Adrift Off Fiddler's Green: The Final Conversion Bureau Story

Chapters

1. The Irrepressible Legacy
2. The Scent Of Something More
3. Fortress Of Solitude
4. What Your Problem Is
5. The Everfree Lies
6. [14 pcs Prehistoric Animals]
7. Topsides On The Ship Of The World
8. The Black Ribbon
9. A Twinkie The Size Of Manehattan
10. The Stars Will Aid In Her Escape
11. Ghosts And Goblins
12. Remembering Crimson Acres
13. The Occult Legacy Of Willelmus Learmount
14. And She Was
15. Fiddler's Green
16. How The Newfoals Saved Equestria
17. The Zero Point Centennial Celebration!
18. Epilogue

1. The Irrepressible Legacy

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

The Irrepressible Legacy
The character of Frontpage, The Newfoal Reporter is used with the permission of the brilliant Midnight Shadow

Police Chief Ronald Chua was the only stallion in all of Canterlot - possibly all of proper Equestria, not counting the Exponential Lands - that had a human name. But that alone was not enough to make him worth a cover story. What truly made the light gray stallion in the blue uniform and cap interesting was that he was still... a policeman. Or policestallion, if one were accurate, which Police Chief Ronald Chua invariably was.

Frontpage had been trying for over a week to get an exclusive interview with the Chief. It was a cookie of a story, with a lot of angles to it. The only pony in Canterlot... maybe anywhere... with a name from another world. The only policestallion in all of Equestria, period. Full stop. Well... except for the Chief's deputy, a pegasus named Flitterwing. But there was a story in that, too - apparently Chief Chua had appointed his deputy from some poor colt suckered into the long-gone terrorist group, the PER! That was the rumor, at least. Officer Ronald Chua, the one and only chief policestallion, ever! What had inspired Celestia herself to appoint him in Canterlot? There was no crime! There had to be a really juicy story in just that, alone.

Frontpage rounded the corner of Poll and Dock. Still no Great Police Chief Chua. That was what they had called him, the humans, a hundred years ago, back on earth. He had been a living Planetary Cultural Heritage Treasure, back in his human days. Now, he was just plain difficult to meet. The Chief was only one pony covering a large location, so to make the rounds of Canterlot City, below the palace, he chose a different route every day. The path was unknown except to him. Trying to chase the Chief down was itself a bit like playing cops and robbers - only the cop was the one hard to find. Worse, Frontpage was coming to the conclusion that another rumor might be true - that Great Police Chief Chua was a very private pony who did not like to do interviews, and might be cleverly avoiding him entirely.

Frontpage sat down, resting his weary haunches on the walkway. He stared out across the busy cobblestone street, ponies bustling about shopping, going to shows, and eating in open-air cafes. His gaze lifted up, up, up to the impossible heights of Canterlot castle. Golden-topped spires and decorated towers circled by playful pegasai met his view. The flying ponies looked like specks, dots of color, dancing and chasing each other in the perpetually blue sky.

The sigh was as much from frustration, as it was from weariness. Day after day, chasing after a pony who had more than two hundred years of experience in both discovering, and avoiding, other ponies. Chua had been 145 years old at the time of his Conversion, or so they said. That was a lot of experience.

Frontpage's own birthday was coming up soon... 134 years. It would have been an amazing number to him, a century ago. Only living cultural treasures like Chua, or the wealthy elite, had access to all the life-extending technology of old, gone earth. If he hadn't been talked into taking the purple, on that day, in the Bureau, by one of the very first Conversions... he'd be dead by now. Well, he would have been dead anyway - along with the earth. But if the earth hadn't been already doomed, if Equestria hadn't shown up to rescue everypony - he could never have hoped to see one hundred and thirty-four years.

And that was only about a third of his expected life span. Frontpage realized, with a start, that he was just entering middle age, for an Equestrian. "I'm... middle aged!" The words just sort of blurted out of him. "Almost. Nearly." The thought was astonishing. One hundred and thirty-four, and barely middle aged. It was incredible to realize... he was middle aged now. Again. The notion weighed on him.

Chief Chua would have to be about 245, with another two hundred years to go. Newfoals had their clocks reset by Conversion. Even the oldest, would come out young, in the prime of life. Chua would live an extraordinarily long life even by ordinary pony standards. That was another angle for the story!

Not that there likely would be a story. Frontpage sagged, sitting on the corner of Poll and Dock, and let his head hang almost to the ground. His brown fedora with the PRESS badge on it fell to the street in front of him. He stared at it dully. Over a week. Plodding all around Canterlot City, down every alleyway, up every street, in and out of the market stalls. Middle aged, exhausted despite being an earthpony, and clearly not talented enough to find the only policestallion in the entire universe, within the one, single city that was his beat. It was beginning to look hopeless. And he was running out of time.

In less than two weeks, it would be the one-hundredth anniversary of Zero Point. The centennial of the very last Inclusion Day. One hundred years since the end of the doomed, dying planet, Earth.

As a newfoal, as one of the small number of newfoals who had been allowed to live within Equestria Proper - there just wasn't room for the billions upon billions from earth - that date had meaning for Frontpage. He had wanted to do something special, something newfoal-oriented to celebrate it. He had hoped that the Very Last Policeman Of Earth - and the only policestallion in Equestria - would feel the same way.

Frontpage stared at his hooves, pale brownish-tan, a lighter shade than the dark brown of his upside-down fedora, laying in the street. Sparkling glittery points of light - gemstone dust - glimmered in the gutter. That was him - a reporter without a story was just a speck of light in the gutter. Or something like that. Frontpage moaned, softly, and sagged further.

"Muzzle up, mister Frontpage! The first rule of policework is to always get your pony!"

The shadow that covered the dejected reporter swept back, leaving the sunlight to dazzle his down-turned eyes with gem sparkles once more. Frontpage lifted his head and grinned. It was Great Police Chief Ronald Chua, right there, right on the walkway, not three hooves from him! "I thought the first rule was to 'Go Home Alive'. Very pleased to - finally - meet you, mister Chua!"

"And you, mister Frontpage! It has not been easy eluding you for this long. You have presented me with a very enjoyable challenge this past week. And you are correct. This being Canterlot City, though, the greatest challenge to my life is surely the fine doughnuts at Pony Joe's, and that is almost within my control. Almost." Chua, a gray pegasus in a blue uniform and cap, grinned back.

With a smooth and practiced motion, Frontpage was on his hooves, using his left foreleg to snag and twirl his fedora onto his head. "Can I buy you lunch, Chief Chua?" There was nothing like sharing food to get the conversational ball rolling.

"Attempting to bribe an officer of the law, mister Frontpage?" Chua's eyes twinkled at the sudden flustered discomfort in the earthpony reporter. "If I recall, the fourth rule of policework is Know Where All The Good Food Is. Especially late at night, though that is not our concern at the moment." Chua glanced briefly down the busy street. "How about Topic's? I like the food, and, since you are doing a story regarding my history as a newfoal, it is a newfoal owned establishment. There is a pleasant symmetry there, I think."

Frontpage swallowed. Topic's. Hot Topic was the only other newfoal reporter. He had done a massively popular column, the society section of the Canterlot Querier for decades. While Frontpage had worked his hooves off struggling to do serious journalism about serious topics in a paradisaical cosmos, that sweet-frosted Topic had been schmoozing his way into the graces of the Canterlot elite. Of course he would end up owning a chain of restaurants and other noteworthy concerns. Topic didn't work at the Querier anymore. The overly-successful muffin-muncher.

"C-certainly! It is very kind of you to allow me to interview you. And to come to me. Frankly... I was just about to throw in the towel - and I'm really short on towels, too!"

Chief Chua laughed. "They don't pay you well at the Querier?" The look on the reporter's face answered the question instantly. "Then allow me to buy you lunch. The princess pays me far too much, much more than I deserve. Besides - " Chua smiled broadly at Frontpage " - it can only encourage a positive article, after all."

