of pink flashed away and out the hangar door, scattering pieces of feminine Night Guard armor in its wake and leaving an entire hangar full of stunned stallions all looking into the distance at the rapidly receding pink dot.

“Specialist Thermal, you are relieved from duty to retrieve your colt. Dismissed,” announced Kudzu, Commander Peaks’ adjunct, at which there was a smattering of applause that echoed around the hangar, growing until every stallion and even the mares in the cavernous room were stomping their approval.

“Settle down, soldiers,” announced Kudzu. “The search is over, but we still need to spread the word and wind down the operation.”

“Lieutenant Kudzu, shouldn't somepony go after her?” asked Waverider, still a little stunned at the pink pegasus and her rather abrupt and speedy strip-tease exit.

Kudzu gave him a look that indicated a certain level of tolerance for silly questions had already been reached for today. “Since the search is now over, I’ll send one of the younger specialists along with the foal’s bag while you go inform Princess Luna.”

By the look in Waverider’s eyes, he would much rather have attempted to chase down the frantic mother.

~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~

Habit and custom are powerful forces, even making their mark on alicorns, and Celestia had been focusing so much on the brief meeting and keeping Standing Water from plucking her bald that she had completely forgotten that Rose had been standing at the inside door to the meeting until she had turned to leave and the soft pink glow of her magical aura opened the door. For just a moment, Celestia’s mind wandered back in time to when most of the Royal Guard had been composed of mares, and it took the gurgling laughter of Standing Water swiping at a loose wave of mane to jolt her out of her recollection.

“Your Highness?” Rose had perfected the positively deadpan look of the serving Night Guards while somehow managing to keep her natural ability to fade into the background and practically vanish. Celestia nodded as she proceeded through the door and held the little colt out for Specialist Banehammer, who was guarding the outside of the door.

“Mamma!” declared Standing Water, scrabbling against Banehammer’s strong foreleg in an attempt to regain his much more interesting perch.

“He does seem to like you, Your Highness,” huffed the hefty earth pony, trying to keep the little pegasus pinned as they walked.

“I haven’t seen this much enthusiasm since I gave Twilight Sparkle her library card,” said Celestia with a chuckle that died out rather rapidly as she spotted a young photographer and a reporter hurrying down the corridor towards them. “Oh, drat. Rose, could you…”

Rose quickly trotted ahead, using her magic to gently lift the camera that had been lowered for a picture. “Please, no photos.”

The photographer took in the sight of two mares in Night Guard armor, one holding onto a naked squirming infant colt, and the Princess of the Sun with a bad mane day. “You’re kidding, right?”

The lowered camera was raised again, and the photographer found himself nose-to-nose with the very serious guard. “No. Photos.”

It would have taken a very perceptive pony to spot the spell being cast in the tell-tale faint pink glow from Rose’s horn and to deduce the probable result if the hypnotized reporter and photographer were to wander back into their newspaper. If nothing else, the scandal pages would have been able to produce tons of sales just from the relative lack of information, and the fledgeling female guard program would have been used as a paper-selling gimmick for weeks. With the smallest of magical pressures, Celestia damped her guard’s spell as she stepped forward with a practiced smile.

“Belle Plume! How good to see you again! Please, introduce me to your photographer. I don’t believe I’ve met him before.”

“Mamma!” The little colt took that opportunity to burst free from Banehammer’s tight grip, bouncing once on the hallway floor before his buzzing wings propelled him right back onto Celestia’s neck in his somewhat delayed quest to reach the shining gem on top of her head.

Not even pausing, Celestia continued with a chuckle. “Of course, introductions are due all around. Miss Plume, this is Standing Water, the son of one of my new Night Guards.”

“Ah-ha!” Belle Plume drew a notepad and pencil with a speed that an Appleoosian cowpony would have envied. “So it’s true then, Your Highness, that the current search ongoing at the Canterlot castle is a preparedness exercise in an attempt to coordinate both military and civilian emergency response in the event of any upcoming disaster, correct?”

