Harmonics, Inc.-- No Volunteers Rejected

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Appraised
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‘Harmonics, Inc.—The first and only privately-funded Harmonics group. Our mission includes the surveying of additional worlds and the exploration of said worlds with highly-trained professionals. Seeking applicants for all support and exploration positions. Wages high, public exposure guaranteed. No Volunteers Rejected. Apply at 300 Castle Avenue, Canterlot.’

The piece of paper bearing the hastily-made advertisement was torn off its place on the alleyway wall.

The ragged blue hoof which had grabbed it had seen better days. Hints of a manicure could be discerned, but it was buried underneath months of grime and wear.

“No Volunteers Rejected,” mused the owner of the hoof. She turned to look down the street at the end of the alleyway—Castle Avenue, as luck would have it. 300 Castle Avenue wasn’t more than a few blocks from the ragged leanto set up against the alleyway wall.

Someone must have posted it while she was out, for nopony had entered the alleyway while she had been here.

Absentmindedly, her other hoof adjusted the dirty hat atop her head.

“This job could be the ticket back to fame and fortune,” muttered the mare. “And if no volunteers are rejected, I’ll surely get a prime exploration spot.”

She smirked. “After all, the Great and Powerful Trixie has some tricks up her sleeve.”

Of course, she wasn’t wearing any sleeves, but that was moot. She was Trixie, and she didn’t need sleeves for tricks.

She proudly sniffed, head high, as she began her march towards 300 Castle Avenue, but stopped dead, her muzzle wrinkling in disgust.

“...But first, a bath.”

“I told you I wanted my eggs lightly scrambled, not this...this... abomination!” A hoof swept the plate off of the mahogany table in anger, carefully avoiding the watermelon, which the incompetent bunglers had somehow managed to prepare acceptably. “These are obviously heavily scrambled! Do it again!”

“Yes, suh,” the butler said, hastily motioning to the cooks for another round of eggs, this time lightly scrambled. He also motioned to a maid, who began cautiously cleaning the mess off to one side.

“Why are all my servants idiots?” Prince Blueblood, Duke of Canterlot, moaned. “This is the second time this week they’ve botched my breakfast!”

The butler opened his mouth, but Blueblood raised a tired hoof. “It was rhetorical, Coattails. Now, what’s the mail?”

“The mail, suh,” the butler bowed, placing a silver tray bearing several letters and an ornate letter opener next to the watermelon plate.

Blueblood glanced uninterestedly at the various social invitations and announcements. “I’ll go to as many of these as my schedule allows,” he said. “Arrange my schedule as needed.”

“Yes, suh.”

Of more interest were two other letters—One from the Canterlot Research and Development Department, which he headed (it was probably another request for some imbecilic invention somepony wanted funding for. There were ever so many of those).

The other was a scroll from Princess Celestia, which was vastly more interesting.

“Business first,” he sighed mournfully, tearing the top of the department-standard envelope with his silver letter opener.

‘Dear Prince Blueblood, Duke of Canterlot:

We thank you for your generous support and work on behalf of the Canterlot R&D Department. We especially appreciate your streamlining of the paperwork of the department, but recent events—‘ Blueblood snorted. He certainly knew what events they were speaking of. ‘—have necessitated a shuffle in our personnel. We regret to inform you that our focus of development has shifted to Harmonics- and Ascent-related devices. A new head of the department, qualified in these fields, has been chosen, effective immediately.

We thank you for your efforts. Here are the wages for your last two weeks of work. We wish you luck in your future employment.

Sincerely,

Canterlot Research and Development Department

250 Alchemy Road’

Blueblood stared at the innocuous piece of paper in his aura. He’d just been fired. By letter, no less! “How dare they!” he screeched, tearing the letter into a thousand tiny pieces and letting them drift to the ground. The bits enclosed were flung all over the room, and servants dove out of the way of the speedy pieces of metal. “Firing me... me!—by letter! The nerve of those commoners! Not even the nerve to face me in person! Cowards!”

For a few minutes, he stomped around the dining room, ranting about the injustice he had been dealt and running over past injustices as well, of which there were many.

Calming down, he sat once more, and sighed. “Well, that’s torn it. How many jobs is that in the past year?”

“Eight, suh.”

“That’s less than two months a job! Obviously there’s some sort of conspiracy or cosmic joke, constantly firing me and preventing me from my rightful place as head of a prestigious department.” Blueblood, glumly mourning his fate, didn’t notice the small eyeroll his butler gave.

“I suppose I should open the letter from Aunt Celestia,” he decided, removing the seal and unrolling the official scroll.

‘Dear Great-Nephew Blueblood:

I’ve been made aware of yet another department releasing you as department head. Although it’s certainly understandable given the shakeup Equestria has recently endured for your release this time, I’m afraid this has gone long enough.

You’ve been released from eight department head positions in less than a year, Great-Nephew. Obviously, something needs to change—department head just is not your proper place, as the past has amply demonstrated.

Unfortunately, due to your refusal to work the vast majority of jobs, nearly every employment option left to you has been disqualified. I’ve run out of department head jobs, unless you would like to be head of the Underground department?’ Blueblood shuddered. That was no more than a tidy name for the poor ponies that ran the sewer systems. ‘No, thank you,’ he thought.

‘Also unfortunate is the change in the position on Earth for the Diplomatic Corps you were supposed to take in a few weeks. Your firing has already hit the news services on Earth, and some bureaucrats on the Earth-bound side of Harmonics did some digging into your background after hearing the news. Suffice it to say, your position on the Diplomatic Corps has taken a severe hit. You were demoted to the position of aide to the new Chief Diplomat Fancy Pants, and given your propensity to dislike non-leadership jobs, I have taken the liberty of retracting your position.’