"Trying to bribe a member of the press, mister Chua?" Both stallions laughed.

"I think I like you, mister Frontpage. I've never liked a reporter before. Equestria is filled with miracles." The only police chief in the universe turned and began walking up the street, with Frontpage at his side. Topic's was just a block away, at the corner of Poll and Billet.

"FRONTPAGE!" the colt reporter was yelling from down the road. "FRONT...PAGE!"

"It seems somepony is following you! Do reporters interview each other now?" Police Chief Chua was only half joking.

"It's Puffpiece. Rookie reporter, thinks he's hot cocoa." Frontpage let his ears sag to the sides and sighed.

"Frontpage! Oh! I'm glad... I caught up... to you in time!" Puffpiece was breathing hard, having apparently run quite the distance.

"Puff. What's news?" Frontpage was pleased to see Officer Chua had smiled at that.

"Gotch...Gotchararzzi says drop the dead donkey - there's a total marmalade dropper she wants you to do instead!" Puffpiece was breathing more easily now, and licked away a speck of foam from his muzzle.

"What? No!" Frontpage's ears pulled back as if being puppeted by overly-tight strings. "You have got to be kidding me! I just managed to..."

"Gotcha's totally lathered for this, Front!" Puffpiece shook his head. "She says to get on this, or hit the trail. Seriously, Front. I don't think she's fooling around this time!"

"Well... muffins!"

"A citizen has died? On my watch?" Officer Chua was instantly on the case "Take me to this unfortunate donkey with no delay! It is required that I be informed of any fatalities within Canterlot or the surrounding area immediately!

Puffpiece and Frontpage stared, briefly, at Legendary Police Chief Ronald Chua and began to snigger. They couldn't help themselves.

"Oh." Chua's blue cap sank low on his brow, tugged down by his ears. "The newspaper term. Earth. Of course." Chua tapped at the edge of a cobblestone with a back hoof. "I have been a citizen of the crown for a very long time now."

"I guess we newfoals have had a bigger impact than I ever realized." Frontpage's ears perked "Now that's a story, right there!"

Puffpiece stamped a forehoof. "Exactly! That's what Gotchararzzi was going on about! She wants to make the whole newfoal centennial into a front page deal, an article a day, starting tomorrow, leading right up to the event itself!"

"Event?" Frontpage hadn't heard about any fuss being made. Newfoals were old news, except to themselves.

"Oh, cupcakes, Frontpage!" Puffpiece shook his head again "You're always going after all the weird stuff - 'Is Equestria A Copy Of Old Earth?', 'What Really Created The Everfree?', 'What Is The Real Secret Of Princess Luna's Thestrals?' - nopony cares! That's the big secret - not a loving pony cares about any of that stuff? Why do you think Gotcha's out to fire your tail?"

"Fire... me?" Frontpage gulped air like a waterless fish. "From my job?"

Puffpiece stared. "No, Front, from a party cannon. To the moon. Of course from your job!" Puffpiece sighed. "You go after all the weird, obscure stuff, but you don't even know about the festival."

"Festival?" Frontpage felt like all four of his legs were failing.

"The Newfoal Centennial Festival! Sweet pudding, Front. I just don't even..."

Officer Chua placed a comforting hoof on Frontpage's back. "It is clear that you need to put your house in order. Let us enjoy our meal another day. I will be here - and when you return, I promise that I will be easy for you to find." Chua smiled, gently, the edges of his eyes crinkling in a fatherly way.

"I... I would really like that." Frontpage raised his head high. "Thank you for understanding, Officer Chua."

Chua was already ambling away down Poll street. "It's taken two hundred years and two universes to find a reporter I like. Keep your job!"

Frontpage nodded, and grinned. Finally a cop he could like in return. Equestria truly was a land of miracles.

The tan earthpony mare with the bright red mane walked down the long dirt path that led between two high walls of regularly placed banana plants. The plants were tall, with thick stalks and wide blades. Her goal was at the end of the road, a field expansion recently planted with new corms. There had been a problem with the planting, because some of her workers had thought the soil too compacted and that it had poor drainage. Over the decades, the demand for bananas had only increased, and the scale of Acres Plantation had grown ever greater.

The mare sighed, looking at the hardpacked ground. The banana corms had been well set, but it was clear that the workers had been right. A quick dig with a forehoof proved that the new expansion area was less than ideal. It was her fault, she had been spending too much time with her sister, and not enough time with the bananas. It was impossible to say no to her sister. Especially after that ruling from the princesses. Her sister had worked so hard... but the issues raised were rational.

The mare made a rapid series of clicks with her tongue and lips, aiming into the thick banana plants that bordered the newly planted field. When nothing happened, she tried again, making the loudest sounds she could manage.

A thin, far-away string of clicks finally responded. The mare waited. She noticed a small green sprout in the packed soil. For a moment, she closed her eyes. The tiny sprout began to explode from the ground, like fireworks in green, expanding in size over the course of seconds into a fully mature strawberry plant.

The mare opened her eyes and lowered her head. She nibbled several of the red, ripe strawberries while she waited. After a few additional berries, clear, strong clicks could be heard from nearby, inside the tall banana plants.

It walked on eight yellow and black legs. It wore eight tiny, thimble-like shoes. It's large dark abdomen was speckled with yellow dots and tan streaks. Strapped to the abdomen was a set of specially designed saddlebags, filled with gardening tools. It stood to attention, clicked with it's mandibles for a while, and saluted with one of it's forward legs. It stood half the height of a pony.

The tan mare made more clicking sounds, pawed at the ground with a hoof, and pointed at the strawberries.

The gargantuan banana spider stepped forward, snagged a berry in its palps, and stepped back, smacking and grinding the fruit. It reached over it's abdomen with a rear leg, and pulled forth a small trowel with a large ring built into the handle. Slipping a forward leg thimble-shoe into the ring, it dug with the implement while making more clicking sounds. Finally it scooped out a mass of small stones, and poured them on the ground.

"Ah!" The mare nodded. "I see... there is drainage... it's just the compaction on the top. That can be fixed!"

The spider's eight shining eyes regarded her, unblinkingly.

"Oh. Sorry." The mare clicked with her mouth for some time.

The spider cleaned and replaced it's trowel. It bowed and clicked. It stepped forward and snagged another berry, before turning and scuttling back into the forest of banana plants.

For some time, the red-maned mare moved her mouth from side to side, and forward and back. She lifted a forehoof to massage her jaw. She used her pastern to rub her lips, for a while. Musa-Arachnian was a troublesome language that always left her lips numb and her jaw sore. The spiders could understand Equestrian perfectly well, but insisted, contractually, to be addressed in their own language. They could understand Equestrian, but they could never pronounce it. It was a matter of pride to them. One worth unionizing over.

Crimson Beauty Acres, once Petra Alice Bettencourt, the wealthiest little girl on the long lost planet earth, had been put in charge of her mother's plantation. Her pony mother, her true mother - the mother that had personally chosen to adopt her out of genuine love. Banana Acres. Crimson loved her mother. And somepony needed to keep the plantation running - Banana was beyond weary of the entire operation. The spiders were excellent workers, but negotiations were always tough... and truth be told, Banana was not comfortable around the sapient arachnoids. Or their overly-proud culture.

Crimson swept the bright red fall of hair from her eyes with a twist of her long, tan neck. Her sister Plantain was out there, on the mountain, near the Everfree. In her institute. Forever trying to make Snow Bunnies safe. Safe enough to be allowed into pony society.

Ponies shared their cities, towns and villages with many other sapient creatures. Donkeys, certainly, but also goats and pigs and sheep, too. Dogs and cats. Ordinary rabbits and chickens and other birds. Griffons and dragons, sometimes. And, more and more, the troll-like Diamond Dogs.