“Why, whatever would give you that idea, Belle?” responded Celestia with a practiced smile that concealed her real amusement. Sometimes her reputation for intricate planning worked as an advantage as the press constructed their own story for any odd event. Well, with only the smallest of nudges. In all probability, the newspaper article was already written, with a few small blank spots for quotes and an appropriate spot for a photograph, which Celestia always considered a bit excessive. After all, the newspaper probably had photographs of her looking almost the same back to their founding, except for the rare and awkward times some enterprising young colt would catch her somewhat mussed, like today. Still, there was no sense in making things too easy for their attempts to catch her unawares, so she kept an eye on the photographer while Standing Water was temporarily fascinated by the reporter’s words and relatively immobile for a few seconds.

“Obviously the new integration of Canterlot policemares into the Royal Guard preceding this exercise was to establish lines of communication within the civilian infrastructure. After all, the debacle of the Royal Wedding and Discord’s release both showed serious flaws in the existing structure of the Guard, and there has been all kinds of talk about what measures you were planning on taking to fix the situation.”

“My dear. I just can’t keep secrets from the press, can I, Miss Plume?”

The press pegasus blushed. “Well, it was obvious, after I saw how well the search efforts were being coordinated between the Royal Guard and the police. I knew there was something going on behind the scenes, and we followed your schedule right here to verify the story before we go to press.”

Celestia nodded, considering how many times the steps in that process had been reversed. “I’ll be more than happy to chat with you before we leave. The whole castle is probably buzzing with activity right now, but the messenger I sent back about an hour ago should have things back to normal by the time I return. I can hardly wait to see what Luna is planning for her turn.”

“Mamma!” declared Standing Water, struggling to reach the tantalizing gemstone in Celestia’s crown even as the daring photographer raised his camera. This time it was Miss Plume who raised a wing to block the photographer’s shot before giving a winsome smile to Princess Celestia and her little passenger.

“Snapps, let’s give Princess Celestia a few minutes to get presentable first and we can talk on the way up to the chariot. Can I hold him while we’re walking? He’s so cute.”

* * *

“...of course the Academy has been dealing with various settling-in issues regarding housing and there is a considerable backlog in the remodeling involved in getting a sufficient number of bathrooms, but other than a few other minor issues such as that, the Royal Guard seems to be handling the transition quite well. Any actual parity in numbers will be decades down the line, of course, but both my sister and myself are quite pleased at the way male and female guards are working together the way they did back a thousand years ago. Ahh, here we go.”

The opening door to the rooftop chariot landing pad revealed three fairly startled Royal Guards in various states of activity, none embarrassing, fortunately. Two of the guards were wrestling with a foal seat and the associated buckles, straps, cords, knots, and snaps that came with it, attempting to get it properly installed in the chariot, which seemed to be quite a problem as the designers of the seat had never contemplated the possibility of it fitting in the Celestial Phaeton. The third guard was puzzling his way through a set of crumpled instructions, showing signs that pure frustration had caused them to be wadded up and thrown away several times already, only to be retrieved in the forlorn hope that some sort of actual information might be gleaned from the Quilian or Prench language and arcane drawings that seemed to go with a different model of seat, or possibly a coffee maker.

“Gentlecolts,” said Celestia, gesturing to the reporter and her photographer. “This young mare has a few questions about how you are coping with the introduction of mares to your ranks. I’m making an exception to the normal Guard policy of not speaking with the press, so I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“Honestly?” said Corporal Capricorn with a startled blink and a look like a colt opening presents on Hearth’s Warming Day.

“Absolutely,” said Celestia. “The honor of the Royal Guard deserves nothing less.”

“If it’s all the same with you, Your Highness,” said Belle Plume, flipping a page of her notepad and turning to the two female guards, “I’d prefer to start any interview with the girls.”

“Beg pardon?” bristled Capricorn before he could think. “Girls? These are sworn Royal Guards in addition to their considerable previous service to the Crown as police officers in Canterlot. They’ve proven themselves by putting their lives on the line even before they put on the armor of the Guard, and I believe you owe them both an apology.”

The silence stretched long between the stern Royal Guard and the startled reporter before Miss Plume swallowed and responded, “Yes. Yes, you’re right. Please, allow me to apologize, officers. I did not mean any disrespect.”