He groaned. “Well, that’s even worse. Aide to Fancy Pants... fah! I was looking forwards to something new.”

‘However, there is one new position I strongly suggest you take. Enclosed is their advertisement. You cannot be the full head of this venture—it is a privately-owned company. I can promise, however, a job which is as prestigious as you desire; you would be head of the Equestrian personnel there, an excellent place from which to move up in the company. If you refuse or get fired from this business, I’m unsure as to whether there is another appropriate place for you. At that point, you’ll have to work a “common” job—but I hope you can keep your position in this company. It seems suited to you. Tell the secretary at the desk that I sent you.

With love,

Celestia

Princess of the Day

P.S. - You’ll get what I mean by ‘suited’ when you read the job description.’

Dropping the letter limply onto the table, he put his head in his hooves. Great-Aunt Celestia had already heard of his plight—that mare knew everything far faster than she should. Disapproval radiated tactfully from the letter, but every word was enough gave the impression that she was extremely disappointed and that the tact was merely her inborn courtesy.

He had failed her—again.

Given that, her ‘suggestion’ was nothing of the sort; it was a requirement now. If this was the only option left to his noble self, he would take it. It was not an option to fail this time. Never before had a letter been so blunt. This was his last chance for a noble job. Another release, and Great-Aunt would surely have him sweeping streets or some disgraceful other job to “make something” of himself.

He glanced quickly over the advertisement, ignoring most of the details. One sentence at the bottom caught his eye, though: ‘No Volunteers Rejected,’ it read. That was either a very good or a very bad sign in a business—but Celestia had recommended it, so it must be good.

“Get my carriage!” he called, handing the paper to his butler. “I’m going to this address immediately! Make sure everything is ready by the top of the hour.”

He strode out of the still-messy dining room to dress in appropriate finery for the occasion.

Whoever had designed 300 Castle Avenue had an interesting sense of taste. For some incomprehensible reason, instead of designing the usual central pair of doors, the architect placed two double doors on far ends of the building. It wasn’t a style that had caught on, and most of the other buildings with its peculiar arrangement had been demolished long ago and its architect had been forgotten. There were still architects and historians who argued over his identity in dusty museums and halls over bottles of scotch, as many of the demolished buildings had played a disproportionally important part in Equestrian history.

But the name of the architect or the history of his buildings wasn’t the issue; the real conflict came because there were two front entrances instead of one—and yet, there was only one room inside.

Prince Blueblood threw open the castleward doors dramatically. He surveyed the scene, adjusted his recently-pressed cuffs, and strode purposefully towards the reception desk.

Simultaneously, Trixie the Great and Powerful threw open the cityward doors, scrutinized the room, adjusted her newly-cleaned hat and cape, and set off towards the reception desk.

Such was their fixation that neither noticed the other until they bumped shoulders.

Application

Blueblood and Trixie reared back at the same moment, before glaring at each other huffily. “Do you mind?” Blueblood asked disdainfully. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“Don’t you know who I am?” Trixie shot back, not giving an inch.

“Never seen or heard of you before,” the Prince replied disdainfully, waving a hoof. “I don’t watch commoners.”

“Commoners—“ Trixie’s glare could have melted iron. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is no commoner, you elitist aristocrat! The fact you have not heard of her proves that you are exactly the pedant rumor says you are!”

Blueblood turned up his nose. “I can’t be bothered to listen to your drivel.” He began to push past her towards the desk and the receptionist, who had just looked up from her magazine to notice the drama developing in her lobby.

Trixie matched him step for step. “Drivel, indeed; but from whom?”

Blueblood eyed her, decided to ignore her, and continued his march. “Get out of my way.”

Of course, the cerulean mare stepped right in front of him. “No. Trixie shall not until you apologize for your rudeness!”

Forehead to forehead, the two locked gazes, snarling at each other.

The other patrons, waiting on the chairs on the perimeter of the lobby, had noticed the confrontation shaping up, and half watched interestedly while the other half edged towards the doors.

The receptionist saw the patrons leaving, and stepped out from behind her desk. “Can I help you two?”

The two broke their stareoff to glance at her. “I’m here for a job,” both said simultaneously, before both glowering back at the other.

Determinedly, the secretary pressed on. “Administrative, technical, or exploratory?”

Trixie exclaimed, “Nothing but exploratory jobs are suitable for the Great and Powerful Trixie!”

Blueblood shouted over her, “Princess Celestia herself has sent me to lead the exploratory section! Nothing less will suffice!”

“Oh, you two were sent by the Princess?” the secretary asked. “I didn’t know she was sending two! We’ll get you right into the process.”

Blueblood backpedaled. “No, she wasn’t sent—just me, not this low-class hooligan!” Trixie kicked him in the shins, cutting off his protestations and smiling smugly as the receptionist rushed around her desk, grabbing various papers.

“I’ll need you two to sign this non-disclosure agreement, and this liability/consent form,” she said, placing two pieces of paper and a pen in front of the two. “Quickly, quickly! If you hurry, we might get you in for the noon session.” She glanced at the clock.

Blueblood began to pore over the NDA, but as he did, he noticed Trixie signing the document, a smirk on her face. “Trixie shall be the senior member here!” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t think so,” he hissed back, skipping over the rest of the document and signing hastily, before flipping the consent form over and signing that form as well, in tandem with Trixie.

“Done!” they both called, a photo finish if there ever had been one.

One of the other patrons, a flashily-dressed mare with large shades, stiffened, stood, and looked around for a few moments, before shrugging and sitting back down. “I could have svorn...” she muttered in a vaguely Germane accent.

