The Over-Horseshoe and Other Short Stories

It turns out, comrades, that robbing trains is no simple matter! They are chertov fast! It’s nearly impossible for a pony to catch up with one of them, and you barely have the energy to pay the conductor for a ticket when you get there!

So I, cunning pony that I am, decided that there were plenty of other opportunities around, and, conscious of a slight throbbing on my head as a result of my experience with the rubber chicken, decided it best to pursue some honest, working, profession!

As luck would have it, as soon as I got off the train I saw a notice asking for qualified, honest, ponies to apply for the position of manager to a new railway line they were building. They even stated on the poster that the position was created specifically for dealing with bribes! Why a position like that, hardly any work, and with plenty of kickbacks, that would suit me just fine.

Needless to say, the stallion giving the interview hired me on the spot. I merely had to show him my Hero of the Hooviat Union medal for him to realize that I was a working-pony of outstanding moral character.

For my part, I was simply glad I hadn’t pawned the piece of govno before I left Canterlot. It would hardly been worth anything considering that everypony back home, including myself, was given one for completing last year’s One-Year-Plan.

Of course it was the same plan as every year, to continue working until it was time to introduce the next One-Year-Plan. Naturally, those ponies who had passed away during the year were awarded their medals posthumously.

With that little thing in my hoof, the interview had gone so well I almost regretted I had not stayed to receive this year’s award, The Bearer of the Element of Hooviat Labour! I’d have to write to see if any of my relatives had been given any extra ones accidentally they could sent me.

‘Now then,’ stated the official looking cow-pony across the desk from me, ‘Ah am abso-tively certain, in light of your outstanding qualifications, and Ah never thought we would get a gen-u-ine hero apply for this here job mah golly, that you are the pony to manage this here line Mr. uh…’

He squinted as he moved his hoof to fill my name in on the form, ‘Excuse me fer askin’ but, uh, how’d ya spell that name o’ yours?’

‘It is as it sounds Commissar Silverstar,’ I replied.

‘Right, right, o’ course it is, although, Ah’d be a mite more comfortable if ya’ll call me sheriff.’

‘Of course, Commissar Sheriff!’ I replied with tact. These public officials can be very particular about how you address them you know.

‘You needn’t fear, under my management bribery will be unheard of!’ I replied with the supreme confidence I had learned back home was to be expected of managers and the like when addressing Party Officials on the subject of productivity.

And so, later that same week, the new manager of the Appleloosa Line, I, engineer Ivan Durakovich Ponihuiplet, stood up from the table. Raising my glass, I said, in what was I now recall, a somewhat unsteady voice:

‘So, dear comrades, please allow me to propose a toast to the total eradication of bribery on our beloved Appleloosa line…’

‘Hip, hip…’ shouted engineer Smokestack.

‘Hooray!’ chorused the railway ponies.

So I, the line manager, Ivan Durakovich Ponihuiplet, made a sign with my hoof, and everything went quiet.

'I could certainly get used to this!' I thought proudly.

‘I am very happy,’ I said, ‘to hear your unanimous shouts… Now permit me to make you happy in turn. Dear friends, on our line this week, bribes have gone down by fifty per cent…’

‘Hip, hip…’ shouted engineer Smokestack.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘don’t interrupt…Yes… This evil has been reduced by fifty per cent, this evil which must be completely eradicated in the very near future. But I am going to be stern and implacable… Bribery… The word alone drives me mad with indignation… Dear friends, now that we are gathered in this close comradely company, permit me, your new manager, whose coat is thick with dust, blackened with soot, from working the railway alongside you, to say a few words about bribery…’

‘Go on! Go on!’ shouted the railway ponies. They loved it!

‘Dear friends,’ I said, swaying only slightly, ‘there is no crime worse than this. Burglary, exceeding one’s authority, they’re nothing compared with this evil. And if I had my way I’d introduce the most terrible forms of punishment. Send them to a labour camp, send them to the moon, or, uh, send them to a labour camp on the moon! And have them build it while they’re there! So far as I’m concerned those are the right punishments for this crime… But here I should add that if we take a glance at the contemporary situation, we see that there are two types of bribe: monetary bribes, and bribes in kind. The monetary form is of course far nicer… Oh I mean, excuse me, what am I saying?... Yes, so the monetary bribe, I was saying, is more convenient. More portable, if you like… That is, from the point of view of the criminal… Imagine some Appleloosan comes to see you… and you’re waving your arms: “No I can’t” you’re saying, “don’t even bother asking comrade…”

‘But the sly stallion, he’ll slip his hoof into his side pocket… he gets out a big bag of bits… And meanwhile you’re staring at his ugly, thieving face, trying to guess how much that buffalo-nose is going to take out…'

‘Oh, I mean, excuse me, what am I saying? So yes, you, um… get really indignant.'

‘”Excuse me,” you say, “my dear comrade what’s this, a bribe, an insult?”

‘And the bits are jingling sweetly on the criminal’s hoof… you know, that lovely unforgettable jingling bits make when they bump into each other… You count them with your eyes: two, three, five, come on, hurry up. Then into your waistcoat pocket… Oh I mean, what am I saying?’

‘So, yes, so you shout: “I’m pressing charges,” you shout, “your sort, esteemed comrade should be sent to the moon!”

‘But you can feel a kind of beating in your waistcoat pocket, a trembling, you can feel a pulsation… Hm, hmm… What was I talking about, can anypony remember?’

‘Bribery,’ said engineer Smokestack.

‘Yes,’ said, as you may have guessed by this point comrade-reader, the soon-to-be-ex-manager Ivan Durakovich Ponihuiplet, ‘bribery. Hm, the pulsation… hm, hmm… But a bribe in kind, that’s much worse… It’s unwieldy, and you can get ripped off. Like when they sent me a bushel of apples, but they were all rotten and bloody thing stank to high heaven, you remember that comrade Smokestack…’

‘Hip, hip…’ shouted engineer Smokestack.

‘Hooray!’ chorused the railway ponies.

The now most-definitely-ex-line-manager Ivan Durakovich Ponihuiplet, that is to say I, swayed, sat down, and emptied a glass of hard apple cider in one gulp, casting an affectionate eye over my former staff, not noticing the look I was receiving from Smokestack. I never did like apples much anyway…