But despite all of her sister's efforts, Snow Bunnies remained too dangerous to live in close proximity to ponykind.

Crimson began to walk back to the house. Plantain had come so close. She had thought she had solved the problem for sure. An adaptation of the simple binding ring created for the Bureaus, long, long ago.

Newfoal unicorns sometimes woke up unable to control their telekinetic and magical powers. It happened commonly enough that a solution had been created - a horn ring, into which a thaumatic construct, a spell, had been fused. The ring corked the very flow of magic through the horn, and so shut off the powers of any unicorn. The device was very powerful, and could nullify the thaumatic energies of even the Royal Corps Of Unicorns, who had developed it. There were tens of thousands of the rings, left over from the days of the Bureaus.

Plantain's idea was simple, even elegant. The rings were large enough that they could serve as collars for the tiny Snow Bunnies. Around the neck of a Bunny, the creature's horrifying defense mechanism - freezing everything around it - was utterly nullified. It made the bunnies perfectly safe.

As long as the weighty rings were worn.

And that was the reason the princesses' had denied Plantain's petition to permit Snow Bunnies to escape the dangerous Everfree and join civilization. The horn rings worked, but they were heavy to the little bunnies, and could not be comfortably worn all of the time, without exception. The bunnies couldn't easily sleep with one on, they were a drowning problem in the bath, and they limited mobility in any case. No bunny could be expected to carry around, every day, all day and night, what amounted to being - for them - a solid metal life preserver. Especially when the lives being preserved were every living creature anywhere within a radius of almost 20 hooves.

Plantain had fled, crying, from the throne room, and Crimson had tried to comfort her sister, but the fact was... Crimson agreed with the princesses. It was a sad thing - the bunnies were kindly creatures, intelligent, talented, they didn't deserve to have to live in the Everfree, where the monsters roamed. But they could not control their tremendous power. Their unconscious, automatic reaction to feeling threatened made them too dangerous to be around. The Everfree was their proper home, because, as sweet and kind as they were, they ultimately were... monsters.

That was something Plantain could not hear. It was something she would not hear, and when Crimson had broached the fact, the two sisters had parted on less than warm terms.

Thus it was that Crimson ran the family banana plantation for crown and country, and Plantain continued to research a solution to the plight of the bunnies. The Royal Equestrian Institute For The Integration Of Discordant Creatures. It was Luna, they had learned, that had funded the creation of the institute, and who paid to maintain both it, and Plantain's dream.

Crimson had been glad that one of the princesses' had done something to benefit her sister, but it had also meant that they would live apart. Crimson had no wish to live on the border of the Everfree, close to where scary and dangerous things prowled. She certainly couldn't raise a family there.

As Crimson approached the plantation main house, her current youngest, Clover, broke away from her older sister, Jinx, and ran to her mother.

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! There's a porter an he's here an he's wantsta darticle you!" Clover pranced around Crimson, repeating variations of her message in assorted combinations until they reached the front steps.

"Mom. There is a strange stallion in our house." Jinx was as calm and flat of tone as Clover was excitable. Except when she sang. Jinx was a very good singer. "I let him in and gave him some water and some of our melonade and some of our banana chips. I told him you would be back soon and to wait. He is a reporter, mother. He works for the Canterlot Querier."

"An' he's gots a HAT! Mommy! Mommy! He's gottsa HAT!" Clover was very insistent on this point, it must be important.

Crimson nuzzled her children. They smelled nice, warm and sweet, in the perpetual summer. Crimson took her time. They grow up so fast. They youngest was nearly fifteen now, and Jinx was approaching twenty-five. By thirty, they would reach puberty, and then everything would change, and these gentle, sweet, dependent moments would be gone forever.

"Well, then, I suppose I should go and see this reporter, shouldn't I?" Crimson untangled herself from her foal-and-filly sandwich and ascended the steps.

"Me too? All go? Jinx go? Go too?" Clover looked up with large eyes, excited at anything new.

Crimson thought about the date, about what was approaching in a week and a half. "Reporters are serious stuff. Usually. This is big pony stuff, sweety. Real boring stuff."

"Like MATH?" Clover did not like numbers. She believed they came from the Everfree, carried on the backs of all the scary stories that ever were.

"All math. It's all math." Crimson kept her muzzle tight and her expression serious.

"I gonna go play. Bye." Clover galloped off. While new things were exiting, boring new things were not. It was a robust and rigorous theorem strongly supported by the equation {(NEW) - (FUN) = DUMB}. No foal of proper credentials thought otherwise, it was a peer-reviewed fundamental principle.

"There's some... stuff... I need to do. Is that okay, mom?" Jinx would stay if she was asked to. She was a very helpful filly.

"Run along. If I need you, I'll call." Crimson nodded like one of Celestia's Ceremonial Guard, stalwart and severe.

Jinx nodded back, then turned and ran. She tried to be the proper older sister, but it was clear that she recognized the legitimacy of Foal Mathematics.

Crimson let herself laugh only when her daughters were out of earshot.

A reporter, then, inside her house. It could not be a coincidence. In nine days, it would be the hundredth year since Zero Point, and Crimson Beauty was a newfoal. In some circles a mildly famous newfoal.

She was, after all, one of the Everfree Six.

2. The Scent Of Something More

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

The Scent Of Something More

"I just... don't remember. I'm sorry. I suppose I'm not being a very good interview, am I? That's the word, right, interview? Or is it subject? Probably subject of an interview, or is there some colorful Newsie term? In any case, I expect I am not being a very good one, am I mister Frontpage?"

Frontpage finished scribbling with his mouth. He was always very careful to note the least little statement, however banal. Anything might be the perfect slant, and the slightest thing might turn out to be the nutgraf that made the piece - or even a golden lede, straight from the pony's mouth. Frontpage had awakened on the table after Conversion with his cutie mark - a fedora with a press pass - already in place, on his flank. Being a reporter wasn't just a job for him, even when he had been human. Across two entire universes, it truly was his life's calling.

"You're doing fine, Ms. Acres." Frontpage considered other papers that might take him. The Manehatten Bugle? Equestria Today? The Los Pegasus Tribune? The Trottsville Tattler? The Foal Free Press? No, he was a little old for that one... oh, Sweet Luna, why wouldn't Gotchararzzi understand that even in Equestria... there were ponies who wanted real news, not just stories about Canterlot celebrities and the dregs of old dead Earth's wealthy elite...

"Mister Frontpage?" Crimson had stretched her neck forward to stare intently at the reporter. "Are you alright? Is it the heat? It's perpetual summer here, all year round. For the bananas, you know. Would you like a fresh melonade? I could put some ice in a bag..."

Frontpage startled, and dabbed his foreleg at the sweat dripping down his muzzle. "Sorry. Um... yes, the heat. It is a little warmer than I am used to. My apologies." Crimson was beginning to rise, probably for ice or more to drink. "Please... I don't need anything. Well, other than this story. I really need this story. I need something, anyway." He regretted his tone the moment the words left his mouth.

Crimson's ears perked. "Mister Frontpage?"

Frontpage sighed. "My job is... sort of on the line here. This isn't my usual five W's with an H on the side. I've never been comfortable with pony-interest stories, I can never figure the slant, I can't figure out how to get a pony-interest piece above the fold, you know?"

"What do you usually write about?"

Frontpage shifted on the couch he was laying on. "Heh... I suppose you could say I like the big stuff. I like to get to the heart of what makes things work, the events that shape history, the secrets behind the everyday world. Some of my colleagues say I like the weird stuff, the oddball stuff too much. Maybe I do." He carefully sipped the last of his melonade. "My last story was about the Bluebloods, and the so-called 'distant nephew' of princess Celestia. He's no relative, not even close. There's something strange going on there, but my blind interview took a powder, my inches got buried, and now I can't go within thirty hooves of any relative of the Blueblood clan. But there's something redletter there, something big, something being covered up - I can smell it." Frontpage tapped his muzzle with a hoof. "I've got a nose, for news."