Taking the documents, the secretary beamed widely. “Welcome to the team! I’m Printing Press, the head secretary here at Harmonics, Inc. I’m in charge of most of the administrative details, so you’ll be seeing quite a bit of me.” She glanced at the clock once again. “But I’m afraid there’s no time for chat—follow me!”

She punched a code into the door behind her desk, leading deeper into the building, and held it open. “Head down to the end of the hallway; wait for that door to open.”

The two walked down the wide hallway, matching strides in a poorly-disguised race to the end of the hall that quickly lost all pretense of being civil, with the two sprinting down the surprisingly long hallway neck and neck.

The two stopped, panting heavily, at a large, metal door, marked ‘Infirmary.’

For a few seconds, they recovered their wind and stared at the door. “What now?” Trixie asked.

Blueblood shrugged haughtily. “How should I know? She told the two of us the same information.”

Printing Press’ voice came from behind them. “Terribly sorry about this, but you’ll need to be out for this next part.”

A prick on each new employee’s neck; Trixie’s eyes widened. “What—“

Blueblood tried to whip around “How dare you—“

Neither finished their sentence as the powerful sedative knocked them out cold.

Author's Note

Short chapter this time. Just setting it up.

--Cyan

Awoken

Prince Blueblood first felt thirst. His throat was scorchingly dry—like he’d been in a desert for days.

Second, he felt hunger, his stomach growling fiercely, trying to digest itself.

The third thing was pain, a dull ache that persisted through his body but focused on his head, hooves, and chest.

He blinked a few times, waking up to a thoughtfully dim light. A glass of water was just to his right, on a table.

Levitating it over, he drained it in three gulps, smacking in satisfaction, before setting it back on the bedstand—wait. A bedstand? His bedroom had no such stand.

Oh. The firing. The company. And then the prick of a needle on the back of his neck.

He jerked upright, flinging his hooves over and on the floor—or tried to. With a painful clang, his twist was interrupted by four bands of hardened steel encircling his legs. A few more pulls confirmed that the bands weren’t budging. He was trapped.

He kept wrenching at his restraints furiously, but he added his voice to the noise of his tailored suit and shoes clanging against the steel. “I demand you release me at once! I will not stand for this outrageous treatment!”

Hoofsteps came calmly down the hallway outside, clacking with the enhanced sound only the most formal of shoes produced. The door opened, and a crimson-maned and white-coated stallion peeked in. “You’re awake,” he said calmly. “I expected you to be out for another...” he checked a pristine silver watch on one forehoof. “Fifteen minutes, at the least. Color me impressed.”

“Let me out of these dreadful shackles, sir!” Blueblood barked. “I thought your Hippocratic oath forbade harming anypony!”

“Those shackles aren’t to harm you or imprision you, Prince,” the stallion protested, sweeping into the bow customary for coming into a superior’s presence in a compromising situation. (There were over a hundred different bows, for varied situations, up to and including while-a-superior-is-eating-cake and while-a-superior-is-plotting-an-enemy’s-downfall.) “Quite the contrary, in fact. Those shackles are to keep you from hurting yourself if unprepared. Now,” he continued, ignoring the increasingly strident demands for release bellowed by the Duke of Canterlot, “I will release you on two conditions. One, you must listen to what I will say.”

Blueblood nodded, but he tensed, subtly preparing himself to spring out the open door.

“Second,” and with this the stallion pierced him with a serious look, “Don’t make any sudden moves.”

This second request was odd enough that Blueblood was taken off-guard, and the stallion took the break in his concentration to press a button on the wall. All four shackles popped off.

Blueblood threw two legs over the bed—which appendages proceeded to fly into the ground, painfully jolting the prince and sending him rolling to the ground. As he sprawled on his belly, the stallion tsked, “I told you, no sudden movements. You’ll hurt yourself.” He turned and motioned to the door. “Now, follow me. The doctor will see you for orientation.”

“Orientation? I’m not staying for your orientation!” Blueblood spat. “I’m going to your front desk and tearing up that contract, before I send a letter to Celestia informing her of your incredibly impudent—“ his eyes narrowed as he struggled to his hooves. “—And might I say, suspicious business practices!”

“A quarter-million bits says you don’t,” the stallion replied, trotting out the door.

“You’re challenging me to a bet?” Blueblood scoffed, incredulous. “Are you trying to outwit me through audacity? It’s nearly working.”

“No, it’s the cost of the procedures you’d be taking with you, which you’d have to recoup to the company,” was the reply. “Plus the fifty-thousand bit severance fee.”

“Procedures?” Blueblood put two and two together and got four. He gaped at the stallion. “Quarter-million bits? What did you foals DO to me?”

“The doctor will explain,” he got in reply. “After the other candidate wakes.”

Blueblood hurried angrily after the stallion, demanding explanations, but got only that single sentence in recompense as he was led through the halls.

“The doctor will explain.”

With a gasp, Trixie returned to awareness. That secretary had stuck her with a sedative! How incredibly rude!

And also very suspicious. Why would a secretary be using sedatives?

Trixie took stock of her surroundings. Her hat and cloak had been removed—they were lying on the floor nearby. She was in a bed, or maybe a table of some sort—and sure enough, she was chained to it.

“Trixie isn’t into this kind of thing!” she called, yanking at the restraints a few times to see if they’d give. They didn’t.

Sighing, she looked around the room, noticing a rather conspicuous button on the opposite side of the room, nearby the door.

Lighting her horn, she wadded up her cloak and threw it at the button, smacking it brooch-first.

With a snick, the cuffs holding her to the bed snapped open, and the magician floated her cloak and hat over, lovingly adjusting them until she was satisfied.