“Thank you, Miss Plume. Apology accepted,” said Specialist Rose, just as solemnly and plainly as if she were addressing a press conference. “If you will step this way, we can conduct the interview out of the way of the rest of the guards. They’re quite busy with their assigned tasks.”

Banehammer slipped over to the three stallions struggling with the foal seat and whispered to Corporal Capricorn, “Thanks. Ve owe you vun.”

“You’re Royal Guard now,” whispered Capricorn in return. “The Guard protects its own. You don’t owe me anything.” He turned the instructions sideways and squinted at a diagram. “Unless you know how to install one of these Tartarus-be-damned seats.”

“The hubby, he alvays took care of things like dis,” said Banehammer, pointing at the instructions. “How is you supposed to even get a little colt in there vith a strap fastened across here.”

“There’s a buckle here, I think,” said Capricorn, pointing at the crumpled sheet. “Or it’s a blotch.”

“It’s a buckle,” said Princess Celestia, looking over both of their shoulders and trying to keep Standing Water from reaching the interesting paper. “There’s one in the parts bag, but it looks backwards. Are you sure those are the steps for putting the seat together for Ponies? It can be used for Minotaurs or Griffons too, according to the box.”

* * *

Even after the reporter and photographer flew back to Canterlot, it took far longer than anticipated to put together the seat, complicated by Standing Water’s attempts to escape when strapped in and resulting in several complete rebuilds as childish flexibility trumped Equestrian (or possibly Quilian, or maybe even Minotaur) engineering. The little colt was taking his frustrations out by lowering his already low tolerance for non-mommy ponies, absolutely refusing to be held by Rose at first, then fighting his way out of Banehammer’s hooves, and eventually just clinging to wherever he could get a grip on Celestia while insistently repeating in a constantly louder voice, “Mamma?”

“The next Royal Chariot I get is going to have a foal’s seat built in,” fumed Celestia, trying to unknot a ball of straps while Standing Water clung to one hind leg.

“Fasten the hock strap over the gizlet and snap securely to the mizzen clip,” read Corporal Capricorn for the uncounted time in the hopes that repetition would cause inspiration, looking as the four soldiers under his command carefully inspected the spread-out collection of parts.

“What in my name is a mizzen clip?” snapped Celestia, suddenly switching to a consoling tone as Standing Water began to scream. “Now, there, my little pony. We’re just trying to get you strapped in so we can get you back to mommy. Where’s Rose with that bottle?”

“Sorry, Your Highness,” apologized Specialist Banehammer, trying to be heard over the noise while she sorted through six different mechanical buckles, none of which fit any of the included straps correctly. “Ve’ve tried each vun of the formulas from the local grocery vhere ve got the diapers, but he just doesn’t vant any of them. Rose vent to a specialty organic grocery store to see if they have any neutral soy—”

“Yipes!” Celestia almost jumped up into the air, spreading her wings and balancing on her hind legs as Standing Water tumbled to the ground, his startled eyes as large as saucers. “I’m sorry, little one. I’m not lactating,” she continued with as soothing a voice as possible.

“Mamma!” Standing Water bounded towards the edge of the landing pad and the multi-story drop beyond it only to be snagged in Princess Celestia’s magic and dragged back. “Mamma!” he cried again, bringing his wings to a furious buzz and making Celestia fight to keep a grip on him.

“Hey, it’s Milkmaid,” said one of the guards, pointing to a small pink dot in the sky that was growing larger by the minute.

“Specialist Thermal,” whispered his coworker.

“Oh, thankthestars,” gasped Celestia. “I’ve never been so glad to see one of the Royal Guard in my life.”

Corporal Capricorn took a quick look at his watch and frowned. “She’s made amazingly good time.”

