When Sergeant Willard Radrim's delivery mission is attacked by the PER, he is converted into a pony. Follow Willard and others as they each struggle with events not fully in their control and ask themselves: What is a person without choice?
It has been twelve years since Equestria began its inter-dimensional collision with earth. Two years later, a way for the people of earth to survive the cataclysmic event was presented, conversion into ponies. With any great challenge and need to adapt, groups have arisen for and against conversion. While the world is in a tumult over what to do, some choose to do all they can to save the legacy and collective culture of mankind.
When Sergeant Willard Radrim's delivery mission is attacked by the PER, he is converted to a pony. Follow Willard and others as they go through the conversion bureau and beyond as they each struggle with events not fully in their control and ask themselves: "What is a human without choice?"
Times are changing.
A Conversion Bureau fiction set in Guardian_Gryphon's "Option Gamma" Universe. Written with permission and assistance of said author.
“We don't get to choose what is true. We only get to choose what we do about it.”
― Kami Garcia, Beautiful Darkness
“Everyone has choices to make; no one has the right to take those choices away from us. Not even out of love.”
― Cassandra Clare
Earth Calendar: 2114 Equestrian Calendar: 12 AC
Sergeant Willard Radrim looked out the passenger window of the freight truck he was riding. Beyond the thin plexiglass barrier the Sergeant could view the cars on the street eagerly passing the truck and its contents. He looked up at the sky to see a mass of grey-teal that blocked out most natural sunlight.
"Take a left here on ninety-sixth street, then we have a straight shot to the harbor. That way we'll have an hour to spare for security checks and patrols," Willard said to the driver, Andrew Wight, Private First Class.
"Yes Sarge." Andrew complied, manoeuvring the massive truck down another street.
Willard returned his gaze to the street running by, people went busily along with their lives. Interspersed among them however, were inhabitants that had been around for the last twelve years, ponies. They had appeared when Equestria manifested itself in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. For reasons that required two dozen people, each with a degree, Equestria and Earth were on an extended collision course of universal proportions, playing across decades.
"Sergeant, permission to speak freely?" Andrew asked with professionalism.
"What's the manifest say about what we're delivering?"
Willard pulled out his DATab, a personal computer to end all others; document readouts, live feed maps and video, downloading, everything one could want could be done with the small device. Opening the relevant files, Willard read out some of the titles that they were hauling.
"Kafka, Franz ‘Reports to an Academy’; Hitler, Adolf ‘Mein Kampf’..." Browsing some more Willard concluded, "Looks like it's twentieth century German writings."
"Germany, Germany, that country caused quite a kerfuffle back then didn't they?" Private Wight asked.
"A kerfuffle might be putting it lightly in some historian's views, but yes," Willard replied. "Chances are there are a few hundred pieces that will be shipped off to Canterlot, with the rest going to the main archives. Apparently Celestia's concerned that some of the writing would inspire some less than desirable events. Wouldn't surprise me if this Mr. Hitler's book ends up in Canterlot."
The truck then pulled up to a security gate by the harbor. The customs officer walked to the passenger window and Willard opened it.
"Shipping manifest," The pale-skinned, white-bearded man demanded. Willard obliged, passing a separate DATab with clearance codes and cargo information. A quick once over elicited a raised eyebrow from the man before he waved his hand. "Go on in, some of the other trucks already arrived."
Private Wight proceeded to drive into a cargo bay beside several other trucks. He shifted the vehicle into park and the two soldiers got out, picking up their RAC-7 firearms from the back resting compartment. The RAC-7 was an automatic railgun, using magnetic pulses to send out shots with enough velocity to pierce most armour with a good shot, and paint a wall with a fine red mist if fired at anything that got in the way without a damn fine set of protection.
"Alright Private, let's go check in with the lieutenant. Then we can do our patrol until the ship arrives," Willard stated, entering the warehouse with a knock to the door and his rifle slung across his shoulder.
Entering the building, the two soldiers looked around, the ceiling reached high above them, and massive crates were stacked all around, ready to be transferred to the S.S. Bordeaux of the EarthGov military when the ship arrived. Standing between two walls of boxes, Lieutenant Karan, the highest ranked officer of the operation, stood with five other soldiers.
Turning around, Karan spoke up. "Willard, it's about time, any idea where the last two trucks are?" His voice was gruff, much like his face. The lieutenant had a well defined chin, along with cheekbones that looked as though they were corded with muscle from the near perpetual scrutinizing squint that Karan had when on a mission.
Snapping off a salute Willard replied. "No sir, Bravo units six and nine didn't contact us during the trip over."
"Well, no news is good news in our line of work." Karan turned to two soldiers. "Jameson, Vickers, go with Sergeant Willard and keep an eye out for the other trucks." He looked around the warehouse before giving a dissatisfied growl. "And somebody find that damned forklift operator! He needs to empty these trucks and fill the shipping containers in time for the SS Bordeaux's crew to carry all of it on board."
Jameson and Vickers fell in line behind Sergeant Willard and Private Wight as they exited the building. Vickers had a regular build, with black hair and eyes that were set deep inside his head, giving them a sunken appearance that coupled with his fairly pale skin, gave him the appearance of the Jolly Roger. His constant joking and smugness only added to the effect.
"So, we're all ready to defend against a bunch of book burners?" Vickers asked.
"You really think anybody's going to attack this? I mean, isn't it a good thing to spread knowledge and culture?" Jameson questioned openly to the entire squad.
Willard cast an eye to Wight, who took the cue to inform the soldier of reality.
"If you paid attention in school," Wight said, "you'd probably have noticed that sometimes people haven't liked to share. Even if nobody cared about books though, the SS Bordeaux is going to be carrying newfoals, and you know who loves to show up then."
"Human Liberation Front," Jameson nearly growled. "Honestly, I don't get what their problem is, if people want to go to the Conversion Bureaus and become ponies, that's their business. No need to try killing them over it."
"Thankfully the HLF is a case of a noisy minority," Willard interjected. Glancing around, he added , "Alright, five meter spread, don't want us all mowed down if we are ambushed."
The soldiers spread out and continued their patrol.
"Speaking of noisy minorities," Wight said, "you guys heard about how the PER attacked the Manhattan bureau a few days ago? I hear they've got rifles that can convert people now."
Vickers shuddered. "HLF, PER, they're both fucked up, but what I'm thinkin' Jameson meant when he was talking about our protecting these books was that he was concerned about efficient allocation of resources."
"Oh boy, here comes a lesson on griping," Wight chuckled.
Casting a glance all around as each soldier aimed their rifles at various corners, they continued among the shipping containers.
"Take me for instance," Vickers said. "Put me with a good rail-snipe, and a one mile line of sight with whichever sick bastard runs the HLF or the PER. Bang, take your potion or not boys, ain't nobody gonna want to take that mantle."
"The HLF and PER are run by ideas, concepts, judgments," Willard spoke out. "Some people find those things worth dying for. I for one am happy to oblige them on that count... Alright, we're at our section."
The group focused on scanning their surroundings for anything amiss. Red, blue, yellow and green shipping containers were stacked around, some carried goods being brought in to the city. Others were filled with goods flowing out. Most of the latter were shipping containers that had already been filled with crates from the trucks.
"Keep an eye out for that forklift operator, never know where those civilian volunteers wander off to." Willard rounded a corner. The group saw a forklift half-way inside of a blue shipping container, driver absent and engine still running. "Vickers, Wight, check it out; Jameson, help me cover them," Willard instructed.
Taking position, Willard looked down his rifle sights, taking in and surveying the surrounding area. All around, containers were double stacked and obstructed the view of the outside world. I don't like this, Willard thought.
Vickers reached the fork-lift with Wight scanning the surroundings with his RAC-7 at the ready.
"No operator!" Vickers called out. A creak sounded from inside the container. "And the books are still here," Vickers concluded, walking back out of the container. "Should I turn off the ignition? Maybe the operator just had to go to the can and forgot to turn it off." Willard offered a thumbs up.
Vickers turned the key and looked at the others. "Well, that was anticlimactic."
A static tone came in through the group's radios then, Lieutenant Karan speaking on the other end. "Any sign of the... hang on, I see him. You! Civvy! Time to get back to packing crates, we have a schedule to... what are you?— Reborn in the light!" With that the radio cut off and Willard cocked his rifle. His fellow soldiers didn't even need to be told what was going on, the final voice had chanted the PER's slogan. They were under attack.
Hugging the right side of the main building, Willard called out orders as shots began to ring out from inside. "Wight, Jameson, up the stairs to the upper floor, Vickers, you and I will breach the lower floor." The soldiers positioned themselves and Willard yelled, "Alright!" kicking open the door and leveling his rifle.
Inside the building, a purple mist was coalescing on the ground a hundred feet away. An unconscious, brown-and-white-painted unicorn was laying among the settled goop. At the entrance several feet behind the converted PER operative a dozen troopers in white, unmarked armour had taken cover and had Lieutenant Karan and the others pinned with occasional shots from their rifles. Karan himself was another hundred feet away from Willard on the opposite end of the building. A catwalk over Willard's head rattled as Wight and Jameson entered the building.
Willard radioed Wight, "Provide covering fire from the second level."
Willard sneaked behind a crate and popped out briefly, catching a PER trooper in his sights, he let out a burst from his RAC, and the enemy soldier slumped to the ground before his friends started firing at Willard.
Vickers poked his head out of cover and ducked back in when a blast of purple blast of light flew by his head, missing by a few inches. The soldier that had made the shot had his mind opened in the most literal sense when Wight unloaded a well placed shot into the PER's brain. The remaining PER troops dug in and Lieutenant Karan and the others moved forward, firing on the move to keep the enemy pinned.
"No grenades, we can’t risk killing the newfoal, or destroying our shipment," Karan called out over the radio.
Willard and Vickers began making their way to the left flank, popping from cover and taking shots at exposed troopers as their position became open to crossfire. A PER trooper stood up, a potion grenade in his fist. Before Willard could shoot the PER, the enemy threw the grenade at the upper balcony where Wight and Jameson were perched.
"NO!" the sergeant called out as the potion grenade detonated a second after Jameson had jumped over the nearby rail, landing with a crack as his feet made contact with the floor below. "Vickers, head back and help Jameson, I'll hold this position and cover you."
As Vickers turned around, a PER trooper was slamming his fist into his jammed rifle. Soon the soldier screamed as the arm he lifted to punch the uncooperative gun was ripped off by a passing RAC-7 round. Willard provided covering fire and Karan and the others were now where Willard and Vickers had entered the building. Vickers reached Jameson and dragged him to cover, neither had been hit by enemy fire.
Willard allowed himself a small smile as he leaned out to see the engagement progress. Karan was now half-way to the new foal, and there were five PER troopers left. He saw another trooper begin fiddling with his own malfunctioning weapon; a burst of potion shot out of the side into the soldiers helmet visor, blinding him.
Just then, Willard felt a sharp piercing sensation in his left shoulder. Leaning back behind cover the sergeant grasped at the area; the armour was intact, but when he lifted his hand out he could feel an anesthetic working through his body.
"Motherfucker," Willard muttered as he dropped his rifle, it would be the last thing his hands ever held. The sounds of the battle grew dim, and soon Willard was unconscious.
Willard felt four points of pressure beneath him. Slowly, a small tunnel of vision was elucidated and Willard could make out his surroundings. The vivid colours of the town around him were unlike anything he had seen outside of a holographic video, and even then the comparison was greatly one sided. In an alternating pattern the pressure points lifted and lowered and the sergeant knew them to be his legs. All around him ponies went on their daily lives, many taking the time to greet him.
Their mouths moved, but no sound came forth. Willard shook his head and turned to see a pony before him, she had a smile on her face and was mouthing something repeatedly. A high pitched whine sounded and then lowered to a deep grumble as the sound became more intelligible.
"Uncle... uncle..."
Willard opened his eyes to a fluorescent light and white walls, cold metal pressed at his side. Where his body made contact with the table he could feel a slightly coarse layer beneath him.
"Hey! you're finally awake!"
Willard's senses cleared and he saw who was speaking to him.
"Monica?" Willard asked, looking at his red-haired niece smiling down on him.
"In the flesh, how are you? Did you dream?" she asked.
"Oh yeah, mostly about tearing off the head of that PER bugger who... woah," Willard started to retort, but stopped when the thoughts running through his head elicited no giddiness.
"Something wrong?" Monica asked.
"Yeah, it’s just, now I know why ponies are less prone to violence. It felt like I was trying to eat something when full," Willard replied.
Someone coughed outside of Willard's vision and her looked over. A pink earth pony mare with a purple mane stood there. "I'm glad to see you've taken the conversion so well, most PER victims go into denial immediately, and you just reached the conclusion yourself.”
"Chalk it up to a good memory... wait! Andrew Wight, what happened to him? A potion grenade went off near him! The shipment! Was there any damage?"
The mare and Monica looked towards Willard, clearly worried. Finally, Monica spoke up, "Bad news or good news first?"
"Good news," Willard responded.
"The shipment is okay," Monica started. Willard felt his new ears flick downward, if the good news was that the cargo was in good condition, then Wight was the bad news. "A few boxes got shot up, but replacing them will be easy enough; we could have lost a lot more." Monica paused, inclining her head to the nurse.
"Your friend, Mr. Wight," The nurse pony began.
"Private First Class," Willard corrected.
"PFC Wight, well you see..." The mare paused and took a deep breath. "Near as we can tell he had an allergic reaction to one of the potion's concentrating agents, he... asphyxiated before the conversion process could heal the damage."
Willard lowered his head and closed his eyes. "God damn it." He opened his eyes and looked at himself, he had come out of the process a deep navy blue. Willard turned his head and looked at his back; no feathered wings had sprouted. Willard lifted a hand... hoof. "Going to have to get used to that," he muttered. He lifted a hoof to his forehead but before he could reach it the mare spoke up again, having read his intentions.
"You're a perfectly healthy earth pony, no complications, save prying off your combat armour." The mare inclined her head to a pile by the table, various plating and energy deflection matrices lying in a heap.
A curl of black and grey hair fell in front of Willard's eye, pushing it out of the way with his hoof, Willard said, "Thanks for that Miss..."
"Ana Thetic," the nurse provided, giving a coy smile and smiling. "Yes, I'm a convert, figured a good pun would make for a good name in light of Equestrian naming practices."
"Well Ms. Thetic, thank you," Willard replied. The dark blue stallion turned to his niece, who was smiling broadly. "What?"
"It's just that I always would have expected you to come out a unicorn," Monica replied.
"Me too, at least I came out my favorite color," Willard chuckled.
Walking to a button on a wall, Ana Thetic pressed it and inclined her head. "Well, its time to see if you can get along on four legs."
The table Willard was situated on lowered to the ground. Willard shifted all four of his legs. At first they waved about uselessly as he familiarized himself with the joints. His hind legs felt particularly strange, the knee being much closer to his hip. He was able to eventually get his four legs underneath his body. With a few more adjustments, his hooves were all pressed against the steel table. He could feel the muted cold through the keratin caps on the end of each limb. He tried wiggling his toes like he would after a medical exam, but there was no joint to move save the one that joined his single massive 'toe' to the rest of his leg.
Willard pressed against the ground with his front hooves, raising himself to a sitting position. He stood up, wobbling for a few seconds, but he didn't fall. Willard lifted one leg off the table and then pressed it to the floor. Lifting his other legs in turn, the newfoal was standing on the bare linoleum floor. The nurse spoke up again. "Don't think too hard about it, just let the instincts guide your legs, but don't try galloping for at least a few more hours."
Nodding his head, Willard made his way to the door and turned back to his niece. "I feel like I've gone a whole damn week without food, care to help me find the cafeteria?"
Monica chuckled, following Willard down the hallway. Fluorescent lights lit it up, and doors on either side punctuated the hall. Other ponies and Conversion Bureau security, ConSec, were making their way around the building.
"The nurse said you would be hungry when you woke up, happens every time. Hang on, let's take an elevator to the cafeteria." Monica pressed a button, and an elevator to their left immediately opened.
The two stepped in and Willard spoke, "Thanks for being there when I came out, it helped. Still torn up about Wight though." Willard cast his look downward to his fore hooves, shifting the new appendages experimentally.
"I had the day off from the archives today, what with the shipment and all. When I got the call that you got hit by PER and were headed for the Manhattan Bureau, I didn't even have to hesitate," Monica stated.
The elevator door opened and the two stepped out into a lounge, seats to accommodate humans and ponies were set around dozens of tables. On the opposite side, a cafeteria was set up to serve synthetic food and some Equestrian imports: fruits, coffee, even bread and oats.
"But all the same," said Monica, "this situation does mean we have to... move up our plans."
"You're right. Now that I've gone pony, I'm no longer military. I could sign up with the Bureau, but that would take weeks, and even then..." Willard drifted off.
"There wouldn't be enough money for me to continue volunteering for my work," Monica said.
The two of them stepped up to the cafeteria serving hub and Monica spoke to the grey pony behind the counter. "Just coffee please." She turned her head to Willard. "I have to make a call, are you alright for now?"
"No problem, I'll be fine once I get in a full meal, I feel like the horse of famine." Willard chuckled as he began asking for a bit of everything, except the synthetic meat dishes, from the pony behind the counter.
Willard grabbed the tray in his mouth and winced a bit as the cold metal touched his molars. Despite the full load Willard felt absolutely no strain on his neck muscles as he kept the tray level. "Must be something to the so-called 'earth pony strength'," he muttered as he placed the tray on a table. Placing his forelegs on the cushioned bench beside the table, Willard lifted himself up, the cushion providing grip for his hooves.
Willard stared down at the plate in front of him. Oats, fruits, a loaf of bread, a bowl of juice, and a respectable pile of 'hay fries' were on his plate. "So... do I just lower my..." Shaking his head, Willard spat out, "Bah, the people who care don't matter, and the people who matter don't care." With that the blue stallion lowered his head and took a bite out of an apple.
The sweet juices cascaded across his tongue as he used his lips to work the fruit into position for another bite. "Damn that's fine grub, not that I want a literal one." Willard finished the apple and took a sip of his juice before starting on the bread, not a single bitter after-taste of synthetic ingredients befouling the delicacy. Monica stepped up to the table and took a seat, nursing the coffee in her hands.
"How'd it go?" Willard asked.
"It went well, Sarah is still trying to catalogue what was lost in the attack, and she's sorry about what happened to you," Monica started.
Willard interjected, "Huh, hope she wasn't talking like I was dead. A lot of people act that way when someone get's converted; old memories of how they were not jiving with the new form."
"Not at all, and she's glad to hear that I'm going to be volunteering for conversion. Turns out she got a message from Equestria, they could really use more people, well... ponies, working on the other side," Monica replied.
"Well, sounds like they're going to get the best gal for the job," Willard spoke through a final mouthful of bread, swallowing the chewed bolus and then clearing his throat as Monica chuckled.
"Hey, give yourself some credit, you really instilled a love of things academic in me."
"I didn't do anything your parent's hadn't started, bless their souls." Willard grew silent, thinking to his niece’s parents, his brother. He remembered receiving the call from San Diego after the HLF bombing. "Hrm," Willard grunted as memories surfaced.
"God I miss them so much," Monica said, supporting her head with an arm braced against the table. "But at least they'd be happy to know I'm safe. They would always take the time to read bedtime stories to me, together." Monica finished her coffee, and Willard was left with just his hay fries on the tray. "Still warming up to the idea?" Monica raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and Willard's ear twitched.
"Wouldn't you? I mean I don't even have an idea from the synth-food what this is going to taste like. Still, I can't very well go for seconds when I still have stuff on my plate." Willard grasped a length of straw with his lips and noted the feeling of salt on them. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." With that Willard tilted his head back and began masticating the dish. "Hot dang is this good, lots of salt." Willard finished the dish with gusto and leaped to the ground, not even tripping over his own limbs. "Come on, let's get me set up for acclimatization classes, and you signed up for conversion, maybe we'll luck out and get the same—"
Willard's ears perked up as his ears caught a chirping from the cafeteria entrance. A man with an sonar cane and cataracts in his eyes walked through the cafeteria to the food-serving area with ease.
The two set off down the hallway when Monica spoke, "Man looks like he's had those eyes for a while, must have just decided to get converted."
"Hope he gets what he wants out of it all." Willard looked out of a window with a view of the skyline, skyscrapers reaching out to the infirm teal sky above. "Can't say the sights will warrant celebration though. Hopefully Equestria is as colorful as they say."
The two made their way to the administrative desk, and Willard stepped up to it. A yellow pegasus stallion was at the desk.
"Radrim, Willard you probably got a document when I got here," the blue newfoal said.
"Ah yes," the pegasus replied good-naturedly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Radrim. your classes will be starting tomorrow." The yellow stallion passed a sheet of paper to Willard, and adopted a caring tone. "Is everything alright? Do you need someone to talk to? Your... unconventional conversion experience leaves most ponies rather troubled. The name's Bright Days by the way."
Willard smiled. "I'm quite fine thank you, but if you could help my niece, she'd like to sign up for conversion."
"Very well, Ms.... Radrim I would presume?" Bright days asked, before pulling out a form and pen as Monica nodded. "If you would be so kind as to fill out this form, I can arrange for adjacent rooms and simultaneous classes with your uncle."
"Thank you." Monica smiled, taking the paper and pen and began filling the relevant information for the next few minutes.
"756-4339-017... done." Monica slid the paper back to Bright Days.
The pegasus nodded. "Thank you, now if you'll give me a moment I can get your room and schedule." He used his wings and a pen gripped in his mouth to work the keyboard, and then printed out a sheet. "There, same schedule as Mr. Radrim and a room on the same floor, 7-628 and 7-622 respectively."
Monica and Willard made their way back to the elevators, went up to the seventh floor of the conversion bureau, and found their rooms.
Willard yawned. "Muaaah! I feel like a nap."
"Go right ahead," Monica said, "After today, you deserve the rest, I'll just be waiting for my boss, Sarah, to give me some more details about our trip to Equestria." Monica walked down the hall to her room.
Willard looked at the door, beside it was a panel set at the height of Willard's head, around where his waist would have been had he still been human. Willard lifted a hoof and pressed the panel, opening the door to a room with several bunks.
Stepping inside, Willard saw a painted unicorn stallion, alternating colors of brown and white. "No... They wouldn't be stupid enough to put me into the sa—!"
The painted stallion looked up and smiled. "Greetings fellow convert, and welcome to Celestia's embrace in the light!"
"My mistake, they were that stupid," Willard concluded, stepping back out into the hallway before the PER newfoal could spout off any more propaganda. "Why the hell would they do that? Citizen of Equestria or not, putting me in the same room as him is just plain inconsiderate," the navy earth pony grumbled, heading for Monica's room. "Wait... Why am I only calling it inconsiderate? Dang it, gregarious first nature or not, I've gotta talk to Bright Days about getting me a different room. He must be a politician who went and got converted." Willard turned and headed back down to the lobby.
A few minutes later of walking and fumbling with the elevator controls, Willard found himself in front of the yellow pegasus secretary again.
"Hello Mr. Willard, did you want to have that chat?" Bright Days chirped.
Willard scowled at the pony. "No, I came here to get a room that doesn't involve me being within twenty feet of the bastard—" Bright Days' ears flinched back at the invective. "—who attacked my squad, even if he only succeeded in converting himself, damned idiot."
"My apologies," Bright Days began. "I thought that you might be able to talk some sense into him. He was spouting off codswallop about how evil humans are, and how the princesses support his cause and all that. I figured if he met somepony who was negatively affected by his actions..." Bright days stared down at his desk with a forlorn expression of regret.
"And you really think that's a good idea?" Willard asked incredulously.
"You'd be surprised, he's still going to be punished when he's extradited to Canterlot, but I've seen PER converts regret what they did once they're surrounded by something other than their constant propaganda," the yellow pegasus answered, smiling nervously.
"Well." Willard turned around. "I guess my evening of contentment will have to wait; I've a devil to prod me.”
Monica lay in her bed, going through her DATab and looking over her family history. Her uncle, parents, grandparents, great-grandparents and so on. She had spent years gathering the relevant information and soon it would be one of the few things she brought with her to Equestria. Opening the drawer beside her she took out the provided paper and quill.
The only way to get information across the barrier that separated Equestria from Earth was the use of materials from Equestria. Anything from Earth that crossed the barrier was broken into its base elements, and reconstituted to exist in Equestria's vastly different set of quantum rules. A DATab, with its silicon, metal, and plastic, would be reduced to a lump of carbon, iron, and a few other materials. A human trying to cross the barrier would be reduced to a cloud of carbon dust. As such, any written information from earth had to be transferred to Equestrian ink and paper in order to cross the barrier.
Other people going through their lessons for conversion lounged around the room; some sat on beds, others on chairs or the floors with knees tucked to their chests or cross-legged. Most were browsing on their DATabs, and a few others were speculating over whether they would come out of conversion as a pegasus, earth pony, or unicorn.
Monica printed out her name and those of her progenitors for a few minutes when the door opened.
"Sarah!" Monica exclaimed, setting down the quill and paper and greeting her boss and friend. "I thought you were just going to call?"
"And miss out on seeing you one last time like this? Not a chance," Sarah replied, moving some stray black hairs off of her pale face. "I wish this would have happened under better circumstances, but I really am glad to have someone I know personally working on the other side. It's just... there's so much stuff we've got to preserve!"
Monica placed an arm around Sarah. "We're making decent progress, we've got plenty of stories and histories across."
"But its not enough," Sarah said, removing Monica's arm. "Transcribing data onto paper is damn slow." The other people in the room glanced over at the two women. "Maybe we should step outside."
Stepping into the hallway, Sarah continued, "We've only got a few more years before the barrier makes landfall, and then we're really going to have the fire under our asses. Even with the antiquated printers we developed to use Equestrian paper and ink? That only goes so far. I wish the Human Archives Project would hurry up and figure out a way to develop computers that work in Equestria. Without those we'll never get everything down in time," Sarah sighed. Her shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be unloading on you like this. I just want to save every little piece, and I have to realize that some omissions may end up occurring. I really shouldn't be going over my worries after what happened to your uncle."
"Hey, my uncle is fine. He's more adaptable than you give him credit for," Monica said, patting Sarah on the back.
"Really? I just can't imagine having my choice taken away from me like that." Sarah cast a worried glance at Monica.
"We never really planned to stay here, this just pushed up the date a little. Trust me when I say that he's—"
"AND YOU CAN GO AND SHOVE YOUR ZEALOTRY UP HER ROYAL HIGHNESS' ASS!" yelled out a familiar voice from down the hall. A door opened and Willard made his way towards Monica. "Sideways turned, addled in the head thunder-humper!” Willard muttered as he looked up to see his niece and Sarah. "Oh, uh, how much of that did you hear?"
"Celestia's ass." Monica giggled before looking back down the hall. "Who got you so riled up? And how?"
"PER spook who attacked our shipment and gooped out with a potion grenade," Willard replied.
‘Gooped out’ was the term for PER members who converted before capture and thus avoided the more severe punishments for humans.
"What!?" both of the women questioned before Sarah articulated further.
"Why the hell would they put you in the same room as one of the bastards who did this to you?"
"They figured I could talk some sense into the idiot." Willard sighed. "But I forgot that you're not supposed to argue with one, they drag you down to their level and beat you with experience. He needs a serious attitude adjustment."
"So they have a former military man try and play corrective psychiatrist?" Monica interjected.
"I'm sure some diplomatic inspiration will hit me eventually... but I'd prefer it if it hit him." Willard winced. "I just need to figure out how to get at the bottom of that man... stallion... idiot, and figure out what the chip on his shoulder is." Willard looked up. "But first, how are you two doing?"
"We were just discussing how the archive project is going along," Monica replied. "Sarah is a little stressed that progress on developing a thaumic computer is taking so long."
Sarah turned to Monica and nodded curtly. "Yes, but that's a long term concern. I came here to tell you that the documents that were damaged will be replaced and ready for shipping to Equestria in about two weeks. That will give you plenty of time to undergo conversion and make any final preparations before you depart." Sarah lifted her DATab and began punching in a few codes before speaking again. "These are the documents and where they'll be going, some are bound for Canterlot, a few others are being kept in some peripheral archives devoted to certain topics. Most, however, are going to an archive under construction a small distance from Canterlot. Ponyville, it's called, sounds quaint doesn't it?"
"Sounds better than being tucked into a capital, the EarthGov centers are nice and all, but they can be just as crowded as Manhattan," Willard offered.
Willard turned back around and walked off to his room. "Going to try another round with that painted, prospective pin cushion. If nothing else, I can irritate the hell out of him by falling asleep during his oration."
When Willard's door closed, Monica turned to Sarah. "You know I worry about him sometimes; he hasn't even mentioned what he's going to do when he gets to Equestria. I mean—I'm obviously going to be working at the archives, and he's supported me all the way, but sometimes I feel like..."
"He isn't caring for himself?" Sarah offered. Monica nodded. Sarah put her arm around Monica's shoulders. "Both of you are the only family each of you have, you're like a daughter to him. And you know how fathers are." Sarah at this point snickered. "They see their girl's as always five years old with pig tails and skinned knees."
Monica smiled at Sarah, but her eyes denoted no happiness. "Even fathers have to learn to let go some time."
Willard stepped back into his room. When the door shut, he was met with a voice that was rapidly becoming grating against his ears.
"Ahhh, the prodigal son has returned, are you ready to accept the truth of Celestia's saving grace into your heart?"
"No, in fact, if Celestia and a hobo walked in here right now, I'd bow to the hobo first. Now leave me alone, I got shot and converted today, and I want to sleep it off," Willard deadpanned.
"One cannot sleep off salvation," the painted unicorn replied.
Did he seriously misinterpret what I said just so he could keep talking? Willard laid on his side and spoke without moving. "What's your name? Not that I'm likely to stop calling you PER spook anytime soon." Maybe if he talks long enough I can convince this idiot to at least not talk about Celestia like she's the center of both universes.
"I am called..." The unicorn stalled, thinking.
"Haven't gone and decided on a pony name yet? I thought you PER fellows went and chose a name for when you all goop out," Willard prodded. If the stallion hasn't gone that far maybe he's salvageable.
"Blank Slate," the unicorn continued. "I am a newfoal, and prepared to do what I must for my ruler Celestia, whatever she deems me worthy for."
"Great, let me know what Celestia thinks of your actions and name once you have your trial in Equestria," Willard responded.
"Our lady Princess Celestia denies publicly support for the PER, but I know in my heart she only does so to placate brutes such as yourself," Blank Slate responded.
Willard yawned, half out of genuine tiredness and half out of a desire to piss off Blank Slate. "You’re lucky I'm hard to bring to violence, or else I'd show you what a brute really is." I can still mock to my heart's content though.
Blank Slate muttered various counter arguments and insults against the whole of humanity as Willard drifted off to sleep.
Willard and Monica were in a lecture hall, about to receive their first lesson on life in Equestria: law and governance. Among them were several other humans, Willard being the only pony. Under normal circumstances prospective converts all went through the first few classes as humans, if they changed their minds, or decided they wanted to delay the time for conversion, they could do so.
When Willard had entered he drew in a few stares, being a pony at what was the first set of lessons was not something that was largely anticipated. Willard had taken his impromptu conversion well and so had been allowed into the regular classes with Monica and an office number for one of the bureau psychiatrists. Blank Slate was still spouting off drivel about the PER saving the universe from humanity's taint. The PER sympathizer was thus being given his education in a separate setting, away from Willard, Monica and all others of rational disposition.
Willard was still faced with seeing the stallion whenever he went to his room, but he had found a workaround for dealing with the painted unicorn in a nonviolent manner. It involved frequent, and loud, laughter, directed typically at a distance of one foot or less from Blank Slate's face.
A red unicorn mare with a fluorescent teal mane and a pencil for a Cutie Mark walked through the door. Behind her a tall and heavily built latino man in a suit and full beard walked to the front of the room. The man turned to the mare and asked, "You want to open, or shall I?"
"I think it would be best if you started," The mare replied.
The man faced the class, and spoke loudly, his voice carrying so that all could hear. "Good morning everybody, I'm Oscar Pascez, and this is my associate and fellow instructor, Rough Sketch." The mare's name elicited a snicker from one of the humans and Oscar continued. "Today we'll teach you about Equestrian law and government, and go over basic procedures and how the country is run on a day to day basis." Oscar nodded to Sketch and the mare lifted a pointer with her magic as a projected image cast itself on the wall behind her.
"As most of you likely know," the mare began, "Equestria is led by the two alicorn princesses, Celestia and her sister Luna, together, Celestia raises and lowers the sun, and Luna raises and lowers the moon." With this a hand shot up from the front row, a young man, looking to be at just the age of consent for conversion, was the possessor. Rough Sketch inclined her head to the man. "Yes?"
"How does that work? Raising and lowering the sun and moon I mean, gravity means that Equestria should be orbiting the sun, that means the world would be moving, not the sun."
"That question is not precisely pertinent to today's lecture, but so far as pony magicians and Earth scientists have been able to determine, certain laws of physics that apply on earth, and in this entire universe, don't apply or operate in the same manner as on Equestria. In time we hope to be able to understand these mysteries."
The young man up front mumbled, "Preferred it when quantum mechanics explained everything."
"As I was saying,” the red mare said. “Our leaders reside in and rule Equestria from Canterlot, the capital, located roughly in the geographic center of both the country and the world. From there various cabinet ministers, ponies dedicated to particular roles in the government, are assigned by the Royal Sisters. By tradition however many of these ministers are elected by ponies. Are there any questions?"
A hand rose up from a back corner of the room, a middle aged woman with wan skin stood up to ask, "You keep referring to your leaders as princesses, but if they’re the leaders, shouldn't they be Queens?"
With this Oscar took a step forward. "That's a good question, the Princesses are such because they are the rulers of Equestria, but they are not married, thus, no queenship. Furthermore, they feel no need to refer to themselves as queens"
A man from the middle of the room piped up, "So... they're single?"
"And thousands of years old, capable of altering the position of the Equestrian sun, and about twice the size of any other pony," Oscar deadpanned before continuing with the lecture. "The sisters and their ministers, elected or otherwise, have the authority to create laws in an assembly. The assembly doesn't often meet as a whole. Most often particular members are left to their own devices with oversight from the Royal sisters."
Another hand arose, again from the young man in front. "Isn't that kind of open to abuse?"
"Theoretically yes, but ponies aren't known for a malicious nature, most of the time if a problem arises it’s because a minister didn't know what to do, in which case a solution may be chosen by the assembly, or a select council, or simply the Princesses themselves," Oscar replied.
The lecture continued on for an hour and Willard absorbed every ounce of information he could. Near as he could tell from history books Monica had suggested to him in the past, Equestrian government operated like a constitutional monarchy. At the end of the lecture a quiz was displayed on the computer monitors in front of them. Willard had taken the longest to complete the quiz, having difficulty pressing the appropriate holographic buttons with a stylus fixed between his teeth. When the results were ported back Willard smiled at his results, 93%.
"Heh, good thing conversion let me keep my good memory."
Monica leaned over and saw the percentage and smiled. "Tie."
"Told you you got your memory from your father's side. Which question did you get wrong?"
"The one on how judges are appointed in Equestria, I put down that they were elected, turns out, appointed from a list of recommendations presented by ministers. What about you?"
"What rights prisoners have in Equestria, it was a big list. Makes me think our way of dealing with PER is better," Willard answered.
"Very well done everyone," Rough Sketch called out. The absence of a ponyism was a nice detail that showed the mare had worked at the bureau for quite some time.
Willard and Monica returned to the hall their rooms were located near but noticed that several humans and new-foals had gathered around a monitor in the lounge staring wide eyed at the news broadcast.
"What's going on here? Something happen?" Willard asked.
One of the new-foals, a pegasus with a yellow coat and blue mane, answered, "Dude, watch the news feed."
With that Willard obliged as a news anchor appeared on the hologram and began speaking. "Thank you Jane, for those just tuning in Princess Celestia, sovereign co-ruler of Equestria, just introduced a new option in conversion, 'Gryphonization'. The program's first convert, Isaac Wrenn, along with other members of a Gryphon delegation team answered questions and made some statements. Chief among these was the announcement that the Gryphon Kingdoms, a long standing ally of Equestria, have declared war on both the PER and the HLF. Its a brave new world Jane, here's the footage again."
The clip played over, starting with Princess Celestia making an opening speech as the broadcast continued Willard asked the new-foal, "Where is this?"
"Ground floor entrance, security wouldn't let me go see the receptionist there, when I asked why he told me to turn on the news and woah..." The new-foal was entranced.
"Can you believe that?" a man spoke up from a couch. "Those gryphons were as big as Celestia! Not to mention they still have hands, well claws, but still, I gotta try and get into that program!"
"Damnable feathered fiends! How dare they try and steal away humanity from the great Princess Celestia!" Willard turned to face the door, sure enough, Blank Slate was standing there, shuffling his hooves. Most of the humans and new-foals were staring at the unicorn stallion, confused by the outburst.
"Please excuse the fellow," Willard spoke. "He's an idiot and an asshole, but a perfectly harmless one at that."
"How dare those puffed up birds lord themselves over Celestia, they shall know true wrath when she no longer has to entertain such misguided delusions of humanity, ponification is the only way to salvation!" Blank Slate yelled.
Willard sighed, and then smiled, this was the first time Blank had spoken like that to sizeable group of humans. The blue earth pony walked to the door and nodded to Monica. His niece in tow, Willard left Blank to his part and parcel. He'd later find out one of the ponies in the room was an off duty guard who had the ‘Blessing of Luna’ a spell that let certain ponies commit acts of violence more easily when necessity arose. Sadly, that necessity had warranted keeping the PER pony from being resoundingly thrashed by several humans who, even though they were going pony within days, still saw the value of free agency. Still, Willard had a few days of silence for which he was grateful.
The Battle of Carrenton; even in just a few days, it is has brought to the forefront several key issues. Carrenton was a midwest town that was thought abandoned, but it turned out to be a massive haven for the PER. Would you like to know more?
A blue hoof pressed against the holographic prompt, and the archived footage began with the voice continuing.
In a joint mission with several members of the gryphon military, including recent gryphon convert Isaac Wrenn, the EarthGov military struck a crippling blow to the PER, destroying poisons that were believed to be intended for planned gryphonization serums. Several high ranking PER officers were captured unconverted and now stand to face trial, all are expected to receive the death penalty. Would you like to know more?
After five seconds without prompt the next section of the story began.
It was also discovered that the PER has begun the use of Diamond Dog mercenaries. Diamond Dogs are a native inhabitant of the Equestrian universe. Would you liked to know more?
Willard sighed, pressing one button and then another to continue on the general coverage.
Half way through the battle, HLF forces staged in the area entered the fray, there a new threat was discovered as well.
The footage stopped at a freeze frame of a vaguely humanoid figure, covered in wiring and cybernetic augmentations, orange blood seeping out of the metal workings in an indescribable testament to the macabre.
Augmented soldiers, enhanced using banned and restricted technology were among the forces and acted as a severe force multiplier.
Willard shook his head. "Damned sods, they went and obsessed over not ponifying so much they went and augmented themselves out of the human species instead." Turning off the monitor Willard looked out the window briefly.
It had been a few days since the announcement for gryphonization had been made and all the world was in a fervor with applicants starting to come out of the woodwork. Just yesterday Blank Slate had been returned to Willard's room, slightly more reticent, but with a glare that denoted he had gained in bitterness.
"You make a good point," a voice spoke from behind Willard.
Turning, the convert saw that a gryphon was standing bipedally with recently issued ConSec armour and a rifle.
"Been glaring at my backside for long?" Willard asked.
The gryphon had golden feathers with blue and red fringes on the wings and feathered crest. Blinking, the gryphon responded, "Newfoal?"
"What gave me away?" the earth pony responded.
"You talk like you don't care what others think about you," the gryphon stated flatly, "and on the subject of your backside, it is blank."
"Good, introductions are in order I think, Willard Radrim." With that Willard lifted up a hoof.
"Karphal.” The gryphon balled up his fist and pressed it against Willard’s hoof. “Pleasure I'm sure. What's your story?"
"Ex-military, got hit with one of those new potion rifles the PER developed, nasty stuff," Willard answered nonchalantly.
“Guess you must be annoyed that you missed gryphonization by a few weeks. We’re immune to potion, most magic really.” Karphal moved to stand beside Willard and join him in staring out the window.
Willard shook his head. “Not particularly, from what I’ve heard I probably wouldn’t have liked it.”
The gryphon looked at Willard with raised eyebrows. “Really? I heard that the bureau’s have been swamped with requests, what makes you say that?”
“My plan was always to get converted, I just needed to spend some time making sure I had a few things set up in Equestria before going over. I want to be able to have my life of ease now, without having to worry about being shot at.” The blue stallion looked at Karphal. “So, you were saying I had made a good point?”
The golden-fledged gryphon cleared his throat. “Yes, the HLF are so obsessed with keeping their human bodies from conversion they went and melded themselves with technology instead. It’s amusing when you think about it.”
Willard nodded. “There’s only one thing appropriate in the presence of evil men, mock them, point out their untenable position, show that all their way of doing things is going to accomplish is to rip themselves to pieces when reality comes to knock on their door.”
“Hmmm, never thought of it that way, suddenly you ponies’ tendency to laugh seems a little more... relevant,” Karphal stated. The gryphon looked to a VTOL cruising by the window before asking, “Any other thoughts on gryphons?”
“Yeah, when I heard about how fast your species’ metabolism is that was a bit of a turn off.” Willard took a few steps away from the window to examine the news terminal again. “I’d like the assurance that if I ever get stuck on an island I’d last a decent length of time. Granted, if I was stuck on an island with a gryphon, I might have to worry about more than starving to death.”
The gryphon’s ears pinned back against his head. “I’d tear out my own throat before I let myself stoop to that level.” There was not even a pause in his voice.
“Good to know,” Willard said. “What’s it like? Equestria I mean?”
“The world or the country?” Karphal tilted his head slightly.
“Both,” Willard answered.
“Well, compared to earth, my world is a whole is a lot more colorful. Comes with not having an atmosphere that’s been destroyed,” the gryphon snorted before continuing, “sorry, it’s just, nothing here is like home; to focus on any particular difference would be doing an injustice to all others.” Karphal turned to walk out of the observation room. “As for the country? I can’t personally vouch for living in it, but I do know it’s cozied between either ocean, mountain, or the Gryphon Kingdoms, which makes it quite secure.”
The gryphon took a few more steps until he reached the door. “Have to get back to my patrol now, maybe I’ll see you again?”
“Still have a while before I can head for Equestria,” Willard spoke candidly, “most likely.”
Karphal left, leaving the earth pony by himself in the room. Willard stared out to the New York skyline and a flat expression formed on his face. Down on the streets below humans, cars, and ponies bustled in a constant flux and rush. Soon, the navy earth pony shuffled nervously. He left the room to seek out others when he started flicking his ears and darting his eyes about.
Walking down the hall, Willard shouted a few salutations to humans and equines both. The fluorescent lighting lit up all the hallways quite well and the new-foal counted off the office door numbers to find the elevators. A faint shuffling sound and a cry caught his attention briefly as he walked past one room. Shaking his head the blue earth pony continued for another dozen feet before the door slammed open. The loud bang of the steel handle striking the wall caused Willard’s ears to pin back as he turned around. A grey unicorn with a cyan mane was tearing himself from the combined grip of a human and a pony nurse.
“Let go of me! I don’t want this!” he shrieked, bucking the human nurse in the chest and pulling himself free. The unicorn stumbled down the hallway past Willard, trying to break into a gallop.