The door opened, and an immaculately-dressed stallion trotted in, humming. “She should be awake by now—“ He spotted Trixie, already dressed and glaring daggers at him. “Ah. You’ve gotten yourself out already? That was fast. Better than the other, that’s for sure.”

Trixie demanded, “Why was Trixie in a bed with restraints? Why would you use a sedative on Trixie?” and most strident of all, “and why, in Celestia’s name, would you remove my hat?”

The stallion seemed taken aback at the last question. “Because it was in the way?”

Trixie just snorted angrily.

“Anyway, if you’ll follow me, orientation can answer all your questions.” The stallion opened the door wider. “This way, please; do try to be more considerate than the other candidate.”

Slitted eyes regarded the stallion suspiciously. “Trixie isn’t sure why she should trust you.”

“I’m not going to hurt you!” was the reply. “Certainly not! You are far too valuable of an investment to harm now. That would be poor business.”

Valuable investment? Something was up. There had to be a reason why she’d been knocked out and strapped to a table.

The only thing she could think of with those two together (other than kidnapping) was—

Her eyes darted around the room, noting the bed. The nightstand. The various machines tucked in corners. The ceiling lights.

It looked like a hospital room.

The pieces clicked, making a picture Trixie knew she didn’t like.

“Trixie is not happy with you right now,” she growled, stomping a hoof. “Why should she come with you?”

The stallion sighed. “You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you.” It wasn’t phrased like a question. “I told you, orientation will explain everything. The doctor will be there soon, and he’ll walk you through it.” He noticed, a bit nervously, that Trixie looked very much like she was preparing to charge at him. “Now, come on, we didn’t sink a quarter-million bits into you to have you try to gore the employees!” he cried, tugging at his collar.

“Quarter-million bits!” That was more money than Trixie had ever seen—ever earned in her entire career, for that matter. What could possibly cost that much? And why would they say she was worth that many bits?

Intrigued, she calmed marginally. “Trixie will go to this ‘orientation,’” she sniffed. “But if she isn’t satisfied, Trixie will find you.” She went out the door, head high.

The stallion gulped nervously. Much of his apprehension was dispelled, however, as Trixie asked a bit sheepishly, “Now, which way is this orientation?”

Author's Note

So, here's another chapter. Also, I just got a new job, so the updating pace may slow down again. I start Monday.
Also, I've written a new oneshot! See it here.

--Cyan

Appraised

As Trixie trotted into the orientation room, a spacious area with a sophisticated-looking screen in front, she noticed Blueblood, sitting boredly on the first row, head on his hooves.

She shot the snobby aristocrat a glare, but he didn’t notice, so with a sigh she settled down a few rows behind him just to the right.

The stallion, who Trixie belatedly realized still hadn’t identified himself, knocked on a metal door over to the left. It opened, and a rather plain mare stuck her head out. They conversed in low tones for a minute, and the door closed again.

Quickly, the door reopened, and the mare and a second stallion trotted out.

This second stallion was dressed rather strangely, with a pair of glasses, with inset magnifying glasses, perched on his nose, yellow rubber boots on his feet, and a white coat of a style Trixie had never seen. A second pair of glasses was tucked in a pocket, one lens red and the other blue.

The prince perked up at the strange stallion’s entrance, watching him attentively, recognition written plainly on his face.

The stallion shuffled his papers and removed his glasses, taking his time.

Trixie shifted in her seat. “What’s the deal?” she hissed over to Blueblood. “You know him.”

Blueblood started, just recognizing her presence, and belatedly returned her previous glare, with interest. “That’s Time Turner. He’s one of the 10 smartest ponies in all of Equestria, and was considered to lead the Equestrian Bureau of Research and Development. He’s singlehoofedly invented new industries and sciences. Five doctorates, only one of which is honorary—because he discovered the field of the honor. He’s well known in academic circles, though he’s largely stayed out of the news.”

Trixie blinked, impressed. “How did this company manage to hire such a prestigious pony?”

Blueblood shrugged. “I have my suspicions. We’ll know shortly.”

“What suspicions?”

But the duke ignored her, a purposeful snub that left her seething.

The mare stood off to one side and fiddled with some equipment, and with a whir, it started up. It was revealed to be a projector, one of the new pieces of technology the humans had brought to Equestria in recent months. It fizzled to life, showing a piece of machinery shaped like a jack, and a small graph.

The stallion cleared his throat, setting his papers down. “Hello, you two!” he waved cheerfully. “Nice to meet you. I’m Doctor Time Turner, the head of Research, Development, and Fabrication here at Harmonics Inc.” He indicated the mare who had started the projector. “This is Roseluck, my assistant, and also the head of Advertising and Design for the company.” He pointed to the other stallion. “Lastly, this is the head of Medical and Accounting, Split Stitch.” Stitch nodded curtly, not speaking.

Blueblood piped up, “Get on with it!”

Affronted, Turner harrumphed. “If you insist.” He drew out a small rod from within his coat, which flicked open into a telescopic pointer. He indicated the jack-shaped machine. “This, here, is a Mark-I Ascent nanobot, a microscopic robotic tool which can rearrange matter at an atomic level. Our company was granted a license to produce these for non-commercial use, and as such, you’ve each been injected with over a billion of these tiny machines, which offer some significant benefits.” Both orientee’s mouths fell open, and began to protest, but he bulled over the noise and simply raised his voice. “For example, your speed and strength will have increased by roughly 30%, due to increased muscle mass, with a reaction time increase of nearly 50% with neuron sheathing. The time for forming a scab over a wound has been cut in half, and healing times have tripled. In addition to the passive benefits these machines provide, they also allow for some unique surgical procedures.