"I don't think I have any big juicy secrets for you." Crimson got up, off of her own couch, to pour more melonade for herself. "More? I'm up already." The reporter nodded, so Crimson filled his glass too. "I'm pretty sure the whole issue of the Covenant, and the Masada, are known by now?"

"Old news, I'm afraid. Most ponies didn't even know there was a colony of untransformed humans living on the back of Canterlot Mountain, and the only reason it even became an issue was... well, because of you and the other fillies and colts with you. What happened to all of you, and why, made Celestia's decision to void the agreement and end the Masada a very popular decision. Very convenient for her, actually..." Frontpage stared off, out the window, at the bananas for a while. "No. No. That really is tin-foil-hat time. She's smart and powerful, but she isn't devious. Well... not devious in that fashion, anyway. Not in a cruel way."

"Mister Frontpage?" Crimson tried to see what was out the window, but it was only an endless sea of mature banana plants. As always.

"Oh, sorry. Always looking for a scoop." Frontpage opened his notebook again, it had fallen shut when he had sipped his melonade. He flipped the pages, scanning them. "Tell me about your sister, then. She was a performer, right? Part of that big show in the sky way back when, the one seen all over Equestria?"

Crimson brightened. "Yes! Plantain is oh-so-talented, just incredible! She had the spiders doing rhythm - their entire language is made up of syncopated clicks, you know - and of course the bunnies, she had an entire troupe of... um..."

"Ms. Acres?"

Crimson raised her lowered ears and looked up. "They're all gone now. There was... an incident. But that was long ago. Long ago."

Now Frontpage brightened. Considerably. "Incident? It's clear that whatever it was, it was a traumatic moment. It must have been very difficult for you. Could you tell me a little about what happened?" Frontpage couldn't help but lean forward, pencil in teeth.

"It was Snow Bunnies. It's always Snow Bunnies with her. Ever since Crème..." Crimson stared off, out at the forever summer outside her windows. "They can't help it, the poor little dears. Snow Bunnies, I mean. The slightest thing can set them off. I have no idea how her little Crème kept herself in check for so long. She was only half Snow Bunny, that was probably it. They're like little fuzzy grenades with the pins all pulled. 'Grenade'. I don't use human words anymore, it's strange saying it. Grenade. I'm amazed that popped up in my head. How did I even learn that word?"

Frontpage watched the mare sadly sip her drink in silence. "You said you were..." he peeked at his notes "...twelve, when you moved to Equestria? You lived in Antarctica... mostly... and that you were very lonely. I know you don't recall much about that time, but you did mention a show you were fascinated by?"

Crimson's gaze shifted from the window to focus on the reporter. "Yes. Oh, I was quite the little fanatic. I don't remember the name, or much about it specifically, but it was a dramatization of a human woman going through a Bureau. Or maybe it was a live report. I can't quite recall. Hmm. It was very, very long ago. It made me want to Convert so badly. But that was quite impossible for me at the time. Oh, I used to watch that show over and over. I once met a mare... a human... woman... that liked it too. I remember that. I was not allowed to meet people very often, I was always under guard, but in she came, and walked right up and talked to me! Just like that!"

Crimson held her glass in her pasterns and lapped at her melonade with her tongue. It was fun to drink things that way, at least until the level of the liquid got too low in the glass. Then the edge of the glass would hurt the underside of her tongue, as it strained to reach down to lap at the liquid. Such silly fun. "I so hope nothing bad happened to her, whoever she was. She seemed nice. Genuinely nice. That was a rare thing, back then. That moment... I think about it sometimes. She left very suddenly when I pointed out my guards. I wonder if we could have been friends somehow. I always wanted friends, so much. I was very lonely, then. And then Celestia came!" The smile was so large that it pulled at her cheeks.

Noting that the change of subject had effectively raised Crimson's spirits, Frontpage flipped his notebook back to the page he had started with. "Is your sister here? Can I talk to her, too?"

Crimson shook her head. "No... she's at her institute, on the south side of Canterlot Mountain. She's always there, now."

"Institute?" Frontpage scribbled furiously.

"The Royal Equestrian Institute For The Integration Of Discordant Creatures. Ever so grand a title, but I guess that's to be expected, considering." Crimson noticed, out the window, Clover chasing Jinx near the front well. They seemed to be having fun.

"Expected? In what way?"

"The entire thing is funded and supported by princess Luna. I suspect she had a hoof in naming it, too. It was desperately nice of her to provide for my sister, and I am grateful, of course... but it does keep us apart... and, well..." Crimson sighed "Frankly, mister Frontpage, sometimes I feel that the institute, the funding, all of it, all it does is just make a fool of my sister. It certainly puts her in constant danger. I know it's her life, and her passion, but... maybe... maybe you shouldn't try to save every scary, dangerous creature, you know?"

Frontpage carefully set his notebook down on the couch, and raised his hoof to scratch the bridge of his nose. "Considering the upcoming newfoal festival, I find that sentiment a little surprising, Ms. Acres. I helped with a few articles about you and your friends back then, when I was just starting out at the Querier - a big move up for me at the time - and as terrifying as that bunny of yours was, well, I remember Earth pretty well. I have to say I'm dumpling grateful that the princesses didn't give up on our old world... and species."

Crimson's eyes narrowed, and then relaxed. Her ears raised up again. "You... you are right, of course. I was just a foal at the time, I didn't... know very much. Since then, I've learned a great deal about my parents, about what happened on the earth, About how things... worked... back then. I know I was just a child and could do nothing, but... you have a point, mister Frontpage. It's just been so long, and I never actually saw any of the... bad... things that went on."

When he had finished scribbling, Frontpage set his pencil down in the spine of his notebook. "Maybe it's better to forget. Earth is long gone. Long, long gone. I can't say I've missed it." The melonade was sweet, but room-temperature now; the ice had all melted. "You never married, right?"

Crimson laughed and shook her head. "No. I've never found the right one. Oh, I have a lovely stable of really nice stallions who have given me some wonderful foals over the last century, but... I wouldn't really want to live with any of them, and they... well, they aren't the summer type. Perpetual, never-ending summer. A blessing and a curse both. I finally see what mother meant." Outside the window, the sun beat down, as it always did. Always. Always.

Frontpage looked over his messy, scribbled notes, and wiped perspiration from his muzzle, and from his poll. One of his eyes stung, where salty, dusty sweat had dripped into it. "I have to say It's a little hard to concentrate in this heat." He blinked his irritated eye several times. "It's really like this all the time?"

"There is a special arrangement with the local weather team. The entire area is summer all the year around. It doesn't even cool down when it rains." Crimson went to her kitchen and brought back a bowl of ice. She dispensed ice in the drinks, and offered Frontpage a cube to suck on. "We normally have some really powerful air conditioning in here. Our Bevelmeiter is broken. One of my fillies was playing in the basement, and somehow something got knocked into it. Even they aren't sure how it happened. We've got a replacement on order, but things take time and..."

The day felt endless, and in the perpetual heat, both Crimson and Frontpage found themselves simply sitting and sucking ice cubes for some indeterminate time.

Frontpage woke, as from a dream. "Your sister!"

"Mnnn? Yes?"

Frontpage shook his head and sipped some melonade. "She's being funded by the princess. Princess Luna, correct?"

Crimson stretched on the couch, and moved her hindquarters to make them more comfortable. She hadn't even noticed her hindleg was falling asleep until just this moment. Her flank tingled and felt prickly. "Yes. Quite well, in fact. The princess has poured a lot of bits into my sister's institute."

"Why?"

Crimson blinked. "I don't understand."