“Somepony stop him!” the earth pony nurse yelled.
The ex-sergeant turned and began galloping after the grey unicorn, soon gaining on the stallion. That voice. Willard noticed that the grey unicorn was making a beeline for a window, showing no intention of stopping. Powerful muscles coiled in both new-foal’s legs as both ponies launched into the air. Willard had the greater leg strength, and was able to tackle the panting unicorn to the ground.
“NO! Let me end it! It’s gone! It’s over for me! Just end it!” the unicorn yelled, trying unsuccessfully to squirm out from underneath Willard.
“What is your major malfunction kid?” the blue earth pony demanded.
Immediately the unicorn stopped moving and stared at Willard. “Sarge?”
“Rookie? Is that you?” Willard asked. It’s been at least two years, what happened?
The unicorn’s face hardened. “Let me go sir, I don’t want to go on like this.”
“Wait, you got attacked by PER? Come on, that’s nothing to beat yourself over. I’m sure you gave them a good fight.” The earth pony smiled at how small the world seemed.
“NO! I’m not human anymore, I don’t deserve life. They don’t deserve the satisfaction of breaking me. Let me go or I’ll—”
Willard interrupted the unicorn. “Don’t deserve life? What are you going on about?”
Just then the two nurses caught up; Willard recognized the pony as Ana Thetic. She stepped forward and spoke. “Mr. Miles, don’t do this, we understand that you’re under great stress, but...” the pony nurse gulped, “killing yourself isn’t the answer.”
“Shut up! You should go and kill yourself! Abandoning your race just like that! Humanus Pro Vita!” Miles shouted.
Willard pressed down harder on the unicorn. He had just yelled the HLF slogan. The grey unicorn glared at the earth pony on top of him.
“If you don’t let me go I swear to everything I believe in I’ll blast you, don’t think I wont do it!” Miles resumed struggling.
Willard’s jaw went slack. “You... you’re HLF? What happened? How did... this, any of this happen?”
“I got assigned for the raid on Carrenton, I got shot by one of their potion rifles.” The grey unicorn leveled his horn toward Willard’s throat. “My only regret is that I didn’t get to kill those damned traitors. Now, all I can do is kill myself while I have my dignity; I’m not human any more.” Miles winced as he stopped moving. “Now get off, I’ve seen what unicorn magic can do at close range. You may want this, but you shouldn’t; I’ll kill you too.”
“Bullshit,” the navy newfoal said.
“What?” the supine unicorn asked.
“I said ‘bullshit’, all of it, you aren’t going to blast me, and you don’t deserve to die any more than I do,” Willard replied.
“But I’m not human anymore. What have I got left?” Miles’ horn began glowing softly. In the background Willard could hear Nurse Thetic gasp.
“Your mind is still your own,” the blue pony stated, shifting his head away from the horn. “When you were human, you told yourself you would kill yourself rather than be converted?”
“Every day, and I intend to,” the unicorn replied.
“Exactly, you’re still you, you still want to die, but that means you’re still you, hence—”
“What is this bullshit? Paradoxes? You think you can convince me like that?” Miles shouted at Willard.
“No,” Willard replied, “only you can convince yourself. I can only point out the problem in your thinking.”
“Then get off me,” Miles demanded, the glow around his horn beginning to burn Willard’s vision from the brightness.
“No,” the earth pony stated.
“You have no right!” the unicorn shrieked.
“I have every right to make sure a man doesn’t consign himself to an unwarranted death by his own hand, hoof, or any other appendage.” Willard didn’t move at all when the horn was aimed right at his head.
“I... you can’t... I’ll...” The glow began to dissipate as Miles set his head down on the linoleum floor. “Fuck...” Silence reigned for a minute with just the breathing of three ponies and one human. Alright, I need to think about this, but nobody is going to sedate me!”
“Agreed,” Willard said as he stepped off the fellow newfoal.
Miles got up and looked at the window pane a few feet from him. Willard tensed briefly before the HLF newfoal stepped towards the human nurse who lowered her hand to him.
“Don’t touch me, just lead the way.” With that the grey unicorn followed the nurse close behind. When the two of them rounded a corner out of sight, Nurse Thetic gave a sigh of relief.
“That was impressive, your talking him down I mean. He really took the forced conversion hard, that’s even considering the other HLF who got converted in Carrenton.” Ana Thetic approached the remaining newfoal and sat by his side.
“How many? HLF converts I mean,” Willard asked.
“Eight, including Private err... ex-private Miles. Did you know him from before?” Thetic tilted her head.
“Served in a few missions together, eventually he got reassigned to a different group, never learned why, something about ‘resource allocation amendments’.” The blue stallion looked to the pink mare. “You sure the other nurse is okay? That was a pretty solid kick she got.”
“She’ll be fine, she’ll have a bruise. I’m just glad we can begin integrating your friend.” Ana extended a hoof to Willard’s back and patted him. “How’s your niece? Have you gotten word of when she’s going to be converted?”
“She’s doing fine, she’s scheduled for conversion in two days. I should probably go see her.” Willard stood up and made his way towards a set of elevators he saw.
“I heard what happened with Blank Slate,” the nurse called out. “If you want I could have him transferred to bunk with somepony else. Of course that would require you having to take Mr. Miles under your hoof. If he continues to be cooperative it shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Willard turned around and looked at Ms. Thetic. “I’d like that,” he said.
Willard walked through the door to his room, inside, he saw Lieutenant Karan, Monica, and Sarah. He walked up to them and asked, “I miss a memo or something?”
Lieutenant Karan walked forward and handed a DATab to Willard, who balanced it on his hoof. “The funeral service for Private Wight is going to be held in a few days, along with the casualties of Carrenton. I came here to tell you that you’re invited, not that any man in his right mind would try to stop you but—”
“Technically I’m no longer military, I know,” Willard completed the statement before turning to Sarah and Monica. “And you’re here because?”
“I wanted to hand off some information to Monica,” Sarah answered, “the replacement documents are going to be on the same ship as both of you. I’ve made some arrangements ahead, you and Monica will go with some of the documents to Canterlot, you’ll be accompanied by a royal guard contingent.”
“Royal guard?” the pony asked. “What’s the occasion?”
Karan coughed and answered, “To make sure the shipment isn’t attacked inside Equestria by PER sympathizers. They’re also going to be there to escort PER and HLF newfoals to Canterlot for judgment by Princess Celestia.”
“Ah, well, thank you for telling us this.” The navy earth pony turned to Monica. “Feel like getting a meal?”
“Absolutely,” Willard’s niece agreed. She turned to Sarah and hugged her. “Will I be seeing you again before I head for Equestria?”
Sarah shook her head. “Unfortunately not, I have to be at the archives for the next few days preparing the next round of transcribed files, be sure and write to me when you can okay?”
“Of course,” Monica said, “do you have time to join Uncle and I for a meal?”
“I suppose I could stay for a coffee, but then I have to get back.” The two women walked to the door and Monica turned back to look at Willard and Lieutenant Karan.
“You two coming?” she asked.
Wordlessly, the soldiers followed a short distance behind them.
“So, were you at Carrenton?” the pony asked.
“Yep, took down a hell of a lot of PER.” Karan smiled. “We managed to capture a lot of officers and leaders before they gooped out and went pony. Those gryphons sure did one hell of a job... They’re going to make human soldiers obsolete once the conversion bureau starts taking in more soldiers.”
“The barrier has already made the choice a non-issue,” Willard replied. “We have to change, adapt. Regardless of what humanity does, whether we convert or go into space like the Genesists are trying to do, we’ve got to make sure that we continue on.”
“I’m with you one hundred percent on that one Willard,” the lieutenant said, “we may have been given the shit stack of cards, but we’re going to make the best of it, regardless of what those PER and HLF fuckers do.” Karan looked over Willard and asked, “Hey, where’s that tattoo every pony has? The cutie mark I think they call it?”
“Newfoals don’t get it until they find their special talent, and now that I’m a pony, I guess kicking ass and taking names isn’t a viable option.” Willard chuckled before continuing, “I wonder what a cutie mark for that would look like.”
The group reached the cafeteria and Karan nodded to Willard. “This is where we part ways. I’ll see you at the funeral service, maybe I’ll luck out and be there for your departure to Equestria.”
“Farewell friend, don’t be a stranger.” Willard lifted a forehoof in a salute before heading off to get his meal.
Willard sat with his niece Monica, across from Sarah, who was nursing a cup of deep-brown, made-in-Equestria coffee. Monica was eating a salad, getting acclimated to a vegetarian lifestyle.
Taking a sip of her drink, Sarah began, “So Willard, any interesting developments?”
“Yes, but I think the... fellow involved would prefer if I didn’t talk about it,” Willard answered before pulling at a line of pasta from the plate Monica had acquired for him.
“Okay then, so, what do you plan on doing when you get to Equestria?” Sarah inquired. “I know Monica is going to be working on the archives, but you technically don’t work on that anymore.”
“Guess I’ll sign up there to assist, would be nice to get back into academia,” the earth pony replied, chewing on a piece of cheese.
“Back into?” With this the archivist lifted an eyebrow.
Monica coughed. “Uncle had to enlist in the military to support us after... my parents died. He had been in university before that. It was a big help when I was going through high school.” Willard’s niece reached over and patted him on the back.
“Yeah, I was a regular old dictionary for you.” Willard smiled wryly. “Always coming over to me and asking ‘what does this word mean?’ or ‘how do you spell that?’”
“And you never told me to just look it up in the dictionary.” Monica went back to eating her salad, a glow in her eyes.
“Yeah well, I did try to encourage you to look it up afterwards to see if I was wrong,” Willard said.
Monica nodded her head while chewing on a forkful of spinach and tomatoes.
With a sigh Sarah stood up, her coffee finished. “Well it was nice seeing you again Monica. Time to go organize an anthology of essays on the ‘Cuban Missile Crisis’.” She nodded to Willard. “Take care.”
With that she was gone and uncle and niece were left to finish their meals. Finishing her salad, Monica began looking at Willard. Noticing her look out of the corner of his eye, Willard lifted his head from his meal.
“Yes?” he asked.
“I was just thinking, you gave up so much after mom and dad were killed.” The niece reached over and pulled a lock of red hair out of her face. “All your plans were shot to hell, and there was nothing I could do about it. Now here we are again, you, in this situation, and I’m just going to be dragging you to Equestria. Are you sure you don’t want to stay here? I’m sure ConSec would take you on as a consultant. You have choices.”
Willard looked at his niece, his eyes shifted over her before giving his considered response. “When you were born I told your father that as a parent, he would have to devote his entire being to making sure you were raised properly, and become a fine young woman. He told me that I was an ass for stating something so obvious to him when I had no kids of my own. I explained to him I had no doubt about that, but that raising a child in this world would be difficult. I promised him that if he ever needed help I would be there for him, for you. I made my choice a long time ago, and I don’t regret a single moment of it.”
Willard returned to his plate of food, finishing his meal and speaking between bites. “Besides... you make it sound... like I’ve done nothing but suffer... There’s been some benefit, met a soldier I used to know today.” The earth pony swallowed the last of his meal and drained the juice bowl he had received from the meal-server.
“So that was the interesting development huh? Who is it? Come on, tell me!” Monica gathered up Willard’s tray and her own.
“Ex-private Edward Miles, I was his officer for a few missions, most recognizable voice you could ever hear—”
“Wait a minute, ex-private? Did he get converted?” Monica interrupted.
“Yes, though I really wasn’t in a position to talk to him much. I’ll ask him if he wants to talk about it soon.”
Willard’s niece nodded at him. “Alright I get it, brothers in arms wanting to keep among themselves.” She stood up and brought the trays to a garbage receptacle, emptying a few remaining flakes of food and placing the trays to the side. “Let’s head back to our rooms. I want to make a few notes before I have to relearn how to write and type.”
Monica began making her way out of the cafeteria.
Willard mumbled to himself, “Brothers in arms, I could hardly say that of HLF. I just hope he realizes he was wrong.” The blue newfoal stepped down from his seat and trotted after his niece.
Willard and Monica were waiting outside the conversion rooms, there were several in total, in case there was a particularly large influx of converts. For now only two rooms were operating, churning out every hour or so another new-foal. It was ‘graduation day one’ as those at the bureau called it. The day when a class was certified to be converted.
Monica was fidgeting with her hands.
“Nervous?” Willard asked.
“I think impatient is a little more like it, remember when I applied for the archives project?” Monica answered. “I was practically climbing up the walls waiting to see if I was accepted or not.”
“Heh, yeah, I remember that,” he chuckled.
The door to the conversion chamber opened up and out stepped a purple pegasus with a maroon mane. Several other new-foals gathered around him and asked how he felt.
“Like I haven’t eaten in days! That conversion really takes it out of ya!” the stallion responded enthusiastically.
The group left, leaving Monica and Willard behind.
“Last but not least, Monica Radrim.” Oscar Pascez, the human instructor in the conversion program, walked up to the two and smiled.
Rough Sketch followed close behind the large man. The red mare spoke, “It’s been an honour being your instructors, but after today you’ll both be heading to the specialized classes for each of the three pony breeds.”
Monica stood up and headed for the room. Willard remained seated, causing Rough Sketch to sit by him.
“As her legal guardian and next of kin you have the right to be present at the conversion. Ensure that nothing goes against procedure,” the mare said. “All that legal precedent.”
The blue earth pony’s ears twitched. “I’d rather not see a conversion... I don’t think I’d like any of the memories it would bring back.”
“We understand,” Oscar responded. “Want us to wait here with you?” Just then the DATab on the man’s wrist flickered and started beeping. “Hang on.” The latino man brought up the device to his face. “That’s strange, I have to go to some meeting with ConSec. I guess we’ll have to talk later.” With that he walked away, leaving Rough Sketch and Willard alone to wait for Monica’s conversion to be completed.
Willard was staring blankly at the door and twitching his left fore hoof against his cushioned seat. He looked to his left and noted a gryphon security guard walking by tending to his DATab. When the blue earth pony turned to his left Rough Sketch was still sitting there, looking at him.
“Can I help you?” the stallion asked.
“Oh! I’m not bothering you am I?” Rough Sketch asked. Her head drew back and she gave a toothed grin.
“Not in particular, though it is strange having someone sitting next to me without talking,” Willard replied.
“Ah... I see, you’re not the first newfoal to say that, and I get that from nearly every human I meet.” The red mare squinted her eyes as though she was scrutinizing some book. “You always want to either be alone or talk, something about just being silent always implying some taboo, I think they told me?”
“I think tension would be a better word than taboo in this case,” Willard answered.
“Funny, I’m feeling more awkward from the talking.”
“Me too, maybe we should just go by the old adage, ‘talking comes by nature, silence by wisdom’.”
The two continued to sit for what seemed a long time. Eventually Willard approached a news terminal and began operating it with his fore hoof, the large holographic interface making the task easy. He selected news on the battle of Carrenton and began browsing the story.
The new-foal muttered softly under his breath as he scanned the contents. “Joint forces found dozens of PER families that had been converted, including some that had been imprisoned for attempting to flee the facility. The PER families are now set to be scrutinized and questioned for relevant information before being either integrated into the civilian population or transported to Equestria once innocence has been confirmed.”
Willard went to the next section of the story. “A new legal predicament has arisen, during the battle of Carrenton, several HLF members were ponified, the situation is unique as PER forces have in the past taken a strict ‘no-conversion’ policy with the HLF, deeming them unworthy of conversion. Further complicating the matter is their technical Equestrian citizenship. Only time will tell what will happen in a truly unforeseen legal debate.”
Willard shut down the terminal and looked at the door, and then to a nearby clock. “Fifty eight min—”
Just then the door to the conversion room opened and out stepped a lime green pegasus with an olive green mane. She stepped tentatively, pressing at the carpet with her hooves, gaining a feel for them in a new way. On her flank was an ink-pot and a quill. She looked up and smiled. Willard walked up to her, and lay his neck beside hers, nuzzling her mane.
“Here I thought you were going to come out as a unicorn,” Willard chuckled.
“I had a feeling you were going to bring that up,” Monica replied dryly.
Out of the conversion room the pink mare Ana Thetic exited. She smiled at the tender scene unfolding before her. After a minute Willard withdrew from Monica and the nurse coughed. “A textbook conversion, no complications, no undetected injuries or chronic conditions that conversion had to heal. You’re a perfectly healthy pegasus Monica.”
Rough Sketch walked towards the group with a DATab and pressed a few buttons. “Alright, I have you both scheduled for the classes you’ll be taking. Willard, you’ll be heading to the hydroponics lab tomorrow morning to learn about passive earth pony growth magic. In the afternoon you’ll be attending the gym for advanced strength courses and how to use your hooves for finer motor manipulation. And you,” Rough Sketch said, turning to Monica, “shall be beginning flight classes tomorrow, theory only for the first day though.”
“Thank you Sketch,” the green pegasus said. Monica turned to Willard and smiled. “Well, we’ll be going to different classes now, don’t be a stranger Uncle!”
“When have I ever done that?” the earth pony scoffed.
“Come on! you know I’m joking... oh uh, hello?” Monica tilted her head and Willard turned around. Karphal was approaching them with full armor and an RAC-8 rifle.
“Karphal! I was wondering when I would see you again! How are you?” Willard asked.
“I have to ask that you all come with me down to ConSec. I can’t say why, just trust me on this,” the golden gryphon responded.
“Err... o-okay,” Rough Sketch stammered, “lead the way.”
The gryphon escorted the four ponies to ConSec. They went down the hall to a set of stairs. Monica had to take her time to become accustomed to descending, quadrupedal locomotion. At the second floor they reached the main office for ConSec. There, a few dozen other ponies had been gathered.
A human doctor walked in front of the group and cleared his throat. “Attention everyone, if I could please have your attention. We just need to run a blood test on all ponies.”
The doctor went to open a door into ConSec when a pony yelled out. “Is something wrong? Was there a problem with the potion? If that’s it shouldn’t it just be the newfoals?”
The doctor opened the door and answered, “There is nothing wrong with the potion, you’ll all be informed of the reason for the test after it is done, rest assured this is just a precaution. Now if you would all form an orderly line.”
All the ponies agreed, though many were quite vocal at how abusive the demands were. Willard stood behind Monica, with Rough Sketch and Ana Thetic behind him. The line lasted for about an hour. A new pony was taken in every two minutes or so. Occasionally a pony walked out and sat on the floor nearby. Guards discouraged talking between the two groups. Eventually it was Willard’s turn to go into ConSec. Inside a vast array of terminals were running what seemed to be biological scans. Monica was just making her way out and she nodded to her uncle before he walked up to the doctor.
The doctor pulled out a syringe. “Give me a hoof please.”
Willard complied and stuck out of hoof, the doctor took it and felt for a vein. When he found it the doctor stuck the needle in and drew out a small amount of blood. The blue earth pony cringed at the sight. The doctor placed the blood into a machine and it began whirring. A few seconds later a green light came on.
“You can go now,” the doctor instructed.
Willard left in time to see Ana Thetic entering, he gave a nod as he had been given to confirm everything was alright. Willard sat beside Monica back out in the lobby and waited for the rest of the ponies to be tested for whatever they were being tested for. When the doctor exited with the last pony the doctor smiled.
“All your tests came back negative, there was an infiltration of the bureau security and we were making sure all of you are who you really are. Thank you, and have a nice day.” With that the doctor left a thoroughly confused looking mass of ponies as he walked back into ConSec.
Willard walked towards Karphal, who was scanning the group at a distance. When the earth pony reached the gryphon he asked, “What does he mean infiltration?”
Karphal looked down at Willard. “The HLF have some new technology, it lets someone transform into a pony without reducing their capacity for violence, or changing their minds in any way,” he answered.
“Why would the HLF do that? Wouldn’t that kind of option make people more willing to convert?” Ana Thetic asked as she and the other mares walked behind Willard.
“It’s not a conversion,” the gryphon stated. “The transformation is unstable; from what I gathered from the doctors and tech experts, anyone who uses it ends up dying within a few days, it’s a spy’s tool, and a coward’s weapon.”
Willard gulped and then cleared his throat. Turning to Monica and the others he spoke, “Rough Sketch, Ana Thetic, if you could be so kind as to help my niece get her first meal and then help her back to her room, I need to talk with Karphal for a bit more.”
“Of course,” Ana Thetic replied, nodding her head.
When the mares left Willard looked back at Karphal and started walking with him down a corridor. “This is a lot of escalation for such a short time frame, first potion rifles and advanced aerosol detonators for the PER. Then the PER gets diamond dog mercenaries. Now the HLF not only has augmented soldiers, but these, err.”
“Techs are calling them doppelgangers,” Karphal said.
Willard shook his head. “I miss the good old days.”
“When you had hands?” Karphal asked amusedly.
“When I didn’t have good old days!” the pony expressed in a hushed voice. “When a man could go get a flu vaccine without having to worry the PER had spiked it with serum, or get converted without worrying that their batch was the one an HLF member poisoned.” Willard sighed. “When people built houses and military installations on hills, not in devastated wasteland swamps like Carrenton, when you could tell who to shoot because they were eight feet tall, buck naked and screaming for blood.”
Karphal hoisted his rifle. “It’s not all bad, we’ve got the support and advantages of three races, five if you count the separate pony breeds, though they don’t like being differentiated from one another that much.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Is there any way to tell someone’s a doppelganger?” Willard asked, turning down another corridor with Karphal.
“If someone isn’t acting like their usual self that’s a clue, but apparently their eyes give off a metallic-green glint sometimes too, regardless of eye color.” The gryphon and the pony stopped in front of a set of elevators. The golden-feathered predator eyed Willard. “Stay safe, you should go see your niece, conversion and this news within the same day can be... difficult.”
“She’s not made of paper, but still, that doctor left with us still having a bunch of questions,” Willard replied. “I’ll be sure and tell what you told me.”
Karphal pressed the elevator button and nodded, the door opened and the two entered, ascending to their called for actions.
Willard was laying in his bed. His rear legs splayed out behind him as he worked on a DATab game developed for new-foals to gain fine motor control with a combination of hooves, mouths, wings, or if lucky, magic.
“Dammit,” the earth pony muttered as the stylus he held in the crook of his new ‘wrist joint’ fell to the cushioned mattress. He positioned the thin plastic implement into position with his mouth and began again. Willard moved the stylus through a projected holographic tunnel, carefully trying to avoid the edges. When it made contact with the end box the DATab flashed green and played a chime.
Willard closed down the application and set the DATab aside with a smile on his face. He looked at his hoof and flexed it. “Advanced and expert levels complete, I guess I could work a bolt-action rail-snipe if the trigger guard was removed. Not that I’ll need that skill.” The newfoal lowered his head.
A knock sounded at the door and Willard called out, “Come in!”
The entryway slid open and in stepped Edward Miles: former Private of the EarthGov military, former HLF operative, and now, unwilling PER convert. The grey unicorn walked to the center of the room and sat down on the carpeted floor, staring at the small window opposite the door.
“I guess I owe my new room to you?” he asked.
“Not necessarily, Ana Thetic suggested it, I just didn’t oppose the proposition.” Willard shifted in his bed to lift his head up and look at the stallion with him.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful. The... ponies they had me roomed with, none of them were forced converts, and I couldn’t talk with any of the men from Carrenton; they’re all still being sedated to stop them from hurting themselves.” Miles sighed and turned around to face Willard. “It’s going to be good to have someone to talk to who is at least in the same ocean as me, if not the same boat.”
“So you’ve decided to see how to live like this?” the blue earth pony asked.
“Yeah, I still hate the PER for having done this to me, and I wish I could go back, but I’ll find a way to get through this, not change, but...”
“Adapt,” Willard offered.
“Yeah.” Miles looked around the room and set his eyes on a bed along the wall to Willard’s left. “Do they have you bunking alone?”
“No, I had another roommate, but you’re his replacement, can’t say I’ll miss him.” Willard stood up on his bed and then jumped down, landing with a soft thud. “So, what do you want to talk about?”
“The future, presuming I have one. It’s not exactly like I’m in a position to decide it wholly on my own. Apparently I’m getting shipped off to Equestria in a few days with the others so Celestia can judge us.” Miles lowered his head and shuddered.
“Equestrian courts are quite lenient as I understand, you don’t have to worry about capital punishment.” Willard stepped towards the unicorn and placed a hoof on his shoulder.
“That’s exactly what’s wrong. Here I am, living, and going to keep on doing so even after what I’ve done. What right do I have?” Miles looked at Willard, his eyes glistening with moisture.
“The fact that now you’re willing to accept what’s happened,” the blue pony said, “and that you’re glad to be away from others who are like you used to be. This shows you’re willing to change, truly, in how you look at and behave in the world.” Willard looked at Miles and tried to glean some indication as to whether or not he had successfully reached the unicorn. “Do you want to tell me about some of the things you did?” he asked.
“Yes,” Miles responded immediately, “I want to be able to get this off my chest, at least to one other pony... er, that’s kind of excluding others isn’t it?”
“Somewhat, yes, but your meaning is clear, go ahead.” Willard removed his hoof from Mile’s shoulder and waited for the ex-human to begin.
“I... did things that now I’m beginning to regret, not just because of the conversion, but thinking back, I should have realized that... When I joined the HLF it was because I was convinced that conversion really made a human lose... everything.”
Miles stood up, and went towards one of the beds. Pressing his head against the mattress, he continued, “Now, I see that I still like the same things, still feel like I’ve betrayed myself, the same things that motivated me in the past are still there, but now I see that those motivations were... wro-- ill founded.” Miles’ eyes shut tight. “I killed them... I killed ponies, converts and Equestrians, shot people who got in the way, thinking they were all trying to destroy humanity. Maybe the PER is, but conversion by itself isn’t.”
“Do you want to talk about anything specific that you did?” Willard asked.
Miles shook his head. “No, not yet, at least, not before Carrenton. I didn’t have the opportunity to kill any ponies there. EarthGov military had most of them all locked down tight in the buildings where I was. I was running across a street when a potion rifle round hit me. I remember waking up to a soldier prying my body armour off of me. When I saw myself, I screamed for him to kill me, that was when I realized he wasn’t HLF.”
“Three way battle.” Willard nodded.
“Battles are chaotic enough when there are just two sides trying to... let’s just say for simplicity’s sake ‘kill’, eachother,” the grey unicorn said.
“Reminds me of an attack that occurred on one of the archive shipments a few years ago. HLF and PER showed up at the same time.” The earth pony stretched his neck, working out tight muscles. “Total anarchy, the comms were being jammed, but you could hear the enemy screaming out to focus fire on us or the other alternately, trying to keep either of us from wiping the other out without having casualties of our own.”
“The only allies were enemies,” Miles offered.
“Exactly, the PER troopers were losing, and one of them tossed a potion grenade, back then it was surprising when the things worked, but that time it did.” Willard walked over to the window and reared up onto his hind hooves and braced himself against the sill, gazing out to the city.
“It landed next to the last two HLF soldiers. Two of my men, Andrew Wight and another fellow named Alex Talson went in to help them, took off their armor and waited for them to recover. When one of the new-foals looked at himself, he head-butted Alex, pulled the pin to one of his grenades. Andrew was lucky to survive that time, Alex... there was nothing left.”
“The newfoals?” Miles asked.
“They got what they wanted,” Willard stated flatly.
“Wait, you said Andrew was lucky to survive that time, what happened?” The unicorn lifted himself onto his bed and lay down on it.
“Allergic reaction to a potion grenade, with no medical staff nearby to help with the process, he didn’t make it. Most people with potion allergies can get through it if they have the proper medical care, or they could use a harder to make variant of the potion, but PER doesn’t take the time to do that for its weaponized potions.” Willard sighed, lowering himself from the window and turning to face Miles. “That was the battle I got shot in. His funeral is in two days.”
“Woahwowowo... hang on a second,” Miles said, “how are you able to just move on from something like that? And just adding non-chalantly that his funeral is in two days? That seems rather... cold.”
“I’ve had other things to attend to, arranging some valuables to be stored, making sure my niece is getting through her own conversion alright. I have to attend my duties, I guess the end of my being a soldier didn’t change that.” The navy colored earth pony walked to his own bed and entered it. “You’re probably right though. I’ll probably attend his funeral and it’ll hit me, but at least I know he went out doing something he truly cared for.”
“You mentioned that the attack was on an archive shipment. What were you guys shipping exactly?” Miles questioned with genuine interest in his voice.
“There are people and ponies who are working to transcribe as much of earth’s written records as they can,” Willlard explained. “Let me think... ah, yes the shipment was of music sheets, hundreds, maybe thousands of songs, with lyrics too where it applied.”
“And you guys got assigned to that often?”
“Volunteered for it every chance we got. We wanted to make sure that when we did get to Equestria we’d still be able to read Dante, listen to Beethoven, and discover the joys of Haiku... Come to think of it, scratch that last one.” Willard chuckled.
The two lay on their respective beds for a few minutes. The muted grey-teal sky darkened as night approached and the room slowly became mostly shadow.
“Sarge?” Miles asked in the darkness.
“You can call me Willard, colt. What is it?”
The outline of the unicorn snorted. “You used a ponyism, but that’s not significant. I was wondering, what’s equestrian fashion like you think?”
Willard shifted onto his back; legs in the air, he stared at the ceiling. “I suppose it would have a lot of velcro or some such, at least for earth ponies and pegasi, suppose unicorns could handle something like buttons though.”
“I can’t wait to learn how to do more with my magic than just well... whatever it was I tried to do when we met. At least I’ll be able to do the things I could with hands,” Miles said.
There was then a knock at the door and the entryway opened, bathing the interior with fluorescent illumination. Monica walked in and looked around. Seeing her uncle she smiled widely.
“Hi Uncle! Who is your new roommate?”
“Hello to you too Monica,” Willard responded, “this is Edward Miles, an old colleague of mine from the military. Miles, this is my niece, Monica.” He asked Monica, “What brings you here?”
“I just wanted to say hello, see how you were doing, you know that kind of stuff,” the green pegasus responded.
“So that’s what the shrink meant when he said conversion makes people more gregarious,” Miles harrumphed.
“Well Miles, my niece was fairly friendly even before, shouldn’t be too surprising that she can’t stand to not socialize now.” The earth pony shifted back onto his legs and sat up in his bed. “How’d your classes go Monica?”
“Reviewed the physics and dynamics of flight, like back in highschool. Then we went over pegasus magic, making things we carry easier to lift in flight, cloud walking, weather manipulation, no actual flight lessons yet though. I only get to start tomorrow for that.” Monica’s wings twitched at the mention of flight as though they could anticipate the act.
“Glad you’re enjoying it,” Willard responded. “I’m also glad security hasn’t found any more doppelgangers.”
Miles shuddered. “Blegh, if I had known they were doing that kind of stuff I wouldn’t have—” The unicorn immediately shut his mouth, remembering he was in the presence of a pony who didn’t already know he was HLF.
“Wouldn’t have what?” Monica asked, tilting her head.
“Nothing,” Miles stated with an air of finality. “I was thinking of something else before those doppelgangers came up.”
“Uh, okay,” Monica said, her wings and shoulders shifting in a shrug like gesture. “Anyway it’s good to have met you.” The lime pegasus turned to her uncle. “Well, good night Uncle. Out of curiosity, you’re not going to be spending the whole day at the funeral right?”
“No, I’ll be back to the bureau in time for you to see me before lights out,” the blue earth pony answered.
With a smile Monica left the room.
“Thanks for not telling her,” Miles said when the door slid closed. “I’m going to have to own up to my mistakes, but I’d rather not be thought of as some boogeyman.”
“Everyone has got to take things at their own pace, sometimes it’s just a little too slow for others.” Willard shifted onto his back again: comfort be damned, the position was a small piece of familiarity to him.
“What do you think is going to happen when the barrier gets close to New York?”
“There’ll be a mad rush for conversion and evacuation, hopefully with some time in between.” Willard got out of bed and switched off the light. “Get some rest, I hear casting magic on earth really takes it out for unicorns,” the earth pony said as he returned to bed.
“You too, I hear grieving takes its toll,” Miles answered under his breath.
Five soldiers and two gryphons stepped forward, eyes staring out to the distance.
“PREEESENT... ARMS!”
Enclosed in the hands and claws of the salute rifle party, replicas of Enfield rifles were aimed. Willard recognized the red gryphon as Isaac Wrenn, the first gryphon convert.
“FIRE!”
The crack of seven rifles discharging their rounds sounded across Arlington cemetery. Dozens of caskets were lined up. Among them was Private Andrew Wight, the dead from Carrenton, and several others who had died in the line of duty in the past weeks.
“FIRE!”
Another volley of shots pealed out to the ailing heavens above, and Willard winced at the loud noise assaulting his acute ears. The synchronized click of the rifles being chambered for one last shot registered with Willard just in time for him to adjust his ears away from the sound.
“FIRE!”
The final retort sounded off. A few seconds later five Scythe fighter jets flew overhead. When the ceremony concluded, the red gryphon took to the air without a moment’s notice; leaving a mottled grey gryphon there.
“Are you going to attend the reception?” Lieutenant Karan asked Willard.
“I told my niece I’d be back before evening, so no,” Willard answered.
Karan looked at the earth pony incredulously. “We both know that isn’t the only reason.”
“Alright damn it!” Willard expressed in a hissing whisper. “I was barely able to keep myself quiet for the ceremony. Shit, I remember when Wight and I would talk about some of the more interesting things we’d find in the archives during our off time. Now we’ll never get to talk about... anything.”
“Alright, the maglev train will be leaving for New York soon. You go on ahead,” Karan said. “I want to talk to that gryphon about conversion.”
“Now?” the newfoal questioned. “After he attends the ceremony where he is probably saying goodbye to someone he knew?”
“We don’t exactly have the time to wait. HLF and PER have both made major moves in the last few weeks.” Karan looked down at Willard. “Between augments, doppelgangers, diamond dogs, and potion rifles, we need to step up and use every resource at hand.”
“Very well, see you by this evening maybe?” Willard asked.
“Possibly.”
With that Karan walked towards the gryphon. It was black, with multiple patches of whites and greys on his feathers. He, assuming it was a he given his bulk, was examining the various tombstones. The lieutenant waited until the gryphon reached the end of the line of markers before coughing.
Without looking up the gryphon asked, “Can I help you?”
“Lieutenant Karan of the EarthGov military. I wanted to ask you something.”
The gryphon settled on his haunches in front of Karan and offered a talon. “Kephic, of the Gryphon Kingdoms. Though I suppose that’s rather obvious. What was it you wanted to ask?”
Karan took the claw in his hand and shook vigorously, maintaining eye contact with Kephic. “I was curious about gryphonization, and I wanted a gryphon’s thoughts on whether or not I’d make the cut.”
“I can’t give you a full interview right now, but if you want to see if you’d have a shot, I could ask you a question.” Kephic blinked and waited for a response.
“Just one question? Go ahead.”
“Multiple part question,” Kephic clarified. “First off, you have any family?” the gryphon asked.
“A brother living in San Diego, and my parents are in Equestria.” Karan shifted on his feet.
“Say your brother was HLF, came here and took that pony over there hostage.” Kephic gestured with a claw towards Willard in the distance, barely a dot for Karan, but the keen eyes of the gryphon allowing for every detail to be noted. “What would you do?”
“Try to talk him down of course,” Karan answered.
“And if you couldn’t?” The gryphon raised an eyebrow.
“Provided I had a gun, I’d have to shoot him.” The lieutenant waited expectantly as the gryphon reached a talon to his beak.
“You have a chance, you should ask for some more information at the Manhattan Bureau when you have the time.”
Karan nodded. “Good to know, thanks for taking the time.”
“No problem at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go find my friend. He’s taken the deaths of some of the fallen here particularly hard.” Kephic stood up and backpedaled before kicking off the ground and into the sky.
Miles was seated in his bed, rocking his head back and forth as he listened to some orchestral music playing on a DATab on his bed. A gentle smile was on his face as he sighed, “Ahh, going to miss this when I go to Equestria, maybe I’ll luck out and there’ll be a jazz club wherever I end up.”
The door slid open and in stepped a painted unicorn stallion. His coat was a splattered pattern of brown and beige and on his flank was... nothing.
“Who are you supposed to be?” Miles asked.
“Ah, greetings fellow enlightened convert! I was looking for a fellow by the name of Willard Radrim. Do you know him?” the stallion responded. He looked at the DATab laying on Miles’ bed and frowned. “Turn off that infernal noise! Such human drivel should not grace the ears of beings such as us.”
Miles hopped down from his bed and gave his response, “Human drivel? Who are you and what do you want with Willard?”
“I am Blank Slate, and I am here to teach Willard the truth of how evil man is, and the saving grace that is her majesty Celestia.” The painted unicorn smiled.
Miles face began twitching as the words registered with him. His eyes widened and then he scowled.
Willard was walking down the hall to his room when he saw Monica running towards him.
“Uncle help!” she cried out.
“What is it?” Willard asked.
“Miles is in a fight with another newfoal! I think it’s with Blank Slate! Something about HLF and PER!” The green pegasus began shuffling on her hooves. “Hurry!”
She turned around and began leading Willard down the hallway. Willard could begin to hear banging and thrashing from the direction they were heading.
“You are an abomination in her majesty’s eyes! An HLF converted? I shall rectify this grievous error, you shall be reborn in the light, by acceptance of this gift... or by death!”
Uncle and niece rounded the corner just in time to see a bed frame fly out the door of Willard’s room.
“So you’re not satisfied with just conversion then huh?” Another bang sounded from the room. “What next, our stories, everything that we’ve accomplished?! Everything we really are?”
“Go get security, I’ll try and stop this.” Willard said.
“Was Miles a--?” Monica began.
“Yes! Now go!” the earth pony commanded before he went into the room.
It was a scene of chaos; bed frames were bent out of shape and mattress filling was strewn about. On opposite sides of the the room, Miles and Blank Slate faced off against one another. The painted unicorn launched a chunk of mattress at the grey. Miles deflected it with a hoof and charged forward levelling his head, and horn, at Blank Slate. The PER operative lifted a broken bed post and struck Miles across the face, sending him tumbling to the middle of the room.
“BOTH OF YOU STOP THIS INSTANT!” Willard shouted.
Blank Slate looked at him; Miles stood up and did the same.
“Ah, come at last. I was attempting to convince this fool of the glory he would squander and taint,” the painted unicorn stated with a smile reaching across his muzzle.
“Don’t get in the way Willard. I’m going to make sure he never does to others what his kind has done to me!” Miles hissed through his teeth.
Miles ran towards Blank Slate and lifted a bedpost with his magic, flinging it at the rival unicorn. Blank Slate gripped it in his own magical field in the last instant and whipped it back, entangling Miles’ legs and tripping him to the ground. The painted unicorn stood over Miles and placed a hoof on his chest. Lowering his horn towards Miles.
“Now is the time for you to be wiped off the face of existence!” the PER operative yelled.
When Blank Slate’s horn began to glow, Willard charged, knocking aside debris on the ground. The blue earth pony struck the unicorn standing over Miles and the two tumbled into a wall. The two newfoals extricated themselves from each other and faced one another. Blank Slate’s horn began to glow and Willard hoofed at the ground. The navy new-foal was a few feet away from the fanatical pony, to charge would have still allowed for a spell to be cast.
“Stop this right now,” Willard stated flatly.
“I won’t stop on the word of one who would deny Her glory, Princess Celestia,” Blank Slate answered.
Willard tensed his muscles, and jumped forward. Startled, Blank Slate let loose his spell, it struck the earth-pony square in the chest, sending him to the opposite corner of the room where he slumped down in a heap. With a smile, the painted unicorn turned to Miles and lifted a piece of metal from a defunct bed frame.
“Now, if I could finish what I—” The statement remained unfinished as Willard bucked the unicorn across the room. When the unicorn slid down the wall, an impression could clearly be seen. Willard walked up to Blank Slate and prodded him. He was unconscious and breathing, barely, but the earth pony could see a small line of blood trailing from the unicorn’s mouth.
Willard immediately stepped back from what he had done. With the fight over, the ingrained haemophobia with Willard’s mind bid him to get away. Backstepping some more, the earth pony turned around and trotted out the door with Miles. When they stepped out, five Bureau personnel, including Karphal and a doctor were arriving.
“Where’s Blank Slate?” the doctor asked.
“In there.” Willard gestured with his hoof towards the room.
The four men and the gryphon entered. A few moments later Karphal stepped back out.
“What happened in there? Was that seriously what happened with a fight between three ponies?” The gryphon’s ears tilted back as he looked down on the newfoals.
Miles stepped forward. “He came into the room and started spouting off about how humans were corrupt and needed to be converted; I disagreed.”
“And how did that escalate to nearly punching a hole through the wall?” Karphal asked.
Willard looked at Karphal right in the eye. “Actually that would be my fault. When I got here the two were fighting. Blank Slate was winning, and I wasn’t going to let him do to Miles what I thought he was,” the earth pony said.
“I think you may have been justified in making that assessment,” Karphal said.
“Why is that?” Willard asked.
Karphal pointed at Willard’s flank; the navy pony craned his neck and looked at it. Where once it had been blank, a yellow shield, backed by two crossed torches now adorned his flank.
“Well I’ll be... So what happens now?” asked Willard when he turned back to Karphal.
“That is largely up to the instructors, they decide on disciplinary matters with newfoals. If they decide to punish you at all it would be isolation for the night. Though I say you shouldn’t have a single thing to worry about.” Karphal looked back as Blank Slate was carried out of the room.
Willard walked up to the doctor. “What’s the damage?” he asked.
Shaking his head the doctor replied, “A concussion and a collapsed lung, he’ll recover quickly enough. Would one of you care to explain what happened?”
Miles coughed and lowered his head. “We got into an argument, I found out he was... is PER, and then he found out that I am... was HLF. That’s when he launched a bed at me. From there it escalated. I was on the ground and he was standing over me, that’s when Willard bucked him off of me.”
The doctor’s head inclined slightly. He turned to Willard and asked “Did you put a full amount of force into that?”
Willard shook his head. “I needed to make sure I’d be able to hit him, that, and I just hoped to knock him out.”
“That explains why all his teeth are still in his head,” the doctor muttered. He turned to Karphal and requested, “Would you please take these two to Rough Sketch and Oscar Pascez’ office?”
“Yes.” The gryphon nodded and looked at Willard and Miles. “Come on.”
The three walked to the elevators, and descended to the instructor offices. Karphal knocked on the door to the office of Sketch and Oscar. Willard and Miles were shifting on their hooves as if they were trying to stand on nails.
“Whatever happens, I’m taking the fall,” Miles whispered.
“The hell you are! I’m the one that nearly sent that bastard through the wall. At least I’ll be happy with myself if I get sent into isolation.” Willard glared as hard as he could at Miles.
Karphal knocked at the door, louder this time.
“You really think that they’ll just put you in isolation? That seems a little light.” Before Willard could answer the question the office door opened.
Oscar was standing there. “Oh, hello... Karphal right?” The golden gryphon nodded. “Well, how can I help you?” the human instructor asked.
“I think they would prefer to explain the situation.” Karphal stepped to the side and indicated Miles and Willard.
The two ponies stepped to the office door and Oscar let them in. Karphal followed behind they headed down a small hallway to the dimly lit office near the back. Seated at a chair, Rough Sketch was working on a DATab.
“Oh hello you two!” she said cheerfully, before noticing their lowered gaze. “What happened?”
“I got into a—”
“No, I got into a fight with Blank Slate,” Willard interrupted.
“What?” Rough Sketch asked. “How? You two were assigned to different rooms now.”