“The rough details of the augmentations to Erin Olsen, AKA Sunflower, have been released to the public, minus specifications. However, this allowed us to build—yes, literally build—similar augmentations to each of you, if slightly inferior. The Mark-I’s can create structures within a body, and as such you’ve each been fitted with a full communications suite, visual and auditory enhancement, and a small reserve of painkillers and adrenalin for emergency dispensation.

“We’ve also added on top of the default features full sheathing of your bones in titanium—incidentally making them 62% stronger—ultraviolet and infrared vision settings, sonar features for both the vocal and auditory systems, and the kicker trio of ‘ments. But I’ll save those for later.”

Trixie had no words. The level of intrusion into her own body— previously her only inviolable possession, her only impenetrable fortress—was so great and thorough that she could not find a strong enough invective or retort to throw.

Blueblood was simply sputtering in rage, face redder than a cherry.

Stitch broke in, “Now, about the cost—each one of these nanobots is only 2-hundreths of a bit, but there’s a lot of them, and the only reason we could afford this at all was because of the recent business openings between Earth and Equestria.” Smugly, he confided, “Gold is rather more rare on Earth than Equestria, so the exchange rate between bits and dollars, the premium currency there and the one technology is based on, is very favorable at the moment. In fact, since each bit is an ounce and a half of gold, that would make one bit about 2,000 American dollars.” Trixie worked over a rough estimate in her head and immediately choked, eyes shrinking to nothing. He turned and motioned at the graph, smirking widely. “Which means each of you are worth half a billion American dollars of equipment right now—the most expensive personal equipment in all of history. And since the gold exchange rate is swiftly falling as the market equalizes, suffice it to say, the two of you equal the yearly budget of Manehattan City—as a whole, and will likely be worth more over time. Which is why the penalty fees are prohibitive. We won’t let you walk off with so much money in your veins.”

Blueblood had passed out, twitching, from shock, and Trixie’s face grew even bluer as she forgot how to breathe. Stitch sighed and walked over to Trixie, advising, “Breathe, remember to breathe. In, and out. In, and out.” Trixie took one gasping breath, and he smiled. “Good. Keep it up and might make it through the presentation.”

He moved over to Blueblood, shaking him awake. “Pull it together, Duke,” he admonished.

Doctor Turner clapped his hooves. “Well, that’s par for the course,” he chuckled, grinning. “I should have provided some refreshments so that I could’ve watched you spit them out!”

Author's Note

I've been feeling downright inspired this week-- here's the third update this week!
Enjoy!

--Cyan

Armed

Mission Summary—Mission 001

Start Date: 5/12/39 (Earth Calendar)

End Date: 5/17/39

End Reason: Harmonics opened on small island; lack of further landmass to explore terminated the mission.

Employees Inserted: Explorer LINE, CROOKED, Explorer SHOP, PAWN.

Employees Lost: N/A

Mission Discovery Statement: Harmonics opened on a small, deserted island. Exploration in the following days confirmed uninhabited status and world is close to Earth/Equestrian living standards. Minimal terraforming would be required to make this island livable.

Evaluation: Mission Successful. World is viable for further development. (Note: Due to nature of opening, uninhabited status cannot be confirmed. Follow-up drones recommended.

EDIT: We don’t have the licensing for drones yet. The US is being very stingy with those, for some reason. It’ll have to wait.

Summary: Well, the first mission went pretty well, all things considered. The Harmonics equipment performed flawlessly. The employees, however, didn’t. They spent entirely too much time doing things that weren’t conducive to the mission and lost a few days of time as a result. One suffered a minor injury from jumping into a nest of carnivorous plants. Like a high dive. I don’t know what he was thinking.

My first impression of them wasn’t good, and this mission just confirmed how little work ethic and propriety they have. I wish Printing Press had kicked their unsavory flanks out the doors when she saw them walk in—but I’m supposed to be objective, so I’ll cease ragging on the ruffians.

I’m also pretty sure they pocketed some of the plants and rocks there to sell for themselves later. What are the rules regarding taking things from new worlds, anyway? Is that thievery? Exploitation rights are going to be something the courts will have to decide pretty quickly. Is it like a national park? Private land? Public land?—but I digress.

But the island is very nice. I expect it to be the site of a small resort when we sell the rights to it. Should pull in a hefty chunk of bits; it’s really quite a beautiful and harmless island, minus the carnivorous plants. (We’ll have to root those out before the rights are sold.) The detailed reports and some of the footage are being forwarded to several governments, who’ve expressed interest in funding through our Mr. Smith. It’s a probable thing we’ll get some nice bits from a few of the governments.

EDIT: The response has really been overwhelming. The amount of money they’ve poured into the company—it defies imagination. I suppose that we’re the only private company with the equipment right now, though, so they really don’t have any more options besides the United States government. Which is probably not going to let other governments use their classified, current-gen Harmonics and Ascent.

Compiled: TURNER, TIME

Trixie wasted no time after remembering how to make her diaphragm move. With a flash, she winked in front of Turner, shoving him roughly to the ground. “You think this is funny?” she snarled, horn sparking and one hoof raised high.

Turner’s eyes widened. “No, no no no, no,” he panicked. “Don’t, whatever you do, don’t try to punch me.”

“Really?” Trixie grinned evilly.

Anticipating her response, Turner dove out of the way awkwardly just as she tensed her hoof—

And a bright red blast blew her backwards, melted a chunk out of the floor, and threw a cloud of dust into the air.

Turner’s voice emerged from the haze. “Please, no objections until the presentation is finished!” he screeched. “You nearly took my head off because you weren’t courteous enough to wait patiently for me to finish the lecture!”

Trixie stared at her hoof, where a small, bluish patch shone, out of place with the rest of her coloring. “What?”