Frontpage made a few notes in his little book. "Why? Why would one of the diarchs of Equestria personally fund - lavishly, apparently - an institute on the border of the Everfree to help a few hazardous rabbits? What's her motivation? From my research, your sister isn't related to anypony in the court, she isn't known except for her performances with the Happy Pony Show, and that one event long, long ago... and I can't find any connection between her and the princess at all. Ever. Why help your sister? Why bother?"

"Well, because..." Crimson looked around the room. The plantation was large, roomy, but not overly fancy. The princesses did love bananas... no, actually, only Celestia did. It was said that Luna didn't actually care for bananas. Back during the time when they had been revivified, from petrification, Luna hadn't even been there. No... wait. She helped with Peony and Tulip, she was definitely there for that. It was so hard to remember, it had been so long ago. "Oh! Maybe..."

Frontpage knew from long experience that when an interview suddenly went 'Oh!' or 'Wait!' or even 'Perhaps..." with a long, drawn-out drift off into thought, it meant something. Usually something big, or profound, or juicy. It was a tell even a rookie could catch. Maybe not Puffpiece, but most any rookie. "Oh, maybe, what?"

Crimson noticed the almost predatory gleam in the reporter's eye. Newfoal. Native ponies... there were ways, looks, movements, ways of saying things that native ponies just never did. It was something only another newfoal would notice. Even after all these years, even with being converted at such a young age, Crimson could still tell. She wished she couldn't, because it meant that in some subtle way, she had still not completely assimilated into her proper life. "Well... Plantain did tell me a story once. About meeting princess Luna. Late at night, in her tower. Sort of meeting her, anyway. After a fashion."

Frontpage's ears stood tall. His eyes locked onto the tan mare as if she were his favorite food. "After... a fashion? Sort of? The princess is a little... unmistakable. How does a pony 'sort of' meet the princess of the night?"

"She had... an experience." Crimson felt uncomfortable now, her sister had told her of the event in hushed tones, reverently, and somehow talking about it to a reporter felt strange. "She did not so much meet the princess face to face as... being granted an audience with what the princess... represents."

"You have completely lost me with mysterious words, and I am loving it." Frontpage tried to wipe the drips of sweat away from his notebook as he scribbled down everything Crimson had just said. "Details! A reporter lives or dies by details. What happened? We know when. And who. And where. Not why, not how, not yet. So what? What did your sister... experience?"

Now Crimson felt quite in a pickle. "I... it isn't that this is something I shouldn't be telling you - it wasn't a confidence - but it is something that... well, it's a little hard to say."

Frontpage paused from scribbling. "I've heard everything. From everypony. You'd be hard-pressed to surprise me. Go on."

"My sister was granted a glimpse of what happens after we die."

Frontpage dropped his pencil. It hit the sweat-sodden notebook and bounced off it and onto the floor. In the quiet, still, oven-like room it sounded like a log crashing down a cliff. "O...kay. You have surprised me. A lot, actually. That has to be the very last thing I thought I would hear today, and if this wasn't Equestria, I would be already discounting it as looly-talk. But... this is Equestria, where ponies fly and my breakfast was cooked by a unicorn who doesn't bother using a pan. He calls it 'float-a-frying'. I, myself, can make flowers bloom by wishing really hard. So...." Frontpage swallowed, hard. "What happens when we and daisies are in the same place, and we aren't doing the eating?"

Crimson stared at the reporter. "Are all reporters quite so morbid?"

"Oh, muffins, no!" Frontpage grinned. "You're fortunate you got me. I'm the sensitive type."

Crimson laughed. "Oh! Well, then, lucky me!"

"So, the question is on the table - what happens after we run off with the Pale Mare?"

"I think, mister Frontpage, that the mare we run off with isn't pale." Crimson smiled, faintly. "I suspect that the mare is actually a very deep midnight blue and favors cats, spiders and bats. And candy."

"Tell me everything. EVERYTHING." Frontpage was already off his seat and nibbling after his pencil, where it had rolled under the couch.

Crimson tried to decide whether to pack the long woolen scarf into her traveling saddlebags. The institute was on the mountain, and it was cold there, but it was located below the snow line. It wouldn't likely be that cold. Unless it was winter, of course. Crimson suddenly realized she had no idea what season it was for everypony else. After a moment, she stuffed the scarf in.

"MOOOMM! I don't wan you to GOOOO!" Clover was pouting. It took everything Crimson had to stand firm and not nuzzle and hold her daughter. Sometimes it was difficult being a good mother.

"I will only be gone for a few days, maybe a week. That's my four legs and two of yours long." Crimson watched her youngest carefully try to count legs. She couldn't help but smile.

"Mother, who will take care of us while you are away?" Jinx spoke in measured tones, but Crimson knew from long experience what the filly must be feeling inside.

Crimson considered the toque with the fuzzy ball on top. Was that going too far? "Aunt Peony and Uncle Tumble will. They have business in Airs, and they've missed you two. They love you a lot, you know."

"Unca Tumble smells funny." Clover wrinkled her nose until her muzzle formed a mask of distaste.

"That's because he's a diamond dog, sweetie. That's just how it is." Crimson shrugged with her ears and stuffed the soft hat into her saddlebags, next to the scarf.

"Why did aunt Peony marry a diamond dog?" Jinx looked around the room as if trying to memorize it. As if the room were leaving with her mother.

"Because she loves Uncle Tumble very, very much." Crimson searched through her closet for a raincoat. It might rain a lot, if it was spring and not winter out there.

"Do I hafta marry a diamond dog?" Clover's ears were low.

"Only if you want to. Do you have a dog in mind?" Crimson chose her blue raincoat. It was thin, and would pack easily. She liked it because it was long, and completely covered her hindquarters and tail.

"EWWWWWW!!!!" Clover began stomping around the room.

Crimson turned from her packing and sat down on her flanks. She raised her forelegs, and pulled her fillies to her. "No, not 'Eww', not ever! Aunt Peony and Uncle Tumble love each other, and that is the most important thing in all the world. It's the only important thing. I want you two to remember that always." Crimson kissed her children on their polls, and raised herself to her hooves.

"Do you think aunt Peony likes the way that Uncle Tumble smells?" Jinx, ever the analytical one.

"Yes, I expect she does. Love is magic that way. Like friendship is magic. Love is magic too." Crimson smiled. "Love has a way of making everything wonderful." Candies! Crimson ruffled through her drawers, sniffing out her tin of rose petal candies. Perfect for traveling.

"Unca Tumble still stinks." Clover giggled. "Stinky!"

Crimson bent her head down, closer to her fillies. "I don't want you saying that in front of aunt and uncle. Especially in front of Uncle Tumble. It's not nice. Understand?"

"I sorry." Clover's expression demonstrated she truly felt so.

"I know better, mother." Jinx was almost indignant. She took her position as older sister very seriously. She took everything very seriously.

"You are my good and precious fillies, and I love you. And so does Uncle Tumble and Aunt Peony, so be good around them and try to show them you love them too."

"I will be love to unca Tumble an' Peony, and I will be good!" Clover set her jaw as if she were preparing to adventure forth against impossible odds.

Crimson stared at her saddlebags. The raincoat had to go. What season was it out there? How could a pony possibly prepare for everything? She reconsidered the old, barely used scarf. The candies stay. The candies definitely stay.

The Royal Equestrian Institute For The Integration Of Discordant Creatures had been constructed so as to overlook the Everfree from a position above the gap between the chaotic forest and the southern tip of the Canterlot Mountains. A narrow road passed through the gap. That road had once been the path that Crimson Beauty and those with her had thought to take, on their journey to escape the human masada.

Crimson, then Petra Alice Bettencourt, and five other human children, had fled the special enclave that had been given to the elite of earth. They had done so in order to become ponies. Their parents were members of the Good Families, the three-hundred wealthiest and most powerful names that had ruled the entire earth for centuries, behind the scenes. To these families, nations were mere false fronts, screens behind which to hide. Sometime during the Renaissance, the merchant class had secretly conquered the world, and had never let go. Money, truly, could buy anyone. In time, it had bought the entire earth.