“He came to the room while I was there,” Miles answered. “Words were exchanged, and well... you know what I was, and what he is.”
“HLF and PER ponies in the same room. I told you we should have kept them from general wandering,” Oscar said, crossing his arms.
“You have a point, but still,” the red mare replied, “where do you fit into all this Willard?”
“I stopped the fight by bucking Blank Slate across the room. I thought he was going to try and kill Miles.” Rough Sketch’s eyes darted around at Willard’s mention of the word ‘kill’. “A doctor said that he has a concussion and a collapsed lung, but said he’d pull through.”
The pink mare gathered herself before giving her own two bits. “I believe that the fault of the altercation overall is with Blank Slate, but I sincerely doubt he would have actually tried to... do that to Mr. Miles. He’ll be put into confinement and constant observation to make sure he doesn’t try to contact either of you again.” Miles and Willard’s ears were swiveled directly at the mare, listening intently. “As for both of you, I cannot in good conscience allow this to go without some assurance that you aren’t going to be a set of troubled citizens when you reach Equestria. Do you have any way of showing that you regret what has become of this?”
“A stallion who tried to hurt my friend, and is seeking to wipe humanity, in body and mind, from the world, is injured,” Willard replied, pushing a hoof over Miles’ mouth to keep him from interrupting. “I do not regret having done that in the slightest. What I do regret is the property damage, but in light of what happened, I really think that is irrelevant.”
Rough Sketch turned to Miles. “And your thoughts on this Mr. Miles?”
Willard retracted his hoof and Miles gave his answer. “The same.”
The blue earth pony winced; his friend was still going to be punished with that attitude.
The pink mare breathed in deeply and brought her hooves together, contemplating. She looked at Karphal and asked, “You were there to see the aftermath, what do you think?”
“I know that these two shouldn’t be punished for defending themselves from an aggressor, and if any of the higher-ups in ConSec insist that they be punished, I will personally inform them of ‘right to life’.” The gryphon flexed his shoulders.
Rough Sketch brought her hooves together again before looking at Willard and Miles. “Neither of you are going to contact Blank Slate, yes?” The two newfoals nodded and Sketch leaned back in her chair. “Then I see no reason why you can’t simply go to bed tonight and put this whole thing behind you.” She turned to Oscar Pascez and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Anything to add?”
The man covered his mouth to cough before giving his answer. “As long as Blank Slate and these two are kept separate from each other, and something like this doesn’t happen again, ever, ConSec should be reasonable.”
Giving a final nod, Sketch turned back to Karphal. “If you could find them a room that doesn’t need new beds?”
“Certainly.” Karphal nodded before leading the two newfoals to find a room for the night.
Willard and Miles were given a new room, but neither were able to sleep much that night. They were only a few days away from getting on the ship to Equestria.
Miles shifted in his bunk, facing Willard, he asked “Do you think what happened with Blank Slate is going to affect my erm... trial in Equestria?”
Willard flipped onto his side and looked at Miles from the side of his eye. “I highly doubt it. Peace-loving or no, even Celestia’s got to see the merit of self-defense.”
Before Miles could respond, the clock in the room gave a single beep. Turning to it, the two newfoals saw that it read “4:30 AM.”
Willard rolled back on his side. “Gaaah! We need to get to sleep. We have our classes in a few hours.”
“Right,” Miles said with a nod.
A knocking sounded from the door. Willard rolled out of bed with a groan. As he looked at the clock, reading “8:30 AM,” Willard sighed at another knocking from the door.
Miles whined into his pillow before finally snapping his head up. Smacking his lips, the unicorn moaned, “At least it’s better than a drill sergeant!”
Willard stood up and trotted wearily to the door, stumbling a few times. “Up! Up! We’re up!” he yelled before the knocking could resume. He closed the distance as the door opened to reveal Monica.
She leaped and embraced Willard in a hug with her forehooves. “Are you alright?” she asked, pulling back her head to see her uncle fully.
“I’m fine, but you should see the other guy!” Willard smiled until he saw a frown form on his niece’s face. She was looking past him. Willard craned his neck to see that Miles was standing a few feet behind him, his head turned away from Monica’s gaze. “The other, other guy,” Willard clarified.
Monica cleared her throat. “Well, now that this is over we can go get breakfast, and we don’t have to worry about Blank Slate causing trouble like this again. I talked with Karphal. He told me that Blank Slate is going to be in the infirmary for another day, then transported with all of us with a med-detail to Equestria. He won’t be allowed anywhere without a ConSec member or someone else breathing down his neck.”
With that the three newfoals made their way to the cafeteria and gathered their meals. Miles and Willard opted for the biggest cup of coffee they could request.
At the table Willard stared at the cup intently, as though willing it to fly into his mouth.
“You going to drink that?” Miles asked, having already drained his first cup.
“Yeah, I just... never really needed to drink coffee before.” Willard dragged the cup towards him with a hoof.
“What? You mean to say you never drank coffee before?” the unicorn scoffed.
“Didn’t believe it was a good idea to get dependent on it in my line of work. Besides, it’s easier when you know it’s going to taste like swill unless it’s from Equestria,” Willard answered.
Monica spoke up at this point. “Well, it is from Equestria, and I have to say it’s quite good.”
Willard took the cup and drank it, the bitter warmth stinging his throat as it went down. “Gwak!” the earth pony coughed. “Damn, the taste alone wakes you up.”
The group continued their meal for a few more minutes in silence.
Eventually Monica stood up. “Well, time for my last flight class before we head off for Equestria, going to be a long one. I better get going now.” The green pegasus walked off towards her class quickly, without offering any specific goodbye to her uncle or Miles.
Willard looked over at Miles. “How have you been doing with your classes?”
“Well enough I suppose, I can pick stuff up with magic, so there’s that, probably won’t be able to do any more complicated stuff until we get to Equestria. What about you?” Miles asked.
“Strength and control tests mostly, the instructor started our lessons with a buck that sent a shipping container flying.” Willard whistled. “Damn, I was impressed when I was able to do the same thing.”
“Good thing you held yourself back with Blank Slate,” the unicorn said.
“Yeah, but recently what we’ve been doing mostly is spending time with a potted plant imported from Equestria, trying to use growing magic from simply being around it.”
“And how has that been working out for you?” Miles questioned.
“Bloody slow going, I’ve only gotten a flower while everyone else’s is already fruiting. Teacher suggested I sing to it, claimed it always helped her when she was in Equestria.” The former sergeant chuckled. “I’m guessing strawberries don’t like Ozzy Osbourne.”
“Dang that’s old,” Miles commented.
“Comes with working with the archives. You see lots of things that catch your interest, you look them up, find that you like it, and well, eventually you’re belting out metal to a little garden.”
The two newfoals laughed heartily. Wiping a tear from his eye, Miles talked between gasps of air. “Hah! I just can’t imagine you... doing that! I mean... I can, but it’s just so strange!” Eventually they settled down and Miles asked, “So... thanks for helping me out like that before.” The unicorn leaned back for a few minutes and stared pensively into thin air before he finally asked Willard, “You never did start a family of your own here?”
“Monica has been all the family I needed.” Willard grasped the mug of coffee and drank again. When he set it down, he burped. “Beg pardon. Where did this question come from?”
“I was just thinking about what they said about the population in Equestria.”
“What about the population?” the navy pony asked.
“The gender ratio, I mean that sounds like a paradise for the stallions.” Willard looked at Miles, and eventually the grey unicorn’s eyes widened. “Yeah, ponyism, I know,” he stated flatly.
“I don’t think they’d have to lie about that in order to get people to convert,” Willard replied. “I’m fairly certain the quality of food is enough!” he chuckled as he popped a final grape into his mouth.
“Yeah... I had the culture class a few days ago,” Miles began. “When they told me about some of their marital practices that threw me right off. I don’t think I could ever bring myself to be divided between multiple partners. Glad to know quite a few advocate the one partner approach.”
“At least you don’t have to worry about leaving town for a few weeks every summer!” Willard laughed. “You should have seen the look of relief on the faces of some of the folks in my class when we got that little issue with biology cleared up.”
“Yeah... Soon we’re going to be heading for Equestria. To a better life?” Miles lifted up his cup of coffee with his magic.
“To a different one, that’s for certain,” Willard answered. Miles tapped his mug to Willard’s and the two finished their meal on good terms.
The leader of the PER was sitting in a lounge chair overlooking the skyline laid out before him. In the distance the Atlantic Ocean spread out. Somewhere beyond his sight, the barrier was expanding, encompassing Earth in the salvationary light of Equestria. Four hoofsteps sounded behind him as he continued glaring, pining over the loss of Carrenton.
“One of our operatives in the Human Archives Project has contacted us. There’s going to be another shipment to Equestria tomorrow, shall I arrange to have it intercepted?” A purple unicorn stepped into the PER leader’s vision.
“Not until it reaches Equestria, Veritas,” the leader answered. “Our resources here are too strained at the moment. Besides my love, I have a much grander plan for this city, and with the EarthGov scrambling to stop the saving of these people, we can strike at the archives with impunity while it unfolds.”
“Of course, my love, soon all of Earth will be bathed in the light, and then we can work to wipe the stain of humanity from Equestria proper,” Veritas replied. She set a folder of documents on the table and stepped back outside. A smile pressed over her muzzle at the thought of the glory they were about to unveil, and plans beyond.
Monica was in the upper levels of the Manhatten Bureau. Her hooves shuffled in anticipation and her wings twitched. In front of her was the wind tunnel used to train newfoal pegasi in the basics of flight. A set of hoof steps sounded from the open door and in stepped a light-blue pegasus with a dark navy mane. The class clambered around him as he stopped in front of them.
“Come on... what are you waiting for? I want to fly!” Monica mumbled as the stallion pegasus cleared his throat.
“Class I have some news for today: we will not be going into the wind tunnel.” A collective groan emanated from the newfoals as the message was delivered.
“Instructor Soarin! Why?” one of the colts in the group called out. A murmur of agreements issued from the crowd.
“You have all shown exemplary skill in flight,” the pegasus answered, “and as such, I have been granted permission to take you all for a flight... outside.” A wave of cheers sounded and instructor flared out his wings and flapped them for silence. “Now now, there’s a few rules. No trying to break the sound barrier, and no leaving the group once we’re in flight, now come on.”
“This is going to be so fun!” Monica nearly squealed as she trotted towards the exit behind the rest of her class.
The whole group, twenty newfoals in total, soon gathered on the roof of the Conversion Bureau. Soarin walked to the front of the group and cleared his throat once again before speaking. “Now what were the rules again?”
Collectively, the newfoals answered, “No supersonic flight and no leaving the group.”
“Good, and if anyone breaks those rules, they owe me some pie from the cafeteria. Now, lets see how you all do taking off without a running start.” His legs coiled and he jumped into the air, his wings unfolded and he began flapping. “Remember, your magic will let you be lighter in flight, it’ll come naturally, but don’t be afraid to try and squeeze as much as you can in order to make it easier.”
One of the newfoals near the front of the group began flapping his purple wings. Slowly, without having to use his legs, he lifted off the ground. Most of the other newfoals had to kick off the ground in order to get started, Monica included.
“All right! Now, follow me,” Soarin instructed.
Soon the group was off and Monica was gaining on Soarin. The breeze flowed through her feathers and mane. It felt like meeting an old friend. The lime pegasus grinned widely as she started flying beside Soarin with a few others.
“Mr. Soarin! What made you decide to teach newfoals?” she called out over the howling wind as the group picked up speed.
Soarin tilted his wings slightly and inclined back towards the conversion bureau, setting the group in a gentle circle surrounding it.
“I devoted my life to perfecting the art of flight back when I was in the Wonderbolts. When one of the new members joined, I realized the joy of showing what I had learned to others. Plus, training here makes me push my limits, less magic in the world, harder it is for me to pull off mad stunts in my free time!” the blue pegasus answered.
“Who was the new member that got you into teaching?” Monica asked.
“Rainbow Dash, always went on about how she was the fastest flyer in Equestria, and she was right! Hey, you mentioned you’d be moving to Ponyville when you get to Equestria, maybe you’ll get to meet her!” The pegasus stallion made a sharp loop before coming back to Monica.
“I doubt it, I’ll be working in the archives for the most part, she doesn’t sound like the sort to be stuck in a library.” Monica dipped into a small dive and let out a whoop as she climbed back up.
The teal-grey sky of earth cast the technicolor cloud in a dimmer light, but still, in the sky it was the brightest, most beautiful thing the humans hundreds of feet below had seen in a long time.
“This plant has got to be the sorriest looking thing I’ve seen in a long time,” Willard mumbled as he stood over a lone, potted strawberry plant.
On the plant was a single blossom, taunting him with the promise of letting him out early. The instructor had told him that if he could get the plant to bear fruit, no matter what else happened, he could leave early. Willard dipped his hoof into a pile of pollen he had been given and pressed it to the flower.
Willard’s red-rimmed eyes stared at the obstinate flora as his head inclined downwards. He shook his head and started singing. “I am the very model of a modern major general, I’ve information vegetable, animal and mineral...” The plant continued to sit there, unmoving. “Come on, as soon as you fruit up, I get to see my niece fly.” The flower shifted slightly. “Wait a minute, I... really care for my niece? I’ve spent so much time making sure to raise her as well as her parents had.” The strawberry plant quivered.
“Yes! Okay um... one time she came talking to me about boys, said that there was one she was interested in. When I asked her what he was like she started shaking, she said that he was black.” The earth pony chuckled. “She thought I was going to disapprove of that. When I told her that was silly she told me how one of the girls she knew had been teased for spending time with her friends who converted... She thought it was basically the same thing. I guess maybe it was, thinking back, or that maybe it made some sort of weird sense. But I managed to convince her... now this is going to sound cliche but,” The plant’s flower remained still and Willlard yawned.
“I had to teach her that old lesson, ‘it’s what is on the inside that counts’.” Willard smacked his lips and lowered his head. His eyelids felt droopy and he let them slide down. “I should have had another cup of coffee,” he mumbled.
Miles lifted up the a pink marker to the cube in front of him, his eyes strained to keep it on focus. He glanced to the side and he felt the flow of magic flicker before concentrating again. The marker had fallen a foot through the air. Raising it back into position, the grey unicorn pressed the writing utensil to the cube. The marker moved in a two gentle arches that he moved to join in a point near the bottom of the cube. Finishing, Miles cut off the magic, letting the marker fall to the ground. In front of him was a six sided cube, each side containing a depiction of a pink heart.
“Excellent work Miles,” A teal unicorn commented, “you have now successfully made a companion cube. Might I add that all the hearts are perfectly symmetrical. To think, the first class you simply refused to use your magic at all. That you’ve made it so far is a testament to my skill as a teacher.”
“Thanks Mr. Cave, can I leave now? I didn’t get much sleep last night and I’d like to spend some time with my friends before we head out for Equestria tomorrow.” Miles turned to face Cave.
Seeing the bags under his eyes, the professor answered, “Alrighty then. Class!” he shouted. “You’re all dismissed early for today, you’ve all done wonderfully today and I’m sure you’ll all make fine models of Equestrian citizenry.”
A tangerine unicorn stallion dropped a single, massive cube on the ground, sending a loud bang on the ground. The pony looked over and smiled sheepishly.
“Except for you Mr. Feldwerp, you could do with some improvement over fine motor control with your magic.”
Miles stepped out of the classroom and stumbled slightly. “Soooo tired,” he groaned, sitting down and clutching his head in his hooves. “But I still have to check up on Willard. He’s got to be having at least as bad a time as me.”
With that they cyan-maned unicorn made his way to Willard’s class. He opened the door and entered in quietly, so as not to disturb the rest of the class. He noted it seemed empty at first glance and walked in. A series of bright ultraviolet lights were overhead, and on a number of counters there were assorted potted plants raised to about eye level.
“Hello!”
Miles turned around on his fore hooves to face a banana-yellow earth mare.
“Jeez! You scared me!” Miles exclaimed. “Not that its your fault, didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“Ah, you must be Miles, Willard’s friend yes? He’s right over there.” The mare indicated a prone, navy pony laying beside a potted plant. On it was a single, diminutive strawberry.
“How long has he been out?” the unicorn asked.
“Four hours, class ended an hour ago, but he looked so peaceful, and besides, he finally got that plant to fruit. Wouldn’t eat it though, it looks like it hasn’t ripened yet.” The mare extended a hoof to Miles. “Banana Stripes by the way. Would you two be a dear and shut the door when you leave?”
“Absolutely ma’am,” Miles responded. With that the yellow mare left the room and the grey unicorn headed for his big blue friend.
“SNUGHRK! But then she told me about Voltaire.”
“Hey, jackass, wake up. I went and stayed up through my class, you should have been able to as well,” Miles chuckled.
“Huhwah?” Willard’s eyes flickered open. “Ah, crap,” he said, standing up. “Now I’ve got to get this damn plant to grow...” The blue stallion eyed the dinky little fruit on his assignment. “Well that’s alright.” He turned to Miles. “Don’t ever call me a donkey again.”
“Yeah well, it was either that or tickle you. Come on, maybe we can see your niece fly, assuming her lesson isn’t over that is.” Miles and Willard stepped out of the room and made their way to Monica’s class.
When they reached it they found the wind tunnel empty except for one pegasus wearing what looked like combat armour designed to fit a pony’s frame. The two ponies entered the observation room and saw a gryphon and a human looking down at the pegasus in flight.
“Shows promise, what do you think Sildinar?” the human commented.
“It could still do with some refining. But we have guests.” The gryphon turned around to look at the two ponies. “Can we help you?”
Miles lowered his head and stepped back. “Uh, nothing you need to bother yourself with I’m sure.”
The beige gryphon rolled his eyes. Willard stepped forward and gave the truthful response. “I’m looking for my niece, she was supposed to be having a class here.”
“Check the roof,” the human answered.
“Thank you,” the earth pony said with a nod of his head. “Come on Miles.”
The two made their way to the roof, walking along the hallways and looking for an elevator.
“Mind explaining what that was about?” Willard asked.
“Beg pardon?” Miles responded, glancing up from the floor.
“You practically had your tail between your legs when that gryphon looked at us.”
“Duh!” the unicorn answered. “That was one of the gryphons at Carrenton. I didn’t exactly want to hang around something that has every right to want to kill me!”
“When you put it like that...” Willard trailed off.
The two approached an elevator and entered. Looking out to the skyline, they could see a multi-colored cloud skimming over New York.
“Woah,” Miles gasped, “are those pegasi? Okay, now I’m envious. I’m going to have to learn how to turn wood into gold with magic for me to feel alright again.”
The elevator stopped at the roof of the building and the two ponies walked out of it with their eyes fixed on the sky. At that distance for the two ponies, the cloud was an undistinguished smudge of purples, greens, yellows and blues. As the group continued in a tightening circle occasional flecks of red and orange from two specific pegasi came into view.
Willard looked to the sight, as the group drew closer still to the roof, he could make out his green-coated niece. His eyes began to pool with tears until one fell onto Mile’s hoof.
“Hey, something wrong?” the grey unicorn asked, casting his look towards his friend.
“It’s just... She’s growing up, and now she’s going somewhere I can’t follow, literally,” Willard responded.
“Uh, yeah, I’m a little young to provide advice in that department. But don’t feel like she’ll abandon you. Conversion wouldn’t make a person forget the value of family.” Miles slowly raised a hoof, and settled it on the earth pony’s back. When Willard didn’t protest, the unicorn began patting him on the back. “You know, this would probably be more comforting if I still had hands.”
Willard snorted. “It’s the thought that counts, thanks.”
The pegasus flock began flying for the roof in a straight line, soon twenty-or-so newfoals landed on the ground behind a light-blue stallion. The group walked down a flight of stairs to head for the elevators. That is when Monica saw her uncle.
The green mare ran up to Willard and wrapped her fore hooves around his neck. “Uncle did you see us up there? It felt soooo good to have the wind flowing past me, totally worth having to use hooves and wings to carry things.”
“Yeah I saw you kid, you were doing fantastic,” Willard managed to squeeze out. He pulled himself out of his niece’s grip and chuckled. “You sure you couldn’t just fly to Equestria now?”
“Pshaw! That’s way too long a distance for me to cover, what would I eat out there on the ocean? Fish? Blegh!” Monica feigned a blanch and started to laugh.
“You could always try diving for kelp,” Willard suggested, pushing Monica to laugh even louder.
“HAHA! Like I haven’t had enough of that in one way or another from being stuck on synthetic food!” The pegasus was rolling on the ground in sheer giddiness. When the laughs subsided she got back onto her hooves. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat. They recommend not eating anything twelve hours before going through the barrier. So that gives us time to start building up our reserves.”
Willard, Monica, Miles, Karan, Jameson and Vickers were standing at the New York Harbor waiting for the S.S. Bordeaux to finish docking. The ship was dedicated in large part to transporting newfoals; quadrupedal bodily orientations, lack of fingers, all had been considered on the ship... apparently. From the exterior it looked like a regular military warship. Shining blue steel encased the entire thing in a nigh impenetrable layer that would be unscathed by all but the most powerful armaments. It was a good thing too: HLF made a point of trying to attack every newfoal transport they could get their forces near.
To welcome the HLF, the ship carried six rail cannons, bristling the top of the ship like the spines along a lizard’s neck. Should the situation arise, the armaments could launch depleted uranium spikes at velocities ten of times the speed of sound. When they impacted, they would ruin the day of any ship that made the mistake of attempting to approach without proper clearance. Some people called them ‘Rods from God’ as a joking reference to abandoned projects of launching such projectiles from space.
Private Vickers and Jameson gave out a collective whistle before Jameson stated, “Okay, I asked for a bigger boat, and they delivered.”
“You and your boats, what’s the point? Not like there are any fish around,” Vickers argued. “They rock back and forth, carry you places, and make things go boom, not much else to it.”
“Gotta agree with Vickers on that one,” Willard interjected, “so long as it get’s us to Equestria in one piece I’m happy.” The blue earth pony turned to Jameson and asked, “How’s the leg?”
“It’s fine,” Jameson answered. “Mostly healed, I’ll be able to return to duty in a few days.”
“Good, good,” Willard replied. Behind him the S.S. Bordeaux creaked and groaned as it came to a halt inside the dock. “Well, here’s our ride, come on everypony.” An immediate snicker from Miles and Jameson informed Willard of his slip of the tongue. “Well it’s not like you three are going to be coming along with us,” Willard stated, gesturing with a hoof at the three soldiers.
“Right you are on that one Willard. I’m waiting to see if my application for gryphonization goes through,” Lieutenant Karan replied.
“And I’d really like to visit my family one more time before heading into the meat grinder,” Jameson said.
“And you know how much I prefer to practice on the firing range every chance I get. Besides, I hear there’s talk of this new inter-race task force that’s being formed. I’d love a chance to show off in that setting.” Vickers grinned widely at the whole group when they looked at him. “What? I don’t get to be a blow hard once in awhile?”
The group chuckled and went their separate ways. Miles, along with Willard and his niece, headed to the group of newfoals gathered around the slowly descending embarking ramp. The group was about one-hundred-and-fifty strong.
Part of the group were converts from Carrenton. They were surrounded by a group of three Royal Equestrian Guards. Nestled among that group was Blank Slate, with a magical inhibitor wrapped around his horn. Most of the others simply had a GPS locked around an ankle. Miles gazed down at his own hoof to his own tracking device. A small line that the ponies faced indicated the divide between HLF and PER. The occasional glares that were sent and insults thrown quickly prompted the guards to intervene, blocking the trouble-makers from each other’s sight and bringing the two parties further apart.
A few dozen feet away and facing outwards, various EarthGov and ConSec personnel aimed their weapons outward. They were scanning everything to make sure HLF, if they intended to attack then, did not get the drop on them.
The ramp hit the edge of the dock with a loud bang and most of the newfoals collectively silenced themselves to look up at their transport. Down from the ship a man in a white suit walked towards the ground. When he stepped onto the dock he smiled.
“Good day ladies and gentlemen. I am Admiral Anderson, and this is my ship the S.S. Bordeaux,” the man began. “As you are all probably aware we’ll be taking you to the barrier. There you’ll be transferred over to an Equestrian ship and sent on your way. That being said this is not meant to be a luxury cruise. HLF makes a point to try and attack all these transports so there are rules. Lights out by ten o’clock tonight, no fighting or roughhousing, no distracting crew from their work; follow these rules and everything will go along just fine.”
The admiral stepped back up the walkway and a few of the human guards ushered the newfoals onto the ramp. The procession made their way onto the deck where the newfoals were split into smaller groups to be escorted to their rooms. Willard, Monica and Miles remained behind. Monica prodded a guard with a hoof. The man looked down and lifted an inquisitive brow.
“Hi, I’m Monica Radrim,” the green pegasus stated bashfully. “I’m with the Human Archives Project, and I was just wondering if everything went alright with getting the documents on board?”
“Yeah, the documents were brought on board earlier today. I’m sure those Royal Guards will know where to bring you if you ask them,” the soldier replied. “Now if you could find a cabin before we depart?”
“Of course,” Monica responded, and the group trotted off to follow the last newfoals that were going through a door.
Stepping through the door, Willard noted that the handles for all the doors were set relatively lower compared to other ships he had been on. The ground was covered in a rubber like substance that allowed the earth pony’s hooves to get a good grip on the ground. The halls were set slightly wider and shorter than he had expected. The group easily made its way through the corridors. Every few dozen feet they stopped, and three to a dozen ponies were assigned a room after having their names called out. Eventually the HLF and PER converts were brought to two large brigs, where they were kept separate from one another. With only thirty other ponies left, Miles, Monica and Willard were sent into their own room near the brig.
“If you want to check on the archive documents, ask one of the Royal Guards down the hall,” the soldier instructed. “But don’t do it after hours.”
The three new-foals stepped into the room and smiled at what they saw. Three bunks were arrayed inside the room, low to the ground and and a pleasing shade of grass green. A large light ensured the space was well lit. The walls were barren steel but nonetheless had a pleasing light blue hue to them. The room provided the overall impression that someone had tried to emulate an open field in the color choices.
“Somewhat insulting,” Miles said, “it’s not like ponies sleep out in the middle of fields all the time. Still, I suppose it’s the thought that counts.” He stepped onto a cushion and grinned widely as his hoof sunk into it. “Man am I glad that I was allowed to bunk here instead of the brig.”
Willard stepped to his own bed and faced Miles. “Good behaviour’s gone a long way for you. You haven’t talked much about your experience though.” Willard made eye contact with Miles before continuing, “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, what is there to say? I have four legs, no fingers, a tail, fur, magic, and getting along with others seems to be one iota easier.” Miles faced away from Willard. “I’m dealing with it, and with you here it’s a little easier.” He smiled then. “Your niece seems to be handling the whole thing rather well.”
The blue earth pony turned around to see his niece lying contentedly on her bed. Her green coat blended with the cushion rather convincingly. Her eyes were scanning the room, taking in the whole of its contents.
“Anything you would like to add sweety?” Willard asked.
“Yeah,” she replied, “I approve of this ship, it’s comfy.”
Private Jameson reached down to massage his knee. He smiled when no aches or pains were aggravated by his touch. The limb had completely recovered since his impromptu dive during the attack on the archives shipment just a few weeks prior. Nanotechnology and the best medical practices had healed the limb perfectly.
Jameson knocked on the apartment door in front of him. A few moments later a tall thin man with a wiry beard answered the door; Thomas Jameson. “Todd! Came to see your brother and sister one last time before heading back eh?” Thomas said.
Jameson scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, but dad, you mind just calling me Jameson? I really prefer it to my first name.”
Thomas scrunched up his nose. “Suit yourself. Come on in.” He stood to the side and ushered his son inside, soon following him into the living room. “Alice! Look who decided to see us again!”
A woman in her late thirties was sitting on the couch. She was wearing a thick sweater and her hair had prematurely greyed into a light, silvery, blonde color. Alice stood up and ran over to Jameson, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.
“It’s so good to see you!” she said warmly.
Jameson wrapped his arms around his mother and replied, “It’s good to see you too.” They pulled out of the hug, and Jameson looked about. “Where’s Ria and Kyle?” he asked.
“Give em’ and moment,” Thomas answered as stomping feet came down the hallway.
Soon, a boy and a girl, aged six, ran into the living room and tried to tackle Jameson, wrapping themselves around each of his arms.
“Oh no! They’ve got me pinned!” the private said in a tone of mock dismay, before standing up and lifting the two kids off the floor by a good foot. The children giggled as Jameson set them back down. “You’ll have to try harder next time!”
“You came back!” the boy exclaimed.
“Yeah, well, I was passing through the area, beating down HLF and PER, and I figured I’d drop by to say hello.” The response made the boy’s grin grow wider.
“But you said you were taking a break so your leg could get better,” Kyle retorted while Ria twisted around on her feet.
Jameson put a hand up to his chin. “Huh, you’re right I did say that. But you know what?”
“What?” Ria and Kyle asked in unison.
Jameson got down on his knees and opened his arms. “Tomorrow I’m heading back, but I’ve got all day to spend with you two. So, who’s up for ice cream?”
The two younger siblings gave out a collective shout of joy and ran into their older brother’s arms. Each eagerly asked him questions about things he had done, and what it felt like to have his leg broken and then healed by nanobots. The two parents looked on the warm scene.
Alice’s eyes shined as she quietly asked her husband, “Do you think we’re doing the right thing? Waiting for them to get old enough to make their own decision?”
Thomas draped an arm around her shoulder. “When the barrier gets closer we’ll move. I hear the Genesists are making progress on building the ships to reach another planet. We’re doing the right thing, keeping their options open.”
Jameson looked up at his parents fondly as he guided his brother and sister out the door.
When the door shut Thomas kissed Alice on the cheek. “Our own Todd is doing the same thing with what his work involves.”
Alice leaned into her husband and simply hummed in agreement.
“Attention everyone, this is the captain speaking, we are approaching the barrier. Please come to the deck in a calm and orderly fashion,” the intercom spoke.
A whole day had passed, and it was now the late evening of their second day on their voyage. The three newfoals stretched their legs and yawned deeply, shaking themselves and looking at the door. They stepped out of the room and into the hallway, there were already a few other newfoals making there way towards the deck, the occasional human leading them.
“Well, time to see what Equestrian rafts look like,” Miles commented.
They stepped out onto the deck of the S.S. Bordeaux. Out on the horizon, a dim glow could be seen through the dead sky of earth. Much closer, and much more readily visible, was the bubble, the barrier between Earth and Equestria. It was not so much a barrier, as a precise point in space where the differences of the two worlds contrasted sharply. On the other side, one could see the sun set in the west, forming a pink sliver that cast the whole of what could be seen in Equestria in a lovely purple hue as pink mixed with the blue of the ocean waters.
Inside the bubble, a small white dot was growing larger and larger. Soon a series of sails became visible, and it became apparent that it was an Equestrian ship crossing the border between worlds to ferry the newfoals to their new home. It passed through with relative ease and soon was pulled up beside the S.S. Bordeaux. It was rather large both height and width wise. On board were a series of ropes and pulleys that was all the more complicated from having to be crewed by beings lacking fingers and thumbs. Monica’s keen eyes could see wood grain patterns beneath the white paint of the exterior. Miles was instead enamored with the large sails on the ship, adorned with the Equestrian seal. Topping each mast were blue pennants that flipped about lazily in the weak winds of Earth.
“Okay, I take it back, it’s not a raft,” Miles spoke, his mouth agape.
“I take back what I said too, I like that ship!” Monica exclaimed, gesturing with a hoof just as a ramp lowered onto the deck of the S.S. Bordeaux.
Down the ramp descended five ponies in armour, three pegasi, one unicorn, and one earth pony. They cast a glance around at the newfoals and humans gathered around. One of pegasi walked towards Admiral Anderson, who leaned over to listen to what the pony had to say.
The admiral lifted up his head and then looked about. He worked on a DATab before speaking. “Yes, this should be all the newfoals, including the PER and HLF from Carrenton. Best keep them separate, they still have bones to pick with each other.”
“And the archives shipment?” the pegasus asked.
“Down in the cargo bay, I have men bringing them up now. What about the Equestrian food?” the admiral responded.
“Two tonnes total of grain, potatoes, and various fruits, mostly pineapples from Foal’s Haven,” the royal guard responded. The pegasus then turned to the newfoals and spoke. “Alright everypony, I am Captain Frigid Skies. Please make your way on board, you’ll be guided to your rooms by other members of the crew. We’ll be departing in a few hours after some of the cargo is transferred.”
With that the pegasus rejoined with the rest of the guards and ushered the newfoals forward. When the group approached, Miles noticed a unicorn unlocking the GPS tracers and clamping on a set of chains on the HLF and PER newfoals. Coming closer to the ramp, they heard the earth pony guard calling out, “Monica Radrim? If I could please see Monica Radrim?”
Monica stepped towards the earth pony and offered a hoof. “I’m here, you wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes, I’ll be helping organize the papers into the appropriate crates for bringing to Canterlot and to Ponyville, you’ll be able to tell me which goes where yes?” The earth pony guard inclined his head inquisitively.
“Absolutely,” the green mare replied, “all crates marked X-540 through to X-640 will be heading for Canterlot. The crate marked G-754 will be going to the Appleoosa Agriculture Archive. The rest will be heading to the main archives in... Ponyville, correct?”
The stallion nodded. “Correct. We’ll be heading for Canterlot first, along with the prisoners. While that goes on the others will send the other documents to Ponyville and Appleloosa. After that you’ll head to Ponyville.”
Miles shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Canterlot. His ankle brace clinked on the steel of the Bordeaux’s deck. The guard’s ears flinched and he looked around Monica. Seeing the brace the earth pony waved a hoof to his unicorn comrade, and walked towards the grey newfoal.
“What are you doing separate from the rest of the group?” the pony asked.
“I... uh!” Miles stammered.
“Good behaviour, he’s allowed to stay away from the others,” Willard walked up beside his friend and looked at the guard flatly.
“We didn’t hear about this arrangement. We’ll need to put on a magic inhibitor and chains and keep him with the others for the rest of the voyage until we get to Canterlot,” the unicorn guard answered, lifting what looked like a small, horn-sized, iron ring with his magical grip.
“No, you don’t need to,” Willard responded, taking another step forward and leaning into the guard’s face. “If you’re concerned about him harming anypony, he’s more likely to lash out against the other HLF newfoals than anypony else. If it comes down to it you can chain him to me to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone. If he does, Celestia can put it on my head. I’m telling you this once, you are not going to drag my friend back into an environment that he has no interest in returning to.”
Monica watched the whole ordeal unfold before her. Her ears drooped and she cast nervous glances between her uncle, Miles, and the guards. What is he thinking? I know he knows Miles from the past, but he is HLF. Why is it so important to him?
The air seemed to grow still as the unicorn looked into Willard’s eyes, scanning them. They did not twitch or shudder at the prolonged stare. Eventually the guard’s eyes widened slightly before he pulled his head back.
“Alright, he’s your baggage, but if he hurts anypony, I will not hesitate to drag you both to Celestia and make sure she sends you both away for a long time. Understand?”
Willard nodded. “Perfectly. Come on Miles.”
Monica stepped into her cabin and sighed. The earth pony had been quite helpful in moving various documents, but the tension that had built between her uncle and the guard had made her somewhat nervous. The guard had shrugged it off and told her that he wasn’t overly concerned about it.
“Why did you go and risk getting thrown in with him?” the green pegasus asked Willard, pointing her hoof at Miles.
Miles was seated near a small window and looking at the passing waves. He turned around and looked at Monica, flipping his ears down in a conscious effort. Willard raised his head from a sheet of paper he had been given, going over how one was not to eat earth food prior to crossing the barrier; lest it be atomized and cause illness upon crossing over.
“Because he’s a fellow soldier, and he’s willing to accept what’s happened to him,” Willard answered. “Spending time with those HLF isn’t going to be good for him. I talked to Ana Thetic before leaving and none of them have shown much improvement. She told me that they’d all made attempts to harm themselves. Some of them had to be force-fed their food.”
Monica sighed again, reaching a hoof to her face and drawing it along her muzzle. “Alright fine, I just don’t want to see you get hurt taking care of others. I’m sorry.”
“This again? Monica, I’ve told you, I’m okay if I don’t win, so long as I go down doing what’s right.” The blue earth pony walked to his niece and nuzzled her. “Looks like Conversion still hasn’t changed your worrying about me. Now stop it, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Between living next to the Equestrian capital, and another one hundred and sixty years to my human thirty-something, I’ll be there for you for a long time.”
“That’s the point!” Monica exclaimed, brushing her uncle aside with a hoof. “You always do so much for me, but I’m growing up! You don’t need to worry about me anymore! We’re heading to Equestria; I’m going to have a job working at the archives. I want you to have the life you gave up when mom and dad were... killed.” Monica turned away and heaved slightly.
“Alright, I think I get it. I’ve spent so much time taking care of you, and now you’ve grown up,” Willard said to his niece. When her head bobbed up and down he continued, “And when you see that I’m making sure Miles gets through okay, you’re worried I’m just replacing you and getting into even deeper trouble myself?” Again Monica nodded.
The earth pony sighed and went over to his bunk. “Monica, rest assured, I’m not just clinging out of some sense of empty nest syndrome. If I was, Miles would have emphatically stated so.” Willard turned to his Miles. “Right?”
The grey unicorn nodded his head vigorously. “Absolutely, he’s been a big help. He’s not really projecting anything. I don’t get the feeling like he regards me as some sort of son. We’re just...”
“Brothers in arms?” Willard offered.
“Exactly,” the cyan maned newfoal replied. “So Monica, if you’re worried I’m going to get your uncle into trouble, I’ll do everything in my power to help him out. Just like how he has helped me.” Miles stood up and walked towards Monica, stopping a few feet short, he lifted up a hoof. “So, do we have a mutual understanding?”
Monica turned around, her pink hued eyes scanning his azure eyes. “Alright... I trust you, take care of my uncle will you? He’s been good to me.”
Miles nodded and stepped back to look out the window. “Looks like we’re about to cross over the barrier, anything specific the guide says about crossing over?”
Willard walked back to the scroll he had left and looked it over. “Yeah, it says exhale before crossing, or else the oxygen in your lungs gets atomized and reconstituted.”
“Sounds painful,” Monica commented.
“And apparently it causes a bad case of hiccups,” Willard responded.
Just then a faint rumbling sound came from the front of the ship. The group drew in a few sharp breaths then exhaled as hard as they could. The bubble phased through the wall of their cabin and slowly progressed through. As the barrier passed over them, each newfoal felt a slight pressure, like warm air escaping from an oven. When the wall passed through the cabin, they noted that the air felt slightly warmer.
Monica lifted a wing and a small scroll fell out from underneath it. She opened it up with her hooves and smiled. “It worked, the paper and ink they gave me at the Bureau is still here.”
“What is it?” Willard asked.
“The Radrim family tree, I was able to trace it back almost five-hundred years at some points.” She turned to her uncle, tears of happiness in her eyes. “I’ll never forget where I came from.”
“I don’t think any of us will,” Miles responded.
“And that’s what is important, our origins, hopes, thoughts, and ideas,” Willard waxed poetically. “For that is what truly makes us what we are, that is what the HLF fails to realize; these are things worth preserving, that is what the PER fails to realize.”
“Hehehe,” Miles chuckled. “Keep up like that and the archives in Ponyville just might have to open a new branch, ‘ramblings of a soldier-convert’.” The unicorn sat on his haunches and flourished dramatically with his hooves as Willard gave a mock scowl.
“Don’t get any ideas in my head, colt. I just might start writing these things down!”
The group arrived at Foal’s Haven in the middle of the following night. From what the royal escorts said, it was apparently now the fifth most populated area of the Equestrian nation since conversion became available. Monica, Miles, and Willard were allowed to find their own accommodations, with a bag of Equestrian currency, or bits, and precise instructions to be at the train the following morning.
Willard led the group to a promising looking inn that hummed with activity. As the group approached the building, the door swung open and three gryphons stepped out. One was a deep shade of red, like dried blood, while another was a speckled and mottled black. Taking up the rear was a gryphon with a rather unassuming light brown feathering. Nestled between them was a royal pony guard, white coat and full armor, walking beside a pink stallion, both ponies were pegasi.
When the gryphic group rounded a corner Miles shook his head. “Well, that was certainly a motley looking crew.”
Monica giggled, “What does that make us then?”
Willard stepped to the inn door before turning back to his niece and friend. “Harlequin?” he offered. When Monica broke into a full laugh he continued. “Not so different from us. Just some folks trying to make the best for the world. The future, if you’re feeling a bit more dramatic. Come on, let’s see if this inn has some rooms.”
Stepping inside revealed to them the very image of revelry. Native inhabitant and newfoal alike sat at tables or simply stood near the bar, eating, drinking, talking, and yes, even singing. A large hearth set in one wall and various candled chandeliers from the ceiling lit up the room in a soft, slightly orange tinted light.
Monica walked up to the bar and emptied a few dozen bits on it in front of the barkeeper. “What kind of food can we get for this?”
“For that?” the barkeep asked. “Three specials, along with plenty of cider to go around as well.”
“We’ll take it.” Monica tucked the bit pouch underneath her wing and sat at one of the smaller oak tables with Willard and Miles.
A few minutes later their plates of food were set in front of them. On them were glistening and sizzling dishes. The center of the course was a rice and vegetable stir-fry, with peas, carrots, corn, celery, and topped off with a spiced pineapple sauce that gave it an incredibly sweet flavor. For sides there were crisp hayfries, doused generously in sea salt, along with a large loaf of bread. In a word the meal was succulent, and the three newfoals tended their meal eagerly in silence.
When they had eaten down their food Miles floated over his half-empty mug of cider. “Ahem,” he declared. “I just wanted to tell you both that whatever happens after we get to Canterlot, I’m happy to have known you. If I get the chance to see you in the future, I’ll take it.”
Willard dipped his head into his mug, taking his first drink from it. Licking the sweet taste from his lips after pulling his head back up, he spoke, “Good to know, but I intend to do all I can to make sure we can stick together.”
“Right,” Monica piped up, “it is good to see that you’ve both been able to help each other through all this.” The green pegasus stretched out her neck and yawned. “Sorry,” she said. “But let’s say you do get to stick around Miles, what do you think you’d do in Ponyville? I’m going to be working in the archives, so is uncle, what about you?”
“Well I suppose I’d have to find a job as a general laborer, don’t really have any skills outside of what I learned in the military. Though I’m curious, the archives project works on transferring musical works as well right?”
“Absolutely,” the mare confirmed, nodding her head.
“That would be a nice environment to work in,” Miles said, a smile lightening his features. “Even if it was just moving around instruments, I could do that, being a unicorn, I’d be able to give them some proper treatment once I learned how to tune and clean them.”
“Sounds like we’re going to be a motley crew of chroniclers then!” Willard announced jovially.
When they finished their drinks, along with seconds, they rented a room for the night for a few extra bits. The innkeeper had thanked them heartily for their patronage, and the group was soon unconscious in their beds, dreaming of the future. They had finally arrived in Equestria. Perhaps the hard part was over, but then, Equestria was still expanding, people were still being converted, to ponies, and soon to gryphons. It was a new world, with its own challenges.
“Good afternoon good sirs. Might I interest you in some tea?”
Willard looked up to see a yellow-coated, grey-maned pegasus balancing a tray with several cups and a kettle on his wings. The guards in the train car with Willard, Monica and Miles took the beverage with thanks and soon the pegasus walked to Willard.
“And what of you; gentlecolts, madam? Care for some tea?” the server asked. He extended his wing, wafting the tray in front of Willard’s nose.