Blueblood was staring, fascinated. “I can’t believe it. You managed to perfect that?” He surged to his feet, grinning maniacally. “I spent six months trying to make something like that! I knew it was possible!”

Wincing as a kink in his back made itself known, he stood on the tips of his hooves as he stretched. Stitch just sighed as Blueblood, too, flew backwards, but without the accompanying explosion.

“What—“ he started, freezing as he noticed the cause of his short flight.

Twin lengths of metal protruded from the bottoms of his front hooves, glinting in the light. They looked dangerously sharp.

Turner slapped himself with a hoof. “Well, at least you didn’t start spewing slugs everywhere,” he muttered, before hitting the slide change button.

“As I was about to say, I was laughing because once you get over your indignation and anger, you’ll realize something.” He pointed at each of them. “Effectively, I’ve made you real-life comic-book superheroes. Super strength, super reflexes, incredible toughness. In addition, we’ve got a neural computer added, which can teach you the basics of things like martial arts and fighting. How awesome is that?” he beamed.

“And that’s not even counting the doozies. Because we wanted to be prepared—“ Turner searched for his pointer, only to find it blown in half. He muttered, “Pity, I liked that extendable stick. Good for poking things,” and continued, “—for any contingency, we’ve also armed you with some means of self-defense.” He paused. “Now that I think of it, we’ve probably rather over-armed you.

“First is the augmentation which the illustrious prince discovered.” He pointed to a piece of steel on the presentation. “This, here, is an extendable titanium alloy blade and sheath within your hooves and lower legs. It doesn’t impede flexibility in any way, as it’s designed to be very giving and flexible, but is sharpened to an edge only molecules thick. It can cut through anything short of stone or steel with ease, but be careful as it can bend—price of making it internal. It activates by stretching your hoof outwards, like during a yawn or stretch.” He smiled. “There’s one in both forehooves.

“Second is the one you haven’t seen yet.” He switched the slide, to a strange-looking contraption, much like a cannon. “Also included is a small gun—which can manufacture its own bullets and even tranquilizer darts! This can only be activated with the combination of the third augmentation, but effectively uses whatever you eat to manufacture into bullets and propellant, which it can then shoot. It holds an internal clip of 16 bullets and can manufacture a new one every five seconds as long as it has the ingredients. Now, be very, very careful with this—it’s the one with the most safety features built in because it’s easily the most dangerous. Again, there’s one on both front hooves.”

“The final weapon is the one which Mrs.—“ he stopped. “I’m sorry, I’ve never asked your name. I’m afraid I don’t recognize you.”

Trixie grumbled as she got to her hooves—gingerly, “Trixie is not surprised.” She rose up on her hooves. “The Great and Powerful Trixie is the name!”

“Right, Trixie,” he said. “She discovered this last one. It’s a combo—the pairing of the neural computer I mentioned and a coherent light focusing device.” Blueblood nodded as his guess was confirmed, but Trixie’s snout scrunched in confusion. Seeing this, Turner frowned. “A laser.”

“Oh!” Trixie nodded sagely, not fooling either of the scientists in the room.

“So, with the built in power supply—one of the things that can never be removed, by the way; too dangerous once it’s started up—feeding it, this laser can do one of two things—it can focus as a targeting laser to aim for the gun, making it very accurate, or it can emit a strong pulse of short-ranged less-coherent light, which as you’ve seen, can melt steel at short distances. It spreads fast, though—worthless beyond four or five yards.” He tapped an eye. “The computer will feed aiming info right to your eyes—point and shoot. Nothing simpler. Quite nice, really—I expect this will be standard Guard issue in, oh, a decade.”

Trixie and Blueblood were very carefully not moving their legs now, afraid to accidentally shoot, knife, or melt something.

Stitch sighed. “Relax, they’re not that sensitive— they turn off if you’re asleep, and can be shut off while you’re awake if you want. And, once you go to sleep for the first time after the procedures, the neural comp will dump things into your long-term memory centers. You’ll wake up knowing how to use the things.”

Doctor Turner said, “So, the reason you have all of this is because your job is to explore. Frankly, I don’t think you’ll need most of that, but the multiverse is a really big place, and who knows what’s out there? It’s just insurance, after the last pair didn’t come back.”

“Didn’t come back?” Blueblood demanded. “They died?”

Roseluck, who’d been standing unobtrusively in the back throughout, threw the projector remote with impeccable aim at Turner, smacking him in the head. “Ow.” He rubbed the impact zone. “I probably deserved that.” Returning to the question, he responded, “We don’t know. They just stopped transmitting. But you’ll be fine!” he assured. “They only had the basic comms pack—and they were hooligans, anyway.” He scowled darkly. “They probably found some local mares—or the equivalent— and ran off after disabling their equipment—pieces of work that the two were. They’re the reason we’re spending so much on you.” He grinned. “Well, that and the fact we’ve now got grants from the five most powerful governments in the combined worlds to do this, as the data is invaluable to them. Which is why we have a couple billion dollars to throw around. Otherwise, you’d be flat out of luck—and we’d be flat out of cash.”

He called to Roseluck, completely going off-topic, “Why’d you say no volunteers rejected, anyway? Couldn’t we at least do a screening? I hated those two.”

Roseluck yelled back, “Because no one would accept after being screened by you or Split, and I’m too busy to do much of that! You’re both jerks; everyone would flee screaming from your interviews and then we’d get bad publicity.”

“Ah.” Turner seemed cowed. “Well, then.” He smiled fondly at her. “This is why I love you, you know; I’m so utterly clueless about that kind of thing.”

His mushy statement was rewarded with a shoe to the head, knocking him to the ground for the second time today. A second shoe followed him down.