“She’s not slowing down,” remarked Specialist Banehammer with a sideways glance at Her Royal Highness, Princess of the Sun, Guardian of the Daytime Sky, Sol Invicta, and Waver of Small Diapered Colts. “Your Highness, it vould work out better for you if you vere to hold Standing Vater up to one side instead of right in front of—”

The sound of joyful parent meeting squalling colt was almost immediately followed by the sound of embarrassed adjunct guard and son impacting with the royal personage she was supposed to be protecting from just such impacts. Fortunately, Princess Celestia was substantially larger (and softer) than Specialist Thermal and her son, and due to a considerable amount of braking by the young mother just before impact, their combined collision only knocked Her Highness back a few steps. To Celestia’s chagrin, she was immediately apologized to with such enthusiasm that even her royal status did not allow her to get a word in edgewise.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you! Pleasedon’tfireme! I was just so worried that I flew all the way here from Canterlot and I thought something terrible had happened to my son but I see he’s fine and you’re fine and I’m really, really sorry that I ran into you like that it’s just that he gets so cranky when he’s away from mommy and I didn’t want him to be worried or throw a fit or scream or anything because then he gets colic and yells all night even when I put a few drops of honey in the bottle even though I’m not supposed to do that oh please don’t throw me in jail for that Princess Celestia! Yipe!” While she was still in mid-air, the energetic little colt had squirmed around in his mother’s grasp enough to finally get his mouth on his desired target, and with a contented grunt, he settled down to serious nursing.

Princess Celestia chuckled at the sight of the energetic little colt and her mother as they landed awkwardly on the ground and shifted positions, with Standing Water not missing a single suckle. She floated a couple of cushions out of the chariot and carefully arranged them around her bodyguard for privacy from the collection of curious onlookers.

“Don’t worry about it, Specialist Thermal. After all, you did throw yourself into the line of fire to rescue your Princess from the assault of a rather energetic little attacker.” Lowering her voice, she added, “He was rather upset when he found out I didn’t have any milk for him. Nipped me a bit too.”

“Sorry! I’m sorry for messing up your—”

“Nonsense,” scoffed Celestia. “It’s been so long since a male has nipped me around there I’d nearly forgotten how it felt.”

It's The Little Things In Life That Count

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The Night Guard - Night Mares

It’s The Little Things in Life That Count

With only a few hours of sleep snatched around lunch, Princess Luna fought a yawn as she stood on the reception platform of the Grand Celestial Skyport with a formal dress contingent of guards for her sister’s evening return to Canterlot. Even without any pegasi, who were in short supply due to messaging duties, it was exactly what a Princess deserved upon landing, instead of Celestia’s tendency to treat an official trip as just some excuse to escape the castle for a few hours.

A rank of proud unicorns with readied trumpets lined the back of the official display, with a long red carpet flanked by two lines of perfectly groomed earth pony guards leading up to the Princess of the Moon, who still might have rather have still been in bed or somehow been able to sleep through the ceremony like her pet opossum, Tiberius, snoring gently in her mane. Still, it was only proper to show her sister that she was fully capable of handling the responsibilities of the Day without anything having caught on fire. Much.

“She’s certainly taking her time,” muttered Luna.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” whispered Specialist Grace out of the corner of her mouth. “The Outer Perimeter patrol probably caught them during the outbound leg of an extended sweep. I’ll check to see how close they are now.”

Holding a hoof to the side of her helmet, Grace’s horn glowed a faint green. “Skeet, this is Iceberg. Moon Cheeks wants to know the ETA on Sunstroke and Milkmaid.”

A faint crackling voice coming out of the helmet earpiece could just barely be heard in response. “Copy that, Iceberg. Mare Force One has cleared the inner marker and should be visible in a few moments. Milkmaid has the copilot position next to Cap.”

“Iceberg copies. Good work and out.” Grace looked up at Luna and nodded. “They should be landing in just a minute or two.”

“Thank you, Specialist Grace.” Luna remained in her relaxed ‘Royal Patience’ pose with just the smallest wrinkle in her bottom lip for nearly a minute before asking, “Moon Cheeks?”

Grace looked back at her princess with an upraised eyebrow. “Guard code handles. I thought you knew.”

“Well…” Luna pursed her lips. “No.” With a quick glance at the incoming Celestial Phaeton and the spot of pink and orange in one of the driver positions, she bent down and whispered, “So what are the rest of their ‘handles?’”

“Well, Princess Cadence is Love Bug, Twilight Sparkle is Egghead, and Shining Armor is…” Grace paused for a second. “Shining Armor. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor about the concept.”