The navy stallion shook his head. “No, not really interested in anything caffeinated.”
Monica and Miles leaned back in unison. The grey unicorn offered their response “No thank you, the scenery is quite enough thank you.”
The pegasus’ eyes flickered and his ears perked up. He glanced over at the guards enjoying their tea. “Are you sure you won’t have a taste? A small cup?” he inquired.
“Yep!” Monica said.
“Come now, take a little bit, each of you, go on, go on...”
“We said we’re not interested,” Willard stated.
“Just a tiny little serving? Go on, go on, go on, go on, GO ON!” the pegasus snapped the last little bit, insistently placing the tray on the table and going off. Willard could swear he heard him mumbling about “Newfoals and their reluctance to accept good Equestrian hospitality.”
The group just looked at the kettle for a while. Each newfoal occasionally cast a glance out to a parkland environment. Groves of trees dotted the spanning fields of grass and farmland as they progressed to the interior of Equestria. The sun bathed the ground outside and casted warm light on Monica’s green muzzle. Willard yawned and rubbed a hoof at the warmed patch of fur that had formed on his chest from the bright disc shining on his dark coat.
“I guess one cup wouldn’t hurt,” Willard proposed. “Mind pouring me a cup Miles?”
“Alright,” Miles answered, floating the kettle over to a cup and pouring a small serving to Willard.
The earth pony lowered his head to the steeped brew and sniffed. It smelled good, and it tickled his nostrils slightly. Miles looked up from Willard and his ears pointed up, his horn glowed and the teacup smashed into the wall opposite of where they were seated.
“What in the world was that for?” Willard questioned with a frown forming on his face.
Miles pointed with a hoof behind Willard. The earth pony looked around and saw all the guards slumped over and snoring softly. His ears pinned back against his head as he turned back to his two companions.
“Miles, Monica, head for the car with the other guards, if you see that waiter, don’t confront him. I’m going to see the other cars.” With that the stallion stood up and marched out of the car and into the next.
It was the car for the prisoners, and there too, the royal guards were unconscious. One of the prisoners extended a hoof through the bars. “Hey brother, praise be to Celestia’s light, you here to break us out? That other bloke just went over to the next car.”
“Sit down and shut up,” Willard answered. He stood over one of the guards and tried to shake him awake. When the guard continued to snore fitfully Willard continued to the next car.
There, Willard saw the yellow pegasus working at a box with a crowbar set in his jaw. When he saw Willard he dropped the tool and looked at him.
“You should have drank the tea.”
Before Willard could offer a response he heard the door behind him open.
“Uncle! Something is really bad, the other cars are locked, and I couldn't find a key on any of the guards!”
Willard turned his head slightly. “Monica we have PE—OOF!”
The pegasus had taken the opportunity to bull-rush Willard, knocking him over and sending both of them to the ground. The pegasus stood over Willard and slammed a hoof into his side before darting past Miles and Monica.
“Stop him!” Willard yelled.
Willard lifted himself from the ground. Monica and Miles ran after the pegasus into the car holding the prisoners. The navy stallion ran after them. He quickly kicked the door in with his front hooves, buckling it inwards and letting him continue on. Inside the jail car, Willard reached the next door just in time to see the pegasus loop around and land where it joined with the passenger car. The pegasus lowered his head to the pin linking the cars together and pulled it out with his teeth. As the car Willard was on fell from the train, the pegasus opened the door.
Miles ran to the train door and slammed his forehooves to the door. “Locked! Shit!” he cursed. He tugged at the handle but it refused to yield. “Hang on.” Miles pushed Monica back from the door before he spun around on his hooves and bucked the door. He was rewarded with an ineffectual thud meeting the door and a pain shooting up to his hind knees. “Dammit! Just when you need an earth pony to buck down a door they’re stuck in the next car over.”
“Isn’t there something you can do to get us out there?” Monica asked with worry. She went to a window, and saw it would be too small for her to take off from, even if they could be opened.
Miles lowered his head to the keyhole and looked inside of it. The lock was fairly large, with pins that could be examined through the hole. “I might have an idea,” Miles answered as his horn started to glow. A few of the pins glowed and shuddered as Miles prodded them with magic. Every few moments Miles would try the door and hiss another invective before trying again. Eventually the door clicked and Miles was able to swing the door open. “Yes!” he shouted, before looking up.
“Nonononono!” he yelled. The wind rushed by his face as the other train car grew distant. His horn glowed, as he reached out to do something to bring the lagging locomotive up to speed. “Gah... SHIT!” he screamed as an ache in his horn built up to a crescendo before finally cutting off the flow of magic. “Monica! Fly over to the engine car and do what you can to slow down this train!”
The olive-maned pegasus nodded and took off to the air, flying with all haste to the engine car.
Miles was left alone to try and see what was going on in the other cars. The ache in his horn continued to build even though he wasn’t casting anything. “Come on, show a sign...”
Just then a slight lurch rocked the train and Miles was nearly sent over the railing. He looked up and smiled as he saw that now the other cars began to catch up to where he was standing.
Monica returned from the front of the train with a panicked expression on her face. “Miles!” she called out, landing beside the unicorn as he shifted on his hooves, waiting for the train car to get closer. “I got to the engineering car and pulled the emergency brakes. I got back as soon as I could after I told the engineer what was going on. Help is going to be here soon.”
“That’s great!, but we could really use that coupling pin!” Miles said. He pulled his head back as though it would bring the cars closer. “See if you can find it, pegasus eyes are pretty good compared to other ponies right?”
“Yeah, got it, I’ll try and find the pin!” With that the lime pegasus bolted off the train again and sped past the last cars in search of the pin to bind the train back together.
Willard was facing the yellow pegasus, his eyes fixed on the stallion before him. He lowered his head and hoofed at the wooden paneling of the train car. The pegasus gave him an equally baleful glare.
“Colt, if you took the time to read these papers you’d find a rather consistent trend regarding what happens to book burners,” Willard said. “Give it up, you can still cut your losses and run.”
“Even reborn in the light you still cling to the stain of humanity?” the pegasus questioned, shaking his head pityingly. “These things, they should not be seen by our benefactors, by our foals, and theirs beyond that; they are the shame of a past we must relinquish if we are to become perfect.”
“Well then, if you won’t read your textbooks, they have a darn good heft to them.”
Willard charged the yellow stallion and spun on his front hooves, kicking back into... nothingness. The colt had launched himself into the air before coming back down and landing on Willard’s back. The added weight pile-drived the earth pony’s hips into the floor. Willard used his front legs for leverage and flipped himself onto his back. His hooves were now level with his assailant, and he gave a jab, sacrificing power for speed and accuracy. There was still enough force to send the pegasus into ceiling, splintering the wood.
Willard got onto his hooves and charged again, this time leaping at the stallion as he recovered. The prospective saboteur moved, trying to dodge, but came up short, and was pinned to the ground. Willard’s hooves set themselves on the pegasus’ wings and he smiled.
“Let’s see you flitter around now!”
The pegasus tucked in his rear hooves and bucked Willard, barely knocking him over and escaping his hold. Shaking himself, Willard looked at the PER pony.
“Colt, you got too many limbs.”
In response, the pegasus launched himself at Willard, forcing the two of them through a crate and sending papers flying. The pegasus wrapped his hooves around Willard’s chest and barrel, dragging him through the busted-down door to the exterior of the train. Willard began struggling against the stallion as they pulled upwards. Two dozen feet in the air above the train, Willard backhoofed the pegasus and was dropped. He landed and rolled on the roof of the car. He could see that the rest of the train seemed to be slowing down and getting closer to him.
The pegasus landed a foot in front of Willard facing away and let fly a hoof towards his face. Willard lifted a leg to in time to block the intended strike. The pegasus pulled his hoof back after it hit Willard’s and shook it in pain, as though he had tried kicking a solid brick wall. Taking a gamble, Willard swung his head forward, making contact with the pegasus and tripping him up. As the pegasus attempted to regain balance, Willard turned around and bucked him off the train. The PER agent pony hit the ground below and rolled a few dozen feet. Willard saw the colt get up and look at the train as it continued onwards. His wing was twisted, and he ran in the opposite direction of train.
Darting along the opposite side of the rail line, a green dot was quickly approaching. Willard recognized his niece as she drew close, the coupling pin clasped in her teeth. She flew past him and Willard turned to see that the train cars were almost together. He watched as Monica let Miles grasp the pin in his magic and put it into place. The archives shipment had been saved. Willard walked to the edge of the roof he was on and glanced over the edge.
“Do you think you could help me down from here Monica?” he called out.
The green pegasus nodded and soon lifted Willard down off the roof. Miles had stepped just inside the doorway when he reached up to his horn. “Next time, no trying to grab the train,” he muttered before slumping to the ground and snoring softly
“That really took it out of him, didn’t it?” Monica asked, rushing to his side.
“Yeah, it did. Let’s get him somewhere comfortable, and try to wake up the guards.” Willard looked down on Miles and smiled. “He’s going to be rather pleased when he wakes up.”
Miles groaned as sounds reached his ears and caused them to twitch and adjust. He winced his eyes once and opened them. He was on his side on a bench and found himself looking out of a window to a setting sun on the horizon. He could see that there were more forests as compared to open grasslands from earlier. Very far off, Miles could see mountain ranges.
“About time you got up sleepy head,” a familiar male voice chuckled.
Miles stood up and looked around. Willard was standing there beside Monica.
“Yeah well, it’s not everyday you have to pull along a locomotive train. Guess the instructors were right, unicorns are able to cast spells much more easily in Equestria,” Miles commented.
“Feel any different?” Willard asked.
“No, why? Did something happen to me?” Miles reached around himself with a forelimb and palpitated himself quickly. “Is it my horn? What happened? Did something break? Why don’t I feel hurt?”
“Relax,” Monica soothed, “just look at your flank.”
Miles immediately complied and there on his flank was a newly formed cutie mark. It was a rook chess piece with an opened door at the base of it. Floating above the door, highlighted on the black of the tower, was a brass-colored key. “Huh,” the grey unicorn said. “Master of lockpicking. Great.”
“I remember some of the others in the squad two years back always calling you ‘rookie’ now it looks like you lost the I and E.” Willard walked to his friend and lay a hoof on his shoulders. “You did good colt. If I ever need someone to help me out, you’ll be first on my list.”
“Thanks, but uuuuh...” Miles looked at a royal guard watching them. “Hey, uh, guard guy, when are we arriving in Canterlot?”
“We should be there by midday tomorrow,” the armored pegasus answered. “We got all the papers back into their boxes, and we went back to gather that PER operative. He’s in the clink with his friends now,” the guard continued with a slight accent of derision at the mention of the yellow pegasus. “I’d recommend you all get some sleep, you’ll want to be well rested for when you visit Canterlot.”
With that the ponies dispersed and went off to eat and sleep.
Miles was lying on his bunk, curled into something that resembled a foetal position. His tail was tucked between his legs. Hope Princess Celestia is as merciful as they say. What could I say to her to convince her that I wouldn’t hurt anypony without provocation? That I’m sorry for what I did? That I’m ready to help out?
Miles absentmindedly reached down to his flank and stroked the newly formed cutie mark. “Lockpicking, I just had to get something that brands me as a troublemaker,” he whispered. He lifted his hoof before his face and simply stared at it for a minute. In his mind’s eye he could still imagine his fingers. Different shape, but they still did things I wish I could take back. Miles grasped his cyan tail and stroked it like a pet or a distressed child; the motion comforted him somewhat.
Miles shut his eyes and was immediately shown images he’d sooner forget. “Yes, I’ll do anything to keep fighting the PER.” A wad of foul bile worked up his throat as the memory passed.
The room ended in a wall with a barren concrete surface, unadorned except by faded blood stains and a few metal rings. A hand passes a set of bindings over to a tech, who brings five ponies to the wall and chains them to it. The other steps out of the room immediately, hoping for reassignment.
Miles swallowed down the bile before taking a deep breath. “I didn’t pull it; I didn’t pull the trigger; I didn’t kill those ones; didn’t pull it, didn’t pull it, didn’t pull it.”
An explosion rocks the exterior of the building. A man steps through and immediately catches an armored PER trooper in his sights. Aim. Squeeze. Keep moving. A PER soldier lifts up a potion grenade. Aim. Squeeze. The shot hits the white glove of the soldier, dropping the grenade beside him. Purple smoke. A prone form shifting and twisting on the ground. Two more rounds in the head, now belonging a mindless drone under Celestia’s control.
Miles lifted his head and brought it down against the mattress feebly. I still think, still wish this hadn’t happened this way, but... I have to make do with my past.
An augment sprints across the street. He leans out and fires a few rounds towards the PER and continues on. An officer yells. Another soldier runs across the street. A striking sensation against the neck. Cramping, then blackness.
Booming sounds in the distance, ears don’t feel right. Look down at chest, grey fur. Flail arms, feel fist strike the ground, look at it, hand is gone. See a gloved hand in view. Look at soldier, scream at him for mercy, and point uselessly at his pistol.
“Even this part,” Miles whispered as he continued stroking his tail. “Something happens, plan, adapt, make due with the world.” Miles smiled as he looked down on his body. “Nothing more human than that.”
Karan and Vickers were standing in an underground parkade, looking up a ramp that led to a street. Down that street was the headquarters of Gavin Schummel, one of the largest biomedical firms on all of Earth. The parkade was bustling with a series of tents that had been pitched by the newest achievement of human, gryphic, and pony cooperation: the Joint Reconnaissance Strike Force, JRSF. It was a force dedicated to finding, countering, and eliminating the activities and members of the PER and HLF, wherever they could be found.
The microphone inside Karan’s helmet scratched a little bit before he heard Vickers ask, “Lieutenant? How many minutes until breach?” Karan looked down at the DATab integrated into his sealed suit. Pressing a few buttons, the lieutenant brought up a small clock.
“Ten minutes,” he replied.
“Guess I get my wish,” Vickers said before rolling his shoulders. The joints of the armor moves around seamlessly. It was sealed and airtight for operations with a high probability of PER potion detonators. The private looked at the single red stripe on his grey armor. On it, their new position was stenciled in the same color of the plating. “We’re JRSF.”
“Yep,” Karan replied.
“And my first mission: guard duty for a bunch of secretaries, clerks, and janitors who might be working for the PER.” Vickers looked through the scope of his configured RAC-7 DM (designated marksman). The scope had a lower magnification and fewer detection suites than a rail snipe, but it would still ruin a PER trooper’s day. “Think I get to fire off a single round?”
Karan sighed deeply before he turned to the private. “Tell you what, if you don’t use that on this mission, I buy us a round of drinks when this is all said and done, deal?”
“Deal,” Vickers replied as he shook the lieutenant’s hand.
“Does this deal extend to the rest of us?” asked a voice. A unicorn and Private Jameson stepped towards them. From what parts of him that weren't covered in armor, Karan and Vickers could see the pony’s teal coat and mess of brown mane.
“Sure you could handle our brews Crystal Clear?” Jameson asked bemusedly before another voice added their two bits.
“I think the real question is if the bar would have enough to make me feel a buzz.” Karphal stepped up, adorned in his own JRSF armor, complete with a half-helmet. He opened and shut his beak to work the jaw muscles.
“They wouldn’t where I plan to take us,” Karan answered. “How’s Chuck?”
“Running through every last gigabyte of data before we get underway. He did a good job infiltrating every level of the building’s security.”
Chuck was an artificial intelligence. Like all AI’s, it had been produced by scanning the brain of a sapient being, the data then being trimmed to leave only the wanted skills, and finally, algorithms and logic programs being implemented into the code. Chuck was unique in that 'he' had been created from scanning a gryphon’s brain. As such, he was efficient, cunning, and tenacious, everything needed for an aggressive AI to infiltrate and outsmart the electronic countermeasures of the Gavin Schummel headquarters. From what he had determined, the company was heavily funded and influenced by the PER, and by proxy, that the PER had something big planned in the coming days.
Karan cast a quick glance to his DATab before he hoisted his rifle. “Okay, three minutes to go time. Vickers, Jameson, at go time, head topside with Karphal and be prepared to cover the teams escorting employees to us for interrogation. Crystal, you and I will be keeping the employees calm as they come down the ramp. Remember, we’re going to be handling people who aren’t already suspects, use discretion.” The lieutenant looked over to the other tents, where several other squads had gathered. “The rest is for others.”
The minutes passed, and the soldiers hunched their shoulders as the final seconds passed by. When the clock hit zero, Vickers, Jameson and Karphal filed up the ramp and onto the street, they took cover and aimed their rifles down the road for the first group to come.
Down below, Karan was going over everything he could. In just a few minutes, teams had infiltrated the building a few hundred meters away, and made contact with several PER agents. Footage from helmet-cams showed the occasional potion grenade lobbed by janitors, technicians, secretaries, administrators, chairmen and everyone in between.
The first group of employees were brought down the ramp and Karan yelled out, “Everyone remain calm and please proceed peaceably to the cordon, your name will be called out, and you will be briefly questioned. Do not attempt to leave.”
“Hey this is bullshit! You can’t just arrest us! We have rights!” A Hispanic man in a suit at the front of the group shook his fist before Crystal Clear stepped forward.
“You’re not under arrest sir; we just have some questions for all of you. Now if you could make your way through here, the faster everyone gets here, the faster you can all go home to your families.” The pony finished the statement with an innocent raising of his brows, as if to say, ‘sound good?’
The statement worked, and the group of employees made their way to the tents. Karan looked at his DATab and swore.
“What is it?” Crystal Clear asked concernedly.
“The infiltration teams have found several potion detonators inside the building. The PER are set to try and goop out everyone they can. I hope they can defuse them before—”
Karan was interrupted when a dull, thudding sound reached him. Running up the ramp, he joined Vickers and the others. “Was that what I think it was?”
Vickers and Jameson pointed the muzzles of their rifles down the block. The Gavin Schummel building stuck out like a sore thumb as clouds of purple pressed against the windows of a few dozen stories. The JRSF soldiers would have been safe from the potion, between those already ponies, gryphon immunity to potion, and sealed armor for humans. The real concern was all the employees.
Karphal reached up to his beak a pinched the bridge of it. “Guess the next groups are going to be a little slow to arrive.”
“Not enough time to have gotten everyone out, right sarge?” Jameson asked as he gestured a cross over his chest.
Karan brought the butt of his rifle down to the ground. “I can guaran-fucking-tee it.”
Awe inspiring, that was the phrase that most appropriately fit Canterlot. In the ten years since conversion had been made possible, the capital had seen its fair share of interlopers and new inhabitants. Yet to many of those who were there before the meeting of worlds, it had only gained from the addition. Massive white towers capped with gold shot out from the castle and caught the sunlight in starbursts of shining magnificence. Outwards from the castle a bustling city had expanded with the arrival of newfoals.
The column of ponies walked through the outermost streets. At the head of the procession were several royal guards, behind them were Willard, Monica, and Miles. Further behind, the prisoners were walking in triple file, with guards tracing the outline of the group.
Behind that was part of the archive shipment: eleven crates filled with contents that Celestia had deemed caustic to establishing peaceable relations between Equestrian natives and newfoals. It was one of the greatest controversies of the whole program. An appreciable majority of humans accused Celestia of attempting to manipulate inhabitants, releasing documents as it pleased her and served her purpose. In actuality, she simply stored the books in Canterlot, and never mentioned them unless prompted, any could see a particular book, but they had to be the ones to ask for it. In two words, it was soft censorship.
Monica shuddered as a memory crossed her mind. She remembered a particular Equestrian native who had come to the archives to study human musical theory. She had studied Beethoven, Baroque, and others. She had copied faithfully to the originals various works from the renaissance, never stumbling over creating the musical sheets. When more ponies arrived at the archives to assist with the project, the unicorn had been allowed to choose which works to spend her time transferring to music sheets.
Monica remembered finding the equinoid retching and heaving in front of a holoterminal with multiple hastily minimized windows. When she had asked what was wrong, the mint green pony had run away, terrified. The archivist recalled opening the files the unicorn had looked at. 'La Marseillaise', followed by dozens of other national anthems. Eventually the opened files pertained to World War One and other pictures from across the span of history. The last picture was one from the winnowing, the massive die-off on earth after the sun was blotted out nearly one hundred years ago by a quantum strangelet and bad timing. The unicorn never returned to the archives project after that.
Monica looked at the city, but her eyes glazed over its magnanimous construction. It speaks well of Celestia to see the value of remembering a past that isn’t even her own.
Miles was constantly taking backward glances to the other prisoners. The PER converts that had gooped out at some point were all smiling and cheerfully discussing how pleased Celestia truly was with how they had brought salvation to them all, no matter what she claimed in public under the tyrannical eye of EarthGov.
The HLF converts from Carrenton were a mosaic of misery and maleficence. Some bowed their heads over to the ground so much that they almost struck their jaw each time they moved a foreleg. Others still pulled at ankle chains that bound them into groups of three, one of them had to be calmed by a unicorn as his skin began to tear from rubbing at the binding. Others glared balefully at the looming towers, their lips moving soundlessly. Miles couldn't read equine lips, but he was sure the curses that were being hurled would turn the ear of most in perturbation.
Willard noted a particular pattern in the streets as they progressed. The outermost edges of the city at the base of the mountain Canterlot was situated on were aligned in a grid-like outline. Streets, avenues, and boulevards met all at right angles. The street lamps were all gas operated, near as he could tell from how they were made. The buildings themselves were all made of beautiful white stone that was capped with purple tiled roofing. Motifs of the sun, moon, and stars appeared everywhere. The streets were a cement-like compound that was filled in with mortar where cracks had formed. Subtle changes appeared as they continued however. Soon streets began to wind and weave in a breezy nature, and the lamps transitioned to magelights, powered by enchanted gems. The streets altered too, shifting to an antiquarian cobblestone construction.
The group was led into the palace. The archive shipment was led down one hall with several guards standing at attention. The newfoals were led down an immense hallway. The ceilings arched so high several pegasi could have flown about with great ease.
Wonder if a dragon ever walked through here, Willard thought.
Stepping through a grand door, each newfoal looked around. Monica noticed a stained glass window with a dark alicorn surrounded by six ponies. Miles on the other hoof noticed a window with a strange being surrounded by the same ponies. It was an amalgamation of what looked to be several creatures.
HLF and PER ponies stared around the room with expressions ranging from wonderment to contempt. The looks were not exclusive to any group. Some HLF claimed that the architecture had been stolen from earth, or that the building was further proof of equine villainy. Some PER hated any similarities that could be drawn to the human past.
Eventually however, all came to look at the throne at the end of the hall. It sat upon a marble and gold-trimmed dais. It looked much like the rest of the castle. On it stood Her, or her, as she would have preferred.
“Alright sir, thank you for your cooperation." Karan turned to the tent entrance. "Vickers, Jameson.” The privates stepped into the tent, then looked and nodded to the lieutenant. “Take this man to wait with the others until we have everyone processed,” Karan said, inclining his head towards a white male in janitor’s coveralls.
“Yes sir,” Vickers said as he snapped off a salute. Jameson held the tent flap open for the man. The Gavin Schummel employee stepped out wordlessly, no doubt wondering what was going to become of him now that his place of employment had become a designated biohazard area.
The tent was deep navy blue, in the middle was a foldable table and chair. On the table was a bright fluorescent bulb. To Karan’s left was Karphal, and in the opposite corner Crystal Clear was going through a DATab, listing off everyone slated for questioning. Each of them were still in armor, though Karan’s helmet was sitting at the gryphon’s feet. The setup was simple, and played to each races’ advantages. The human would play the neutral party, simply asking the questions, the gryphon would be more accusatory and make use of the third degree, while the pony would offer the person under questioning an out. Karan shook his head at the model that had been cliched since before the earth’s sun took a permanent hiatus.
“Know who’s next?” Karan asked the pony.
Crystal looked up from the DATab and nodded. “Newfoal from the potion sir. Claims to be a ‘Bethany Ferlund’. The name and the ID code she gave matches up with Gavin Schummel records.”
Crystal set the DATab to the side and kicked one of his hind hooves back. A blade snapped into place; it was a foot long and had a one-way serration, a last ditch defense for pony members of the JRSF. The blade folded back as Crystal brought his leg back, only to be deployed a second later.
Karphal drummed his claws against the barrel of his rifle. He looked at the pony in amusement before he reached behind his back and drew out his sword, arguably the most important possession to a gryphon. “Now do you know why I’m fond of this?”
The unicorn blushed as he ceased his metronomic knife deployment. “It’s good to fidget with, and I suppose if an HLF gets near me it’s good to have.”
The gryphon casually twirled the blade around, his dextrous fingers swinging it about like a balisong. “Mine’s bigger though.”
The pony’s ears perked before the gryphon’s did. When the bird-lion did however, he immediately sheathed his sword and stood at attention.
A few seconds later, Karan heard a woman crying. “Please! I just want to see my husband! He’s going to be worried sick! Please!” The tent flap opened to reveal Vickers and Jameson standing behind a white earth pony mare. Her mane was an unkempt, disheveled, aquamarine mess. Her face looked no better as twin trails of moist fur snaked down her cheeks.
“Mrs. Ferlund?” Karan asked neutrally, making the pony to look up at him in shock. “If you would please have a seat.” He indicated the chair and table with a hand.
The mare did such and sat by the table, ignoring the chair to sit on the ground. Before Karan could begin asking questions, the mare blurted out, “Please, before anything else can I please have a DATab to talk to my husband!? He works for the city maintaining the sewers. His name is Karl Ferlund and he—”
“Ferlund,” Karphal said, making the pony quiet. “Before we let you contact your husband you have to answer our questions first.”
“To find out if you know anything that will help us catch the people responsible for this,” Crystal offered.
“B-but... this changes everything! He wanted to wait until the barrier was near New York! I don’t have my job anymore. I can’t type!” Fresh tears flowed down Bethany’s face as Karan managed to maintain a level expression.
EarthGov policy was clear, marriages were only valid between two humans, or two ponies. It was a law of necessity, made to encourage conversion before it was too late for everyone, before the barrier consumed all of earth.
“What if he isn't willing to convert yet? What if he’s ashamed to look at me? I can’t support myself like this. I’m not ready to go to Equestria!”
Karan nodded to Crystal. The unicorn walked up to the table and leaned against it, putting a hoof on the cold steel surface.
“Bethany, can I call you Bethany?” Crystal asked. This earned a sniffle and a nod from her. Crystal waited for Bethany as she took a few gulps of air. “Bethany, why don’t you tell me about how you met your husband?”
Karphal rolled his eyes, but Karan lifted his arm in front of the gryphon’s face.
“Well, I met him after work... four years, five months ago. A taxi had broken down on the side of the road, and he was helping the driver repair it. When he fixed it, he asked if I wanted to share the fare with him as he was heading in the same direction. We talked, then he asked me on a date when the taxi stopped by his apartment.”
“What’s he like?”
The mare took a shuddering breath before she answered, “Wonderful. He always listens about my work, takes the time to explain his, never forgets my birthday or my parent’s. He takes the day off of work for our anniversary, even if he has to take five extra shifts to do so. He says he loves me, every day.”
“Now do you really think a wonderful man like that would abandon you when you need him most?” As Crystal asked the question, Karphal’s feathered ears perked in fascination.
Bethany shook her head. “You’re right. We’ll get through this.”
She was Princess Celestia, regent of the sun and co-ruler of Equestria, progenitor and sponsor of the Conversion Bureaus, Human Archive Project, and several aid organizations which helped ship food, medical supplies, and, where they were of assistance, pony professionals to earth. Pure white coat, wings, a long spiraled horn, all perfectly kempt, over these were regal adornments to denote her status.
Monarch, ruler, benefactor, alicorn, Celestia was all of these, yet the one title she did not encourage the use of was the first to escape the lips of Blank Slate.
“Goddess Celestia! Messiah of mankind! Goddess of the Sun! Your humble servants have come to tell you that we have done all we could to bring salvation to earth!” The painted unicorn rattled in his chains as he tried pushing through group and straining his neck against the bindings.
Any pegasus who was paying attention, with their particularly sharp eyes, would have noticed a frightening sight. Celestia’s left wing shifted, slightly rustling the feathers, her right brow elevated a smidgen, and her nostrils flared a miniscule amount for the briefest of moments. All that was soon replaced by a softened, pitying look with eyes glistening with a buried inferno. It should be noted that several pegasi in the room stiffened in the silence before Celestia spoke.
“You are associated with the group known as ‘Ponification as Earth’s Rebirth’ yes?” the regal alicorn asked.
“Yes your Grace, we have done as you truly wish, and converted as many as we could. But your detractors have strong allies, and insist that you do not want this.” The grey unicorn bowed after he had dragged two other newfoals behind him to the front of the group.
“Your taking of intelligent being’s free choice and rationally decided upon moral agency is something which I do not, have not, and never shall condone.” Celestia straightened her head and looked at Blank Slate with a face to win all poker games.
“Of course you would say that, fools and impious brigands insist that humanity can be saved and is worthy of being saved. You simply placate them for the time they realize the great truth.” Blank Slate continued to face his head to the floor with his head bowed and eyes shut tight. “We understand that you must punish us to maintain your standing, but we know we shall be vindicated, Goddess.”
Celestia stood and looked over the PER converts. “Does anypony have anything to say in defense of, or in addition to this?” All were silent. After a few moments Celestia nodded to a nearby attendant, a unicorn, who floated over a clipboard. She flipped through the pages before she settled on one. Her eyes steadily scanned the paper, no doubt a transcribed document of each prisoner’s offenses. She looked up from the document to see that the unicorn was still bowing. “Blank Slate?” she questioned.
“Yes your Holiness,” he answered.
“You are charged with attacking the citizens of Earth, an allied nation, against my will, and with no proper moral or legal authority to do such. You are charged with sedition and collaboration with terrorists. Do you claim to have not done this?” Silence. “Your records also show that you have been involved in attacks which resulted in the forceful conversion of sixty individuals. Do you deny this?” Again, silence. “Then you are hereby sentenced to twenty years hard labour in the northern municipality of Tacklesville, a community consisting near exclusively of converts, both willing and unwilling, so that you may learn the value of free agency.”
Hours stretched on as each PER operative was tried, their cases read over by Celestia, defenses and justifications provided, and sentences declared. At the end of each case the PER in question was led off.
As the number dwindled Miles sat on his haunches and stared at the ground. He remained quiet as the time for judging of the HLF converts approached, but his sides heaved shakily. Eventually the last of the PER was led off, most to indentured servitude for a decade, and others strict working conditions under close supervision.
What remained were the HLF converts. Miles stood beside the group and looked at Celestia neutrally. Willard and Monica stood to the side and watched the proceeding intently with their breath held. The regal alicorn swept her eyes over the group, assessing each one on a case by case basis. She stepped down from her elevated throne and coughed before speaking.
“You are former members of the Human Liberation Front, an organization which has dedicated itself to the attack of my people, both convert and not. Circumstance has seen you forced into bodies you did not wish to inhabit and for that I am truly sorry. However, this situation is rather unique; you have in the past dedicated yourselves fervently to harming ponies whenever you could, even if now this includes yourselves. For you, I must ensure that you can come to terms with what has happened, not be a threat to my subjects, and be punished for what you have done. As such—”
“Drop dead bitch,” spoke out one of the HLF newfoals flatly.
Celestia looked at the red pegasus and blinked before nodding to the unicorn attendant off to the side. Another clipboard with more pages on it floated over. Celestia flipped through the pages and read out the pegasus’ name. “Thomas Coddalt,” she began, “Two confirmed cases of involvement in attacks of newfoal communities on earth, three cases of torture of native equestrians and one case of murder of a PER who converted. How do you plead?”
“All true,” the pegasus said, “and damn proud of it.”
“Then you are hereby sentenced to life in prison,” Celestia said. The pegasus was led off down the hall.
Celestia flipped through the pages and called out the names of each HLF. Like the PER, their crimes were listed off, and an opportunity for them to say something in their defense was given. One HLF said absolutely nothing, but instead started striking his head against the marble floor before he was restrained by a royal guard. He had been accused of involvement in Carrenton, no kills, and was sentenced to seven years indentured servitude in a place called Appleoosa. For most of the HLF who were given servitude, that was the town they were sentenced to.
As the procedure continued, Willard noticed slight patterns. If the HLF had killed ponies by direct action, it was a life sentence, if they were PER, several years in prison. Miles had shut his eyes, and his forelegs shook as he gulped air. Willard walked over to him, guards watching closely, and draped a hoof over his friend's shoulders.
“Edward Miles,” Celestia said, and the grey unicorn gave a dry retch before leaning into Willard. The earth pony didn't move from his spot beside his friend. Celestia blinked for a few moments before continuing to read the report. “Three confir—”
“Three confirmed counts of killing ponies, all PER operative converts during a combat mission,” Miles completed. He lifted his head up and gave a somber look to Celestia before continuing. “Five confirmed kills of Earthgov military forces. One count of capturing five newfoals. Under orders. I found out later they were executed.” Miles breathed deeply as his ears folded back. “Twenty five counts of the killing of PER operatives, still human.” Celestia’s brows raised slightly, looking over the document with mild incredulity. “The last two won’t be in the file.”
“And you freely admit to this?” Celestia asked.
“Yes,” Miles answered simply.
“Did you know what was going to happen to the newfoals?” she asked.
“Not entirely, I heard at first they’d likely be ransomed off to finance the HLF.”
Celestia turned her head towards Willard. She looked at him for a few moments, her pupils occasionally twitching over to the hoof Willard had wrapped around Miles’ neck. Her mouth however remained unmoving, as if anticipating someone else to act first.
Willard stepped forward, misguided as Miles had been, the former sergeant wasn't about to let one of his own be in bad company again. He cleared his throat before saying, “Princess Celestia, if I may say something in defense of the newfoal Edward Miles?” Willard looked at Miles, who smiled gratefully.
“You may speak, Mr....? Celestia tilted her head slightly.
“Radrim, Willard Radrim. When I met Miles, he was convinced that who he was had already died. However, over time he’s realized that he’s still the same person, and for him, that is an even bigger problem. He admits to have done things that he feels he should be punished for. Even then he knows that there is no way to undo what he has done. What remains is to take what is available and possible, and proceed with the best course of action.” Willard stopped to breathe deeply. He looked at Miles, who had nodded at some points.
“That being said, I feel that given Miles’ progress, including his help in protecting the most recent shipment from the Human Archives Project, putting him in an environment with other HLF who are still completely hostile to what’s happened to them would only harm him. Furthermore, cutting him off from the only people—” Willard lifted a hoof to his chest “—he knows would also be counterproductive to his integration.”
Willard waited to hear what Celestia had to say on the matter. His tail flicked and his ears perked up as he tried to gauge the princess. Miles shuffled on his hooves nervously.
Monica was glancing between Celestia and her uncle. If it’s true what she can do with the sun, I hope she doesn’t decide to hurt him.
Finally Celestia spoke, “And what do you think of this Miles? do you feel that you are prepared to begin working for forgiveness for what you have done?”
Miles nodded. “Yes ma'am.”
“Then I shall mitigate your sentence to indentured servitude, to Willard Radrim.” Three newfoals lifted their heads and looked at Celestia intently as she faced Willard. “This does however come with conditions Willard; should Miles become a problem this shall be reneged, and you will be held accountable for his actions. Do you understand and accept this?”
“Yes I do,” the blue stallion replied. “But how long is his sentence if he is cooperative?”
“I understand that you and your niece will be working in the Human Archives Project in Ponyville. Is that correct?” When Willard nodded Celestia continued. “I shall have the leader of the project send monthly reports on Miles’ behavior. I trust her judgement to decide when he has sufficiently integrated and repaid for what he has done.” Celestia looked at each of them and inclined her head. “Miles, this will mean that everything Willard tells you to do, within reason, you must comply. Any earnings you produce outside of your stipend in working in the archives shall be his to distribute as he sees fit. You may not marry, own property, or at any point leave the township of Ponyville unless it is in Willard’s accompaniment with the written permission of both myself and the Archive Director.” She looked at each of the newfoals in turn before she asked, “Is this agreeable?”
“If it is resolved as such, then I accept,” Willard replied.
“Errr... what he said,” Miles added.
Various crates were being brought into the Canterlot Vault, inside were thousands of documents from earth’s past. Monica was reading off a checklist to one side. Celestia was scanning each box beside Willard and Miles.
Willard was staring out of a window. Celestia walked beside him and asked, “Is everything alright? I thought you and your friend were happy with the outcome?”
“For Miles yes, but those PER. That one who spoke to you first, Blank Slate? I met him back at the bureau in Manhattan. He’s a real piece of work. He attacked Miles barely a week ago. I still feel like he got off easily. I guess the old adage still applies: ‘Man must be treated generously or destroyed utterly, for he avenges slight injuries, for heavy ones he cannot’.”
Celestia lifted her head. “Machiavelli?”
“As a matter of fact yes, is it in here?” Willard asked, facing Celestia.
Celestia frowned slightly. “It was until a few years ago, now it’s available as part of an anthology my pupil produced of her own initiative.” Celestia fluttered her wings gently before continuing. “That said, do you truly feel like Blank Slate has no chance of realizing how wrong he is? Do you think that all that is left is to have revenge?”
“And what about that HLF that told you to drop dead?” Willard rebutted. “He isn't so different from Blank Slate.” Willard snorted. “As much as the PER says they’re trying to save people—” Willard waved a hoof at the crates. “—they certainly make a point of trying to kill off humanity as a whole.” Willard took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“As for being beyond redemption, I guess that is up to him. All I know is that if he keeps up like he is, he’ll find himself in a real bad way, and then it will be too late. If that happens, I guess I’ll have what I want. If it doesn't, then I shouldn't have wanted it.” Willard stared out the window again. “I just hope we don’t end up regretting our decisions of when to be merciful or cruel.” He looked over at Miles, who was examining a stained glass depiction of some stars and constellations. “On all counts.”
“Still as man strives, still he must ere?” Celestia smiled gently as Willard’s ears perked up.
“Dost thou know Faust?” the pony quoted.
“By Wolfgang von Goethe, my sister recommended it to me,” Celestia answered. “She was quite interested in human theology and morality plays, trying to come to terms with some of the doubts she’s had about her past.”
“Ah yes, the Nightmare Moon thing, the Conversion Bureau did touch on that... briefly,” Willard stated. “I suppose even a god can know shame.”
“I’m no god, nor is my sister, but yes, we do feel keenly when one of our subjects fails to do well in the world.”
Willard smiled at the princess. “And here you are helping out people who aren't even of your own dimension. You’re certainly well meaning, no matter what others say.”
“And done!” Monica exclaimed, cutting Willard’s discussion short. “All the crates are in, and the unpacking is well on its way Princess.”
“Good to hear. Now, you all have a train to catch. I wish you all the best of luck.” Celestia stepped to the side as the group offered a unified farewell and left.
The train wheels ground against the tracks in front of Ponyville's train station. Steam hissed out of the engine as the group disembarked. Willard looked around briefly; several stone buildings, at most five stories high, had been built along the outer edge of the town. The rest of the town gave off the vibrant feel of a rural community, with various brightly colored, wooden, warm and welcoming buildings. An open market was bustling with activity as ponies went about their lives. Willard and Miles walked together behind Monica.
As they progressed through the town Miles gave a low whistle. “Whew, yep, it was true about the gender ratio. I’ve seen like maybe, twenty guys this far? And a good solid hundred ladies.”
“No excuse not to be a gentleman Miles. I don’t need my neck on the line because you pushed it with the ladies,” Willard stated, walking forward, but looking sternly at his charge.
“Hey, you know I wouldn't do something like that!” Miles’ ears wilted. “Ugh, the thought of doing that is...” Miles looked at Willard as though the earth pony had kicked him across a room.
“Like thinking about eating when you’re full?” When Miles nodded, Willard chuckled, “Relax, I’m sure you’ll do fine, just be friendly, and don’t talk too much about what you did in the past. Ladies hate it when you go on about yourself.”
“Alright! We’re here!” Monica called out. In front of the group was a large, hollowed out oak tree, surprisingly thick, but regarding what it contained...
“That’s it?” Miles exclaimed, “That’s the Human Archives Project that Celestia didn't lock up in her castle! It’s smaller than an apartment building in New York!”
“Well...” Monica turned back to the two stallions and looked at them hopefully. “Princess Celestia told me: ‘It’s the large oak tree, just go inside and talk with Spike; you’ll know him when you see him.’”
“Nononono, there is no way she’s locked away so much in Canterlot. What’s in here?” Miles fumed, sitting on his haunches and waving his hooves about. “All of Doctor Seuss’ books? Is that what she left for Equestrians to read? That’s about all this... library could fit.”
“It’s bigger on the inside!” a brown stallion with an hourglass cutie mark said as he trotted past the group with a wide smile on his face.
“Right... well, let’s see this ‘Spike’ fellow,” Miles said as he rolled his eyes.
The group entered and inspected the room. Off to one side was a kitchen, a flight of stairs at the back of the room led to a large bed. Lining the walls were inset bookshelves adorned with various brightly coloured books. The most noticeable feature of the room however, was not the absence of human books, a piece of furniture, or even the distinctly invigorating odor of acorns. It was the pony-sized, purple and green lizard sitting at a desk scribbling away at a piece of paper with a quill and ink. On its back was a set of membranous wings.
Monica faced slightly away from creature and side-stepped towards it, keeping her breaths quiet. “Uh, excuse me,” she said quietly. The lizard lifted its head and looked at her. “Are you Spike?”
“Yes I am, and before you ask, I’m a dragon,” the creature responded.
Monica’s mouth opened as she nodded and stood straight. “Ah, hi, I’m Monica, the archivist from Earth? I’m here to help with the project on this side of the barrier.” She gestured with her hoof to the others. “This is my uncle Willard, and his friend Miles, they’re interested in helping with the project.”
“Fantastic!” Spike exclaimed. “You have no idea how glad I am that we’ll have more ponies to help out with this. And a pegasus no less! That’ll make it easy for you to reach items high up on the shelves. Although it’s even nicer to have helping hooves that know something about what they’re handling. Written Script has been a big help since he got back from earth, but there’s only so much one pony can do.”
Spike offered a clawed hand to Monica and the newfoal looked at it briefly. Taking a quick breath, Monica put her hoof between the four-bladed vice that was Spike’s claw and shook it weakly.
“What about that unicorn?” Spike asked. “Miles you said? What does he know? It’d be great to have someone dedicated to work the printing press and type-set.” Spike smiled widely. Surprisingly, most of his teeth were flat for grinding, though he had eight intimidating canines.
Monica pulled her hoof away from Spike and took a deep breath. “Miles doesn’t have any specialized skills, but I’m sure he’s willing to learn.” Monica looked back at Miles, who was nodding.
“Uh,” Miles said, “not to offend, but... none of these books are from Earth.”
“Well of course, this is just the Ponyville library; the archives are down below!” Spike answered, slapping the ground with his tail.
Willard tilted his head. “Down below?”
Spike got up from the desk and dropped to all fours. “Follow me,” he instructed, and headed towards a flight of stairs tucked away between two shelves. The group descended the stairs.
“Storing all of the archives in Canterlot wasn't going to happen. So early on Princess Celestia decided to start constructing an archive outside of Canterlot as a main housing. It was decided on Ponyville. Stable bedrock once you get down about thirty feet, close to Canterlot, train station—oh, and uh, me and Twilight already lived here. It was the natural choice!”
As the group descended further Miles whistled. “Dang, this goes deep, how did ponies get this far down without anything like industrial mining equipment?”