With the coming of the Great Collapse, and the many attendant catastrophes that followed, the earth had become a planet doomed to die. With the oceans dead, the forests replaced with deserts, and the world blanketed in a global smog layer, there were but three generations left to Man. After that, the planet was fated to become another Venus - a world broiling in acidic poison and the silence of the grave.

Then Equestria arrived, expanding out of the north Pacific, a great hypersphere passing through the universe. Because of an ancient promise, Celestia had come to offer rescue and a new life to any who would take it. There was only one requirement - that any who emigrated must become Equestrian themselves, transformed into the pony-like beings that lived under her rule.

The Good Families, ancient and proud, had refused this not only for themselves, but for the billions of serfs they considered their property - the population of earth. In the end, Celestia had convinced them to allow the billions the choice to Convert and emigrate - but at a price. An agreement had been struck, the Covenant. It was a complicated contract that permitted the survival of humanity only if the ruling elite were allowed to remain human in shape, and provided with a fortress secluded from the common rabble.

There was one out - any elite, upon reaching the human legal age of maturity and consent, could choose transformation to pony form, and join Equestria as a full and true citizen. While their parents plotted violent conquest, little Petra, only thirteen, escaped the human masada with five of her friends - and many sapient chickens and pigs which the humans had been using for meat. They fled in order to seek the princesses, and personally beg them for immediate ponification, despite the rules of the Covenant.

Their journey was perilous, and the southern Canterlot Mountain road was guarded by agents of their parents. The children, in desperation, had chosen to cross the Everfree, regardless of the terrible risk. Things had gone very wrong indeed, and most of the party had been gravely injured.

"And you chose to be turned to stone, just chose that, even though you were fine?" Frontpage was aghast. Crimson's tale of her childhood adventure was terrifying enough, but after all of that, petrification too?

Crimson chuckled. She and Frontpage were riding in a earthpony-drawn carriage, the Southern Pass Express, that ran between the small town of Courbette near Airs Above the Ground and Canterlot City, by way of Ponyville. Along the route, the carriage could be asked to stop at Plantain's Institute. That was their destination. Frontpage very much wanted to interview Crimson's sister, and Crimson, for her part, was eager to see her sister again.

Courbette was the closest town to the Acres Plantation. To the east and very high up was the pegasus village of Airs Above the Ground. That sky-village was the home of the pegasai that tended the weather for the Acres, and the entire region on the back side of Canterlot Mountain.

"If I hadn't, I would have been taken back to my parents, and I would have grown up while all of my friends remained young. Have you forgotten that human childhood only lasts a short while? That was not changed when Celestia and Luna personally converted the Good Families into Equestrian matter. We still had the same short lifespans, and the same short childhoods as terrestrial humans did. The Covenant was very harsh - those who wrote it did not want any deviation from human nature whatsoever."

Frontpage hung his head out the carriage window, and watched the vast plain of perfect grass and flowers pass by. The breeze was sweet, and smelled of nectar and deliciousness. He pulled his head back inside. "But still... to be turned to stone! What... what was it like?"

"It was like nothing. One moment, I was standing, waiting for it to happen, the next I was aware of my face. I was brought back to life from the top of my head on down. For a long time I couldn't breathe, but I didn't need to, so it wasn't scary - well, maybe a little - but gradually my chest became flesh and then I could." Crimson shifted on the carriage seat. It was the most lovely dark green, made of polished kelp leather, padded and made soft and a little bouncy.

"Couldn't breathe... and it was okay. Wow." Frontpage scribbled erratically in his notebook. The suspension of the carriage was old, and the ride was not exactly smooth. "So... you woke up as a pony and then what?"

"Actually, I didn't." Crimson sniffed briefly at the wood of the carriage. It spoke to her pony nose of decades of carrying passengers, ponies of every kind... and diamond dogs, and the occasional pig, goat, and sheep. Finally, she found it, her superhuman senses focusing in on a familiar scent. Her sister, Plantain. They had both ridden the carriage many times, back and forth between Courbette and the Institute.

"Didn't wake up? I don't understand."

Crimson smiled. "I wasn't a pony when I woke up. I was still human, still a little girl. Princess Celestia transformed me shortly after. She needed my consent, Covenant rules and all. By being petrified in stone, I had sailed through the years, still physically thirteen, but by the calender an adult. I experienced my transformation. I felt it happen, I watched my body change. I may be the only newfoal to have ever had that happen."

"This assignment just keeps getting better and better!" Frontpage lost his pencil in his excitement, it slipped from his teeth and skittered about the carriage floor. Both ponies worked to corral it as it rolled to and fro with the rumbling carriage. Finally, Frontpage was able to take it in his mouth. "What... what was that like?"

"It was glorious. Just glorious. It didn't hurt - I wasn't converted with potion, I was transformed by Celestia's direct will. I glowed, Frontpage, all over, like I was made of golden light. It felt like... like stretching, like a really good stretch that makes your muscles feel good and sets all the bones in your spine to rights. I'll never forget that moment. I had wanted to be a pony so much, you can't imagine... it was my greatest dream coming true. When I was stuck in Antarctica, constantly managed by indifferent guards, lonely beyond lonely, watching my pony show... oh, how much I wanted to go to a Bureau! I tried to run away even on earth, but Celestia stopped me."

Frontpage's ears stood up. "Celestia... was in Antarctica?" The pencil was too short now, so he had to reach into his saddlebag for one of his many pre-sharpened spares. A reporter could never have enough pre-sharpened spare pencils.

Crimson Beauty giggled. "After a fashion. She was a ghost. Everypony in the Good Families had a personal Celestia ghost. Every foal, filly, mare and stallion. Hundreds of Celestias, and we could only see the one that belonged to us. All day and all night she was there, she never left, not even in the bath. Not even on the toilet." Crimson sighed. "It was the first time in my life that I wasn't lonely. It was the first time I ever felt truly loved. It was a very special time."

"How long? How long did this... amazing... thing go on?" Frontpage thought he had covered the story of Equestria and the Bureaus from the inside. He thought he had gotten the full scoop.

"About a year. No... less. Six... eight months, maybe?" Crimson dug around in her own saddlebags for some hard candy to suck on. She offered a rosepetal-flavored confection to Frontpage, then took one herself. "Mmmmnn... I love these. So good. Mnn... anyway, that was how she convinced the Good Families. 'Let the humans choose!', 'Open up the Bureaus!' - or she would keep every single one of them company until the day they died. For us foals, it was the happiest time of our lives. But I think it was pure Tartarus for my parents. They let the Bureaus open. But they also made that swirling contract."

"You still resent it, after almost a century?" Frontpage smiled around his flower-sweet candy. It really was good.

"Even in Equestria, even as a pony, I guess there are some things, human things, I still haven't gotten past. Yes, I have some resentment towards my foalhood, and my parents, and what we all had to go through because of them." Crimson offered another candy, and took one for herself. "There are some sorrows that never quite leave, no matter how many candies one eats."

Frontpage nodded, because it was true, and because he could think of no better response.

3. Fortress Of Solitude

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

Fortress Of Solitude

Uncle Tumble lay sprawled out on the floor of the Acres Plantation. His tongue stuck far out of his mouth as he panted. Half laying across various sections of him were Jinx and Clover, their weight and heat making his panting less effective than it should have been.

The room was cooling down, finally. The long back-ordered Bevelmeiter crate had ridden with Tumble and Peony on top of their carriage to Courbette. Tumble had carried the heavy box all the way to the plantation on his shoulder, steadied with a strong paw. Peony often remarked that it was good to have a dog around the house; Tumble's great strength was often an enormous convenience.