“Harumph,” muttered the Princess of the Moon, Diarch of Equestria, and recently voted Second Hottest Princess in Equestria. “Seems undignified,” she added, while trying not to think of the long, sweaty photography session she had endured in order to be featured in the magazine article.

“Well, it’s better than what Celestia used to be called,” whispered Grace, keeping an eye on the descending chariot as it settled in for a landing. “I can’t imagine who originally suggested ‘Hot Plot’ for her handle.”

Now Luna had to suppress both a yawn and a most unprincess-like giggle as the Celestial Phaeton touched the landing platform. Almost the moment the wheels touched ground, the blur of rapidly-beating wing propelled a small blue colt up out of a strange restraint that had been buckled to one of the seats. With a rebound off the bottom step of the chariot, he skidded to a halt at the bottom of the red carpet and looked around while his mother struggled with the straps to her harness.

There was a distinct and highly subtle exchange of knowing looks between the stallions in the honor guard and the trumpeteers, followed by a perfectly timed salute from the earth pony Royal Guards lining the carpet and a blare of trumpets playing the fanfare from ‘Hail, oh Glorious and Radiant Sun’ at full volume for the disembarking dignitary (Size Small).

The little colt staggered back with a look of pure fascination, a growing grin on his face as his ears perked up, and he began trotting down the red carpet, his nose up in the air and his hooves prancing with joy. His path was anything but straight as the stern saluting stallions to either side distracted his unsteady steps, but in a matter of moments, Standing Water came to a halt in front of Her Lunar Highness, his bright blue eyes looking up with growing reverence.

“Princess,” he breathed.

“You are just the cutest little thing,” purred Luna, scooping the little colt up and giving him a nuzzle. “Yes, you are. Did you and Auntie Celestia have fun in Fillydelphia?”

‘Auntie’ Celestia stood calmly at the other end of the red carpet, looking at the back sides of all of the honor guard lining the sides of the red carpet. Admittedly, it was not a bad view for a single princess, but there was protocol to be followed despite the rising glow of happiness that threatened to spill out all over the place as she observed their reactions. Each and every single one of the supposedly grim guards was grinning (or at least she supposed the earth ponies lining the carpet matched the expressions of their unicorn companions, since she could only see their tails), with an expression that indicated memories of their youth, of days spent in cardboard armor with twigs clutched between their jaws in the defense of Equestria and their back yard. It was a heartwarming moment that Celestia allowed them to soak up before reluctantly clearing her throat to get their attention.

Twice.

“Ten-HUT!” Corporal Capricorn’s voice rang out across the landing pad, and all of the guardstallions abruptly stopped their amused observation of Princess Luna tickling Standing Water’s tum-tum and returned to their proper salute. In the background, the trumpet’s rather ragged start of ‘Hail, of Glorious and Radiant Sun’ stabilized after a few notes, and Celestia proceeded along the carpet as planned, even if slightly delayed, with both Specialist Thermal and Corporal Capricorn marching along behind in perfect lockstep.

“Hello, Luna. Did anything happen while I was gone?” The smile that she had been fighting won the battle, and she could not help but grin at the way her sister was tickling the little colt on his tummy and the way Standing Water was lapping up the attention, even with Luna’s opossum Tiberius having climbed to the top of her head to observe the scene with sleepy eyes.

“Other than a positively exhilarating game of Find-The-Colt, it’s been terribly quiet, Celly.” Luna took advantage of the little colt’s distraction at the presence of Celestia to blow a hefty raspberry on his round little tummy.

“Well, it’s nice to hear you have things well in hoof, Luna. I suppose I could turn in early this evening, if you don’t—”

“Oh no you don’t, sister.” Luna boosted the little colt up and perched him on her back just between her wings, which made him bounce on his new transportation and giggle as Luna’s pet opossum made faces at him. “There are still several hours before sunset, and I intend on catching a nap before facing my Royal duties. Until this evening, my sister.”

The Princess of the Moon turned and trotted a few steps with the giggling colt on her back bouncing in place before she paused and looked back with a mischievous grin. “Go on, Standing Water. Fly to Mommy.”