“Technically, ponies didn't,” Spike explained. “There’s a group of diamond dogs that lived outside of Ponyville. They mostly kept to themselves, but when they were told they’d keep all the gems they found while clearing out the archives they jumped on the opportunity.”
Miles’ eyes widened at the mention of diamond dogs. “Those bastards who are helping the PER?” he asked with a slight growl in his throat.
“PER? Oooooohhhh, Ponification as Earth’s Rebirth, no, different diamond dogs. Hard to tell what one pack will do from another.” Spike looked over his shoulder and saw Miles nodding, though the unicorn's brows were still furrowed.
Monica gave out a heavy breath. “How many more stairs?” she asked.
“Let’s see, Twilight counted them once, then measured how long it took to get down them. We've been walking for what? Two minutes? So we've got about—ah, never mind, we’re here.”
The stairs leveled off to a twelve foot long hall that ended in a large, vaulting arch. Spike walked through in front of the others.
Each newfoal entered and examined the immense room. Miles gave out another long whistle, Willard raised his eyebrows and nodded, and Monica’s wings shifted excitedly. The room had a ceiling that reached up fifty feet, all along were stone shelves that reached up to thirty feet high. The expanse seemed to go on for miles.
Spike turned to a staircase that led up to a balcony over on the right. “Twilight’s study for the archives is just up here. Let’s get you introduced!” He beckoned the others by moving his lengthy corded tail like an arm waving them over.
Monica grinned before launching herself into the air and up onto the balcony above. “Much better!” she called down to her uncle. “I was getting tired of a cramped old tunnel!”
Willard chuckled and started heading up the stairs with Miles. When they reached the top they saw Spike open a door and slip inside; his tail kept the door open as Monica entered eagerly. Miles and Willard soon entered thereafter and looked around the room. It was fairly large, about the same size as the lecture halls back at the conversion bureau, but the room was bisected by a large curtain. The room was well lit with a large number of mage lights, and behind the curtain a moving shadow could be seen.
“Twilight! Good news!” Spike called out. “The newfoals from Earth are finally here, and guess what? One of them is a pegasus! This is going to make things here soooooo much easier. I’ll actually have time to myself for once!”
“What?” a feminine voice called out from behind the curtain, followed by a metallic clang. “OW! Spike! What did I tell you? I wasn't to be disturbed; this project I’m working on is much too important!”
“But uh, where do you want the newfoals to help?” the adolescent dragon inquired, lifting himself onto his haunches and shrugging.
“Send the ones with experience in the archives to Script and the others down to help Cyrus,” the voice responded. “And don’t forget to show them the barracks and mess hall!”
Spike sighed and turned back to the group. “Sorry about that, Twilight gets like that when she’s obsessing over something.”
“What’s she working on?” Monica asked.
“I dunno, something about lodestones or something.” Spike began to walk back to the door.
“Lodestones?” Miles pulled his head back and twitched his ears.
“Magnets,” Willard answered, following behind their dragon guide.
A few minutes later the group stopped by a large side door. “Okay,” Spike announced, “barracks and mess hall are in here, pick a bed that suits you, and fall in it when you feel so inclined. Meals are served at seven and eleven in the morning, and six at night, be sure to tell Carrot Top if you have any preferences. Stipends are distributed every second Wednesday in the mess hall at three. For now let’s introduce you three to your bosses.”
With that Spike quickly stalked off, leading the trio of newfoals further along the right side of the archive hall. A hundred feet further was another door. Spike faced Monica and gestured with a claw. “Script should be in there, he’ll get you set up helping him organize the books onto the shelves. Good luck, it’s not easy using the Dewey decimal system without camp-poo-tors.”
“Computers,” Miles corrected.
“Whatever,” Spike replied as he continued on.
As Willard passed by his niece he mouthed the words ‘love you’ before continuing on. Spike was setting a brisk pace and the two former soldiers had to canter swiftly to keep up.
“Is it just me, or is he getting a little irritated?” Miles whispered.
“Probably expected to be able to go outside after he handed us off to Twilight,” Willard responded as he faced his friend. The blue earth pony’s ears pricked as a grinding sound reached his ears.
Spike stopped in front of a rough-hewn wall. The dragon rotated his head around for a few seconds and then walked towards the sound. A minute later they saw a group of hunched over, bipedal creatures clawing at the wall with massive paws, with each swipe a chunk of rock flew off and was quickly retrieved by a slightly smaller creature and thrown into a massive cart. Stepping closer, the creature’s became more defined; they were covered in fur and had greenish-yellow eyes, their jaws elongated into a muzzle, and they all wore some kind of clothing.
Spike walked towards one of the creatures that was overseeing the entire endeavour. It was a dark grey, with massive shoulders that gave him the shape of an inverted triangle. His long arms gripped at a belt looped around his waist. The belt held five small daggers that looked as though they were meant for throwing.
“Hey Cyrus!” Spike called, “I have some workers you could use, nice strong ponies to help out you diamond dogs with hauling the rocks!”
The diamond dog leader turned to the dragon and looked at him briefly before flicking his vision up to the two ponies. His eyes widened at the sight of Miles and unfolded his arms. He waved his arms in front of him, and shook his head.
“No! No unicorns!” he exclaimed in a gravelly, yet at the same time high-pitched voice.
“Why not?” Miles asked. “Not good enough for you?”
“That! That right there! Complaining! Noises, unicorns always make noise, especially the females! Especially females with purple in their fur or mane!” Cyrus pointed at Miles while looking at Spike. “He goes.” His finger then moved to point at Willard. “He stay!”
“Twilight told me that they both help you, and I’m not going to spend time finding something he can do without hurting himself!” Spike replied.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Miles stated behind Spike's back.
“And we’re not going to work with a noisy unicorn hounding us! They whine, make noise, complain! Give him to music ponies, they make noise, he makes noise, everyone happy!”
With that, the alpha diamond dog went to the massive cart and grabbed a harness. The cart was twice as tall as Cyrus, which made it about eleven feet in height. It was twenty feet long and eight feet wide. Poking out of the top were rocks.
Cyrus stopped in front of Willard and glared at Miles. “Why are you still here?”
“Fine! I’m going. I'd prefer working somewhere else.” The grey unicorn marched off with the dragon, each muttering bitterly. Willard heard Miles extol Cyrus’s ancestry in an unfavorable light, which prompted the diamond dog to reach into the cart and grab a stone. With a squeeze, he pulverized it into pebbles.
He looked down at Willard and nodded before pointing down between two massive stone shelves. “Bring the cart down there, you will find hall that leads to Ghastly Gorge, there, pack mates will empty cart, then you bring back, understand?”
“Absolutely, not that your grammar made it easy,” Willard deadpanned. He slipped into the harness.
“No disrespect to alpha! Pony!”
“Yeah yeah,” Willard said. “You’re the boss, I’m the muscle.” The earth pony strained for a brief moment as he got over the cart’s initial resistance to movement. As he walked off between the shelves he smiled to himself. “Big muscle.”
Monica stepped into the room. Binders, papers, quills, and ink pots readily surrounded her as she let the door shut behind her. In the middle of the room was a crate with a white pony flank adorned with the image of an unraveled scroll.
“Uh hello?” Monica asked hesitantly.
“Just one minute!” the stallion replied. “Let’s see, just one more thing according to the inventory that I’m looking for. Kafka, Kafka, Kafka...Yes! Here it is!” The stallion pulled himself out of the crate with a book wrapped in a magical field. He looked over at Monica and smiled. “Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis!” he exclaimed happily. He walked over to a table and deposited the book. “Phah! There, finally found the last work I was looking for.” He looked over the dozen volumes on the desk. “Now this is something that is relevant in the modern day and age.”
“So you’re working on fiction as well?” Monica asked, taking a step forward.
“And histories, science texts, pretty much whatever Dr. Sparkle tells me to organize. It’s great to have such a renowned Equestrian scholar heading this project! Have you met her?” He faced her with an open smile.
“Y-yeah,” Monica replied while looking at the ground. “She seems... really dedicated to her work.”
“That she is. Oh, but where are my manners?” The unicorn shook out his short purple mane. “Written Script, assistant archivist. And you most certainly must be...”
“Monica Radrim,” the green pegasus replied.
“A pleasure,” Script responded as he lifted up a hoof.
Monica lifted up a hoof and let the white archivist bump his hoof against hers gently.
“Seems a little quaint compared to hand shaking doesn't it?” Script asked.
“Yeah, so, you've been to earth, haven’t you?” Monica inspected the stallion neutrally.
“Indeed I have, six years at Cambridge, doesn't compare to what Dr. Sparkle managed to accomplish though.” He smiled warmly and returned to examining the texts. “Alright, now to get these to the appropriate area on the shelves, come on, it’ll be nice not having to get some unwieldy step ladder and roll it to where I need it.” Script floated several of the texts into a nearby saddle bag and started out the door.
Monica followed closely. Her head wandered around looking at all the shelves, a great many of them were still empty. “So, how is it all organized?” the green pegasus asked.
“Modified Dewey decimal system, to account for the number of books. Two letter code for genre, two letter code for sub-genre, then organized according to author, and then another code is applied. We try to make a few redundant copies for public circulation as well.” Written Script rounded a corner and started walking to some shelves that had a great deal more books arranged in them. “Much better than the system we had before, alphabetized by title! Organizing the sum total of humanity requires a little more finesse than a community library.” A lighthearted chuckle punctuated his statement as he came to a halt in front of an avenue between two shelves and clucked his tongue. “Ah we’re here, SF, short fiction.”
The two ponies walked to the middle of the aisle before Script fished out a book from his saddle bag. He placed it gently on a shelf and then gestured to it with a hoof as he turned his head to Monica. “Could you pick that up and place it on the third highest shelf, second to the right, and between the two books that have codes to match up?”
“I’d love to!” Monica announced as she flapped her wings and went into a hover. She floated over to the book and nestled it between her fore hooves, before rising up to the required shelf. There, she scanned the books and muttered, “416.9087J, okay, that means you would go... here!” She placed the book into its respective slot and turned around. The verdant pegasus glided back down to the ground, briefly enjoying the feeling of being airborne. She landed on her hooves with a light thud as she folded her wings.
“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Script grinned as Monica did the same.
Spike led Miles down to another door. Miles’ sensitive equine ears could quite clearly make out the sound of a classical piece of music being played, along with the slight overtone of a feminine singer. The purple dragon waited outside the door and pressed a button. The music soon died down, and Miles could hear hoofsteps approaching the door before it opened. The pony revealed was grey earth pony mare with an almost black mane, on her flank was a treble clef.
“Ah, hello Spike, is Rarity here to pick up her sister?” she asked.
The dragon shook his head. “Nope, I have a newfoal to help you with handling the instruments, unicorn, so he’ll be helpful for tuning to if you’re willing to train him.”
The mare stepped out of the doorway a few feet and looked at Miles. “Ah, hello. I suppose somepony to help with clean-up after recording sessions would be nice.” She extended out a hoof. “Octavia, and you are?”
“Edward Miles, pleasure to meet you,” the unicorn replied with a nod and flat expression. He lifted his hoof and pressed it against Octavia’s firmly and then moved it up and down.
“I beg your pardon, but what exactly are you doing with the frog of my hoof?” the musician asked as she flinched her hoof backwards.
“I uh, was shaking hooves?” Miles answered sheepishly.
Octavia rolled her eyes. “Still can’t get through some of the most basic forms of etiquette, well, you’ll get used to it. Come in, we were just winding down from our recording session anyway.”
With that, the mare walked back into the room, and Miles followed. Spike sighed in relief and went back to the archive entrance, glad to have the opportunity to have some alone time.
Miles looked around the room, in it several ponies with instruments were seated. There was a pianist along with several brass and string instruments. Off to one side was a smaller pastel-maned, white-coated unicorn mare. On her flank were two crossed microphones. At the front of the group was an elderly unicorn conductor; most of his mane was missing.
Octavia walked over to the elderly stallion and whispered in his ear. So soft was the sound that even with the ears of a pony, Miles was unable to make out the words. Guess you learn how to be quiet with ears like these, he thought.
A few moments later the stallion nodded his head. “I suppose we can call it a day then. Just make sure he doesn't damage any of the instruments while he’s putting them away.” The stallion turned to the other musicians. “Alright, session’s over everypony. I think we’re very close to being able to begin recording another batch of songs. We’ll practice once more on Monday and attempt recording afterwards.”
With a few nods and grunts the ponies shuffled out of their seats and made their way out of the door, laying their instruments by the chairs. The last one out the door was the elderly stallion, who shut the door behind him, leaving Octavia and Miles in the room.
“Alright, so you can help by moving all of the instruments to where they are stored in the side room over there,” Octavia said as she turned to Miles, gesturing to a second door. “Be careful with them, they’re all hoof crafted.”
“Right,” Miles said with a nod. He focused first on a violin and lifted it up carefully. He directed it to follow him as he made his way into the side room. Inside, multiple cases were open, Miles set the instrument in one of the cases and returned outside. He repeated the process until all that was left was a large cello. Octavia’s eyes widened as a the cyan glow of Miles’ magic wrapped around the instrument.
“Be careful with that please,” she said as she stretched a hoof pointed to the cello.
“Hey relax, I got all the others put away without a problem,” Miles responded. He brought the cello into the room and put it away. When he left the side room he smirked. “Told you I’d do it without a hitch.”
Octavia gave a sigh of relief before putting on a serious expression. “Right then, let’s get to the mess hall.” She turned to the door. “The others are likely there for dinner already,” she said, stocking off out the door with Miles following.
“So, uh, what exactly did I do wrong with my greeting?” he asked.
“Didn't they go over it in the bureau?” she responded tartly with an eyebrow raised.
“I was uh... distracted during the first few classes.” They both turned a corner as Miles looked down at his hooves.
“Family issues? Wrapping up some last things before crossing over? Thinking of not going through with it?” Octavia pressed.
“Isn't it rude to answer a question with a question?” Miles asked.
“I’m glad you managed to get that down pat.” Octavia smirked as they passed through a shelf devoted to fiction. “So the hoof thing, you don’t shake it once you make contact, you just bump your hoof to whoever you’re greeting and that is it.”
“That’s it? Doesn't that seem a little informal?” Miles picked up his pace in order to walk beside Octavia.
“Well like I mentioned before, if you do what you did when I first met you it feels weird on the frog. That is the softer, triangular part of the hoof near the back?” Octavia raised an eyebrow and tilted her head as she looked at Miles.
“Yes, I know what the frog is. I paid attention in the anatomy class,” the unicorn newfoal sighed. “But isn't there some other way of greeting that wouldn't seem so... gangster?”
“I’m not entirely sure I follow what you mean, what exactly do you mean by ‘gangster’?” Octavia’s head tilted until it was sideways before she righted it and perked her ears to hear Miles’ response.
“Just another way of saying informal. So what about bowing? Kneeling? There’s gotta be something a little more appropriate than smacking hooves together,” Miles asked as the mare led them past a shelf filled with autobiographies.
“Bowing?” Octavia inquired with a sharp intake of breath.
“Yeah, you know, when you lower your front half towards someone, or somepony?” Miles frowned slightly at the shocked look on Octavia’s face.
“Oh dear that’s far too formal for a general greeting. I thought humans thought the same.” The grey mare blew out a breath she had let build up in her lungs.
“Well, we do, but we have other options for greeting as well.” Miles glanced around. “What is it about bowing that get’s ponies worked up?”
“Well, it’s just more of a thing nobles do, and, well...” Octavia pointed around the shelves with her muzzle. “We’re doing something that shouldn't get bogged down in ceremony. Goodness, I sound like Written Script.” A small hint of pink flushed the mare's cheeks.
They soon reached the barracks and entered. A line of ponies waited in front of a counter. Behind the counter was a yellow earth pony mare with an orange mane. She lifted a ladle from a basin with a careful hoof and emptied it into the bowl of Written Script.
“Thank you my little Carrot Top. How’s Dinky doing?” Script asked as he smiled.
“Wonderful, she’s been having fun visiting with her auntie.” Carrot top leaned over and pecked Script on the cheek.
At the back of the line, Monica and Willard were waiting with their own bowls to be filled. Miles and Octavia moved behind them as Willard caught sight of them.
“How was your first day?” Willard asked cheerfully.
“Good, didn't break anything when I put away all the musical instruments,” Miles responded cordially. “And what about you two?”
“Well, I learned about how all the documents are arranged, and even helped shelve a few,” Monica replied, fluttering her wings slightly.
“Nothing much, moved a few thousand pounds of rock,” Willard stated coyly.
Miles whistled. “They don’t joke about earth pony strength.”
“No they don’t,” the navy earth pony responded.
“And you were going to introduce me to your friends when precisely?” Octavia piped up.
“Oh, uh, yes,” Miles stammered. “This is Octavia, my... boss I suppose?”
“More precisely the pony who’s going to be making sure he doesn't inadvertently insult somepony,” she answered with a smirk.
"Sounds like my job," jibed Willard.
“Anyway,” Miles said as he rolled his eyes, “Octavia, these are my friends, Willard Radrim, and his niece, Monica Radrim.” The teal-maned unicorn gestured to the navy and green ponies in turn.
“It’s a pleasure!” Monica reached out with a hoof and Octavia bopped it with hers.
“Likewise,” Willard stated as he bowed his head.
The group reached the front of the line and were served carrot and split pea soup before they went to a table. They ate their meal in relative silence and soon Miles, Monica, Willard, and Octavia walked to the sleeping quarters.
It was a well sized room, with seventy beds, each with a chest at the foot of them. Most of the beds were unoccupied. Miles, Monica, and Willard flopped into three beds beside each other while Octavia went to a bed and started chatting with a white unicorn with an electric blue mane.
“So, common bedrooms,” Miles stated, “hope no one here snores.”
“Might not have wanted to choose a bed next to Uncle,” Monica giggled.
“Yeah yeah, consider it white noise to sleep to.” Willard adjusted himself on the mattress for a few moments before settling into a comfortable position.
The next morning Monica, Willard and Miles were walking to their respective jobs within the archives when they rounded a corner. In the middle of the aisle was a large wooden crate with a reptilian tail sticking out of it. As they approached they could hear Spike muttering.
“Sum of All Fears, Red Storm Rising, The Bear and The Dragon, Patriot Games, what in the world is a submarine? Ugh, how many books did this Tom Clancy guy write? It’s like that Stephen King all over again!” The purple dragon pulled himself out of the crate with a book in his clawed hand. He looked over at the group and smiled. “Hey there, got a crate just full of books all by the same author.”
“Want me to help out shelving those?” Monica offered.
“Would I ever! Second day here and you still have energy to work? Pinkie Pie must have gone easy on ya.”
“Pinkie Pie?” Miles questioned.
“Yeah, helps run Sugarcube Corner with the Cakes, organizes the greeting ceremony for every single newfoal that comes to Ponyville. You know her right?”
“Uh, no,” Willard answered, causing Spike to look at him wide eyed. “We took a detour to visit Canterlot, we must have missed her party for any of the other newfoals.”
Spike turned back to Monica and walked towards her. “Okay, so, it was nice of you to offer to help but you really should just go see Pinkie Pie. She gets a little angsty if she finds out she didn’t hold a party for a newfoal. Now please go before she gets in here with her party cannon and ends up leaving me to clean confetti out of all the Stephen King books again!”
“Why does she have to throw us a party?” Miles asked. “I don’t need to be introduced to the town. I just want to keep to my little corner.”
Spike looked at the grey unicorn like he had asked why water was wet. “It’s just part of who she is. It’ll be good for you to socialize anyway. Her parties make for a great crash course in meeting members of Ponyville”
Spike coiled his legs after grasping a book with his tail. Leaping up, he unfurled his wings and began taking deep strokes at the air. As he elevated himself to where the book was to be shelved he continued speaking. “So basically, your work for today is to make friends.” As he placed the book into the shelf he added, “Sheesh, what was that phrase, deja vù?.”
Miles and Willard looked at each other briefly before turning around and walking out of the aisle. Monica trailed behind them, and when they reached the main avenue they looked about.
“Monica,” Willard said as he turned his head from one direction to another, “think you could fly up and help us figure out where the exit is?”
“Absolutely.” Monica jumped into the air and started flying in an upward spiral. She entered into a hover and pointed with a hoof. “That way.” She started off in the direction she had indicated with Miles and Willard following on the ground.
The three newfoals were standing in front of a house that for all intents and purposes looked to be constructed out of gingerbread. They had asked several ponies around Ponyville about where Pinkie Pie lived and had all been given the same description.
“This place is weird,” Miles announced. “It’s like I stepped into that lame story about the two abandoned children, ‘Hansel and Gretel’.”
“Yes well, I doubt whoever lives in there is a witch who’s going to try and bake us,” Willard responded as he took a step towards the door. “Looks open, come on.”
Opening the door with a hoof, Willard walked in and held the confectionary threshold open for Miles and Monica to go through.
As the bell to the door rang a happy voice rang out. “Welcome to Sugarcube Corner! How can I—GASP!” Before Willard could turn to the counter where the voice came from, a bright pink mare with a flamboyantly curly and bouncy mane pressed between him and Miles.
“Hi! I’m Pinkie Pie and you’re new in town because I know everypony in town but I haven’t seen you three before which means I have to introduce you to everypony!” The ecstatic mare turned around, whipping Willard upside the head with her tail, which smelled of cotton candy. She pressed her face to Miles and continued. “So what’s your name? Are you a newfoal? Or are you just moving in? What sweets do you like? What about music? OH! Do you prefer streamers or balloons?”
Miles looked wide eyed at the mare as he backed away slightly. “U-uh, s-streamers?”
Pinkie Pie was off in an instant and Miles made the mistake of taking a deep breath. As soon as he did so, a loud bang went off behind him and he was covered in streamers. “Gah!” he yelled as his back legs shot out, knocking a cannon onto its side. Before he could recuperate the seemingly psychotic mare was in front of him again.
“Omigosh sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you honest! Most ponies love my party cannon! So what else can I do for you?”
Monica coughed and answered. “We just wanted to get the introductions and party over with. I’m Monica.” The green pegasus gestured to herself. “That is my uncle, Willard.” Her hoof pointed to her blue guardian. “And that is Miles, our friend.” She swept her hoof to point at the unicorn who was gasping for air as though he had a heart attack.
“Hi Monica, it’s great to meet you and your friends!” Pinkie responded as she slid over to the pegasus. “So you’re newfoals huh? Let me just get all the arrangements set up and we can officially introduce you to your new neighbours and friends here in Ponyville!”
With that, Pinkie Pie dashed back to the counter and called into what the others assumed was the kitchen. “Mr. Cake! I have to set up a party for newfoals! Seeya thanks bye!” She bolted out the back door as a lanky yellow stallion stepped out of the kitchen.
Seeing the somewhat traumatized Miles, the presumed Mr. Cake chuckled. “She didn’t leave any permanent damage I hope?”
“I feel violated,” Miles responded with a slightly higher than usual pitched voice. He shook off the streamers clinging to him.
The yellow earth pony baker leaned on the counter and brought his fore hooves together. “Yes, she is rather... exuberant. But her heart is in the right place!”
“Yeah, I think I’ll have to wait until I see if I survive this ordeal before making that call,” Miles responded as the three newfoals walked up to the counter. “Any advance warning about the party?”
“Why yes, don’t offer to do anything with her,” piped a voice behind them. They turned around to see a maroon unicorn with a yellow mane sitting at one of the tables. “Nothing against her personally, it’s just that with her parties, eventually you will do all the usual things, dance, play games, talk, better if you just let it unfold at its own pace.” The pony lifted a cup of coffee to his lips and drank deeply. He was wearing a brown vest that draped around his shoulders and wore a top hat on his head. On his flank was an image of two perfectly cut topazes. Lowering the cup from his lips, the unicorn stood up and walked to the others.
“Alan Topatz, co-owner and assistant manager to Ponyville’s very own Carousel Boutique, at your service.” His hat levitated in a field of magic and lowered itself to his chest. “If I have gathered anything from your encounter, would I be correct to surmise that you are newfoals, hmm?”
“Yes,” Willard replied quickly.
“Wonderful!” Topatz exclaimed. “Let me just say that if any of you ever feel a tad exposed, or want to look particularly dapper, my wife and I offer a wide variety of fashionable lines to appeal to an even wider variety of tastes.”
A door behind the bakery counter opened, and Pinkie Pie stepped inside.
“Ah, well, I’ll leave you three to mingle with the rest of the town,” Topatz announced. “Don’t be strangers!” With that the top-hat-wearing stallion stepped out the front door of Sugarcube Corner.
Pinkie Pie stepped beside Miles, who took a large step away from her as he grimaced. The pink mare looked over at Willard and Monica and smiled broadly. “Iiiiiit’s reaaady!” She began bouncing on her hooves as she giggled.
“Already?” Monica asked.
“Yep! Follow me!” the mare bubbled as she turned back to the door she had come in through.
The three newfoals followed the pink mare to find themselves on a large stage built on the back of Sugarcube Corner. They were facing a respectable number of ponies who had gathered. Pinkie Pie pulled out a microphone from nowhere and cleared her throat before launching into a speech.
“Mares and gentlecolts!” she happily declared. “We’re here today to say hello to three all new ponies to Ponyville.” The pink mare skipped over to Monica where she began. “First the forest green firecracker of Monica!” She hopped over to Willard. “Her blue but happy uncle, Willard!” At last she slid to Miles and shouted. “And last but most certainly not least! Miles!”
The pink mare pushed the microphone between the three newfoals and asked brightly. “So anything you’d like to say to everypony?”
Willard looked out the sides of his eyes to his niece and and friend. “Uh... hi.”
Monica smiled sheepishly before giving her own reply. “Likewise.”
The crowd focused on Miles who shifted nervously on his hooves. “Ditto.”
“Unbelievable!” Pinkie hollered as she threw the microphone up in the air and called out to the audience. “There you have it folks, now go ahead, enjoy the food, drinks, games, and company!” The pink mare ran offstage to join the guests.
As the three newfoals left the stage, Willard noticed a yellow, pink-maned pegasus leave the group of gathered citizens. On her flank was a bunny with a rather cantankerous expression on his face, and a pebble wrapped up in his paws.
At the bottom of the steps Miles leaned into his friends and whispered, “So, never come here again?”
Monica’s wings fluffed up as she offered her own reply. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, I’m sure this is just a one time thing.”
“Yeah, a bit eccentric, but I’m sure we’ll all look back on this experience and laugh one day,” Willard added, looking to see what there was to do at the party. Off in one corner was a mat next to a music player. “No, don’t feel like dancing,” he mumbled.
Monica looked up at the sky. “I’d rather be flying.”
Miles saw up against a wall where various ponies had gathered. One of them, a unicorn, was blindfolded and stepping to the wall. On the wall was the depiction of a tailless pony. Soon the unicorn attempted to place the tail on the picture. At the sight Miles rolled his eyes. “Anyone else think that’s slightly messed up?”
Before the conversation could proceed any more, party-goers gathered around the group. Soon the newfoals were swamped by introductions and questions.
“Hello! Berry Punch I run the bar in town! You prefer white or red wine?”
“Mayor Mare, Mayor of Ponyville, it’s so good to see new ponies come to our humble little town.”
“Raindrops, senior assistant manager at Ponyville weather control! Big pleasure!”
“Ditzy, mail mare here in town. Where will you be living so I can deliver any mail for you?”
“Colgate, don’t let the cutie mark fool you, I’m great with oral hygiene! Fast too!”
“Apple Bloom, I help Zecora just outside of town with making medicine. Pleasure to meetcha! Ain’t that right Big Macintosh?”
“Eeyup.”
“Rose Luck, I’m one of the town florists. You ever need any flowers for a special occasion, or somepony, I can help!”
“Doctor Stable, I work at Ponyville hospital. Would you care to answer some questions so I can have you registered to our files in case of a future emergency?”
The brief discussions continued on into hours with the guests of honor taking brief hiatuses in order to simply play a game or enjoy some food. As each inhabitant of the town was introduced, Willard looked around, trying to keep track of all the names.
Eventually, the party winded down and the group returned to the library. Spike was sitting at his desk in the main foyer. “Meet any interesting ponies?” he asked.
“We met many ponies,” Willard answered.
“And now we can get to serious work,” Monica added.
“Tomorrow,” Spike stated flatly.
“Beg pardon?” Miles questioned as he stopped heading to the staircase.
“It’s getting late, but I’m sure you’ll all be quite content over the next few days. Now,” Spike said as he walked over to a shelf and pulled out a rather large, cushioned basket. “I’m going to be turning in for tonight. Good luck with the whole ‘writing down everything everyone ever wrote’.” Spike settled into the basket and smacked his lips together. “Stipends should be distributed the day after tomorrow, maybe use it to get some comforts for the barracks?” he mumbled as the newfoals went down the stairs to the archives.
Monica was flitting about various shelves, organizing recently returned books. Large sections of the archive had been opened to the public once duplicates for various works had been made. The green pegasus fished through her recently purchased saddlebags for one of the books. It was an autobiography of Sir Winston Churchill, some government leader from well over a hundred and fifty years ago. Monica hovered a few feet away from the stone shelf and gingerly handled the tome as she slid it into the shelf.
She looked back to her saddlebags and gave a broad smile. “These things really cut down on the number of trips back to the ground I need to make.” Monica had used the stipend she received just that morning, having made a quick trip to the market and buy the saddlebags. Monica placed another autobiography in place when she heard a voice from the other side of the shelf.
“Horseapples! Why is he going on about how bad he was? Where are the action novels?”
Placing the last book in her saddlebags into its respective spot on the shelf, Monica began hovering upwards. She soon reached the top of the shelf thirty feet above the ground. A meter wide, the top of the shelf gave Monica’s hooves plenty of room to find purchase as she landed on the stone.
Peering over the edge, Monica saw a cyan pegasus with a rainbow-colored mane browsing the shelves. “This seems promising...” the cyan mare said as she pulled out a book. “Foreword, yawn, introduction, bleh, ‘I was bo’—argh! None of these are adventure books. What is this?” The mare put the book back in its place.
“Excuse me miss?” Monica piped up as she entered into a hover over the shelf.
“Wah-huh?” The chromatic-maned pegasus looked around her until she saw Monica as she lowered herself to be level with the garishly hued flyer.
“Monica Radrim,” Monica said as she extended a forehoof. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Uh yeah, what’s up with all these books?” the cyan one asked. “I’m in the ‘A’ section, but none of them are adventure novels. Twilight told me humans had some really good stories with lots of action in them.”
“We’re in the autobiography section of the archives,” Monica answered.
“Autobio-whatnow?” the brightly colored pegasus asked.
“Autobiographies, if you’re looking for adventure novels, you can follow me just this way, miss...?”
“Oh yeah, Rainbow Dash,” the pegasus finally bumped her hoof against Monica’s. With that, Monica turned around quickly and began leading Rainbow around the shelves.
Rainbow Dash? Isn’t that the pony Soarin mentioned? the green pegasus thought as she let her mouth gape open slightly.
“So, what exactly is an autobiography?” Rainbow asked.
“It’s a book that a person writes describing their entire life, or as much as they can remember,” Monica answered. “What they loved and hated and when, why they did the things they did.”
“So like a diary?” Rainbow offered.
“Kind of, but with the intention that it will be read by others.” Monica turned around to smile at Rainbow as they floated down to the ground.
“But there must have been like... hundreds of books like that!” the cyan mare exclaimed as they landed on cold stone and trotted down the massive underground chamber. “All of them just ponies... er people, talking about themselves?”
“Well, yes, there have been quite a few people who have written their own biographies.” Monica raised an eyebrow at the incredulous look Rainbow was giving her. “Don’t ponies have those kinds of things published?”
“U-uh...” Rainbow stammered. “I’m pretty sure the only thing that comes close to that was some diaries from famous ponies in the past. Though I’d have to ask Twilight. That just seems... weird... I mean, just writing about yourself? Nothing else?”
“Well, yes, it’s an opportunity for a person to be remembered by. To show the things they’ve done, their regrets, accomplishments, what they’ve thought. Some write it in order to find out who they are.” Monica led them into the fiction section and sat on the hewn rock floor. “Well here we are, fiction, long form.”
“YES!” Rainbow yelled as she started scanning the various books. “Wow, uhm, there’s a lot here? Got any recommendations?”
Monica floated up as scanned some of the books. Her selection narrowed to tales from antiquity, to Ancient Greece, to the Homeric poets, and down until she reached for the book she thought Rainbow would enjoy. Clutching the book between her fore hooves, Monica went over to Rainbow Dash.
“The Odyssey and The Illiad. Those are both fairly adventurous. They’re some of humanity’s classics.” Monica smiled broadly as Rainbow dash took the book and placed it in her own saddlebag.
“Thanks for the suggestion, but what do you mean it’s a classic?” Rainbow inquired.
“Oh well, it’s just a story that most people have to read for school at some point,” Monica answered, shrugging and drawing a circle in the air with a hoof.
“Huh,” Dash commented, “so have you read a lot of these books?” The mare gestured with a hoof to the whole gallery.
“Not even relatively speaking,” Monica chuckled. “But I could probably direct you towards a section you might enjoy in the future.”
“I’d like that.” Rainbow Dash lowered herself to the ground; Monica followed suit. “Hey, you’re new in town right?” the cyan mare asked as she landed on the ground. A quick nod from Monica bid her continue. “So that means you’ve met Pinkie Pie already. All the power to ya for getting through that. How’d you like to experience some more... toned down hospitality? It’d be nice if you could tell me how to get around down here without running into some books about a guy going on about how wicked he was or some such thing.” She rolled her eyes and blew a few strands of rainbow hair out of her eyes.
Monica looked away briefly before nodding. “Sounds good, where would I meet you?”
“Just a little ways out of town, at Sweet Apple Acres,” Rainbow answered. “Just follow the apple trees, you’ll either see the barn and house eventually, or mine above it if you fly there.” Rainbow dash looked around the archives and chuckled. “Uh, don’t suppose you know the way back huh?”
Casting a quick glance at the signs on the shelves, Monica pointed with a hoof in one direction. “Straight that way. The door will be near the balcony.”
“Thanks,” Rainbow said as she made her way down the indicated direction, quickly taking off and flying amongst the shelves.
Willard pulled back the cart to the diamond dogs and slipped out of his harness. He sat by a shelf as he observed several of the canids quickly bring rocks, boulders, and debris into the cart. Among them were several coat colorations. Some had pushed in snouts like a bulldog and others were elongated like a fox or doberman. Willard was reminded of a dog breeding book he had stumbled upon while idly going through the archives back on earth. Life on earth had been reduced to humans, bacteria, and a few kelp-based crops, but somehow information on breeding dogs had been kept.
Cyrus walked over and looked at his crew working. He placed his paws on his hips and glowered.
“Cyrus!” Willard called to the bulky diamond dog. There had been one or two diamond dogs that were still bigger, but only by a few inches.
Cyrus turned to Willard and scowled. “Yes?”
“I was just wondering why some of your crew look fairly different from one another,” Willard stated.
“My pack is strong, many breeds. Lupine, vulpine, even some trolls,” he pronounced gutturally in response.
“Wait a tick, you’re getting better at this talking thing, what happened?” Willard asked.
“The trolls in my pack can barely speak a coherent sentence. It is something of a running joke. They’d never realize it in all likelihood. They’re that miserable trio that goes through the rubble you bring to them, finding any gems we missed.”
“Okay, so trolls aren’t that friendly,” Willard said, earning a snort from Cyrus. “Anything else useful to know?” asked Willard.
“The Lupine are strong.” Cyrus pointed to himself. “The Vulpine are fast on their feet, and trolls are, admittedly, the best diggers, but also greedy: they put valuables above the pack.” The hulking diamond dog walked towards the earth pony and pressed his face to Willard’s. “You would do well to remember that the pack is the most important thing to diamond dogs. Together, we’re stronger than alone. That is why I will not stand ponies who don’t respect the pack, understand?”
Willard looked into the creature’s eyes for a few, long, silent moments. “You have a system of working together, and you don’t like it when others don’t respect how you make yourselves strong. I get it; I’m fairly certain a pony would be just as insulted if their way of doing things was aggressively criticized.”
“As the trolls in my pack would say: ‘Hurgh, too many words to say simple thing.’ But yes,” Cyrus answered, stepping back. “You might understand the pack one day. Good.” Cyrus looked at the cart to see it was full again. “Time to pull,” he said to Willard as he pointed to the harness.
“Yeah yeah, I’m moving it, guess your pack’s all the stronger with me taking out the—” Willard slipped into the harness and pulled. “—Ergh! Thousands of pounds of garbage!” He began pulling before he turned. “What are the troll’s names?”
“Fido, Spot, and Rover.”
As Willard trudged away with the rocks in tow, Cyrus walked back to the rock wall his dogs were excavating. He smiled as he noted a small sapphire poking out of the rock. “Suppose he’s better to listen to than a unicorn.”
Miles was walking to a round, two storey, purple-and-white building. In the glow of his magical field he floated the small bag of bits of his first stipend. With the highly informal permission of Willard, he had decided to use the stipend on some creature comforts. Food and beds were provided for at the archives, so Miles could simply use his money on some other needs.
The grey unicorn walked into the building and was happy to see various mannequins arranged inside. It was indeed the clothing store as he had been told. Standing by a counter with a register sitting on top, Alan Topatz was browsing a newspaper when he looked up.
“Ah, come to get some clothes? How are you doing today Mr. Miles?” the maroon stallion asked.
“I was looking for something that would cover me up. I’ve been going about like—” Miles swished his tail to make the point. “—this for a while, and it would be nice to have some pants.
“Pants hmm? Well, we have some items here that should fit the bill nicely. Right this way,” Topatz instructed as he walked out from behind the counter.
Topatz walked over to some shelves with Miles in tow. On the shelves were several sets of clothes that were marked with their sizes. “Now I do believe you’re on a budget yes?” Topatz looked back to see his newfoal customer give a nod. “Then I suggest some of these premade clothes. The waist tie is adjustable; do you know how to tie knots as a unicorn yet?” Again Miles nodded. “Right then, medium ought to do it for you,” the yellow-maned unicorn mumbled as he floated out a set of denim pants.
The article of clothing had a large pockets on the sides, a drawstring waist tie, and rather baggy pant legs. “Go ahead and try them out,” Topatz insisted, letting Miles grasp the clothing with his own magic. He stepped into the pants and cinched them tight. The grey unicorn wiggled a little bit and soon managed to squeeze his tail through a hole that was in the back.
Miles turned to Topatz and shifted in his new set of clothes. “I like it!” he exclaimed.
“Excellent! Can I interest you in purchasing a second pair my boy, hmmm?” Topatz leaned towards Miles, grinned widely, and raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I think I can afford that,” Miles said.
“Wonderful! Right this way.” Topatz floated out a second pair of pants and walked to the register. He pressed a few buttons on his register and opened it. “Twenty bits please and thank you.”
Miles floated out the money and gave it to the salespony. As Topatz tended the register, the newfoal found himself staring at his top hat. Topatz looked up at Miles and smiled brightly. “The wife says it makes me look dashing, and I agree.”
“Ah,” Miles said, lifting his head and brows in a curt nod of understanding.
Miles took his other set of pants and exited the door. When the bell stopped ringing a white unicorn mare with a purple mane stepped down the stairs. “Well, I’ve finished my work on that idea I had. Was that a customer I heard leaving?”
Topatz leaned into the mare when she came to a stop beside him. “Yes Rarity hon, newfoal, Miles he said his name was.”
Rarity bit her lip. “Happy with his purchase?”
“Very much so.”
Rarity closed her eyes and hummed contentedly. “I’m so happy to be able to help newfoals get comfortable in their new lives.”
Topatz rested his neck across Rarity’s. “Mhm, you always make me comfortable, my little pillow.”
Rarity tugged Topatz’ hat over his eyes with her magic and smiled. “Now Al, we might have another customer come in any minute.” She slipped out from underneath his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll just be examining my work to see if it looks as good as I thought it would be.”
Miles arrived back at the library. When he stepped through the door, he saw Spike was still at the desk, scribbling on a piece of parchment.
The purple dragon looked up with a flat expression. “Bought pants, I see,” he commented. “Most newfoals end up buying something from Rarity, how was she?”
“She wasn’t there, just an Alan Topatz.” Miles stepped towards the stairs leading to the archives.
“Oh, yeah, Rarity’s husband, how was he then?” Spike’s wings hung flaccidly at his sides.
“He’s a natural-born salesman; I’ll give him that. Knew exactly what I needed to stay umm...” Miles blushed. “Concealed.”
“There’s gotta be more to it than that,” Spike said. “I mean, between your tail, legs, and the rest, nopony sees anything! Even if they did, it’s not like it would turn them to stone like a cockatrice stare.”
Miles pursed his lips and let the corners of his mouth pull up. “I suppose nostalgia means nothing to you?”
“I’m a dragon, nostalgia is pretty important, comes with the hoarding instinct.” Spike placed his quill to the side and scratched his chin in thought. “But what’s nostalgic about pants?”
“You just get used to the feeling of being covered after a lifetime,” Miles answered. “And it’s something that you don’t have to give up.”
Spike picked up the quill and resumed writing. “Suppose everyone has something they’d rather not let go of,” he mumbled.
Miles and Willard were waiting at the train station in Ponyville. They were seated underneath a small shelter, a simple roof suspended by two poles embedded in the station platform. The station was for the most part empty except for the two newfoals.
“So what are we picking up again?” Miles asked, turning his head to Willard.
The earth pony kept his gaze straight as he answered, “Several gallons of ink to create copies for the archive. Along with some replacement parts for the printing press.”
“So, what are the diamond dogs like?” Miles questioned.
“Coordinated, really coordinated, if one of them notices a pebble falling towards another’s head, a little noise and the other grabs it before it hits them.” Willard looked up at the roof. “How’s work in the music section of the archives?”
“Good, good. I’m helping with restringing instruments. I’ve met with several others, getting along with them fairly well. There’s Octavia, you met her, then there’s also a Noteworthy, Sweetie Belle, and a Vinyl Scratch, after that it get’s confusing still.” The unicorn tapped his left hind hoof as he pursed his lips ponderously. “Think they have Rubik's Cubes in Equestria?”
Willard looked at his friend, then at his pants-covered flank, imagining the rook cutie mark underneath. “They somehow developed chess independent of us. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
The two newfoals' ears perked as they heard the train approaching. As the steam engine came to a halt, the two newfoals awaited the archive’s supply of ink and printer parts to be brought out. Instead, they heard the voice of a stallion who had spent many years in a position of privilege, while taking on none of the responsibility of said position.
“Servant! Take me outside, the air in this train is terribly stale!” A door on the side of a passenger car swung open, and a couch floated out, encased in a light blue aura. On top of the couch was a white unicorn stallion with a blonde mane. Adorning him was a collared suit that looked as though it had been custom made. Behind the couch was servant unicorn in attire that could best be described as a butler’s outfit.
“Gwah!” the white unicorn exclaimed as he lifted a hoof to shade his eyes. “Servant! Find us some shade!” The couch began floating over to the shelter where Willard and Miles were sitting.
“Save our ears?” Miles asked.
“Yes,” Willard answered. The two newfoals stepped out from the shelter, saving themselves from one insipid conversation, but exposing themselves to another. The stallion looked up as his couch floated to the platform underneath the shelter, and he saw the two newfoals. Looking at Miles, his face immediately creased with lines.
“You, plebe, why do you hide your cutie mark? Do you think yourself worthy of such luxury?” When Miles’ brows raised in mild irritation, the stallion immediately said, “Answer your superiors. I’m not above reporting those who would disobey a royal.”