Blueblood shook his head. Great-Aunt, he knew, tended to teach lessons the hard way through personal experience (let them learn through their own mistakes and all that rubbish), and her sense of humor was often vicious, but this was far too much. He was stuck here, and he doubted even the Royal Treasury was going to fork over a quarter-million bits just because he had been too stupid to actually read a contract due to him having an imbecilic competition against a stupid showmare.

Trixie covered her face with her hat. This was the most embarrassing situation she’d been in to date. Being humiliated in front of all of Ponyville? Terrible. Returning after going mad from an ancient dark artifact—and still losing and being humiliated? Worse.

But being trapped in a company staffed by madmares and stallions who operated willy-nilly on ponies, because she’d had the misfortune to bump into the one and only Duke of Canterlot, conceited noblestallion and noted failure, and gotten into a misguided battle of pride? It wasn’t like she needed to prove herself to him—at least she’d accomplished something in her life, no matter how poorly the last few years had turned out.

But he? He had done nothing in his life. Absolutely nothing of note besides insulting the very Elements of Harmony (though, hadn’t she? And challenged one to a magical duel? Never mind that argument) and being a complete pain in the flank to anyone who had ever met him. But she couldn’t bear to be offended by him, even if he was the lowest level of civilization and didn’t bear considering. And now she was trapped here, alongside him, and she had a sneaking suspicion that they were going to be partners, if the statements by the mad scientist Turner had any truth to them.

Fate had an interest in Trixie Lulamoon and a cruel sense of humor. That fact was doubly reaffirmed for her.

Author's Note

So, here's the next chapter, with a nice little prologue-- or rather, a mission statement. I'll be prefacing many of the chapters with things like these, and they'll be setting up some stuff, so pay attention!
Also, HAPPY 'MURICA DAY!

--Cyan

Astray

Mission Summary—Mission 002

Start Date: 5/24/2039 (Earth Calendar)

End Date: 5/25/2039

End Reason: Date contact lost with explorer team; attempts to reestablish communication failed. Attempts continued one week from End Date, but after no success, mission closed.

Employees Inserted: Explorer LINE, CROOKED, Explorer SHOP, PAWN.

Employees Lost: Explorer LINE, CROOKED (communication lost), Explorer SHOP, PAWN (communication lost).

Mission Discovery Statement: Team exited Harmonics in a thick jungle, unsuitable for base camp for further exploration. After placing relay, team continued to explore jungle.

Last data dump showed a possible artificial structure in the distance, but before closer contact could be reached, all contact lost.

Evaluation: Mission Unsuccessful. Follow-up missions required.

Summary: Well, it was only to be expected, really. Those two had always seemed shady to me, and the jungle was playing havoc with our comms. Pawn Shop and Crooked Line probably cut and ran.

I would recommend, however, further exploration here. The possible structure could prove promising. If there’s another group of sentients out there, and we own the only portal to them—the kind of influence that would bring to our little company would be considerable.

And, just in case they didn’t cut and run, let’s use some of those extra funds we’ve snagged with the help of Mr. Smith to beef up the next pair. We’ve certainly got enough money to throw around; I don’t see how we’re ever going to manage to spend it all!

On a final note, it’s a good thing these logs aren’t public knowledge; losing two ponies on only the second run can’t be good for business.

Compiled: TURNER, TIME

Trixie woke and realized it was morning. After the travesty that was yesterday, Roseluck had led the two of them to their own personal areas, which were, to say the least, posh. The rooms were like a penthouse suite at a five-star hotel. The only downside was that her door was across from Blueblood’s. But with everything else, she couldn’t complain. They’d even parked her wagon—and what little was in it—in the garage behind the building. She would sort her belongings here in time.

Trixie had never had accommodations this nice, and she found she quite liked it.

She slipped out of bed with a yawn, noticing her balance had notably improved over the last day.

She stretched, but stopped mid-stretch as she was reminded that was a trigger for the knives. Really, that was inconvenient. She could accidentally stab herself while she was scratching a leg or something. They really should have planned a better trigger—or even better, not been insane enough to implant knives and lasers into a mare. But it was too late now—a quarter-million bits too late.

She was going to be stuck here for the rest of her life.

At least the rooms were nice.

Now, how to get to breakfast? She opened the door and shut it behind her. She glanced left. Then right.

Both sides looked exactly the same. There were occasional doors farther down both sides, but the white hallways had no distinctions to show directions.

Who had thought that up? They’d come here from—the right. She headed right down that hall. After a while, she found a four-way junction. Trixie had no recollection of this intersection. Which way to the cafeteria which Roseluck had told her served breakfast? For no particular reason, she turned left, and then took an immediate right. This hallway looked exactly the same as the other two she’d been in.

After 15 minutes of turning at random, she had found two furnace rooms, an air-conditioning room, and three janitorial closets, but no cafeteria, no lobby, no presentation room, and not another single soul.

On top of that, she was completely lost. Just how big was this building? It certainly hadn’t looked this large from the outside.

And why, for Luna’s sake, were all the rooms and doors (except the maintenance rooms, which she’d discovered after entering six of them and finding nothing important) the exact same in look? And why were all of the doors except maintenance locked?

It was incredibly maddening, and she grew steadily angrier as she wandered the halls, trying random doors.

Blueblood hit the knob on the shower and toweled himself off. Idly, he checked the distance to the door with the rangefinder. Five-and-one-half meters. Quite a spacious bathroom.

Wait. How had he known to use the laser rangefinder? He hadn’t experimented last night; lasers and guns were not things to be playing around with.