Luna bounced the little colt a significant distance up into the air, allowing him to use the altitude to glide over to Specialist Thermal and wrap his little hooves around her neck with a glad cry of “Mamma!”

“Dismissed, Specialist Thermal. It’s been a long day. Go get some rest.” Luna winked at her sister as she trotted off, leaving Celestia to shake her head.

“Princess Celestia?” Specialist Thermal struggled to look up as Standing Water climbed to the top of her head to wave at the departing Princess of the Night with Specialist Grace following right behind. “Um. He didn’t sleep on the way back, so if I go put him down for a nap now, I should be able to feed him before I’m on duty this evening.”

“Unnecessary, Miss… I mean Specialist Thermal. Go ahead and take tonight off. I think you deserve it.”

“No.” Thermal got a good grip on her little colt and pulled him off the top of her head, cuddling him into a warm hug. “The Guard is short-hooved this evening from Feather Flu and extra courier duties. I’m needed in the communications department.” She paused with a rather nervous look at Celestia. “If that is acceptable, Your Highness.”

It took effort to ignore the intense non-attention she was getting from the attending ceremonial guard stallions as each one of them exerted their full willpower into non-looking and not-listening in Celestia’s direction. There was really only one thing she could say.

“You’re right, Specialist Thermal. We all must do our part. Dismissed. We’ll see you at work this evening.” Celestia’s eye swept up to the rest of the attentive ceremonial guards, before she turned in a graceful pivot and returned to her remaining Royal responsibilities.

As she strode through the corridors with Capricorn trailing along behind, she remained silent other than to greet others as they passed and to pass along her congratulations to the staff for their assistance in the search for Standing Water.

She had been present at so many of the cataclysmic events of Equestrian history, either as an instigator or a simple witness, and not a single one of them shaped the world as much as the little things in life. An infant alicorn with a smile as brilliant as the sun looking up at her from the side of an old bitter unicorn whose heart had been freed by the magic of love. An ancient dragon, aged and wise far beyond measure, who had seen the birth of the race of ponies and so many of Celestia’s own ancient span of years until he crawled into a well-treasured cave to sleep away however many centuries of life he had remaining. A young filly’s face as she discovered her cutie mark in Celestia’s School for Exceptional Unicorns. A Quilinese dragon defying his father’s wish that he rule the land as a successor, but instead bending his fate to become master of a distant monastery where thousands had learned the magic of harmony at his gentle tutelage. The small notes she wrote every year to countless young ponies and the small ones of other races across Equestria, calming their fears and correcting their foalish misconceptions.

There had been a look of understanding on the faces of every single guard at the landing pad that had almost made an audible ‘click’ to her ears when Thermal had turned down her well-earned day off in order to return to work. Every one of them had been in a similar (although male) situation, fighting off a sniffle or a sprain that could have justifiably been used to warrant a day between the sheets instead of at work, and the young pink pegasus mare had done just what they did in that situation. She had ‘sucked it up’ in order to guard the princesses, and not with some attitude about sucking up like the Royals did every day, but putting her own cute and highly energetic interests behind that of taking her place in service to the Princesses.

It gave her a nice warm feeling inside as she thought of the dedicated young mares who would begin their training in the Academy in a few short months, taking their own places next to the loyal stallions who had guarded her for centuries and being treated as equals instead of lessers. From such small steps did mighty mountains grow. It had taken forever to get Luna’s Nocturne accepted into the Royal Guard, a massive battle of wills that had been fought a single step at a time until the sight of a bat-winged and golden-eyed guard around the castle shadows had been not only expected, but anticipated by any pony who was frightened by the night.

The longest of journeys could only be traveled one step at a time, and there was one last step she had been wanting to take for a long time, but no longer. Once she reached a quiet section of corridor with nopony in the immediate vicinity, she stopped and turned to her silent guardian with a smile.

“Nice work, Sergeant Capricorn,” she said with an added nod.

“I’m only a corporal, Your Highness,” he replied with a baffled expression.

“Not any more,” said Celestia as she turned to begin walking again. The journey at times seemed to have no beginning or end, just steps, and although this particular step had worked far better than she had hoped, there were still many, many steps left to take in the future.