“Beg pardon,” Miles said, “but I’ve never heard of a royal who was male, who are you?” From behind the couch, Willard could see the unicorn servant sliding a hoof over his throat in a universally understood declaration of ‘cut it off’.
“How dare you!” the stallion answered as he sat up indignantly on his couch. “I am Prince Blueblood, and I demand to know why you adorn yourself above your station!”
Miles looked at his covered flank and scowled as he turned back to face Blueblood. “Pants? Who do you think you are to say I can’t wear pants? I wore them when I was human, and I’m going to continue doing so.”
“Phah!” Blueblood spat, turning his head to the side and shutting his eyes. “Ignoring good Equestrian standards like a typical newfoal.” He waved a forehoof at the servant who immediately picked up the couch and Blueblood. “Why auntie insisted I return from my sabbatical to such vulgars is a mystery!” he announced as he floated back into the train.
When the door shut, Miles immediately stood up. “What a total asshat!” He turned to Willard. “I mean really! How far did he stick his head up where the sun doesn’t shine to just think like that?”
“Well if that’s his kind of attitude when he meets Celestia. I think he’ll smarten up.” Willard looked over to his friend fondly. His lips turned downward when he took in Miles’ countenance.
The grey unicorn managed to pale even further than usual as the full implications struck him. He opened his mouth soundlessly before sitting on the platform. “What if this comes back to bite me in the ass?” Miles scrambled to wrap himself in his forehooves. Willard walked to his friend.
“Miles, relax, all you did was ask who a guy thought he was, and told him that you’re going to wear pants. It’s not going to come back to hurt you.” Willard wrapped a hoof over his friend’s neck. “The trial still has you shook up doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. I just keep reminding myself not to screw this up.”
“And you won’t,” Willard assured, using his hoof to shut Miles’ hanging jaw. “Come on, cargo car is this way.” Willard led the way down the platform until they found an earth pony pulling a cart loaded with a crate from the train.
The brown stallion grunted as he slipped out of the harness. “Keep the cart. Now...” the pony reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a set of papers and a quill. “If I could get a signature to confirm you received the delivery?” Miles took the paper and quill with his magic as Willard slipped into the harness. “Thank you very much,” the stallion said before stepping back onto the train. “Good luck to you all!”
Willard and Miles began their way down the road back to the archive. The unicorn looked over to his friend and pursed his lips. “You know I really feel like I should be the one pulling, indentured servant and all.”
“You were military, ever go on a rucksack march?” Willard asked.
“Yeah.”
“This is easier, and I’d rather do this than risk getting the taste of ink in my mouth.” Willard looked out of the side of his eyes to see Miles nodding. “Besides, you get to put the coding stickers on for every single book that Written Script is going to print out to add to the general access archives.”
“Fair enough,” Miles chuckled as they reached the library. A quick twist of the handle with his magic and the unicorn had the door opened.
Lieutenant Karan was going through an after-action report on the raid of the Gavin Schummel headquarters in New York. As he walked through a door, the pneumatic hiss of the pump reminded the lieutenant of the potion bombs going off. He stood in the doorway briefly as he reflected—to his relief—that no riots had ensued in the aftermath. It wasn’t unheard of for people generally against ponification to boil over in the hours after a PER attack. It generally wasn’t good news for any newfoals caught up in it. It usually concluded with the tragic realization that they had lowered themselves to the level of those who had first converted their victims.
Shaking his head, Karan walked out the door and across the hall into another room. The room had an open window that gave a view of a staging area outside. They were all on standby, ready to deploy within the hour when intelligence figured out exactly what the PER were doing. In the middle of the room was a table, where Karphal, Vickers, Jameson, and Crystal were waiting. Karphal in particular was digging into a strip of synth-meat to tide over his metabolism. Crystal was looking in the other direction.
Jameson turned to Karan on his chair and asked, “They find anything out yet?”
The lieutenant shook his head. “The techs and Chuck are going through all the data we pulled from the hardware. Something big is going down, but we need more information to figure out how to stop it before it’s too late.”
As Karan sat at the table beside Crystal and opposite of Jameson, his DaTab beeped with a new message. Karan opened up the file before the others leaned in.
“That what I think it is?” Crystal Clear asked.
Without answering, Karan simply read the message out loud.
“Dear Lieutenant Karan, thank you for your request to join the gryphonization program. After assessing your record, we have found that it would be acceptable for you to go through the gryphonization program, without the initial general coverage course. However, due to your ongoing active duty, the present number of applicants awaiting conversion, and security reasons, you will only enter the program in eight months.”
Karan lowered the DATab and looked at his fellow soldiers. “Well, it looks like I’ll be this way for a bit longer.”
“Hey, I’m sure once you get into the program, you’ll pass,” Karphal said. The Gryphon Kingdoms had put several requirements, including an exam that had to be passed, in order for anyone to be accepted into the program.
“You mean that?” Karan asked.
Karphal frowned briefly. “I think we both know gryphons aren’t ones for false praise.”
“Right, right. Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t tear Vickers a new one when he said he’d make a better sniper than you if he had your eyes.”
Vickers responded by tilting his head and emphatically mouthing, ‘Why remind him?’
Karphal patted Vickers’ back heavily with one claw, while popping the last bit of meat into his beak with the other. The well-meaning blow made the human exhale quickly. “I never said he wasn’t an excellent shot, for a human.”
“Yeah well,” Vickers began, “I cover your back, you don’t eviscerate mine.”
Karphal chuckled to himself. “You didn’t even have to ask for such a deal.”
Willard had just returned to where the diamond dogs were excavating the cave wall. With surprising speed, their claws tore through the stone. They would occasionally find a gem, and with a few tosses amongst them, they would assess it, placing it into a barrel filled with other jewels.
Off to the side, a vulpine by the looks of it, was bouncing a little pup on her knee. Another pup stood on her shoulders, tugging at her ears as though to guide the motions as she tended what was most likely his sibling.
Willard stepped out of the cart’s harness and sat off to the side while three diamond dogs set about filling the cart with loose stone. He looked at the barren stone wall that was being carved out. Willard shivered slightly at the thought of how immense the place would have to be to hold every written record, even just the ones deemed of remote significance.
Willard rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck when his ears picked up a feminine voice.
“Cyrus? Excuse me?”
The diamond dog pack leader immediately ceased his digging and walked past the cart. The large lupine reached over and massaged where his neck joined his shoulders, giving a satisfied chuckle.
He stopped in front of a purple unicorn mare. She had a darker purple mane and tail, with a pink highlight in each. She wore a thick, brown, woolen cloak that had what looked to be burn marks on it.
Cyrus pinched the bridge of his nose and gave an irritated huff. “And what precisely makes you come here, Sparkle?”
“I was just wondering if I could borrow one of your pack for a moment, a lupine would be preferred, their strength would be invaluable in—”
“Diamond dogs are not borrowed,” Cyrus interrupted. “I made it clear over a decade ago, and thousands of times since, we do not bend to your herd. We dig, raise our pups, find gems, and hunt. When we clear out a large enough section, the ponies get to use the cave as we move on.”
“I understand that,” Sparkle began. “But I could really use some assistance, just for twenty minutes.”
Cyrus stuck out a paw in a motion to stop the mare’s speech before turning his head. Seeing Willard, he beckoned him to come over. Willard obliged and walked over.
“This is Willard, use him before you ever ask something of the pack.”
Without another word, the diamond dog returned to his pack and resumed digging with them, occasionally plunging his fist into a weakened section of the wall and pulling out a gem.
Willard was left with the mare. He tapped his back left hoof to the grey stone before he said, “So, Sparkle, I would assume that means you’re Dr. Twilight Sparkle, director of this branch of the Human Archives Project?”
The mare nodded. “Yes.” She stuck out a hoof towards Willard. He bumped his hoof into hers before she continued. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr...”
“Willard Radrim, Monica Radrim’s uncle.”
“Oh wonderful! It’s always good to see when families come to Equestria together.” Twilight turned on the spot and led the way through the archives. “So where are her parents? Is it your brother or sister who’s the relation?” Twilight’s ears twitched. “Oh, that is if you don’t mind my asking.”
“Monica is related to me through my late brother,” Willard answered flatly.
“Late brother? Oh dear!” Twilight turned back to look at Willard as they continued walking. “Are you okay talking about it?”
“Indeed. It was nearly twelve years ago, back when the conversion bureaus were just starting.” Willard looked down an aisle that was still completely empty, both of ponies and of books. “My brother and his wife were both working on some fixes of the San Diego Bureau when the HLF conducted a raid. By the time EarthGov gained control of the situation, all that was left to do was send letters to the relatives, including me.”
“What about Monica’s grandparents? Your parents?”
Willard looked back in the distance where he could make out the loose outlines of the cart and diamond dogs. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Twilight.
“Dr. Sparkle, is this line of questioning due to a curiousness about newfoals, or does my role here in the archives as a manual laborer set you at unease about my abilities as a guardian to Monica?”
Twilight pulled her head back as though she had been struck before coming to a stop. “I didn’t mean to insult you! Sorry if I did.” Twilight’s ears wilted.
“You didn’t, I just want to make it perfectly clear that your line of questioning was beginning to take on implications I would rather head off.” Willard walked past Twilight before he looked back. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry if you thought I was giving you hell.”
Twilight’s brow furrowed as she muttered the word ‘hell’ underneath her breath. “Oh!” she said. “Tartarus. Right, there are a few words that don’t have the same cultural equivalent in Equestria.”
Willard shrugged while he was standing, causing his head to dip lower in some awkward nod. The two continued down the archive. “As for my parents, they had my brother and I rather late in life. Natural causes, before Equestria even showed up.” Willard breathed through his nose before continuing. “Now what was it you needed assistance with?”
The two ponies reached the staircase leading to Twilight’s study. While they walked up, Twilight gave her response. “I just needed somepony to help set up some equipment for an experiment.” Reaching the study door, Twilight pushed it open with a hoof and let Willard walk in first.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” she replied.
Willard looked around the room. Like before, it was big, rectangular, had high ceilings, and magelights were everywhere. There was also a desk nestled against the far wall. On top of the desk were some quills, ink pots, and parchment. The one difference was that the curtain opposite the door was moved over to the side, revealing a metal cylinder attached to four paddles.
Willard contemplated the sight as he sat down and looked at it with squinted eyes. “Is that?”
“A turbine-based electrical generator, yes,” Twilight confirmed. She stepped up to the device and laid a hoof on the grey steel sides. “Took a bit of digging through the archives to find the best method. Equestria doesn’t have fissionable materials so a nuclear based option was impossible. Solar panels couldn’t be tested in principle back on earth before being brought here.” Twilight drew her hoof back before facing Willard. “But with the possibility of wind turbines, hydroelectric dams, or even gas burning, we’ll be able to produce electricity.”
“So you’re trying to create a workable generator,” Willard said, sitting on his haunches.
“I’ve already managed that,” Twilight answered. “I managed to perfect a spell that refines lodestones to a point where they are capable of producing an electromagnetic field that is strong enough.”
“You’ve made magnets that can work in a generator, then what’s the problem?” Willard asked.
“Generating the electricity isn’t the problem. The problem is keeping Equestria’s magic—” Twilight waved a forehoof at the air around her. “—from reacting violently with the electricity.”
Willard nodded his head. “I heard about that, different quantum states between our universes. Running electricity in Equestria is like trying to run a current through a bare wire in water.” When Twilight simply nodded, Willard looked back to the generator. “So... what did you need me to do?”
Twilight indicated a stone pedestal with her hoof. The rectangular rock had a hole embedded in the side. A small glass globe with a thin metal filament running through it lay on top of the stone. “Push that towards the generator, then plug in the generator. I can take it from there, and then you can help with the clean up if my hypothesis was incorrect.”
Willard went over to the block and shoved it into place with ease. He walked around it and found the wire Twilight had mentioned. Before grabbing it in his mouth, Willard asked, “This generator doesn’t have any remaining charge does it?”
“No!” Twilight yelled. When Willard looked back he noticed she was standing behind a shining purple bubble.
“Is this thing going to blow up when I plug it in?”
“If it does, it won’t harm you as badly as it would me. Earth pony durability, you could survive a train hitting you provided you got medical treatment to prevent complications.”
The earth pony had an uncomfortable flashback of his first train ride, and flight courtesy a PER pegasi, in Equestria. Sighing, Willard picked up the wire and inserted it into the hole in the block. He trotted away from the assembly until he stood by Twilight. The mare’s horn began to spark as she cast a second spell, rotating the turbine to produce electricity.
The generator groaned for a moment before shaking violently. The light bulb shot away from the pedestal and shattered on the ceiling before all the fragments burst into multiple flashes of light that arced back down to the ground. Willard made to move before a purple hoof shot out in front of him.
“Give it a minute...” Twilight said.
“Dr. Sparkle, the light bulb was disintegrated. I think that—”
The stone pedestal shot away from the generator, sailing across the room at a speed some pegasi would envy, before burying itself in a wall.
“Attempted insulator batch six-hundred-forty-eight has failed,” Twilight noted, floating out a quill and paper. “Use of Zebrican fortified rubber compounds has resulted in the pedestal remaining intact, and not fragmenting. Now,” she said as she turned to Willard. “Thank you for being here in case of an emergency.” Twilight nodded to the pedestal, stuck firmly in the wall. Her horn glowed briefly as a purple aura surrounded it. The stone pedestal managed to pull out. “I needed to save my energy for the shield, detection spells, and powering the generator, in case something went wrong.”
Twilight smiled at Willard, whose mouth was still striving valiantly to sweep the floor with its jaw. The navy earth pony shut his mouth and shook his head before turning to face the unicorn. “Dr. Sparkle, I was just wondering. I was told by Princess Celestia that you would be reporting on my friend, Edward Miles, to see how he’s behaving.”
Twilight’s eyes widened in realization. “You’re Miles’ suretor?” She trotted to the desk and pulled out some papers. “It’s good that you mentioned that, I’ve been rather busy, and it’ll be good to know where he is as soon as I’m ready for our first session. Celestia told me in the letter that she expected the first report...” Twilight floated out a piece of parchment. “One month after his arrival.” Twilight let the paper fall out of her magical grip and back onto the desk. She reached a hoof to her chest, then extended it outwards with a breath. “Thank you for reminding me, Willard.” Twilight looked over the paper before looking at Willard. “So he was part of that anti-pony group? The Human Liberation Front?” she asked, brow furrowing.
“Yes, do you need to ask me a few questions?” Willard shifted on his hooves.
“If you don’t mind,” Twilight answered. “Now, have there been any incidents of Miles displaying aggression towards ponies since his conversion?”
“One attempt on his own life when I first met him,” Willard answered, prompting Twilight to look up, her mouth open slightly. “And one fight with a member of the PER, who was the instigator.” Twilight scribbled down a few notes.
“Has his cutie mark appeared yet?” When Willard nodded, Twilight wrote down a few more lines while muttering, “Presence of cutie mark indicates acceptance of body...” Twilight glanced up quickly before asking, “Do you know him prior to his conversion?”
“Yes, we served in the same platoon two years ago.”
“Okay, so you both served in the military?” Willard nodded in answer to Twilight. The mare set down the paper and quill. “Okay, I think it would be best if the remainder of the questions waited until Miles is actually here.”
“Good,” Willard said taking a few steps towards the door. “You’ll likely find him helping out in the music section of the archives when you’re ready to see him.”
Miles closed his eyes in frustration as he breathed through his nose. In his hooves lay a violin with the last string snapped in twain.
Using a combination of hooves and magic, he unspooled another length of string to make another attempt at fixing the blasted instrument before him. When he reached what he thought was an appropriate length, he cut the string with a hard pull of his magic, separating the molecules of the allow, and wound it around a peg and laying the string across the bridge.
He lifted up a bow and slid it across the string to check the pitch; it was still slightly off, but Miles decided against risking another broken string and lay the instrument to the side.
The unicorn stood up, stretched his neck, and surveyed the room he had been relegated to for the task of restringing the instruments. Miles looked up at a small clock that showed he had managed to accomplish his task within three hours. Walking to the door, Miles’ attention shifted to the sounds coming from the other side. With the distraction of his task, he had ignored the voices that had occasionally muttered in the main recording room.
Twisting the handle with his magic, opening the door, Miles found himself witness to an intriguing scene. Octavia and Vinyl Scratch were giving looks to each other that by Ponyville standards might be deemed baleful. For Miles however, they looked merely as though they were thoroughly disappointed in one another.
“I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again Vinyl; I reserved the recording room for today with the express purpose of practicing and recording Handel and Stravinsky. I know you want to try and recreate the works of this...” Octavia gestured to some sheet music by Vinyl’s side. “Elvis, and...” Octavia shuddered. “Deadmau5, but we owe it to the princess, newfoals, and Equestria in general to devote our time to bring the music that is actually good to everypony.”
“Good? What are you implying? Have you looked at what humans did with just guitars, bass, drums, and singing? It puts everything you’ve ever done in an orchestra to shame!” Vinyl threw her hooves up in the air to emphasize her point. “And for human synthesized music? It’s something that we can barely accomplish with magic. It’s totally unique!”
Octavia’s mouth hung agape as she pressed a forehoof to her chest. “Vinyl! While I appreciate your avid desire to pursue mankind’s more original works, the archives project hopes to disseminate human culture for all to enjoy.”
Miles shifted towards the room’s exit, taking care not to make too much noise when his hooves struck the hard rock floor.
“But that said,” Octavia continued, “some ponies are highly skeptical of some of their works. We’re lucky the princess and others have been so generous in providing the funding. I still wish to show everypony that humans can produce more than that chaotic... noise.
Miles reached the door just in time to have it opened by Willard on the other side. “Miles, good to see you. I have some good—”
“Noise? It’s better than that stuff... What are they called? Bagpipes? You want noise, that’s it right there.” Vinyl huffed and lifted up several music sheets while Octavia gawked. Soon the grey mare broke into a tirade about how human practices on orchestra could revolutionize Equestrian music.
“Shouldn’t you be trying to calm things down?” Willard asked Miles.
“Me? You’re the one who has all the little tidbits of culture stowed away to bring out at a moments notice.” Miles turned back to look at the two mares. “Besides, I’m trying to not rock the boat.”
Willard shook his head. “I'm more of a literature and philosophy guy. You like music don’t you? Maybe you can find something in the middle ground—”
“Classical music is not slow! It’s paced!” yelled Octavia.
Willard stared at the arguers in befuddlement for a few moments, reminded of some of the political debates between the Humanist and Transcendentalist parties of EarthGov. Transcendentalists were the oddballs of the six largest parties, focused on improving humanity by any method, conversion included. The Humanist Party by contrast fiercely believed that man could make due in the world just as he was, sans cybernetic augmentation or potion.
“Fifteen minutes to get to three minutes of something that isn’t a total snore fest is pacing?” Vinyl questioned Octavia.
Willard snapped out of his tangent, shaking his head. “Come on Miles, it’d be good for you to get a feel for socializing with others. Find something they can both work on.” Willard waved his hoof towards the two mares.
Blowing a lock of his mane away from his eye, Miles turned back and walked towards the confrontation. Okay, the middle ground between rock and classical music... The grand-daddy. “Octavia? Ms. Scratch?”
“Yes?” the two mares asked quickly, but with almost no aggression to Miles.
“I was thinking that there might be some orchestral music in the archives,” Miles said, gesturing towards Octavia. “That is a little heavier than usual.” Miles nodded to Vinyl.
Vinyl pressed her forehooves together as though making a temple, or praying. “Go on,” she said.
Miles guided the mares out of the room and Willard following in the rear. They reached the classical music section marked “BE” when Miles started scanning the section.
“Come on,” he muttered. “It’s gotta be one of the first things they sent over. B-E-E-T-YES!” Miles pulled out a folder that was marked ‘Beethoven’. He handed the sheet music to Octavia, who balanced it on her hoof. “See if symphony number five doesn’t catch both of your interests.”
Opening it with her nose, Octavia inspected the music sheet as Vinyl peered over her shoulder. Vinyl looked up from the music, her lips turned downward as fascination lit up her eyes, and she nodded towards Miles. “Not bad. Tavi?”
“It has a quite a few instruments, but I think this would be wonderful for us to record.” Octavia looked up at Miles and smiled appreciatively. “Thank you for the suggestion Miles.”
“Glad I could help.” Miles looked behind the two mares to see Willard stretch out a hoof, only for the earth pony to realize the futility of the attempted ‘thumbs up’.
Monica glided easily over Ponyville. Her eyes scanned the world below to see all of the town. Ponies bustled in and out of one of the larger stone buildings; those who were leaving had various groceries and other goods, leading Monica to suspect it was an indoor market or store of some kind. The periphery of the town was dotted by several farms that each grew a variety of crops: carrots, potatoes, corn, squash; near the river there was even an earth pony wading through a rice paddy. The farms expanded in all directions, save one. The dark, foreboding trees of the Everfree, contrasted to the levity of the town on its outskirts, made it look as though it had been deliberately placed just to spoil the beauty.
Where Monica was flying, she followed a path that ran parallel to the edge of the forest to the largest farm. What made this farm unique aside from its size was that its crop was based on fruiting trees. Monica had no trouble finding a pony who was willing to point her in the direction of Sweet Apple Acres.
Wonder if my greeting there will really be more tame than Pinkie’s? Who am I kidding? Anything would be more tame than something set up by her! Looking amongst the branches, Monica kept an eye out for a rainbow mane below her. Failing at that, she looked around the skies to see if Rainbow Dash was perhaps flying overhead.
Thunk.
Monica’s eyes were drawn once again to the ground where she saw four ponies. The largest—and only one she recognized from Pinkie’s party—was a red stallion earth pony with a rustic orange mane. On his flank was a green apple for a cutie mark. He had a large yoke around his neck that framed his face. He bucked a tree next to him, and all the apples fell to the ground.
Another pony, a chocolate brown unicorn mare with a white mane, tail and face, used magic to quickly gather the apples and place them in a central cart. She had a cutie mark of the traditional medical logo. It was a pin with two wings attached to it, and two snakes entwining the pin.
The cart itself was being pulled by another earth pony stallion with a peach coat and an ocean blue mane. His cutie mark was a simple green leaf. He stopped the cart by another tree as Monica inclined her wings to dive down.
Pulling to a stop and dropping to the ground, Monica saw one last pony, an orange mare with a blonde mane and tail, tied up with red ribbon, and her head covered with a stetson. Adorning her flanks was the image of three, red, healthy-looking apples. The mare bucked the tree, shaking it, and making it relinquish yet more apples. As the chocolate brown mare stuffed the apples into the cart, the orange mare used a forehoof to wipe some sweat off of her brow before looking up and seeing Monica.
“Howdy!” she announced happily in an accent that Monica could only describe as reminding her of some holovids dedicated to what was called ‘The Wild West’. She walked over to Monica a few steps before turning back to the other three and flagging them to come over. “Big Mac, Wilhelm, Brigitte, c’mere! We have a guest!”
The four ponies gathered around Monica before the orange mare extended a hoof towards Monica. “Good afternoon to you miss, I’m Applejack.”
Monica bumped her hoof to Applejack’s and smiled warmly. “Monica Radrim.”
“Newfoal?" Applejack slid her hat back. "Well shucks, welcome to Equestria, Ponyville, and Sweet Apple Acres.” Applejack extended a hoof to each of the ponies in turn. “This is Big Macintosh.” She indicated the large red stallion. “And that’s Wilhelm and Brigitte respectively,” she completed, sweeping her hoof over the remaining stallion and mare. “We’re all happy to welcome you Monica, but what brings you to our humble farm?” Applejack asked, tilting her head.
“I was hoping I could see Rainbow Dash? I met her down in the archive, helped her find a book she was interested in, and she asked me if I wanted an introduction to the town by some ponies who were a little less... high-strung compared to Pinkie Pie.”
Wilhelm laughed then, before speaking in a German accent. “Yes, Pinkie Pie does have that effect on newfoals. I remember when Brigitte and I were first coming to Ponyville with twenty other newfoals. I think she very well traumatized half of them! Isn’t that right Brigitte?”
Brigitte leaned into Wilhelm affectionately. “Yes, that must have been almost nine years ago,” she hummed, before looking Monica in the eyes. “And a wonderful nine years they've been. I hope you have as pleasant an experience as we have.”
Applejack trotted over to Wilhelm’s side and gave him an affectionate smile. “Likewise.” She looked back at Monica. “As for Rainbow Dash, she was helping out by watering the west fields. She’s been talking about some adventure book she picked up for a while. Never mentioned it was human though.”
Monica stared at the two mares leaning slightly against Wilhelm, her mouth hanging open. Catching herself, she shook her head and looked to the sky to see Rainbow Dash gliding down towards them.
The cyan pegasus landed and walked towards Big Macintosh. “West fields are watered AJ.” She stopped by Big Mac and planted a quick peck on his cheek. “Good afternoon, Mac.” She smiled before turning at last to Monica. “Hey there Monica! I see you already met my family, except Apple Bloom; you can meet her soon enough though.” She trotted up to Monica “So that Illiad book read like one of Twilight’s checklists, but I’m really enjoying the sequel. I just got to the part where Odysseus got back to his island, about time too!”
Monica smiled and blushed. “Good to know you enjoyed it.”
Rainbow Dash took a quick glance around the trees and several filled carts nearby. “Harvesting done for the day AJ?”
“Well,” Applejack answered, adjusting her stetson. “We were already ahead when we started today, so any work was an accomplishment. Seeing as how we've got a guest to entertain though, I figure we can cut it short.” Applejack looked at Dash and winked. “Presuming you really did water the west fields.”
Rainbow Dash reached a hoof across her chest and lifted her chin up. “Wonderbolts Honor.” Opening her eyes, she said to Monica, “Lucky thing I’m mostly just practicing for the next few weeks, show seasons are packed tight for scheduling.”
“Eeyup,” Macintosh declared, finally breaking his silence.
“So!” Wilhelm piped up. “Big Mac and I can put away the apples while you and the others show Monica around the farm, then we can meet up for a late lunch in the comfort of home, yes?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Applejack said, breaking from Wilhelm’s side and walking up to Monica. “Come on, we’ll show you around!”
Monica followed behind the three other mares, head bent low, brow creased, and lips pursed as she looked between them. Applejack pointed out spots around the farm of any remote interest, with Rainbow and Brigitte offering explanations, anecdotes, or further asides as necessary.
“That there’s the barn.” Applejack pointed.
“I've always been the one to help repair it since Wilhelm and I moved here,” Brigitte added.
“Not to mention it’s where Big Mac proposed to me.” Rainbow breathed on a hoof and brushed it against her chest. “That was two years ago; same day eight years ago I got into the Wonderbolts. It’s a good day.” Rainbow grinned widely.
“And here we are, home sweet home,” Applejack announced, “where the rooms are warm, the food filling, and there’s always a place to hang your hat.” The house was painted red with black shingles, white trim, and a weathervane on the roof. Applejack opened the door and ushered the others in.
“Not that you’d ever hang up that hat AJ,” Rainbow said as she crossed the threshold, earning a scoff from the orange mare.
Monica entered the house to find a cozy exterior with a living room leading to a dining room, followed by a kitchen. Off to the left were some stairs leading to the second story. Applejack led them to the dining room before offering a seat to Monica. Taking a seat beside her was Rainbow Dash, while Brigitte and Applejack walked into the kitchen and gathered ingredients for the planned meal.
“So, The Odyssey,” Rainbow started almost immediately, “Loving it, but humans aren't afraid of writing some messed up stuff. I mean that Cyclops just ate those humans! I’m lucky Apple Bloom wasn't around when I read that aloud.”
Monica nodded. “Yeah, human literature can get intense compared to what I've heard of Equestrian literature.”
“So once I’m done, are there any other books you’d recommend?” Rainbow leaned forward excitedly with an eager smile on her face.
“Well, if you’re looking for fighting, travel, adventure and some human mythology, there are plenty of other Ancient Greek writings like Hercules. Or if you’re looking for something by a different culture, I think the archives have some versions of the King Arthur Myth.” Monica raised up a hoof and waved it to the side.
“Awesome, that’s exactly what I was hoping to hear. Ever since the author of Daring Do ended the series, I've been looking for something to act as a replacement, but nothing had that right feeling of... well danger.”
Monica chuckled, “Well, if you look at the total of human works, there are plenty of dangerous adventures.”
“And what about you Monica?” Applejack interrupted through the kitchen door. “What can you tell us about yourself?”
“Oh well, I lived in San Diego originally, then I moved to New York with my uncle. I converted just a few weeks ago after he was hit by the PER.”
There was the sound of a bowl dropping onto the counter carelessly when Brigitte poked her head through the door. “PER?” she asked. When Monica nodded Brigitte took a deep breath. “Well I’m glad he wasn’t kidnapped and forced to listen to their drivel about humanity. I’ve heard of some of the things they do, and I cannot approve of any of them.”
“Yeah, it did throw off our plans a little bit, but we took it in stride and made the best of it by ourselves.” Monica idly kicked at the air with a hoof.
“And that”—Brigitte floated out a wooden spoon and waved it through the air beside her hoof like a mother chastising their child—“is exactly the kind of thing the PER would suppress, they’re convinced that every newfoal should simply await instruction by Celestia. Ridiculous, not to mention inefficient.” Taking another deep breath, Brigitte calmed herself. “My apologies, anyway, how was New York?”
“Never a lack of things to do,” Monica answered.
Just then, the door swung open, and in came the yellow-coated, red-maned mare Apple Bloom. On her flank was the image of three Erlenmeyer flasks, each filled with a different colored liquid: one red, one green, and one a soft blue.
“Apple Bloom!” Brigitte exclaimed, trotting into the dining room as Apple Bloom did the same. “How was your day at the pharmacy with Zecora, mein schwägerin?” Brigitte kissed Apple Bloom on her cheeks before hugging her.
“Yeah yeah, good to see you too sis’.” Apple Bloom pulled out of the hug and returned the kisses.
Stepping back, Apple Bloom looked at Monica, and her face brightened. “Hey there! I know you! We met at that party Pinkie Pie held! Monotone Radical or something?”
“Monica Radrim actually,” she chuckled, offering a hoof to the young mare.
“Right, sorry about that. What brings you to Sweet Apple Acres?”
Rainbow Dash cut in. “I asked her to come over so we could talk about adventure books, and so she could see what... non-Pinkie hospitality looks like.”
Monica nodded at the statement before the door opened once more, and Wilhelm and Big Mac entered. Behind them was a dog, by the looks of it a spaniel of some kind, with a slight limp.
“Well, all the harvested apples are ready to be taken to market over the next few days, but Winona is limping again,” Wilhelm said.
Brigitte, with a concerned expression, walked to the dog and held the paw it was favoring while Macintosh and Wilhelm entered the kitchen to help. The brown unicorn’s horn glowed and encased the pet’s paw in a glow of magic. Soon Brigitte’s expression flattened as she raised her eyebrows at the dog. Winona grinned widely and started panting, in a dog’s way of communicating laughter.
“Winona just wants to see her pups at Fluttershy's again,” she announced. “Honestly, that hound is too smart for her own good.” Brigitte stood up. “Shall I oblige?” she asked openly.
“Me, Mac, and Wilhelm have got things set straight here,” Applejack answered. “Why don’t you take Dash and Monica with you? By the time you get back, lunch’ll be ready.”
Brigitte nodded and looked to Dash and Monica. “Does that sound good?”
“Sure does,” Monica answered while Rainbow nodded eagerly. The two pegasi stood up and walked outside, behind Brigitte and Winona.
Walking down the trail out of Sweet Apple Acres, Monica turned to Brigitte and asked, “So, Brigitte, your accent, I take it you’re from the German constituency back on Earth?”
“Yes, Leipzig, spent my entire childhood there. Wilhelm worked in farming kelp with hydroponics out in the countryside. Pretty early on we decided to move to Equestria together.”
Continuing towards the edge of the Everfree Forest, Monica looked to her right and saw Winona, lifting her paw towards Monica’s muzzle in a bid for sympathy.
“Are you sure she’s faking it? I mean, keeping up a lie this long seems a little out of ways for a dog.” Monica faced Brigitte to her left to see that she was smiling warmly.
“That dog has been with the Apple family since before Wilhelm and I became a part of it. Earth pony magic, it... tames the world around it, crops grow faster, the animals become more intelligent and domesticated. I remember when Fluttershy introduced me to the bear that had been wandering around the edge of Ponyville for years; he was gentler than her pet rabbit!” Brigitte laughed at the memory. “Of course the influence has limits. The fields by the Everfree are always a little slow to grow.”
“So anyway,” Rainbow Dash interjected, “How are you getting along in Equestria? You like flying?”
“Do I ever! It reminds me of that feeling of weightlessness I would get when I was a child in a swimming pool.” Monica looked about at the trees. “So what can you tell me about this Fluttershy?”
“I’ve been friends with her since we were fillies, barely talks to anypony,” Rainbow Dash responded. “She lives in a cottage where we’re headed. She takes care of the animals in the area, and anypony’s pets that get hurt.” Rainbow Dash looked at Winona. The dog whined slightly before barking and lowering her leg, forgetting the injured ruse. “She took in Winona’s litter of pups that she had a few years ago, she’s been begging to visit every few weeks since then.”
“So Brigitte, you and Wilhelm have been together since before you came to Equestria?” Monica asked, continuing the theme of family, and hoping to answer the question to the proverbial elephant in the apple orchard.
“Yes,” Brigitte answered.
“And the two of you came to Equestria, and now Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and Big Mac are in it as well?”
“Hang on a minute!” Rainbow Dash interrupted. “I thought those conversion bureaus explained herds.”
“Yes they do,” answered both Monica and Brigitte simultaneously.
Brigitte let Monica speak first. “They did, but I just can’t wrap my head around how it works, I mean, I get the impression that Big Macintosh and Applejack are siblings along with Apple Bloom.”
“Huh?” Rainbow Dash said, prompting Brigitte to whisper in her ear. Rainbow’s eyes widened, her mouth hung open, and she blinked rapidly for a few moments. “Ooookay, let me see if I can explain this properly. Big Mac and I are a couple. Brigitte, Applejack, and Wilhelm are...” Rainbow turned to Brigitte. “What was the word you used when Twilight was trying to explain this to you all those years ago?”
“Polygamous,” Brigitte answered.
“Right,” Rainbow responded. “So, Brigitte, Applejack, and Wilhelm are one thing, and Big Mac and I are another. Together, we’re a herd. Sometimes its just one mare and stallion, other times there are no boundaries within the herd.”
“So that’s how Equestrians handle relationships?” Monica asked.
“It’s more complicated than that, or simpler, depending out how you look at it,” Brigitte replied before muttering, “How to explain, how to explain...” She looked up as a stroke of inspiration hit her. “You know how ponies are friendly, yes? And how we always end up making large groups at the end of things?”
Monica nodded.
“Well, these groups are called herds. But there isn't always a sexual component to the relationship. We just usually go with what makes us happy... Sometimes, it’s one partner, no partner, or multiple partners. It’s all quite casual.”
“Casual, but not always sexual.” Monica glanced over to Rainbow Dash, who was nodding.
“Like the line between Big Mac and I, and the others,” Rainbow Dash said. “We’re all close, but when it comes to intimacy, I’m with Mac, and Wilhelm is partnered with Applejack and Brigitte. We don’t share that way. Applejack and I are way too stubborn to be involved with the same stallion.” She smirked.
“And here we are!” Brigitte announced as a cottage, built into a tree much like the Ponyville library, came into sight.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Winona bolted towards the house and was soon met by three other dogs. Around the cottage were bird houses, coops, pens, feeding troughs, and burrows dug into the ground. When the group reached the bridge leading up to the door, Rainbow put a hoof in front of Monica.
“Before we go inside, I gotta tell you something,” said Rainbow. “Fluttershy is, well, shy, but particularly around newfoals.”
“Why?” Monica asked. Memories of an archive pony fleeing from her back in New York flashed through her mind.
“Nothing personal,” Dash responded. “It’s just that she doesn't like hearing about a planet without a sun, or animals.”
“Well we have a sun, it’s just the atmosphere was turned opaque after some experiment went wrong,” Brigitte amended.
“Yeah, well,” Rainbow said, “She’s not gonna get better unless she meets more newfoals.” After knocking on the door, she waited for a few seconds before lifting her hoof.
“Oh! Just a minute! Hang on! Oh, Angel, mummy needs to answer the door. I know I was about to feed you but—OW! Now that’s not very nice.” A series of hoofsteps from inside the cottage approached the door. It opened, and Monica saw Fluttershy.
Fluttershy’s coat was a pristine butter color, and her mane was a shade of pink that Monica found equally pleasing to the eye. Her frame, compared to Rainbow’s and Monica’s, was far more gracile, as though the yellow pegasus would dissolve into nothingness at a touch. For that, she had three extra inches in height on Rainbow Dash.
A white fluff-ball poked out of Fluttershy’s mane. Beady black eyes like coal sat above a mouth that was contorted into a permanent scowl. The bunny looked at Monica, and its face hardened into an even fiercer expression.
“Hi Rainbow Dash, what brings you here?” Fluttershy asked, blinking slowly and stepping outside.
“Heya Flutters, Winona was feeling lonely. Aaand...” Rainbow pointed towards Monica. “There’s somepony I’d like you to meet.”
Fluttershy looked over at Monica and lowered her head. She started backing into her cottage. “Oh, hello, very pleasant to meet you, but I—”
Rainbow Dash shut the cottage door, keeping Fluttershy from exiting. Fluttershy hit the door with her rump and sat down.
“Fluttershy,” Rainbow said, “allow me to introduce Monica Radrim. She’s working at the archives with Twilight, let me tell ya, she knows what ponies like.” Rainbow waved over to Monica, bidding her to step closer.
Monica tentatively stepped towards the yellow pegasus. She didn’t seem frightened so much as increasingly uncomfortable as she followed Monica’s movements with her eyes—or at least the one eye that wasn’t hidden by her mane. Monica stopped about a meter from Fluttershy and sat down.
Lowering her head so that it was below Fluttershy’s, Monica gave the friendliest smile she could give. Her lips turned upward, and the lips on the side of her muzzle parted a small distance as she squinted. “Hi?”
Fluttershy peeked out from behind her mane. “So, you work with Twilight?”
“Yep!” Monica nodded happily. She stood up, and Fluttershy did the same. “I hear that you take care of animals.”
“Oh yes, I love it, birds, squirrels, mice; I just always know what they need and want!”
As Fluttershy continued to talk about her animals, Rainbow walked over to Brigitte. “Gotta say, pretty clever of her to start Fluttershy talking about animals.” Rainbow elbowed Brigitte’s side.
“Yes, well, I admit it wasn’t the best idea of mine to start off by talking about a burn patient of mine.” Brigitte blushed.
“That’s really interesting to hear about.” Monica drew circles on the ground with her hoof. “Wish I could have had pets back on earth, sounds pleasant.”
“Oh.” Fluttershy looked down. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone on about something like that.”
“Horseapples,” Rainbow Dash whispered to Brigitte, before trotting up between Fluttershy and Monica. “So how about some tea?” she asked. Ugh, I just know it’s going to be some bitter tasting green tea.
Fluttershy snapped out of her morose mood, stiffening her body, and nodded. “Oh, that sounds good, are you okay with that, Monica? Brigitte?”
Monica and Brigitte nodded, and Fluttershy opened the door, ushering them in.
There was a living room, furnished more with bird cages than anything else, and a kitchen off to the right. Opposite that was a staircase leading upstairs. Pink and green permeated the decorum.
Fluttershy walked into the kitchen while Monica, Brigitte, and Rainbow Dash sat at the table. All the while, the little bunny perched atop Fluttershy’s head continued scowling at Monica.
“So Fluttershy,” Brigitte said. “How’s Angel?”
The bunny faced Brigitte and his mouth curled into a leer. He reached into Fluttershy’s mane and brought out a sizeable pebble.
“Oh, Angel’s been doing well.” Fluttershy turned on the kettle and sat at the table with Monica. “He’s grown particularly fond of his pet rock. He doesn’t have to feed it, or clean it, or take it on walks; it’s perfect for him.”
Angel stroked the rock, squeaking and chattering happily.
“Hehe,” Rainbow chuckled. “Maybe we’re finally seeing a different side to Angel, a gentler, kinder, more caring—OW!”
A rock struck against Rainbow’s temple, making her clutch it with a hoof.
“Angel!” Fluttershy gasped. “You apologize to Rainbow Dash right now!”
Folding his arms, Angel looked away and turned his nose upwards.
“If you don’t apologize, Thomas Edison is going back on the road,” Fluttershy said. Angel Bunny looked at her with his mouth agape, before crossing his arms and frowning.
“Very well,” Brigitte said.
The rock glowed and floated towards an open window. This made the white grump reach out and shake his head. The pebble stopped just outside the window. Angel bowed his head to Rainbow, and the rock floated back to him. Angel stroked the stone vigorously and chattered sweet nothings into its non-existent ears.
“So this Twilight’s going to be interviewing me every month about how I’m adapting to life in Equestria, for as long as my sentence is going to be?” Miles gazed at Willard’s face with a flat expression of great incredulity.
“Yep, could be worse, she didn’t seem overly judgmental of the fact you were HLF.” Willard resumed looking down the road they were walking, content to spend their day off together. “You need to relax colt—” The immediate snicker from Miles made Willard correct his speech. “You need to relax kid, an HLF who was converted, lived long enough to get to Equestria, and in that time has managed to reconcile what happened to them is a rare occurrence no doubt.”
“Greaaaat...” Miles sighed. “I’m a novelty.”
“If Twilight was looking for a novel, she has the archives for those,” Willard punned.
The two of them laughed as they crested the hill to see four royal guards: a unicorn in front, two pegasi to the sides, and an earth pony in the back, marching in diamond formation. Between them was Prince Blueblood, without his fashioned collar, and instead in chains.
As the group approached, Miles whistled. “Whew! What did you do? Call your aunt a horse?”
The poisonous glare Blueblood gave him foretold a great fury and nemesis within him. He stopped in his tracks. Before the earth pony behind him could press forward, Blueblood snapped at Miles. “Base cur and plebe! Mocking your superiors when they've done so much for you.”
The earth pony guard kicked a hoof at Blueblood’s fetlock. “Yeah yeah, do something for us and keep walking. No floating couches for you, ever again.”
“I do not have to listen to you!” Blueblood yelled. “Auntie disowned me for carrying out her will! All she says is slander against my good name! I have done what is right, and shall continue to do so, with or without her.”
“Her will?” Willard asked, pressing a hoof to Miles’ lips and letting him insult Blueblood by proxy. “Was that will by any chance making a complete and total ass of yourself?”
“No!” Blueblood turned to face Willard, chains clanking. “The noble goal of converting humans and making sure you know your proper place.”
Willard felt his hoof shoved aside before he heard Miles scream, “You’re PER!?”
“Its proper leader!” Blueblood replied.
Miles stood there, feet from Blueblood, while the guards kept a razor focus on the confrontation. Miles’ eyes narrowed as every memory of what he had done to PER operatives flashed through his mind. The minor queasiness held back and buried by the tumult of rage.
“Miles,” Willard said. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
“Listen to your superiors, plebe, and run along.” Blueblood smirked when Miles lifted his head up and took a step back.
Hwarghk-Sthoup!
The sound was the only indication of what happened for a few seconds.
With a trembling hoof, Blueblood reached over to his face, and pressed it to just above his left brow. He drew it back as he felt a warm damp glob flow down and over his eye. His mouth quivered as his pupils shrunk to pinpricks.