Both had worked together to install the massive thaumatic tube into the cooling system in the basement. The Bevelmeiter was a long, ovoid tube, capped at both ends with golden domes. Inside the glass floated a black metal structure, resembling two fleur-de-lis facing away from each other. It hung silent and still within the tube, attached to nothing. Around the black metal shimmered very faint sparks of thaumatic force. Crimson's fillies, Jinx and Clover, kept getting in the way, fascinated by the replacement for the previous Bevelmeiter they had accidentally broken.

Once set into the cooling unit, Tumble and Peony went through the accompanying manual to try to activate the tube. The Bevelmeiter Thaumatic Engine Enchantment Operations Manual Version 26 made for difficult reading. It did not help that large sections had been printed in unicorn glyphs clearly intended for professional installers.

"Do we need to call in a unicorn? We've got the thing in there, but... I'm at a loss!" Peony licked the sweat off her husband's muzzle, which made him grin. Her tongue felt warm, but after it passed, his jowls felt cool.

"Answer is here. Tumble figure out. Must be way! Just haf'ta find." Tumble stood and thought. He scratched at the base of his short tail with a claw. "Box! Check box! Maybe sheet there for dumb dog who not read silly unicorn manual!"

Peony frowned. "You are not dumb. Don't let me catch you saying that sort of thing again!" It was a game, of sorts, really. Tumble knew he was smart, but he was aware of how most ponies thought of diamond dogs. It did seem to reassure him though, when she reprimanded and defended him.

While Tumble poured through the manual, again, Peony searched what remained of the crate the Bevelmeiter had traveled in. Under the packing material, taped to a strut, Peony found a small sheet of paper. "Instructions! I found 'em!"

Tumble shook sweat from his ears. Unlike earth canines, diamond dogs could sweat as well as pant with their tongues. The original universe and realm they had come from had been a warmer one than Equestria, and the dogs had adapted to that fact in numerous ways. "Give. Give sheet. Tumble make tube go. Can get water? Tumble thirsty!"

Peony smiled and nodded. She wasn't good with thaumatic technology, Tumble was - so long as he didn't have to deal with unicorn glyphs. In their home, he was quite the mister fix-it. He did carpentry and plumbing as a trade, but he seldom encountered Bevelmeiter tubes. They were rare devices, reserved for important or special things.

Clearly, princess Celestia REALLY liked bananas.

Tumble watched his mare dance up the steps. Her tail swung like a pendulum, swishing to and fro with every stomp of her hooves. Something in Tumble wanted to chase after the motion, run it down, pounce on it, and kiss the living...

"Unca Tumble? When'zit gonna be cool again? I'm hot." Clover was becoming frustrated by the endless, eternal, never-ending wasteland of boring stupid that adults always fell into. They never did anything fast. It was a real problem - they had the coolest stuff, but somehow they always made it boring. She resolved to remedy this asinine inequity when she was all grown up. Just slam it in and make things cool! How hard could it be?

"Me sorry, little Clover. Back to work!" Tumble took the tiny sheet into his massive paws and studied it. It wasn't unicorn glyphs, that was something. But it was complicated. Apparently there was an included bag of thaumatically activated chalk that was required. Tumble searched the Bevelmeiter crate yet again - there seemed to be no effort to make things easy to find - and discovered the bag at the far end, covered over by packing.

Tumble studied the sheet, and the chalk, then the sheet again. "Fillies move. Go far back. Tumble need space for sigil. Fillies move back!"

Clover sulked into the back of the basement, next to the piles of lapine stage costumes and Plantain's spare top hats. Jinx stepped close and peered around her uncle's thick, muscular arm at the instruction sheet. "May I help, Uncle? I am a very good reader. I received a gold star at school. I am the fastest reader in my class." Beneath the quiet words was a boiling ocean of pride at that little star.

Tumble chuckled. "Fast not good here. This need care. Careful care. Must get right or we sweat all night!"

Several sticks of thaumatic chalk were shaken out of a bag into Tumble's tremendous paw. "Here. Help. Take chalk, put to side. Leave gold. Need gold."

Jinx carefully moved the chalk from Tumble's pads and placed them neatly on the floor some distance away. Clover whimpered from the back of the basement, unhappy that her sister was getting to do something and she wasn't.

Tumble carefully took the golden chalk between his claws and began to copy the sigil from the instruction sheet. The image was smaller than it needed to be, and Tumble silently cursed whoever decided that consumer instructions should be relegated to a single, small scrap of paper.

Exchanging colors with the help of Jinx, the sigil was gradually completed on the floor of the basement, a few toes from the Bevelmeiter tube inside the cooling unit. The chalk diagram was a circle interrupted by three smaller circles, with a large triangle connecting them. Additional circles and shapes filled the spaces within, and several dozens of unicorn glyphs had been ever-so-carefully inscribed just about everywhere around and within the sigil.

Tumble held the sheet up to the lightsprite lamp that hung from the ceiling. "Next part. Speak words. There is warning! All must stand back." Tumble waited until both Jinx and Clover were well to the back of the basement.

Hoofsteps came down the stairs. "I've got water - no ice left, sorry - and melonade and..."

"Peony! Much thank you! But not now. Time to make Bevelmeiter work. Must concentrate." Tumble began sounding out the strange words in his mind, trying to get the pronunciation right. The words were written in thaumatically active ink, much like that used in postal scrolls. Once spoken correctly, they would flash with green fire and vanish, and in doing so power the sigil, which in turn, would initiate the large tube.

"Oh! Let me set this down somewhere! I want to see!" Peony carefully backed up the stairs, the overladen tray shaking slightly on her back. She used her wings to steady it as she went.

"Tumble wait." In truth, Tumble was glad of an excuse to go over the words once more. There was a part of him that wanted to impress his nieces, and he knew they were already impatient. He didn't want to make any mistakes.

Peony performed tiny rearings to slide the tray off of her back and onto the table. She used her wings as a chute, to guide the tray and its contents, and prevent them from falling off sideways. When the tray was fully on the table, she raced to the basement steps and descended as rapidly as she dared. She had read about Bevelmeiter tubes. They were supposed to be fairly amazing when they started up.

Peony stood next to Jinx and Clover, in the back. "Okay dearest! We're ready for the show!"

No pressure then. Tumble gave the slip one last read through, and cleared his voice. He gave a short howl, to make sure his pipes were clean. "Tumble begin now. All ponies stay back, safe. Just watch now."

Tumble began speaking the words. The strange syllables began to take on a life of their own in his throat. His voice changed, as he spoke, sounding odd, as if far away, or perhaps entirely too close - the ponies felt his words tickle the inside of their minds.

The Bevelmeiter tube responded slowly, first just turning lazily inside the glass. As Tumble reached the middle of his script, the faint glow around the black metal suddenly sprang to life. It became a bright and pulsing cloud of gold within the tube, writhing and swirling around the floating metal shape.

The black metal spun faster and faster as ribbons of thaumatic force erupted from both golden caps at the ends of the tube. The basement was flooded with yellow light as the twisting ribbons sought each other out. Suddenly, as Tumble finished the words, the ribbons grabbed each other and ballooned out, only to suddenly pull tight and shrink inward until they passed through the glass and settled inside the dark metal.

The unicorn glyphs on the sheet of paper burned with green fire, then dimmed, and faded entirely away. They were gone from the paper as if they had never existed.

The chalk sigil also burned green, and burst with tall, cold flames for a second, before vanishing. There was not even any residue. The basement floor showed no signs that anything had been drawn upon it.

The glow from the Bevelmeiter tube dimmed and settled to a soft, gentle, constant light. The black metal inside spun steadily.

"Wow." Peony had not been disappointed. The two fillies joined in. Clover was bouncing on her hooves and cheering. Jinx babbled about her observations of what had just happened, with speculations on how it all worked.

"SHHH!" Tumble had turned around and lifted a paw. "Ponies be quiet! Listen!"