Obviously the neural computer—eugh, he still didn’t like having a machine in his brain; it gave him the creeps—had done whatever Stitch had said. It was like he’d had it for years: so familiar as to be second-nature, despite it actually being less than twenty-four hours old.

Interesting. What else applied to this mode of learning? It certainly was easier then school or study. He’d always hated those. Especially when everypony else was behind him in the class and he was reprimanded for doodling anyway, even though he’d finished the work five minutes in. Teachers were fools.

A fly buzzed into his eye, and he blinked irritably, brushing the accursed insect away and squishing it against the wall.

As he rinsed his hoof off in the porcelain sink (a nice sink it was, too; almost as nice as his own), he noticed a few words off on the wall out of the corner of his eye. He looked over towards it, but the words shifted with him, blurring his vision and making his eyes hurt.

Focusing on the words, he noticed a list: Settings, Alterations, Diagnostics, Objectives, Comms, Weapons On/Off, and Partner Status. It was almost like he was wearing a full visor over his head—the statistics appeared like one of the video games that the humans had brought over and begun to advertise so effectively. Even he’d been unable to avoid the marketing, though he was proud to say he’d never bought any of the drivel about the devices.

But how did he select an option? The top item blinked occasionally, letting him know it was selected, but no combination of hoof motions changed a thing.

And they were really blurring his vision, he realized, as he bumped into the doorframe while trying to walk out the door. The pestiferous words refused to respond to anything he did, and they made focusing on anything else a chore, constantly nagging at his vision.

How in Equestria was he supposed to do anything like this? He could barely move right, even with the increased assurance the morning had brought to his steps.

‘Or maybe not even that,’ he thought with disgust as he tripped on one of his cuffs and nearly faceplanted into the floor.

‘Accursed, non-responsive, annoying words!’

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Trixie screeched after yet another blank hallway and another maintenance room.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Blueblood roared after he poked himself in the eye a second time trying to comb his mane.

Author's Note

This is just a short little filler because I felt bad about not posting anything for so long. Rest assured, after this week is over, much of the craziness should (emphasis on should) abate, and writing should pick up a bit in pace.
Enjoy!

Cyan

Arguing

Trixie slumped against a door, anger completely spent. She’d been wandering in these endless white corridors for hours. There was nothing to tell any of the doors or hallways apart even the slightest bit, and after spending the last hour or so ranting at the building, even her vitriol was spent.

That was when fate reignited her rage by having the door slide open. She fell backwards heavily, knocking against somepony’s legs on her way down.

Of course, she spat mentally, it had to be the stuck-up prince. There wasn’t really another way the universe would have it, was there?

Prince Blueblood, for his part, reared back in surprise and also fell over. “What the buck are you doing at my door?” he sputtered. “Are you some kind of stalker?”

“As if Trixie would ever stalk such a plothole as you,” she sniffed in disdain. “You are not worthy of Trixie’s attention.”

“Then what the hay are you doing here?” he yelled, flailing his hooves wildly in the air.

“Simple chance, nothing more! Trixie has been wandering these hallways for hours and took a break at this door.” She stabbed a hoof at him. “Why were you in this room?”

“Why? It’s my room!”

“Trixie doubts that.”

“How can you say that?! You haven’t even seen the room because you’re still lying on your fat flank and yelling at me!”

“Trixie’s flank is not fat! And you are also lying on your fat flank and yelling!”

Upside down, their eyes met in a death glare, each’s mouth locked in a rictus of hatred. Blueblood’s eyes drifted off once, to a curse of, “Dratted menu!” but though Trixie blinked, her attention wasn’t broken by the non sequitur.

Time Turner trotted around the corner, humming to himself. “Prince Blueblood!” he called. “Time to head over to the cafeteria—“ he came into view of the door, where two ponies lay in ridiculous positions, snarling at each other. “I’ll just come back later,” he muttered, quickly backpedaling.

This did manage to break the glare, as Trixie bolted upright. “Wait!” As Time Turner froze momentarily, then continued inching backwards ‘sneakily,’ she demanded, “Do you know your way around these halls?”

“Yes?” he ventured cautiously.

“Oh, thank Celestia!” Trixie cried out to the heavens. “Do you know how long Trixie has been wandering around these halls? Hours! Hours!” she screamed. “She demands you tell her how to navigate!”

The Trottingham stallion shrank in on himself under the onslaught. “Just ask Central where to go to get to a destination,” he mumbled.

“Central?” The two others queried.

“Did... did I forget to tell you about Central?” he asked. At their nods, his ears flattened even more, almost plastered to his head. “Whoops. Central is the controlling node of the complex—a bunch of computers and some operators. Ask it where to go, and someone will connect you to it. They can give verbal directions or light up the floor tiles to show you the way.”

He cleared his throat. “Central, directions to the cafeteria, lights.”

“Acknowledged, Doctor Turner.” The floor tiles lit up on the right side of the hall, forming an arrow pointing around the corner.

“Nothing to it!” Turner chirped, regaining his cheery demeanor. “Now, it’s off to the cafeteria for breakfast and then the Neural Simulation Center.” Seeing Blueblood about to ask what it was, (he knew that was what they were going to ask, of course he’d left out all these important things in yesterday’s presentation) he cut him off. “Don’t worry; it’s just VR with neural connections. It’s perfectly safe. Or, at least, nopony’s been seriously injured using it. Now, come on! Food waits for nopony!” He trotted off, with the two volunteers trailing nervously behind, competing to see who looked the least nervous. Mostly they just looked increasingly angry.

Luckily for Turner’s delicate sensibilities, he noticed none of this as his stomach led him onwards to the divine creations known to ponykind as hashbrowns.

Author's Note

Blargh here's something quick before nanowrimo oh celestia it's in two days I'm not ready halp