“Y-you... you spat on me!” the former prince whispered, mortified. “UGH!” he yelled, swatting at his face so hard he nearly bruised himself. “Guards! Take me away from this ruffian; I demand it!”
Obliging, the unicorn guard grabbed a lead chain with his magic and dragged Blueblood along the road on his haunches. He was too distracted trying to remove any remnant of the massive globule to pay attention to anything else.
The earth pony guard inclined his head to Miles. “Thank you for doing the world a service. The stallion’s been spouting enough libel over the last hour to double his sentence. Maybe now he’ll just whimper quietly, and my headache can go away.” With that the guard marched off, taking up the rear as Blueblood brought himself to his feet and walked with shaking legs, occasionally brushing a hoof over his face.
Miles took a deep breath and let it all out before sagging to the ground. “You know, that felt better than anything I ever did in the HLF. Seeing that pompous blowhard reduced to the sniveling coward he is, knowing that he’ll always be a name to be mocked...” Miles began to laugh, and laugh harder as he went over it. “He really is ridiculous isn't he? He honestly thinks he’s the leader of the PER?” Miles let the giddiness die down before he turned to Willard, who was staring towards Canterlot. “You okay?”
“If someone that high up has been caught, no matter how full of themselves they are, we’re close to something really big going down.” Willard looked at some apple trees by the side of the road. “That’s even considering two universes colliding.”
Sarah Bertwell, head of the Human Archives Project in Manhattan, was having a good day. A unicorn from Equestria by the name of Immaculate Rendition, a soft-spoken fuschia mare who had ironically been nicknamed ‘Rend’, had successfully created, through the use of a special magical ink infused stone from Equestria, a copy of Saint Francis in Ecstasy by Giovanni Bellini. As it was made completely from materials from Equestria, it could be transported across the barrier. The slab came in at around a square meter, and was being carefully brought down to the lower levels of the archive for storage until the next shipment to Equestria.
“Careful!” Sarah said, reaching out cautiously to the slab as Rend, two other human workers, and she brought it into an elevator on a cart.
They were travelling downwards when one of the other workers, a man by the name of Michael, turned to Rendition. “Think we’ll have magic-computers to transfer these files before, or after we manage to print out every painting that’s survived from the renaissance?”
“No idea,” the pony answered. “But we can still try to get as much as we can to Equestria.”
The door opened, and the four of them continued down the hall. Sarah squinted her eyes when she saw a half-dozen men in plain worker’s suits pulling a line of ten white and unmarked crates. The men stopped before the vault door when Sarah walked towards them.
“Excuse me, but if you’re bringing in more ink and paper from Equestria, the printing press room is down in the west wing.” Sarah walked to the panel to the vault door and ushered Rend and the others towards the door.
The man at the front tipped a slate-grey cap he wore on his head. “Thank you madam for the advice; however...” He reached between the front two crates and pulled out a rifle. He leveled it at Sarah and opened fire, striking her in the belly with a purple blast of ionized particles. He turned the rifle to the two human workers and sprayed the hallway with several semi-automatic shots, hitting each of them multiple times. Rend ducked to the ground as the light flashed around her. Sarah fell to her knees as a sensation of tickling numbness worked from her stomach. She fell on her side as she began to black out. “We come with salvation, not ink.”
Rend’s eyes widened in shock as Sarah’s legs and arms began to bend at angles unnatural to human physiology, and her skin turned waxy and loose.
Rend was distracted from the rest of the conversion process as the ten crates cracked open with a pneumatic hiss. From eight crates stepped out eight diamond dogs, partially covered by white unmarked armor of the PER’s traditional style.
Rendition recognized them as the troll subspecies: motivated solely by greed, they were all over the news as the PER’s answer to gryphonization. Their greed was matched only by the strength of their pack ties, giving them the coordination that made each one added to a fight an exponentially greater threat. Their digging abilities were unmatched, and their strength and durability ensured they would never be reckoned with lightly.
The ninth crate opened to reveal six sets of human-sized PER armor and potion rifles, along with six cubular devices riddled with electronics. Grabbing a device, one of the humans tossed it to a diamond dog.
“Alpha squad, start setting up the bombs throughout the foundations, server rooms, book storages, and all other places marked on your DATabs,” the man instructed. The tenth crate opened, revealing a massive aerosol dispenser, a few pipes flowed with purple ooze that Rendition recognized was potion. “Beta squad, set up the disperser on the roof, that should keep the JRSF from bothering to check up on this stuff.”
“And ponies?” the diamond dog asked, sweeping his paw over Sarah and the others while he used the other to hoist out an RAC-8 automatic rail-gun.
“Wait for them to finish converting, then lock them in a room until T-minus twenty minutes to detonation of the foundations,” the man answered as he pulled on a white helmet. He flipped some switches and sealed himself into the suit.
“And rock?” The diamond dog pointed to the stone slab with the image of the Patron Saint of Animals, Saint Francis of Assisi, etched into it.
The man flipped off the safety to his potion rifle. “Exactly what we’re going to do with the rest of this barrier to human ascension, destroy it.”
The diamond dog smiled as he stepped over to the slab, and the shaking form of a terrified unicorn. With a bare fist, he brought it down and smashed it. The innate magic of his troll body warped and melted the stone as if he were digging through it, wracking the slab with cracks as it disintegrated into a pile of what was effectively dust.
Another troll began setting up some explosive charges on the door as the man gave a happy sigh. “By the end of the day gentlemen, New York will be converted and Equestria will thank us for having prevented these works from surviving the cleansing of earth.”
Lieutenant Karan pressed his ear to the radio, listening to the Brigadier General on the other side. "Ok listen up! Plan A is now a complete FUBAR. We don't know how badly the other teams were affected, and I'm having trouble raising them on the comm. That could mean they got their equipment knocked out, or we're being jammed, or they're KIA. In any case, we have to assume that we are it. Split into twelve groups of two, at least one human or gryphon per group; commandeer whatever vehicles you have to for those of you without wings, start hitting up the alternate sites. Caution aside, protocol aside. Move in fast, do not hesitate to shoot."
Lieutenant Karan checked his gun’s iron sights before looking down to his squad, one of the ‘other’ teams: Karphal, Crystal Clear, Privates Jameson and Vickers, and himself, all fully suited for combat. One gryphon, one unicorn medic, one rifleman, one sniper, and a CO were about to make their way to the nearest ‘alternate site’, where the PER were believed to be setting up potion bombs big enough to convert the whole of Manhattan. The first order of business was getting transportation.
Karan stepped down the fire escape that he had climbed to get the brief signal connection he had. Jumping down the last six feet, he tucked down to the ground.
He looked over at Jameson and Crystal Clear. “You get all the coordinates?”
Jameson nodded and answered, “And cross referenced it with our current position.”
“Good,” Karan said before leading them out of the alley to their Humvee. It was a lighter model built for fast transport. Hydrogen fuel cell, seven hundred and fifty horsepower, running on the equivalent of a twelve cylinder engine. The three humans and the unicorn piled in while the gryphon hoisted himself onto the roof, gripped a handlebar with one talon, and held his rifle with the other.
The lieutenant slammed the cardkey into the ignition and twisted it with enough force that Crystal worried the plastic rod would snap from the torsion. With an adjustment of the gear-shaft, the vehicle rocketed down the street.
On the roof, Karphal’s agility and sense of balance kept him stable as the Humvee swung around a corner onto a main street. To the right was a maglev rail track that would have led them to the Manhattan Conversion Bureau had they been following it south.
Vickers and Jameson checked their weapons while Crystal opted to open his satchel and check out his medical supplies: nano-injection shots for humans, scabbie-foam that would fill up a wound to stop bleeding, dermoplast bandages that would seal up flesh wounds and encourage healing, anesthetics, a defibrillator, and adrenal shots for each of the three JRSF species.
Vickers looked up from his work when he heard the roar of another engine coming from a side alley to the left. The sniper looked up to see a white minivan with the passenger side cut out. Jammed into the opening was a diamond dog troll with white PER armor and an RAC-7 held in each of his meaty paws.
“Troll!” Karphal yelled through the comms, there was a sound of paws pushing off the vehicle as the gryphon took off.
Karan swerved to the left, passing behind the white van as Karphal flew over it. A burst from the gryphon’s rifle rained down on the diamond dog from above, most of it was repelled by the armor, but a few rounds dug past the lighter armor where the neck met the shoulders. The dog leaned back and fired both guns at Karphal, the volley was dodged as the gryphon dipped to the left.
“Vickers, Jameson, start shooting at that freak of a clown car,” Karan ordered as he pressed a few buttons on the Humvee’s control panel, opening the two rear windows. He narrowly avoided a civilian vehicle in the process.
Jameson leaned out with his RAC-7 while Vickers opted to pull out his pistol. It had fifty rounds per clip, with a five-round burst fire. Each round was made of tungsten carbide, and was propelled by a series of powerful magnets.
Jameson started unloading at the diamond dog while Karphal swept up behind the PER van. From that spot, the gryphon could barely see the dog’s right shoulder. Levelling his rifle, he let out a burst from his weapon and lodged a few more rounds in the troll’s shoulder. Over the wind of his speed, the gryphon could hear a brief yowl of pain. The diamond dog hunched to the left, covering his shoulder, and continued firing at the Humvee as Karan swerved to avoid the bullets.
Many of the civilian vehicles wisely swerved to the side of the road when they saw the two vehicles barreling down towards them, others Karan avoided, and some were shot by the diamond dog.
Jameson pulled back inside the Humvee to reload. “I can’t get a decent shot!”
“At least you get to shoot at an exposed target!” Vickers yelled before Jameson leaned back out of his window and shot another burst at the diamond dog. “All I’ve been able to do is riddle the windshield with cracks!” Vickers let off another volley of shots that caused a spiderweb of fractures to spread over the PER driver’s windshield. “How do you like those beer goggles!?”
The human driving the van slammed his fist into the troll’s arm and pointed at the cracked windshield. He ducked briefly as the diamond dog punched a hole through the windshield that the driver could see through.
“Karphal, you’ve got an opening in the windshield,” Vickers said proudly into his mic.
“Got it,” he responded, “Keep the troll distracted.”
Without further prompting, Jameson and Vickers laid into the troll with their weapons while Crystal Clear ducked down in the seat as a stray round from the diamond dog’s guns punched through the Humvee’s armor. Karphal sped up to the vehicle and landed on the roof of the van. Leaning forward, he aimed his rifle down the hole and squeezed the trigger. The flurry of rounds turned the driver’s face into paste as he lurched forward, turning the wheel sharply to the right, and depressing the brake pedal. The vehicle spun wildly to the right while its forward momentum propelled it into a roll, the diamond dog mercenary still inside.
Karphal leaped off the van and landed on the pavement. He reached up with a talon to his helmet and said into the mic, “I’ll meet you up ahead at Park Avenue and Eighty-Second street. I need to finish off the troll.”
“Got it,” Karan answered, “Don’t want the ankle biter to sneak up behind us.”
What few civilians were left started running away from the scene while Karphal circled the van.
The van heaved upwards and the diamond dog dragged himself out from underneath, one of his guns still in hand. The troll looked up and swung his rifle to bear. Karphal leaped into an alley before the dog could get a bead on him. Hoisting his rifle, the diamond dog began firing at the corner Karphal had run behind.
“Fight me bird!” The dog pulled out a phosphorus grenade, meant to light up an area in a white hot flame where it detonated. He threw it towards the alley and let off another burst from his rifle. The grenade exploded and lit up the alley like an inferno from Satan’s nostrils. Reaching the corner, the troll saw Karphal was gone. “FIGHT ME!”
The next sensation the troll felt was Karphal’s blade dig into his neck with the assistance of an eight-story drop from a fire escape. The gryphon drew his blade out and kicked the diamond dog into the flames. He took off with the sounds of gurgling and sizzling in his ears.
On the roof of the Human Archives Project building, what had once been the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a white box whirred to life as a timer hit zero. Purple gas started flowing out of the machine, and several others spread across Manhattan.
Within minutes, the haze had cast the view of Central park—now filled with fake grass and statues—in a purple cloud that began seeping into neighbouring buildings. Ventilation intakes drew the aerosolized potion inside. People who had the fortune to see it in time ran into the hallways of their apartments before being caught in a dense fog of transformative mist.
Across the skyline, one building had a bomb that would create a pressure wave capable of rapidly propagating the mist across the Greater Manhattan area.
“I’m telling you,” Jameson said to Vickers, “the nearest coordinates have to be off. Putting a dispersal unit on top of the the Human Archives Project building? the cloud would be seen by anyone in central park, it doesn't come into contact with as many buildings, and the height is off.”
“Are you telling me that the information that General Hutch just sent to us through the radio is wrong?” Vickers questioned. “They’re PER, they probably figured it would look dramatic!” He threw a hand up in the air to express his frustration at the constant stream of questions.
“You two be quiet, we’re almost at 82nd street. I don’t care where the PER set up their bombs. I’m going to shove it so far up their asses they’ll be dreaming of Celestia for the next month!” Lieutenant Karan reached over to his helmet and hailed Karphal. “Karphal you there? We’re almost at the rende—Why the hell are the trains still running?”
A maglev approached them at a medium speed. Two white and grey lumps were hanging off the side. As the train grew closer Karan recognized them as diamond dogs, and one had a grenade launcher.
Karan slammed on the brakes, grinding the Humvee to a halt. “Vickers, snipe it now!” He pointed at the train.
Vickers opened the door, deployed his bipod and quickly took aim at the approaching threat. The first round dented the train body the troll was hanging onto. The diamond dog lifted up the grenade launcher and looked down the sights before sweeping it up to fire in an arc.
“Everybody out, now!” Karan opened his door, leaped out of the vehicle, turned on his heel, opened Crystal’s door and pulled the unicorn out of the vehicle as the first grenade landed a hundred feet in front of the Humvee.
Vickers took another shot as Jameson hopped out of the Humvee next. The round hit the arm that the troll was using to hold the train. It fell to the ground below into the abandoned cars at the street level. A series of grenades fell sequentially closer to the Humvee when Jameson grabbed Vickers and dragged him off to the side.
“Come on shootin’ ace, out of the way!”
A grenade landed on top of the Humvee, blasting Vickers and Jameson away from Karan and Crystal.
Crystal’s eyes snapped open as he gasped for air. The unicorn almost instinctively scanned his body for injuries; a stressed rib and the blow to his head that knocked him out, but nothing else. He stood up, looked around and saw Karan lying unconscious beside his rifle. He had a piece of shrapnel sticking through his upper left arm.
“Lieutenant!” Crystal yelled. stumbling over to the officer and using his magic to fumble out the scabbie foam, a length of dermoplast, and a shot of adrenaline. Lifting the piece of metal out of the wound, the teal unicorn stuck in the scabbie foam’s nozzle, and squeezed. When the wound was filled he put dermoplast over both openings. Crystal sighed and observed the armor’s gel layer of biofilm expand to block the hole, sealing it.
Crystal’s ears twitched as he registered the sound of sniffing.
He hastily undid the seals on Karan’s helmet and removed it. Unceremoniously lifting up the adrenal syringe, Crystal muttered, “Come on sir, this isn’t time to dream of green fields!” He plunged the syringe into Karan’s neck and depressed the plunger just as a diamond dog with a ragged scraps of flesh where one of his arms should have been rounded the corner.
In three bounds the troll was on the unicorn. “Stupid little pony! Give me things to take hurt away!” He grabbed Crystal by the barrel and hoisted him up above his head.
“What? Medical supplies? For your arm? Right away!” The unicorn lifted a nanotech syringe out of his bag.
The diamond dog looked at the syringe and then to his stump. “Put in!”
Without further prompting the unicorn did so. The injection of nanobots entered the diamond dogs bloodstream immediately, and was instantaneously beset upon by antibodies from an immune system forged by the selective pressures of Equestria. The dull throbbing in his stump distracted the troll long enough for Crystal to rear his hooves back, and buck at his assailant’s face. The blades integrated into the armor snapped into place and dug into the diamond dog’s eyes.
“AAAAGGGHHH!” the troll screamed. He dropped Crystal and reached to his face as blood gushed out. He flailed around uselessly. “My eyes! My eyes!”
Crystal backed up against a dumpster, his vision snapping away from the sight. The dog stepped towards him. The report of a rifle sounded off and the troll’s head was pounded by bullets. The unicorn curled into a ball the moment he saw brain.
“Crystal! Get the hell up, we have to regroup!” With Karan’s encouragement, the unicorn stood up, keeping his eyes closed, and walked towards the Lieutenant. “You did good.”
The two of them rounded the corner and saw a grenade launcher. Karan picked it up and saw that it was empty. He ran back to the diamond dog, scrounged about, and came up with three grenades.
“Guess the fucker was good for something,” Karan grumbled as he loaded the rounds into the launcher and slung his rifle across his back. He returned to Crystal to see he was staring off into the distance. When he followed the unicorn’s line of sight he gawked at the cloud of purple that was expanding two city blocks away.
Karan unholstered his pistol and hung it beside Crystal’s head. “Take it. The purple shit just hit the fan.”
Gulping, the unicorn grasped the pistol in his magic and stuck it into into his satchel of medical supplies. “You four are going to be a terrible influence on me.”
“Arm shot into environmental hazard, twenty points.” Vickers sat up and shook his head briefly before standing up.
“It only counts as an environmental hazard if it actually hurt them.” Jameson, carrying his rifle, walked up to Vickers and brushed some dust off his shoulder. He scanned Vickers for a brief moment before walking behind him. “Still fully sealed for freshness.”
Vickers scanned Jameson as well. “Likewise.” He looked down to the ground where his rifle lay and picked it up. He inspected the computer scope and smiled when he saw it was undamaged. Cycling the bolt to see that it worked, he finally looked upward and saw the cloud of potion overhanging the archives.
Jameson tapped Vickers’ shoulder and pointed to a column that supported the maglev. “We can get better reception to call the lieutenant, and line of sight, up there,” he said.
The two walked to the column and climbed the ladder placed there for maintenance of the high-speed commuting system that ran all over the New York Area. They reached the top of the rail line and clambered up on top of the train that was still there.
Reaching the top, Vickers asked, “Did you see where the other diamond dog went?”
“No, I was a little busy avoiding grenades,” Jameson answered. “Keep your eyes peeled.” He reached up to his helmet. “Lieutenant? Karphal? Crystal? Can anyone hear this? Jameson here, and I have Vickers.”
A bit of static came through the mic before a voice answered, “Karphal here, I’m almost at the rendezvous.”
“Great, we’re on top of a maglev there, we were attacked by two diamond dogs, one with a grenade launcher and now down one arm thanks to Vickers.” Jameson got down into a crouch and scanned the street below.
Vickers got down into a prone position and looked down his scope towards roof of the archives, he flipped on the thermal imager and aimed down the street for any targets. There was a large cubic heat signature right in the middle of the roof. “Got the disperser on thermal. On the roof, distance: five hundred and seventy-eight meters.” To the left side of the disperser, a red dot poked out from behind what Vickers guessed was a statue. “Live target... Five hundred and seventy-two meters.” The dot ducked back behind the statue. “Wind speed: three knots North-East.” Vickers lay the reticule over where the dot had appeared. A few seconds later the dot reappeared. Vickers fired, and over two city blocks away, a PER soldier’s helmet, face, skull, and brain were unconventionally deformed by a hardened tungsten-carbide bullet.
Jameson looked up and saw Karphal approaching them from the air. He waved up at the air for a brief moment. “The gryphon reinforcement is here! Welcome to hell!”
The gryphon looked towards them and scanned the area. Jameson and Vickers on overwatch of the street leading to the archives, blown up Humvee in the middle of the intersection, and, stepping out of an alley just then, Karan and Crystal.
As Karphal slowed for a landing, a car door flew towards him. Karphal folded his wings and dropped the last few feet. He ducked to the ground just in time for the car door to sail over his head.
Standing back up, he saw a diamond dog troll bullrushing down the street. Cars were thrown aside as the dog ploughed through them. Karphal aimed his rifle and squeezed. The troll weaved between cars to evade the bullets. When it became clear he wouldn’t land a killing shot in time, Karphal leaped into the air again, only to have the diamond dog immediately stop and pull out his RAC-8.
A hail of bullets forced the gryphon back to the ground twenty feet away. The diamond dog took aim, and was knocked to the ground when a grenade shot from Karan landed beside him.
Karphal slung his gun and drew his sword, dashing towards the dog in time to meet him as he recovered. The troll used his gun like a quarterstaff, blocking the blows Karphal tried to deliver.
Karphal stabbed at the troll’s left shoulder before moving into a sweep to the right. The dog ducked and lunged forward in an attempt to headbutt Karphal. Karphal dodged to the right and swung the sword towards the back of the diamond dog’s neck, grazing it as the dog charged out of reach. The troll turned. Karphal brought his rifle again. A burst of short range fire entered the diamond dog’s chest, rupturing its heart. The dog stumbled forward with an angry snarl in time for Karphal to bury his sword into the dog’s opened maw.
Karan and Crystal ran up to Karphal. “You move fast. We’ll need that if we’re going to stop that disperser unit,” the lieutenant said.
“Eight PER troopers, seven humans, one troll coming towards you,” came Vickers over the radio. A sniper shot fired down the avenue. “Six humans, one a war-amp. Best get to cover, Lieutenant.”
“Got it Vickers.” Karan moved into cover behind a sedan while Crystal hopped beside a van nearby. “Jameson, get down here and help us push up. Karphal, use the roofs to get a flanking position on the enemy.”
A PER potion round flew over the sedan’s roof, commencing the fight to get to the archives proper. Karan got up and started firing at the human troopers, their white armor contrasting against the purple backdrop. “And they all came marching in a straight fucking line!”
Crystal floated out the pistol he had been given. Poking it around a corner, he winced as he fired it blindly down the avenue.
“Good shot Crystal,” Vickers said over the radio. “Nice hit, I’d be hard pressed for that one.”
“Oh Celestia! I didn’t kill somepony did I?” Glancing around the corner of the van, Crystal’s ears tilted back in fear of what he would see.
“Karphal here, I’m on the north block’s roof, engaging.”
Jameson slid beside Crystal and gave him a pat on the back. “I’ll take it from here.” He aimed around the corner and fired at two troopers hiding behind a white van.
Karphal leaped across the rooftops until he was behind the huddled enemy. The gryphon popped out of cover, and shot down the two soldiers before a flurry of potion shots headed towards him.
“You’re a lucky bird, Karphal,” Vickers commented. “Don’t get hit by those potion shots, they can still knock you unconscious.” Another sniper shot flew down the road. “Dang it, that diamond dog gets into cover before I can get a shot.”
“On it,” Lieutenant Karan answered, bringing out his stolen grenade launcher. “Be my eyes.”
“The diamond dog is on the left side of the street,” Karphal informed.
“One hundred meters, beside the taxi Crystal has been taking potshots at,” Jameson added, causing the mentioned unicorn to blush.
Muttering some numbers under his breath, Karan nodded, aimed the launcher in an arc, and let out one more grenade. He grabbed his injured arm and winced. The grenade landed a few meters short, but it was enough to send the car sailing back in a flip, exposing the diamond dog and a PER trooper desperately trying to repair his weapon. The diamond dog ran on all fours across the street while Jameson shot the human.
Two remaining PER humans dragged a third with a missing leg back down the block.
The troll reached some more cover and leaned out to fire at where Crystal was seated. A shot from Vickers made the troll hunker down and blind fire on occasion. Karphal moved up while the troll was distracted from the combined fire of Vickers, Karan, and Jameson. Opting for a more dramatic finish, Karphal threw a high-explosive grenade at the troll. It immediately noticed the cylinder and leaped away from his cover. The concussive wave sent him through the air and slamming onto open pavement, where three separate shots finished him off.
“Troll down, five hundred points for me.”
“No way Vickers, that was totally mine!”
“Let’s split it three ways for now and slaughter the rest of these bastards first, ‘kay?” Lieutenant Karan proposed.
“Do humans always argue about whose kill it was? That just seems so...”
“Fun?” Karphal offered.
“Okay that’s enough,” Karan ordered. “Let’s get moving. Vickers, join Karphal on the roof, we’re going to need all the support once we get to the end of the street.”
“On it,” Vickers replied, standing up and leaving his position.
The others moved up, occasionally taking cover as the three remaining PER troopers fired back on their position. The one-legged soldier threw a potion grenade down the road, the plume covering their retreat. The enemies soon reached the edge of the cloud, and the wounded soldier signalled to be left behind, indicating his missing leg and the opening. The other soldiers nodded and continued into the obfuscating mist. The soldier pulled out a pistol with one hand and a potion grenade with the other, he pulled the pin and kept it in his hand as he started firing down the road at Karan and the others.
“Lieutenant, I’m at the roof with Karphal. Enemy in my sights.” Vickers made sure the reticule was set exactly over the PER’s head. No ‘sunnyside express’ for him. The shot placed the soldier thoroughly in the realm of FUBAR.
The whole group pressed through the purple cloud until they reached the corner of fifth avenue and eighty-second street, just in front of the archives. Vickers set up his bipod and scanned the roof with his scope set to thermal imaging. He saw the same red cubic shape of the disperser. Scanning along the roof, he saw a human trooper with a potion rifle aiming at the intersection.
“Karphal, right side, can you see him?” Vickers kept his finger hovering over the trigger.
“I will soon enough.” Karphal flew over the the roof and landed softly behind the PER. His paws crunched the gravel covering the roof as he drew out his sword. The soldier’s spine was severed just as he flinched from hearing the first step.
Karan crouched behind a car beside Crystal and Jameson. He brought out a DATab and pressed a few icons. “Alright, according to the city blueprints, there’s a maintenance entrance on the left side that leads to the basement just below the lobby. We get in through there and avoid walking into an ambush like some idiot Rambo.”
A confused grunt from Karphal prompted Vickers to explain. “Crazy jungle man who always won even though he charged into things.”
“Alright,” Karan said. “Jameson, Crystal and I will enter in through the basement. We can distract anyone inside the building. Karphal, you disarm the disperser with Vickers covering you. Then we’ll meet in the main lobby. Vickers, if we need you at that point, we’ll call you.”
“Got it,” Vickers affirmed, rolling his shoulders and scanning the building for any sign of more tangoes.
“Oh and Karphal?” Karan hoisted the grenade launcher. “Fuck them up.”
Karan, Jameson and Crystal sprinted across the street and to the maintenance door.
Crystal shot the lock off and pressed the door open with a hoof. “Beats lockpicking?” He blushed when Jameson nodded at him.
Sarah Bertwell awoke with a sneeze. Hazy images of a brown field of grass with the occasion stream crossing it faded out of her vision as she perceived her surroundings. The entire room was occluded with a light purple mist. She tried standing up but ineffectually flailed about. She looked down to her legs: all four of them.
A gasp sounded to her left. “Sarah you’re awake! Oh my gosh I was so worried when they dragged you in here. I thought for sure your leg was going to deform when they brought us in here before you finished changing.” Rendition walked into her view. “Does it hurt?”
Sarah’s sides heaved as she tried to take in all that had happened. Her eyes darted around.
Rendition lowered her face to Sarah’s concernedly. “Sarah? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you... And no, I don’t feel any pain. Is this really happening?”
Rendition nodded her head, frowning. “I’m afraid so.”
Sarah looked at her legs again, the violet fur covering them almost blended with the potion. She rolled onto her stomach; taking her time, she stood up on wobbly legs before opting to sit. She flexed her jaw and lips and winced at the purple vapors. “Do you think they’ll let us go? Or are they going to put us into ‘protective correctional oversight’?”
Rendition shuddered at the thought. The PER sometimes tended to protect those they had ‘saved’ by bringing them to a hidden base and instructing them on ‘proper’ Equestrian behavior.
Sarah felt an uneasy quaking in her stomach at the idea. A director of HAP being convinced to try and stop the program would be a disaster in public relations between Earth and Equestria.
“Well they can’t honestly expect that nopony will come and stop them,” Rendition answered. She pressed her head to a crate. “I worked so hard to perfect that technique, and it’s... gone.” Rendition swallowed back a wad of spit.
Sarah carefully bent her neck and saw her other fellow newfoals, both pegasi. Testing her limits a little further, she was able to see she had no wings. She reached up with a hoof to her forehead and felt a horn. “Guess kicking down the door isn't an option.”
The two pegasi began stirring in the corner, their hooves moving about.
Rendition walked over to them and smiled gently. “Help me keep them calm?”
Sarah took a few uneasy steps forward. “Help me learn magic when this is all over?”
Snorting, Rendition looked to the crate labeled ‘ink’. “We could always start you out with drawing.”
Karan, Jameson and Crystal were peering around a corner into the main lobby. The room had a ‘T’ shape to it, and was ringed by a second floor balcony. In the middle of the room, where it’s three lengths branched off, a simple bronze statue of a cherry blossom tree reached up to the round skylights in the ceiling. PER patrolled between the massive white pillars and on the balcony.
Through the purple mist, Karan could make out the PER patrolling, all in fully sealed armor, including the two massive hunched-over figures.
“Two diamond dogs, four humans.” Karan looked at his grenade launcher. “We wait until they head up for the roof. The disperser will likely send out a signal the moment someone tampers with it.”
On the roof, Karphal stepped up to the disperser and saw a timer running at ten minutes. Casting a quick glance into the distance, he muttered, “Hope they stop the detonation of the thermobaric bomb.”
Using his talons to first unscrew the armor plating, he tore off a side panel and immediately scanned the mess of wires, circuits, pumps, fans and tubing. He grabbed a clawful of wires and tore out some of the circuitry. Small electric fans started to whir, continuing to pump the thick purple fog into the air. Karphal moved on to another panel of shielding and removed it, tearing out the wires behind each as he went along.
“Vickers, start shooting at the disperser. The electronics are exposed.” Karphal removed the last panel and stepped back as Vickers’ first round entered the machine.
Karphal drew his RAC-8 and emptied the clip into the obstinate and stubborn device. He released the clip in time for the door to slam open and reveal a diamond dog, and for an explosion to sound beneath him.
The dog charged towards Karphal with a savage speed while four PER troopers ran onto the roof as well. One second.
No time to reload. Karphal clicked out the bayonet in his RAC-8 and threw it at one trooper like a javelin. It impaled the trooper and pinned him to an air conditioning unit just behind him. Two seconds.
Reaching to a holster, Karphal pulled out a sub-machine gun typically reserved as the mainstay weapon for support personnel. He aimed it at another PER and emptied the clip. Three seconds.
A potion round hit Karphal’s claw, numbing it and making him drop the SMG. A sniper round passed through the offending soldier’s chest. Four seconds.
Karphal drew his sword and back-flipped onto a skylight, the diamond dog soon charging onto it. Five seconds.
Bayonet deployed, the diamond dog and Karphal met in the middle of the skylight. The diamond dog blocked a downward strike from Karphal, stomping his paw into the ground.
The skylight riddled with a spiderweb of cracks.
Karan leaned out and shot a grenade at a diamond dog just before he finished climbing a column up to the second floor to follow the other PER up to the roof. Jameson, Crystal and he were immediately distracted by snarling coming from behind them.
Four trolls were coming up from the basement with a murderous flame in their eyes. Behind them was a PER trooper. When Karan, Jameson, and Crystal ducked into cover and fired down the hallway, the enemy took cover in several side rooms, not risking the hundred meter dash through three streams of fire.
A skylight in the lobby shattered as two figures dropped from the skylight ten stories above. The winged figure pushed itself away from the other in time to land on its hind legs with a grunt.
Karphal got up in time for the diamond dog to immediately charge him again. The gryphon rolled to the side as both his legs protested from the fall. Rushing past Karphal, the dog reached out to a pillar; his claws dug out a chunk of rock as though he was playing with snow. He swung around and hurled the boulder at Karphal’s feet. The gryphon jumped and landed before approaching the diamond dog.
Weaving and ducking below a stream of boulders, Karphal reached the diamond dog in time for it to lunge at him. The troll’s armor was peeled open by the gryphons sword. It pierced just above the hip bone, but the sword caught in the dense tissue and was wrenched out of Karphal’s grip. The exit of the sword tore a massive gash on the inside of the diamond dog’s thigh.
Karphal turned to see the dog tear at the rent armor and rip it off. Blood pooled by his left foot as he grasped the armor in his left paw, and charge—rather sluggishly—towards Karphal again.
Swinging his shield like a maddened gladiator, the troll panted heavily as Karphal ducked around his blows. The troll fell to the ground with an angry snarl as the gush of blood from his leg turned to a seep.
The ground to the left rose up in a bump before bursting to expose another troll with his weapons and armor still intact. A human PER trooper clambered out of the hole. The human aimed his potion rifle at Karphal as a second diamond dog climbed out of the hole.
Sprinting to his sword, Karphal ducked as the first diamond dog threw a grenade at him. He opened up his wing, batting the grenade away as the second diamond dog opened fire at his exposed wing, perforating it. The grenade exploded over the diamond dogs, making them flinch for a moment. Karphal slid by his sword and grabbed it. He spun around and threw his sword at the human PER, embedding it in his chest.
“I’m going to feast on your eggs!” the troll yelled.
The sound registered with the gryphon’s brain. The frontal lobe sent a message to the limbic system. Biological brain chemistry, coupled with thousands of years of focus on devotion to family, friends, and kingdom in an intermixed web made it so that the surest way of getting a gryphon to lose their shit, was a threat against family.
Time slowed for the gryphon’s perception as he contemplated what he wanted to do: skin the diamond dogs alive, and what he needed to do: kill them both quickly. He made his plan, and commenced with it.
While one dog ran after him, and the other aimed his rifle, Karphal again sprinted. The sudden movements hurt his wing in a constant ache that kept building. He grabbed the PER’s corpse after pulling out his sword and tossed it at the rail gun wielding troll. He only needed a brief distraction.
Karphal grabbed the potion rifle and turned around in time to see the unarmored diamond dog leap at him. He positioned the rifle, and bashed it into the side of troll’s armored jaw. The casing on the potion rifle cracked, and a hyper-concentrated blast of potion wrapped around the dog’s helmeted face. The purple mist, coupled with his enraged state, resulted in the diamond dog allowing Karphal to slip out from underneath him.
The diamond dog deployed his bayonet and started swinging at Karphal. Locked in melee with one troll, Karphal was forced to keep the troll positioned between himself and the other one trying to shoot. This gave the the troll the advantage, maneuvering Karphal towards the pillars, and occasionally landing a blow of his own. Pressed underneath the balcony the pillars supported, Karphal got behind one as the diamond dog slashed his right hind leg. Karphal used what strength remained in his wounded limbs to jump over the troll, and stab backwards, severing the spine between the skull and atlas vertebrae.
The jump left Karphal in the open. The other diamond dog lowered his rifle and shot at Karphal. Most of the rounds hit his hind legs as he pushed himself away from the dangerous stream. Karphal got behind a pillar for a brief moment before more bullets pounded into it.
Injured, with a fresh diamond dog not twenty feet away, Karphal winced and scowled. Then he heard a sniper shot ring out from the lobby’s main entrance.
“Hey you son of a bitch!” Vickers yelled.
Another shot rang out, this time coupled with the sound of the diamond dog dropping his rifle and a yowl of pain. The next shot didn’t come with a yell, but the slumping of the troll onto the ground.
Karphal leaned out from behind the pillar to see the sniper lying prone beside the door, bipod deployed. “Vickers? Deus ex machina.”
“You only left me with one PER and a disperser that was already swiss cheese on the roof. A full sniper clip and it stopped pumping out potion from what I could tell. I used the fire escape to get to ground level.” Vickers stood up, ran to Karphal, passed him the RAC-8 of the diamond dog Karphal had killed. “Make it count, Big Bird.”
The two of them ran to where gunfire was still echoing down the hall and joined Karan and the others.
Crystal looked up from his pistol and gave Karphal a once over. “You look—”
“Rougher than bear-shit wrapped up in fish hooks,” Karan finished. “We’ve been keeping these two dogs pinned, but a human and two other trolls haven’t shown up since they ran into a side room.”
Karphal poked out from his cover and fired a few rounds down the hallway. “I think I may have taken care of that.” He looked to Jameson, who had two blocks of C4 on him. Then he looked to Crystal. “How do you feel about spelunking?”
Minutes later, Jameson and Crystal climbed out of a literal hole in the ground and into a room filled with a dozen data servers that held terabytes of human history within them.
The man and pony walked over to an open door where the sound of gunfire was close. Peaking around the corner, Jameson saw the two diamond dogs two dozen feet ahead of him. He leaned back and behind the corner. Pulling out what was needed, he set up a block of C4 with a remote detonator.
Gulping, Crystal quietly floated the C4 to within four feet of the first dog when it flinched. The troll turned in time to have the block smooshed into his face like a wad of silly putty.
The other diamond dog was blasted away from the meat fountain and shot down by the collective fire of Karan, Karphal, and Vickers.
The squad soon returned to the roof to confirm that the disperser had indeed been disabled.
Karan reached up to his helmet. “Hello? Forward Command? This is Lieutenant Karan at the Human Archives Project, we've managed to disable the disperser, and all known hostiles in the area have have been killed.” When there was no response, Karan kicked at the ground. “Shit! Communication with the other squads is still blocked. If I find out which tech dropped the ba—”
An unseen explosion sounded in the distance, silencing Karan’s rant. The five of them stood there in horror, waiting for the blast wave to spread the potion over New York, when none came, Jameson was the first to speak.
“The others must have been able to sabotage it so the potion wouldn’t spread.” He looked down to a dead PER soldier with an exposed DATab. On it, the glowing figure of nineteen minutes was visible. “Guys, why would they have a second timer?” Jameson pointed at the DATab with his rifle.
Crystal looked at it and lifted it in his magic. “What would the PER need to do after all of New York was converted?”
Jameson’s eyes widened. “Make sure all the government programs they’re against couldn’t just be brought back up when they were done.”
Karan looked to Crystal, the revelation completing itself in his head. “Crystal, is there any way to stop the countdown?”
Crystal started manipulating the device with his magic. “Not that I can tell, but... YES! They’ve got a layout plan of where each of the charges would be placed.” The unicorn’s eyes seemed to bulge as he scanned the plans. “Six charges, one in each of the two main server rooms, another in the art restoration room, one in the non-digitized transcript storage, and two in the foundations.”
Karan looked to each of his men with a grimace. “Karphal, you know how to disarm bombs?” The gryphon shook his head. “Crystal?” Karan turned to the unicorn.
Nodding, Crystal answered, “They prepare us for that in case of HLF bombs back in ConSec.”
“Go with Karphal down to the foundations and disarm those two charges. Jameson, you go to the art restoration room, Vickers, the undigitized documents. I’ll handle the two server rooms.”
With a salute from each, they ran to their objectives.
On the main floor, Karphal looked at the body of a PER human. He plucked out a potion grenade, tucked it into a hollow behind his neck feathers, and muttered, “Never pass up a free smoke grenade.”
Karphal and Crystal arrived at a hatch in the lower levels of the archives. Opening the hatch, the two of them peered down into the relative darkness of the tunnels below that served as the basis of all of New York’s infrastructure.
Crystal looked over at the gryphon. “You know I don’t do ladders.”
Karphal slung his rifle and hoisted the pony under one of his forelegs. “Guess you’re lucky I do.” With a swift motion, Karphal and Crystal descended the ladder in a quick slide, landing on a catwalk beneath them. Karphal grunted and hissed in pain from the impact to his shot-up legs.
“You sure the bandages and scabbie foam was enough?” Crystal asked, before looking at his surroundings. Various wires and cables ran above them.
“Yeah, I can still shoot.” Karphal looked to Crystal, who still had the PER DaTab on him. “Which way to the foundations?”
The teal unicorn hurriedly browsed the data, the slight orange glow casting his face in a sickly brownish hue. “Should be able to follow this tunnel...” He looked up at the piping overhead and then to some white letters painted on the walls. “East.”
Crystal led the way. His ears twitched as he stayed alert for any incoming danger. Soon the drone of water passing by reached the unicorn’s astute ears followed by the sound of two voices.
“I haven’t been able to get in contact with anyone since those dumb dogs ran back upstairs.”
“Probably just the concrete. You heard the main bomb detonate. Everyone’s probably celebrating our victory before we leave this antiquated hovel to burn.”
“You’re right, I’m glad to have been a part of this. We need to be able to let go and forget our past in order to truly be fit for conversion.”
Crystal’s ears pinned against his head. “PER,” he whispered to the gryphon, who simply nodded.
They rounded the corner to see a room with two large support pillars on either side of an aqueduct. A catwalk surrounded each pillar, including the one they were standing on. Off to the side was concrete balcony that had one PER, looking right at them.
“Gryphon! Over there!” he shouted and pointed, before ducking into cover.
A few potion round shots forced Karphal and Crystal into cover. Karphal looked around the corner of the pillar long enough to see where the other PER troopers were, behind a smaller pillar at the far end of the room, held aloft by the catwalk. Some more shots made Karphal duck back behind his own pillar.
Vickers pounded his fist into the ‘open’ button to the undigitized archive files. Various crates filled with documents that had been printed on Equestrian ink and paper sat out in a grid-like pattern. The layout was a monotonous stretch of boxes.
“This is going to be fun searching through,” Vickers said, rolling his eyes.
He turned left and then right as he jogged among the aisles, searching for one of the bombs. His head snapped from side to side as he scanned the area as quickly as possible. Vickers came to a stop, looking at the various identification numbers on the crates, certain he had gone in circles.
“How the hell did Willard always find his way around this stuff?”
He turned his head and saw a black box, about as wide as his chest and half as tall. It was bolted onto a wall between two stack of crates. He walked over and examined it.
“Okay, now...” Sliding off a panel, Vickers saw a clock ticking down from seventeen minutes. “Plenty of time.” His eyes scanned the series of wires. “Seven blue, eight red, four green.” Vickers instinctively tried running a hand through his hair, only to have his glove clang against his helmet. “Alright, V-600 series of demolition charges, rigged to blow up if you pull the wrong wires.” Vickers brought out his combat knife and used it to unscrew the plate next to the clock. “Alright, second green, last two reds, and then pull all the blues.”
Vickers proceeded to cut the indicated green and red wires, before pulling out all seven of the blue wires.
The counter on the bomb stopped, sixteen minutes. Vickers smiled. “Not even close.”
Shortly after the sound of an explosion, Sarah, Rendition, and the others were huddled in a corner.
“Why haven’t they come to take us away?” Sarah hissed, fearing the prospect of dying in a basement more than being a prisoner of the PER.
“I don’t know, but that explosion sounded either really close, or really big,” Rendition replied shakily.
The sound of someone sprinting came down the hall. Sarah walked up to the door and yelled at whoever it was.
“Hello? Please! Let us out!”
There was a moment’s silence. “Bertwell?”
Sarah nodded. “Yes, the PER locked us in here when they took the building.”
The footsteps stopped right in front of the door. “Step back from the door, if you approach, you will be shot.”
Sarah hastily stepped back, not wanting to know what a potion rifle would do to her now that she was already a pony. There was a series of beeps from the door and it opened to reveal nothing.
Jameson poked his head around the corner and saw the four ponies. “Bertwell, if that’s really you...”
“I was the one who convinced you to try writing poetry.” Sarah rolled her eyes.
Jameson stepped out into the doorway. “You four better get out of here, the PER’s set up bombs around the building.”
“I figured as much,” Sarah interrupted, prompting Jameson to lift up a hand.
“No time to take you outside myself. Head out the main doors and find somewhere safe away from here, preferably off street level. If you see JRSF, do not run towards them. We’re under orders to shoot anything that may be a threat, that includes ponies that might be with the PER. Just make yourselves visible and make it clear you’re not a threat if you need to come out.” He stepped back from the door frame and kept his rifle hovering between the four ponies, not letting his guard down.
Sarah and the others stepped out and walked cautiously towards a set of stairs before breaking out into a light trot. When they were out of sight, Jameson ran down the hall.
Lieutenant Karan entered the first server room. It held thousands of documents dedicated solely to the Human Archives Project. The hardware for the massive amounts of data was a series of white, two-by-one-by-one meter blocks that thrummed with their own fans in conjunction with several others around the room inside air conditioning units.
Karan lifted up his rifle and headed down the rows for a minute when he found the first bomb. He undid the panel and examined the layout.
“Fuck, this could take out half the building by itself.”
Wasting no time, he opened up the second panel next to the timer, looked at the wires for a few moments, then made the necessary cuts to stop the countdown.
Fourteen minutes.
Lieutenant Karan stood up, and he immediately dashed out of the room and across the hall to the second server room. He rolled his shoulders briefly before inspecting the room, heading towards the back. When he got there, he saw the second bomb and ran towards it.
His boots pounded the floor, sending mild jolts up his knees, when a white-armored arm swung out towards his neck. Karan barely had time to duck as the blade scratched his visor.
Karan turned around in time for a second slash to come towards his faceplate. He used the butt of his rifle to knock the blow off course before trying to aim his rifle at the PER.
The PER trooper kicked up, knocking the rifle out of Karan’s hand, and lunged at him with the blade. Karan grabbed the soldier’s arm and used the momentum, combined with his leverage, to flip him over onto his back. Karan pulled out his own knife and hopped away as the trooper slashed at his leg.
The enemy stood up and faced Karan for a brief moment, before going at Karan in a flurry of swipes that the lieutenant parried and dodged. The slashes were punctuated by stabs. Karan swiped the knife away from himself on a stab and grabbed the PER’s arm, twisting it. Karan gave a final jerk that made the PER trooper drop his knife.
The lieutenant brought his knife down towards the PER’s head, only to have the enemy slip out of his grip and tackle him. The two men wrestled over Karan’s knife until it was pointed at his chest. The PER started lowering the knife toward’s Karan’s heart, going for the killing blow.
“No salvation for you,” the trooper stated, “not after killing my men.”
Karan pulled the knife to the side, making it hit the concrete an inch from his side, then proceeded to punch the PER in the head. He regained control of his knife, twisted it around, and plunged it into the neck joint of the PER.
Karan pulled out the knife to a seeping of blood and got back to his feet. He picked up his rifle, leaving the trooper to bleed out faster than the potion could begin to have an affect.
“Next time, save your own ass.”
He returned to the bomb and diffused it in short order. Reaching to his helmet he radioed the others. “Karan in, I’ve diffused two of the bombs, but there are still hostiles, report.”
“Karphal here, pinned down by three PER, they’re dug in, and I can’t flank them.”
“I have my bomb diffused,” Vickers answered, “heading to Karphal’s position.”
“Jameson? What’s your situation?” The lieutenant was met with the click of a radio being turned off. “Jameson? Respond! Dammit! I’ll go see what’s happened to Jameson.” Karan cast one last look to the halted timer on the diffused bomb. Eight minutes.
Jameson ran into the art restoration room. Dozens, hundreds of paintings and statues from around the world had been brought to New York to be copied for transfer to Equestria. Each of the paintings was surrounded by an airtight Plexiglas case.
Jameson explored the room, looking for the bomb.
He found the bomb at the back right corner of the room, tucked beside a ventilation shaft and a wall. He undid the panel and saw the clock reading out eight minutes and twenty seconds.
Before he could expose the wiring he needed to cut, Jameson heard heavy footsteps come from behind him. His head poked up briefly, and he saw a diamond dog approaching.
Just then the radio in his helmet sounded off, making him duck just as the dog’s head turned towards him. “Karan in, I’ve diffused two of the bombs, but there are still hostiles, report.”
The footsteps halted for a few moments before continuing onward
“Jameson? What’s your—” Jameson clicked off his radio before the silence of the room from the footsteps stopping once more registered with his ears.
Jameson heard something sniff at the air.
As quietly as he could, Jameson weaved his way around various artworks, staying in a crouch. Minutes stretched as the diamond dog tentatively pursued the tell-tale signs of prey nearby. The light potion mist, and the full helmet meant that his sense of smell was heavily curtailed.
Another potion shot uselessly hit the pillar Karphal was hiding behind. The first bomb was right there, but it was covered by two soldiers firing at him from the catwalk.
“I can’t get a shot on either of them!” Karphal said, thoroughly frustrated. He poked his head out again only to immediately duck behind cover as shots from a third soldier in a balcony. The gryphon tapped a claw to his beak in thought before an idea struck him. “Crystal, I need you to keep the enemy on the balcony pinned when the others reload. I have an idea.”
Crystal nodded and Karphal focused on the distinctive click and hiss of the PER on the catwalk reloading. “Now!” He leaned out from cover and aimed above the PER troopers, at the cables supporting the catwalk over the stream of water. He shot at the cables and was able to shoot through one. The jerking motion caused the PER troopers to fall out from their cover. Karphal shot them as they tumbled down. The bodies slid down the ramp that had been formed and into the rushing water below.
“You got that other enemy pinned?” Karphal asked Crystal.
“Yes!” The unicorn floated up his pistol and squeezed off another three rounds.
“Good, I’m going to try and defuse the bomb.” Karphal swung around the corner and removed the first panel.
“What do you see Karphal?” Crystal asked.
“Nineteen wires connecting to a countdown timer,” Karaph responded. “Seven blue, eight red, four green.”
“V-600 series? Those are the exact same bombs the HLF tries to use!” Crystal reloaded his pistol as fast as he could before he resumed firing at the lone entrenched PER.
“Guess the PER forgot what irony meant.”
Crystal gulped as he began squeezing the pistol trigger a little more rapidly. “Alright, here’s the diffusion procedure: cut the second green wire from the top, last two red wires on the bottom, and then pull all the blue cables. And don’t screw up!”
“Got it.” Using his talons, the gryphon cut the first three wires and then pulled out all the blue wires. Six minutes.
The PER trooper poked his head out for a brief moment when his DATab beeped to tell him the bomb was defused. A lucky shot from Crystal passed through his visor and into his head. Crystal kept firing, thinking that he was still pinning the enemy before he looked out from behind his corner.
“Oh my,” the unicorn said as his lips curved downwards.
“Don’t worry about it,” Karphal chuckled, tapping Crystal on the withers with a claw. “Bringing irony to a firefight is a good thing.” He looked over to the other foundation pillar across the room, too far to jump with his shot wings and wounded haunches.
“How are we going to cross?” Crystal asked.
“I think the question is, how are you going to cross? Do pony parents ever throw their pegasus foals to help them start flying?”
Crystal stared at the gryphon for the seeming non sequitur, but then his eyes widened. “I’m not a pegasus.”
“But you’re light enough for me to throw.” Karphal put his rifle to the side and walked to Crystal.
“You sure you can send me that far?” Crystal was lifted up by Karphal, who stopped a few feet away from the catwalk edge.
“One way to find out.” Using what little momentum he could gain from his hind legs, the gryphon launched the unicorn across the gap like he had thrown so many objects when he was a hatchling.
Crystal flew though the air and barely made the edge of the catwalk surrounding the pillar. He ran around it and started working on the bomb. A few moments later he pulled the wires, stopping the clock at three minutes.
Jameson brought two fingers to his faceplate, made a kissing motion, then pressed the two fingers to the statue in front of him. “Sorry I couldn't save you,” he mouthed soundlessly.
Scuttling down the aisle, he paid attention to where the footsteps were following him. He reached the end of a row of statues and huddled down behind it, waiting for the diamond dog to round the corner. A grey paw encased in white armor poked into Jameson’s vision, and the private braced his rifle against his shoulder. The rest of the diamond dog came into view, and Jameson fired at the troll.
It wasn’t long for the dog to pinpoint his location and begin firing at the statue, forcing the private to get into cover. Jameson tried poking his head out, but was soon forced to blindfire. The diamond dog broke into a run, getting closer to Jameson’s position. He glanced one last time over the edge of the statue and smiled. He slammed his fist down on his detonator, blowing up his last brick of C4 just behind the diamond dog. The dog was sent to the ground, and Jameson came out of cover and finished it off.
He ran back to the bomb and unceremoniously ripped the panel off. He unscrewed the next panel with his knife and proceeded to cut the wires. The clock stopped, and Jameson allowed himself a small breath of relief.
“Four...”
He blinked his eyes to get rid of the sweat that tried pouring into them. “Forty seconds. Not that bad.”
He turned his radio back on. “Jameson here, I had to avoid an overgrown bulldog. Bomb’s diffused.” He heard footsteps heading towards his location as Karan replied over the radio.
“Shit, you know how to cut it close, don’t you?” Karan ran into the room and saw the blown up diamond dog. “Damn, Kibbles and Bits, anyone?”
Vickers, Karphal, and Crystal entered the room.
Karphal tilted his head as he glanced between Karan and the diamond dog. “Kibbles and Bits?”
“A joke, and one in poor taste.” Karan looked over to where Jameson stepped into view. “Out-fucking-standing. Now let’s get out of here, no doubt upper command is going to actually help us now that we solved this ourselves.”
In short order, they were walking out of the main lobby. They saw a crystallization team, technicians aboard a retrofitted firetruck brimming with chemicals meant to neutralize potion into something that could be handled safely. They met the group just outside the outer limits of the cloud of potion. Sitting beside it were the four archivist ponies, looking ready to pass out.
The soldiers saluted the officer who was riding on the side of the truck. He was in a fully sealed suit just like them, but was clearly older and them by a long shot from the greying hair visible through his visor and the chevrons on his suit.
Karan stepped forward, saluting again. “Lieutenant Karan reporting, we were able to stop the potion disperser, and we stopped a plan to blow up the archives.”
Crystal floated over the PER DATab to the officer. “The locations of the bombs are on there, maybe your tech teams can pull some useful data off of it.”
The officer grabbed the DATab and looked at the five soldiers, a slight purplish hue accenting their armor from running about the potion cloud. “Excellent work,” he said. “But we’re far from finished. We’re still trying to get a tally, but the dispersal units may have already converted thousands.”
Vickers looked off into the distance. Karan rolled his shoulders and lifted his rifle. Jameson and Crystal’s eyes widened. The very corners of Karphal’s beak, where his face met with the hard keratin, turned downwards as he scowled.
“But it could have been millions, and you did your part in preventing that.” The officer looked over them again. “Now get sanitized and recuperated before you’re called on duty again. You've earned some rest.”
“And by far the most sensitive issue for humans surrounding conversion, are the mental alterations it may cause. The pony limbic system is wired in such a way so that when conflict arises, we are far less likely to engage in physical violence. Evolutionary psychology has made ponies stilted towards acquiring as large a group of friends and companions as possible.”
This may to us seem unimportant, or that such a change is a good thing, but change can be frightening when it is so immediate, and so visible. In studying both human and pony literature and psychology, I found one potential reason for this. With such radical changes, humans fear that they will lose themselves in their entirety, that they will lose the ability to do what they believe is right. This fear is hardly exclusive to any single species.”
The five century old pony horror story, The Changing (a work which is steeped in absolutely no scientific fact), and the two hundred year old human horror story, Dracula (likewise without scientific basis), both involve a being which quickly and violently alters an individual. These individuals, once transformed into a changeling or a vampire respectively, become incapable of differentiating between right and wrong, and, due to their intrinsic nature, begin to harm those they once loved.”
The question then becomes how a proclivity to peacefulness might be thought of as a bad thing. Ponies have been blessed with a long-standing, albeit lukewarm, relationship with races, such as the gryphons, along with magic that makes it unnecessary to fight for long periods of time.”
But it is not difficult to conceive of a situation where conflict may be necessary. When the ability to go against one’s preferences is valuable. This is true of humans as well as ponies; multiple studies show that approximately 95% of all humans in their military require specialized training in order to avoid their gut reaction to simply shoot weaponry above the heads of enemy combatants.”
It is with this publication that I hope to foster understanding between ponies, both native-born and newfoal, and humans. So we may be able to work together as we realize we possess the same ultimate hopes, dreams and fears. That we may work together in the difficult and changing times ahead.”
— Twilight Sparkle, PhD.”
Twilight placed her quill on the desk and closed the book. Opening a cupboard, she slid the volume into it and closed it. Standing up, she closed her eyes and breathed softly through her nose as her lips turned upward. She opened her eyes and stepped out to the balcony, looking over the archives.
Hundreds of of shelves stretched into the distance. Twilight’s horn glowed briefly, and her cloak floated off to hang on a hook by the door. She braced her hooves on top of the railing and gave a content sigh. These works are safe, she thought. “Not even the princesses can stop what’s happening, but we can save this.” A shiver ran up her spine as she cast a glance back to her lab, where the generator and her book lay. “But it’s nothing compared to saving lives.”
Twilight stepped down from her balcony, and then up the tunnel back to the Ponyville Library.
Spike was putting some books on the shelves, reared up on his hind legs, and leaning against the shelf for support. He looked over at Twilight. “Can I help, Twi?” he got back on all fours and walked to her. His eyes were above hers when he stood like that.
“No, I just got down some important notes, the archives are still getting shipments regularly, no books have been stolen for months, no ponies have protested the continued expansion of the archives.” Twilight walked up the stairs to her long-abandoned loft and former bedroom. Spike followed. “Life seems to be going well, but, there’s just this pervading feeling... The barrier is still expanding, humans are running out of time, and I feel guilty that even if I fail to preserve their legacy, I’ll still be here, but they’ll be gone.”
Twilight walked out of a door and onto a balcony overlooking the late evening of Ponyville. The sky was hued a soft pink and purple, moving to a navy blue in the distance. A few of the brighter stars were shining down. Twilight heard the heavy thump of Spike sitting behind her. She looked back to see him casually leaning against the doorframe.
“Sounds to me like you need some way to relax.” Spike’s stomach growled. “Ehehe, food always works for me.”
Twilight smiled. “Sugarcube Corner should be open late today.” She turned around and headed for the door.
“Alright!” Spike’s legs coiled with strength as he braced himself to leap into the air.
“Nu-uh Spike, no taking off from the balcony, you’ll gouge the wood.”
Spike sagged as his eyelids hung in disappointment. “But I’ve been practicing, honest.”
“The door’s just as good, and you don’t end up having to fix the balcony that way.” Twilight and Spike walked out of the library to Sugarcube Corner.
A lone magelight hung by the door, glowing softly to indicate that the establishment was still open. In the side alley, a few foldable tables and stools had been set up for customers to dine outside. Twilight stepped inside the building. The bell rang as the door opened. Looking around, the mare and dragon saw that the counter was empty, and Pinkie Pie was chatting with Applejack, Brigitte, and Wilhelm.
Pinkie looked over at Twilight, slid over to her so fast she may as well have teleported, and smiled brightly. “Hi Twilight! Hi Spike! Finally got out of your cave I see? What can I get for you?”
Twilight giggled. “I’ll have a piece of carrot cake please. Spike?”
“I’ll have some cherry pie with a ruby on top,” Spike answered, walking over to Applejack and the others.
“I’ll be just a minute!” Pinkie announced, snapping off a salute and making her way to the kitchen in a blur.
“That Pinkie,” Wilhelm said, shaking his head. “She’ll get arthritis before she hits her triple digits the way she goes.” Twilight sat across from Wilhelm, beside Spike. “Ah, good day Dr. Sparkle, how goes the archives?”
Applejack chuckled and elbowed Wilhelm. “Come on now, you’ve known Twi long enough that you can put all that ‘doctor’ stuff on the backburner.”
“Yes well.” Wilhelm reached up with a fore hoof and brushed at his blue mane. “How long has it been since the archives started?”
“Good question,” Brigitte said. Leaning over to a glass of peach juice and sucking at a straw, she awaited Twilight’s response.
“Let’s see, ten years ago, right around the same time as conversion bureaus were getting started.” Twilight looked over at Spike, who nodded in affirmation.
“Yep,” the dragon said. “Ten years ago, my world was turned upside down when I ended up going to the diamond dogs with Twi and some of the royal guard to try and hire them. Now, I have bunch of troglodyte canids gallivanting around in my basement.”
“Spike!” Twilight scoffed. “That’s rude, good use of vocabulary, but rude.”
Pinkie Pie stepped out of the back room. Two plates with Twilight and Spike’s food on top of them were balanced on her back. She stepped up, and Twilight lifted the plates and set them in front of Spike and herself. Pinkie pulled out two forks from her mane and gave them to Twilight and Spike. Sitting on a nearby stool, Pinkie observed the conversation.
“Thanks Pinkie.” Twilight turned to the rest of the group. “Ten years, when Celestia asked me to arrange for housing human documents, I was thrilled.” Twilight rolled her eyes. “Pretty soon I felt overwhelmed, luckily, volunteers were forthcoming, and I was able to head to Earth for a few years to learn about human culture, so I could apply it in my work here.”
“And it was a really, really, super duper, ultra long time before you came back!” Pinkie interjected, hopping off her stool and embracing Twilight. “And I met all these really cool new ponies who have just been swell to be around!” She gasped. “I thought all about where they came from and decided I wanted to see where they came from!”
“Hehe, yeah Pinkie,” Twilight giggled, allowing the pink lump to continue hanging off her neck as she took a few bites out of her carrot cake.
“It was so neat! Humans are tall, and they make lots of neat machines. Little quiet though, but that’s alright because they can be so nice! Like this one chef I met who had to work with food made from kelp, nothing but kelp, all the time! And they managed to make so much food with just that one thing! That’s determination and ingenuity! And the music could get so loud!”
“And the fashion!” came Rarity’s sing-song voice as she and Alan Topatz walked through the door. Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and Big Mac filed in behind them.
“Oh hey guys,” Twilight said happily, shifting over to the side a little to make room at the table. “Pinkie and I were just reminiscing about when she decided to ‘drop in’ on my university education.”
“Yeah, drop in on you and scare the living daylights out of us,” Rainbow Dash said, rolling her eyes. “We were worried sick about her when she left so suddenly. We thought she’d wandered into the Everfree until the Cakes told us what happened.” Rainbow took a seat at a booth with Big Mac. “Cherry soda please, I’m parched.”
“I imagine,” Applejack said, smirking. “How was the hay loft?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rainbow Dash said, against Big Mac’s light blush.
“One cherry soda, anypony got a hankering for anything else?” Pinkie asked.
“Alan and I will have some tiramisu and coffee please,” Rarity answered, taking a seat with her husband at another booth. Pinkie Pie excused herself from the room to fetch the requested refreshments.
“Sure ya don’t, Rainbow.” Applejack reached a hoof over Wilhelm’s shoulders and continued. “Y’all were inconsolable when you thought Pinkie had gone missing. Mac was your rock in that first week.”
“And I’m really sorry that I made you think I had left forever!” Pinkie said as she walked back out of the kitchen, head hanging low.
“It’s alright Pinkie Pie, you came back with Twilight!” Fluttershy consoled from next to Rarity’s booth.
“And a court request to never enter the city of Boston ever again!” Twilight added, prompting the group to laugh wholeheartedly.
Wiping a jovial tear from her face, Pinkie giggled, “Ten years, and we haven’t celebrated it!”
“You make a good point, darling,” Rarity said. “Ten years for anything is a long time, maybe we should find a way to celebrate.”
“Well...” Twilight reached a hoof to her chin. “I suppose all the volunteers at the archives deserve something special for their efforts.”
“We could have it in the building where the farmer’s market is held sometimes,” Topatz suggested, earning nods and words of support from several others.
“Would this be open to the rest of Ponyville?” Applejack asked. “It’d be a good opportunity for others to learn more about the archives.”
“That sounds like a great idea, Applejack.” Twilight took one last forkful of carrot cake and swallowed, nodding eagerly.
“Yes,” Brigitte said. “We can help with the catering.” She indicated herself and the other members of the Apple family present.
“And Alan and I can provide any monetary needs.” Rarity pointed a hoof at herself while gazing fondly at Alan, who nodded.
“And I can get all the games while Fluttershy has her bird choir sing for the occasion!” Pinkie exclaimed, breaking into a cartwheel and grabbing some papers from behind the counter.
A set of light-brown fingers drummed against a cushioned armchair in a cargo jet specially designated for the use of the finger’s owners. The fingers moved over to a set of buttons and turned on a display in the cabin’s wall. A silent news report flashed onscreen, but was, for the viewer, thankfully silent.
The owner of the fingers brought out a zippo lighter from his jacket pocket. The brass casing was imprinted with the image of a horse. It had been passed down through his family through the decades since the the sun had been stolen by the tyrant, Celestia. In one deft, controlled motion, the man turned on the lighter and stared into the open flame for a few moments.
“Sound on,” the man demanded in a Balkan accent, and he was met by the news report.
“A day after what many have called the largest PER attack of all time was thwarted, the full details are out. The PER, using resources from the Gavin Schummel corporation, by then puppeteered by the illegitimate son of Robert Gavin, set a series of potion dispersers throughout the New York area. The thermobaric bomb that was meant to propagate the mist however, was sabotaged by the combined efforts of the Joint Reconnaissance Strike Force.
"The son of Robert Gavin, Robert Gilchrist, going under the pseudonym of Tiro Vanberg, was killed in the process. Forces are continuing to hunt down high level PER leaders who have been revealed by the actions of the JRSF.
"In other news, thousands of volunteers in the New York area have opened their hearts and their homes to assist the many people who were con—”
“Sound off.” The man closed his lighter and set it to the side.
He ran his fingers through his short-cropped ivory hair. The veins and tendons in his hand tensed as he reached for a six-by-eight-inch steel box that sat on the table next to him. He pressed a finger to the DNA reader on the outer casing. A small lancelet collected a sample of blood, and the casing cracked open, allowing him access to the DATab within it.
The screen lit up and he entered a code that only he and nineteen others on the planet knew.
“Identification please,” the machine asked in the electric tone of a woman.
“Mr. Mustang.” The screen flashed green, before the image of a red circle with a fist within it materialized on the screen. “Humanus Pro Vita.” The final security measures were deactivated, and Mr. Mustang had a temporary secure line to another member of the Human Liberation Front.
“Good day Mr. Mustang,” a woman on the DATab said.
She was in a business suit, fitting for her section of the HLF cabinet she was in. Twenty persons made up the Cabinet, five to each section, military, political, business, and overarching.
“Do not assume it is day where I am, Mrs. Juno,” Mr. Mustang replied.
The woman onscreen stiffened before relaxing. “No doubt you have heard the news.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Utah’s infiltration of the JRSF and augment intervention allowed us to stop the Manhattan attack. In spite of what the media claims.” Mr. Mustang tensed as he heard a buzzing sound come from the other end of the line.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Juno answered. “But many people lost their lives, though most don’t realize it yet.”
“We failed those people who were converted. I am correct, no doubt, in assuming that all the cabinet has agreed to begin putting them out of their misery.” The buzzing at the other end of the line grew louder until a black shape stepped into view in the corner of the screen.
“That is your long term objective, Mr. Mustang,” Mrs. Juno answered. “However, our benefactor has requested we provide them additional payment for our next shipment of...”
“Bug spit,” Mr. Mustang completed. The buzzing from the figure sounded again as a set of gossamer wings flapped rapidly. “Understood, arrangements shall be made for newfoals to be captured alive. I am to assume that full resources shall be made available.” His inflections remained flat, there was no questioning tone in his voice.
“Correct, grey agents, augments, contacts, safehouses, Utah is no longer in New York, its resources are yours to ensure the mission is completed.” Mrs. Juno lifted up a fist, her elbow still on the desk. “Humanus Pro Vita.”
“Humanus Pro Vita,” Mr. Mustang answered, ending the call. A few seconds later, the DATab sparked and started smoking, never to be used again unless the constituent parts were melted down and then used to recreate another DATab.
Monica hovered amongst the shelves of the archive, placing a few more books into place. Just below, she could hear some music coming from a side door. Monica hummed along with the tune and let a gentle smile ease onto her face as she continued sorting books.
Monica’s ears twitched when a new sound began accompanying the music: the sound of hooves. She looked down below, and seeing that there was somepony approaching, she hovered down to the ground a few feet in front of the pony.
“Good day!” Monica greeted, extending a hoof.
The mint-green unicorn silently bumped her hoof against Monica’s. “Hello,” she responded quietly. “Um, what’s your name?”
“Monica Radrim, assistant archivist, pleasure to meet you Miss... Hang on a second, did you ever go to earth for working on the Human Archives Project? You look familiar.”
“Lyra Heartstrings,” the unicorn completed, sidestepping over to a shelf. “And no, I don’t work with the Archives. I’m happy with my job as is... I just came here for a book on musical theory.” Lyra turned and showed her lyre cutie mark.
“Okay, well, you’re in the right section,” Monica said, returning to a hover. “I’ll just...” She went over to a few shelves and pulled out two large books, each bounded in a green hard-cover. “Either of these look good?”
Lyra examined both of the books. Her lips pursed, and she held herself in a tight manner, her legs close together. She nodded to one book and said, “I’ll take that one.”
“Alright, fantastic, I can just write down your name and the date.” Monica reached into her saddlebags and pulled out some writing materials: quill, securely-stoppered inkpot, and paper. With a few motions of her neck and lips, Monica wrote out two receipts for the book, one for Lyra, and one for the archives. “Okay, be sure to return it in a week.”
“Thanks,” Lyra said. Her magic quickly enveloped the book and she walked briskly away from Monica.
Storing her things back in her saddlebags, Monica sorted through books until she again heard a sound that was intrusive to the music that was still playing.
“Monica!?” came a yelling voice.
Monica hovered over the shelves, poking her head out like a prairie dog sticking its head out of a burrow. She saw Rainbow Dash flying over the shelves with enough speed that her tail waved like a flag in her wake. She was wearing a small saddle bag, deep-blue with a bolt of lightning stitched onto the flap.
“She’s looking for another book already?” Monica commented to herself. Hovering up above the shelves, Monica yelled, “Rainbow!” That drew the cyan pegasus’ attention, and soon Rainbow and Monica were standing on top of a book case.
“Hey there, Monica, glad I could find you. I’ve got two things I need to talk to ya about.” Dash looked around nervously; her eyes darted from side to side.
“Need another recommendation?” Monica asked, smirking. “You’ve gone through some of the more prominent classical works. What do you think about trying some medieval works?”
“Thanks for the offer, but neither thing is that. I know enough about how this place is organized to find something I might like, thanks to you. First off, did Twi tell you about the celebration for ten years of the archives project yet?”
Monica shook her head. “No, but that’s really great that she’s doing that.”
“Yeah, well, she’ll probably make an announcement soon enough. Now the second thing...” She stepped towards Monica. Her face, the very form of seriousness, nearly pressed against Monica’s muzzle. “You can’t tell anyone about what I’m going to tell you. Promise?”
“Uh, I’m not really comfortable getting into something without knowing what it is,” Monica answered.
“I-ugh.” Rainbow sat on her haunches. “Maybe it’ll be easier if I just show you.” She reached into her saddlebag and pulled out of a few sheaves of parchment. She put them on the ground in front of Monica. “I was thinking about what you said about autobiographies, and, well, I want to write my own.”
Monica let out a breath she had been holding. “Oh, is that what this is about? You want writing advice?”
“Yeah,” Rainbow answered. Rubbing her mane with a hoof, she mixed the colors together before she shook her head, putting all the hairs back into their stripes. “I showed it to Big Mac, and he said that writing stuff down would probably get me to intero-expectation-something-or-other.”
“Introspection?” Monica offered.
“Yeah, that. And then there’s the fact that a wonderbolt, writing about their life? I wish there’d been something like that when I was younger.” Rainbow stood up. “So, you can help?”
“Well, I can give advice, and...” Monica looked down at the pile of paper and skimmed the contents. “I can help you with your run-on sentences.” She flicked a hoof to Rainbow’s chest.
Rainbow frowned with her eyes while one side of her mouth turned upwards. After a few seconds of holding that expression, she chuckled. “Yeah, my captain said my reports could make him run out of breath.”
Jameson was crouching, one knee touching the ground while the other supported his elbow. His palm covered his face as he gulped for air. He removed his hand and looked around him. He blinked the moisture out of his eyes.
Dozens of white tents, all large enough to fit two sizeable cars end-to-end were arranged in rows. Printed on the sides of each in bold letters were the names of various aid organizations, JRSF and ConSec. Newfoals and humans walked amongst the tents in the parkade. Many of the newfoals would stumble, then be steadied by a human volunteer. Thousands of people had been converted, and the influx had been managed with a combination of people giving their time and their money to help those who had fallen on hard times. Potion was still being removed from large swathes of the city, leaving many homeless.
Jameson stood up and gave a small burp with the taste of bile before he turned around, and walked by the tents. Far away, on the right side of his vision, he could see the archives still covered in a mass of crystallized potion.
“A dash six-oh-seven, A dash six-o-five,” he counted off, before he reached a tent labeled ‘A-593’. He heard the sobs of a boy crying inside, and Jameson entered the tent.
A pink earth pony mare with a purple mane and tail, syringe cutie mark, and a green nurse’s smock was pressing a stethoscope to the chest of a light blue pegasus colt who was sobbing. Beside the colt, a green-coated, poison-red-maned pegasus filly was curled in the arms of a brown unicorn mare. To the side was an cerulean pegasus stallion with a white mane.
To one side was a table with a water cooler, and some instant coffee packets and sugar.
The adult pegasus looked up at Jameson before a smile spread over his face. “Todd!” he yelled, before his legs coiled for a jump. The stallion got a hold of himself though, and he walked over. “Son, I was worried you hadn’t made it!”
Thomas Jameson, father of Private Todd Jameson, looked over to his wife, Alice Jameson, still holding their converted daughter, Ria. Alice, the brown unicorn, stroked her daughter’s red mane while Ria’s twin brother, Kyle, continued to mope as the nurse folded up her stethoscope.
“Alright,” the nurse pony said, “you’re all perfectly healthy except for Kyle’s sprained leg. Make sure he keeps off of it for a few days.
Thomas walked over to the nurse. “Thank you Ms. Thetic, thank you for helping my family.”
Ana Thetic bowed her head. “It’s my job; besides, I always make a point of helping others, goodness knows there have been times I’ve needed help.” She lifted up a hoof and waved it around to emphasize her point.
“I want to go back!” Kyle moaned, limping from his spot and burying his face into his mother’s side. “Give me a human potion!”
Jameson walked over to his brother and reached towards him. Nurse Thetic swiped his hand away before he could console his brother though. Jameson looked at her with dissapointed eyes.
“Don’t touch him,” she mouthed silently with a look of hope.
Narrowing his eyes at the nurse, Jameson recalled that converts didn’t need to be reminded they were covered in fur by someone touching them.
Jameson sighed, lowered his hand and looked at his brother. “Kyle?” he asked. When there was no answer except for some sobs, he continued. “It’s your brother, Todd, I killed lots of the bad men who did this to you.”
“I don’t care. I want to be able to draw and play with my computer again!” Kyle turned his head to see his brother’s lips turn downwards.
Jameson gave a sigh. “There isn’t a way to go back. EarthGov doesn’t have the resources to do that, not when the barrier is still expanding.”
Thetic’s ears pinned back when Kyle screamed, “I DON’T CARE ABOUT EARTHGOV! I WANNA GO BACK TO BEING A BOY!”
Alice lowered her head to Ria’s ear and whispered. With a small nod, the filly walked over to Thomas and let him stroke her mane instead. Raising a hoof, Alice stroked her son’s mane.
Nurse Thetic walked over to a cup of water on the table, grabbed it in her mouth, and brought it in front of the colt before she grabbed a packet of sugar. “I’m sorry Kyle, but even if Earthgov gave the time for a human potion to be developed, and they have tried in the past, it would be hundreds of times harder to develop than regular potion, if not impossible.”
She pointed to the cup of water. “Imagine that water is a person before they take a potion.” Taking the pack of sugar with both hooves, she tore off the end with her teeth. Spitting out the paper, she continued her lecture. “Now imagine this sugar is potion.” Dumping the sugar into the cup, she grabbed the cup and swirled it around in her hooves until the sugar dissolved. “Now the person is a pony. Some of the magic particles that conversion gives a person can’t be picked out.” She put the cup off to the side. “Getting the sugar out would mean boiling all the water away.”
Thetic looked up at Kyle, who had quieted down, but tears still leaked out of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, standing up. She looked at Jameson and Thomas before inclining her head. “I have others who need my help, best of luck.” She stepped out of the tent.
Kyle hiccuped, and Alice continued to rub his mane. Jameson sat on the ground, legs crossed, and his lips turned upwards, though his eyes remained joyless.
“So, what happens now?” Thomas asked.
Jameson brought out the piece of paper. “No more fighting PER for me. Standard procedure, they don’t want to run the risk of field executions.”
EarthGov had established a procedure to avoid deploying soldiers whose families had been targeted by the PER. The treaties they had with the Equestrian nation required that ponies be punished at Celestia’s discretion. To a grieving soldier, one bullet, six feet of dirt, and a report of them being killed as a human was often seen as the more appropriate punishment to PER officials who tried to escape justice by ‘gooping out’. A family member being forcefully converted was grounds for a soldier to be honorably discharged.
Thomas’ gave an irked expression. “You’re better than that, son. You weren’t discharged were you?”
“No, just never going to be assigned to missions with a high likelihood of PER involvement.” Jameson ran a hand through his hair and folded up the piece of paper. “I talked to one of the higher ups. My squad’s going to be part of escort for the increased traffic to the barrier once they’re done helping search the sewers for any PER in hiding.” He brought his hands together and licked his lips. He blinked rapidly a few times. “Think you’ll be heading for Equestria?” he asked.
Thomas nodded. “Alice and I discussed that before you got here. The last thing we need is for you to be constantly worrying about us here on Earth. We’ll be on the next ship to Equestria.” Thomas stood up and patted Ria on the head before talking to her. “So you’ll be able to see your brother right before we go to Equestria.”
Ria smiled before walking up to Jameson with a bright smile. “You’ll get to see me just before the prettiest pony on Earth becomes the prettiest pony in Equestria!” She stuck out her tongue, making Jameson laugh.
Willard was walking down a side tunnel in the archives. Unlike the main chamber, the walls were rounded and rough. The floor was fairly smooth however, from hundreds of trips down to where the tunnel was leading. Listening attentively to a sound coming from the direction he was heading, Willard tried to figure out what it was.
He rounded a corner and was able to make out some of the words of two sources.
“Spike... even... you have... I... don’t.”
“I... sometimes... the diamond dogs... the ones... I wish Cyrus would do something about them.”
Willard turned another corner to see a large hole that led out to Ghastly Gorge, where he would drag rocks from the diamond dog’s excavation. An annoyed grunt preceded a rock about the size of Willard’s head sailing over the cliff edge to fall out of sight. Willard walked out to the back of a larger cave that attached to Ghastly Gorge. The beautiful evening purples and oranges highlighted a dragon and a pony standing at the edge of the cliff.
“Spike, I know you hate the diamond dogs, but they’ve been of immense help in getting these archives running. Even if some of them are unapologetic about what happened to Rarity years ago, that was when the alpha was away.” Twilight cast a quick glance at Willard and pursed her lips. She was wearing her burned and stained robe.
Grabbing a rock from the ground, Spike threw it like a shot put. “I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that some of them are constantly antagonizing me,” he said, throwing another rock.
Twilight grabbed the rock with her magic and then brought it back. “I fail to see how your throwing rocks off a cliff is supposed to help the matter.”
“Beats sitting in the library, just gorging myself on what gems I can find,” Spike stated flatly. “I just... I just need to exert myself sometimes, and this is the only way I can without going at one of Cyrus’ dogs!” Spike tried throwing another rock, but Twilight caught it in her magic. “Twi, give it back.”
“Not until you promise me you won’t go picking any fights with Cyrus or his other diamond dogs.” Twilight pulled the rock beside her.
“Twilight, give it back!” Spike took a step toward the unicorn, his wings flaring.
The small mare took a step back. “No, you need to control your impulses, all of them, whether it’s greed, hunting, or—” Twilight lifted the rock up. “—whatever this is supposed to be.”
Spike sat on his haunches. His front claws flexed. Smoke leaked out of his nostrils.
“And what about your impulses to just take the insults they say? ERGH!” he cried out, spinning around and clawing at the cave wall.
The scratching sound of his claws against solid rock hurt Willard’s ears. He winced and frowned at the noise. Moment’s later, the adolescent dragon ran towards the cliff edge and took flight.
“Spike!” Twilight called after him, lifting a hoof, but he was gone. She gave out a pouting sigh and sagged a little as Willard stepped towards her. “Sorry you had to see that,” she said, straightening up.
“Teenagers?” Willard asked.
“He’s pushing his twenties now, but by a dragon’s standard, yes.” Twilight stood up. “Don’t suppose you have any advice from raising Monica?” Her ears were flopped down.
“Fortunately for both myself and her, but unfortunately for you, no. After my brother died, I spent a lot of time... thinking. I felt like a fool when she actually started coming out of her shell before I did. Then it was really just a matter of making sure she wasn’t hurt.” Willard looked up at the darkening sky.
Sighing, Twilight stood up. “I’ll see if I can find him a healthy vent.” She trotted past Willard and back into the tunnels, where the earth pony followed her. “I’ve gotten everything in my schedule cleared up. I can have that interview with Miles.”
Willard nodded and trotted past Twilight. “I’ll go fetch him.”
Vickers’ boot slipped on a particularly slick stretch of concrete, sending him down to one knee, and splashing his newly received rank stripes that marked him as a corporal.
“Son of a!” he hissed into his helmet. “Thing’s will get easier now that the attack is over my ass!” He lifted himself out of the passing sewage and grunted. “At least they gave us fully sealed suits again.”
Crystal plodded by him with a foul expression underneath his half-helmet, muzzle open to the reeking air. “Speak for yourself, this place stinks!”
Lieutenant Karan turned around. “At least we know that the locations revealed on that DATab have already been sweeped; it’s just central command being thorough.”
Karphal walked past Vickers and the pony, and he stopped in front of Karan. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m underground. Reminds me of when I had to help clear out a group of diamond dogs in a mountain. At this point, I’m not going to be merciful.”
Vickers walked past them in turn. “I’m inclined to agree with Karphal. We’re stuck down here, without Jameson, all because the PER had to get its knickers in a bunch about people not wanting to convert.”
“Nobody said anything about being merciful.” Karan stepped out of the weak flow of sewage and scanned the room for a moment. A ladder led up to a catwalk that led down the only other corridor leading out of the room.
“Hey, you hear about what whiskey squad found?” Vickers chuckled. “Opened a maintenance door and saw two PER fighting over some potion, each of them trying to goop out.”
“Yeah, I heard about that,” Karphal said. “They tossed in a crystallization grenade to neutralize the potion. The PER were still arguing when they were dragged topside.”
Karphal hoisted Crystal up onto the catwalk, then followed the two humans up the ladder.
“How are the wings?” Karan asked.
“Healing, still can’t fly without having to land immediately afterwards, but give me a few days and I’ll be good.”
The four JRSF soldiers walked down the corridor, their boots, hooves, and paws rattling the walkway. Cement walls were covered with a combination of pipes, wires, and fluorescent yellow numbers.
“Two more days,” Vickers whispered, “Two more days and we get to unwind for a bit, then we’re back with Jameson.”
Crystal shook out a hoof, careful not to deploy the blade. “And I can get some time to clean my hooves!”
Inside Twilight’s personal lab within the archives, Miles was sitting on a cushion the mare had thoughtfully provided. Willard leaned against a wall with a passive expression. Twilight pulled out some stationery from her desk, and set it on the ground.
“Now,” Twilight said, “I’m going to ask you some questions Miles, if you become uncomfortable, you can ask to stop.”
“Can I leave now then?” Miles asked, looking to the door.
“Colt,” Willard said. He raised an eyebrow at his charge and shook his head. “I want you to at least try.”
“Alright,” moaned Miles, making a pushing motion towards Willard and turning his face away.
“Now.” Twilight lifted up some paper and a thin rod that looked like an old-fashion ball pen. Willard’s eyes widened at the sight after having become inured to seeing nothing but quills and ink-pots throughout Equestria.
“When the general public became aware that the Equestrian barrier was expanding, what did you think?” asked Twilight.
“I uh... I thought that the ponies were responsible for that.” Miles looked at the floor and scraped his hoof on the ground. “I was convinced that EarthGov would figure that out and find a way to stop... Er, I’m going to say ‘you’, but I don’t actually mean ‘you’ specifically.”
“Mhm.” Twilight nodded, glancing up from her paper at Miles every few moments.
“And when they didn’t, and conversion started, I felt like I had been betrayed by them. Every year went by with reports on the barrier expanding, and people converting. Then there’s the PER. They forcefully convert people, and EarthGov was fighting to stop them. I signed up for the military as soon as I reached the age of consent.”
Miles bit his lip, and his brow furrowed.
“They weren’t doing enough, every week or month you’d hear about the PER attacking. A school here, a hospital there. I got tired of having to work within the red tape, of letting PER who gooped out live. Someone offered me the opportunity to fight them without holding back. I agreed.
“The HLF told me things that I believed, that conversion was Celestia’s plan for destroying the human race and Earth, and that conversion warped people’s mind to make them want to convert others by any means necessary. The PER were just proof of that.
“Eventually, I thought ponies were just, shells; sick mockeries of people they once were. That people would do that to themselves willingly made me angry. And then I was selected for the mission to Carrenton. I was converted there.”
Miles’ teeth chattered together as if he had been locked into a meat freezer for hours.
“When you were converted, how did you feel?” Twilight asked, pen scribbling furiously.
Miles gulped. “Imagine if you knew everything about you was going to die; that your body was snatched away, your mind changed into something that wasn’t your own, and this thing was going around doing stuff you’d never do.” Miles lay down on the cushion. “And then not knowing when your mind was going to be destroyed, when you’d become incapable of controlling yourself, of knowing that you were unable to control yourself.” He closed his eyes. “I was terrified.”
Twilight scribbled a few more lines on her paper before putting it to the side. She glanced between Miles and Willard with moist eyes that reflected the light in the room.
“Okay,” Twilight declared. “Would you like to talk about music?”
Clever girl, Willard thought as he observed Miles slowly return to sitting up, and going on about strings and brass and intervals.
The blue earth pony looked over several papers and books on Twilight’s desk. He read out the titles silently: Bram Stoker’s Dracula, transcript for Loup Garou, Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. Interesting reading list, Willard thought as he flipped open the thin booklet and read the opening line.
“When Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from troubled dreams, he found himself changed into a monstrous cockroach in his bed.”
Willard looked over at Twilight, and he squinted his eyes before shrugging and sitting back down. The interview concluded after a few more minutes, and Miles hastily left.
Walking over to the door, Willard stopped by it and turned back to face Twilight. “I appreciate your not pushing him any further.”
“Thanks, I used to be horrible at handling newfoals... and even before that social stuff in general...” Twilight looked at the ground, remaining silent for a few moments before looking back up. “I’m arranging a celebration for ten years of the Human Archives Project. I’m going to be announcing it shortly, but I thought you might want to speak with Miles about it first.”
“I’ll go over it with him soon, thanks for the forewarning.” Willard stepped out of the door before he turned back. “Uh, Pinkie Pie is going to be there, isn't she?” When Twilight nodded, Willard chuckled. “Scratch that, big thanks for the warning.”