From up the stairs came the sound of the large fans set into the ceilings of the rooms above. The Bevelmeiter tube was powering the house now, moving what needed to be moved, and generating cool air through thaumatic induction. In time, the tube would integrate with the house, with every door and window and cabinet. The old plantation house would come alive, after a fashion, not conscious, but strangely aware. Doors might open of their own accord ahead of those wishing to pass through them. Drawers would have their contents sorted in simple, but logical ways. Water would sometimes pump itself, should a glass be held in waiting.

"FINALLY!" Jinx and Clover galloped past their aunt and uncle and up the stairs.

Tumble dabbed at his dripping jowls and ears. His coat was drenched in sweat. "Tumble hot. Go up and lay down. Enjoy cool."

Peony walked to her husband and pressed her pink muzzle into his belly. She took a long sniff and exhaled in a happy sigh. "And melonade. I'm thirsty too."

"Like iced tea better. But melonade good too. We go upstairs and collapse. Wait for cool to fill house." Tumble bent down and held Peony's head in his enormous paws. "Peony pretty. Tumble keep."

This made Peony laugh. After a brief kiss - it was hot and humid in the basement - the two made their way upstairs.

When Tumble sprawled on the floor, Jinx and Clover decided to use his stomach and haunches as a pillow. They were too hot against his body, but he was too tired to care. Gradually, the fresh, new, delightfully cool air began to blow over them.

Frontpage watched the carriage pull away and continue on down the road that divided the southern Canterlot Mountains from the vast Everfree. The carriage was empty of passengers now, but still carried crates and packages bound for Ponyville and Canterlot City. As it shrank into the distance, he turned to look out over the forest.

The Everfree was supposed to be a scar on reality itself. The zone was the battleground where the princesses had defeated and imprisoned Discord more than a thousand years ago. The conflict had been so terrible that a permanent injury to the very structure of Equestria had been left; within the region, the normal laws of physics were bent, and sometimes no longer applied at all.

No pegasus could control the weather of the Everfree, like lost earth, the rains and winds came of their own. No unicorn could be certain of their control of thaumatic force within the place; at any time magic could fail, or result in unexpected events. Earthponies could not grow plants within the Everfree, they could not sense through the soil or feel the life of the land. But worst of all, were the monsters.

The latent chaos of the Everfree spawned impossible creatures, the thaumatically twisted plants sometimes altered and changed normal animals that entered. It was dangerous to eat or touch anything within the zone, and there were locations and spots that were risky even to look upon.

But within chaos was also all possibility. The strange and bizarre mutations of the Everfree produced more than horror - there were also wonders, and glories, and marvels greatly desirable. Fruits grew there that had been touched by chaos in delightful and positive ways, and medicines and cures grew side by side with perils and catastrophes.

The Everfree was a realm of contradictions, as befits a zone of chaos, where the most terrible terrors existed side by side with unutterable wonders. But there was a truth of the Everfree that nopony would dispute; the horrors far outnumbered the delights, and the wonders that had been found had often been paid for with blood and fear.

Frontpage turned from watching distant trees bend to the passing of some unseen, impossibly large thing, pushing its horrid way through ancient jungle. Crimson was shuddering, wide-eyed, staring out at the ocean of strange and twisted trees.

"It still chills me. Even now. Ninety-some years later." Crimson forced her eyes away from the forest, conquering her fear of displaying her backside to it. "Even the smell. Especially the smell."

"The smell?" Frontpage concentrated on his powerful pony senses, and sniffed the air. Green, sharp, pine-like notes rode high over low, muddy, swampy tones. A vague smell of rot brightened by distant, exotic flowers and spice. A faint wisp of unidentifiable animal-like musk. A hint of the scent of death, of dried blood, blended with the perfume of alien fruits.

"Nothing else smells like the Everfree, because nothing else is like it. Thankfully." Crimson began climbing the impossible length of wide, low, marble steps that switchbacked up the mountainside. "This is always the worst part of visiting my sister. Being so close to it."

Frontpage followed after, unable to find the same distaste as Crimson. He had found the scent of the Everfree intoxicating, filled with a sense of excitement, of mystery. The smell had not been entirely pleasant, but interesting things do not always need to be pleasing. The Everfree smelled like news to Frontpage, and that was the best smell ever.

The climb was long and would have been arduous to a unicorn, and avoided entirely by a pegasus. To the pair of earthponies it was trivial, and the half hour ascent was spent in constant motion. When they reached the crest, and the grounds of the institute, neither was the least out of breath.

Frontpage and Crimson trekked across a wide, circular dais balcony. It was of a single piece, created from conjured marble, in the style of Canterlot castle itself. The single, sweeping rail was golden, supported by curving, curlicue struts. Across the vast disk were spaced raised gardens filled with strange and unusual flowers. Frontpage's nose informed him that they must almost certainly be plantings taken from the Everfree below; his eyes confirmed this. As they passed one caged garden box, the sharp-toothed flowers behind the bars followed him, turning on their stalks, their centers drooling strange nectar.

Crimson seemed utterly indifferent to the wondrous and vaguely unsettling gardens. She trotted on directly to the entrance of the massive institute. "Come on, mister Frontpage, surely you've seen flowers before."

Frontpage leaped back as a bush covered with what had appeared to be round fruits suddenly opened its hundreds of eyes. "Not like these, Ms. Acres. Not ever... like these."

"I have no doubt that Plantain will take you on a tour. She's always eager for any publicity for her projects. Show any interest in bunnies, and she'll be your friend for life." Crimson stood at the huge, twin, metal banded doors and took the golden ring that served as a door grip in her mouth. "Umn on, less go inthide... OWWW! OWW! OWW!"

Frontpage galloped to the entrance door. Crimson was stomping erratically while still holding the large, circular door handle in her mouth. Something white and powdery was flaking down from within the divide between the two large doors every time they rattled. Crimson kept howling and stomping, shaking the massive doors.

"Let go!" Frontpage gaped at the scene, unable to comprehend.

"I HANT! HELK! OWWW! HELK EE! HELK! HOLD! ITH HOLD!" Crimson was beginning to panic now, tugging and pulling away from her own muzzle, her eyes rolling disturbingly. It was as if she were trying to rip her own mouth from her head!

"I don't understand! I..." Frontpage's sensitive pony nostrils caught the brittle touch of deep, penetrating cold air emanating from the double doors. The white flakes were ice crystals. More ice crystals were spreading from the corners of the doors, and outward from the center, coating the banding and covering the wood. He stared at the metal handles, at the golden ring that Crimson still held in her muzzle.

Crimson's mouth, her tongue and lips, were frozen to the ring. It must be agony, it was certainly terrifying to watch. Already her thrashing had caused her flesh to tear. Beads of blood were forming in and around her lips.

Frontpage had been a reporter for a long time. He was the first reporter to become a newfoal and report from Equestria. He had traveled between the universes, doing stories for both sides, right up to the week before Zero Point. On earth, as a tough little pony, he had covered riots in the favelas, and bloody coups in corporate halls. He had seen the aftermath of the Squamous New Mexico incident, where the Human Liberation Front had fallen. And he had been allowed to visit the McMurdo Arcology, where the elite of the elite found refuge from the heat and the smog.

There, he had seen the young son of one of the Good Families bullied into sticking his tongue to a metal flagpole, out in the Antarctic cold. It was away from all help, on a tour of the still partially-frozen landscape. The useless wealthy were paralyzed by the situation, and the father had screamed at his child to rip his own lips off. Because it was all an embarrassment.

But the driver, a lowly serf to the elite, knew what to do. He had saved the poor boy. And for it, he had been taken into irons by the Blackmesh, and likely, his services had been... terminated.

Survival is not for the squeamish. Survival takes total commitment.

The advancing frost was still expanding across the doors. In moments it would engulf the golden handles, and likely spread to Crimson. The speed at which it spread! It looked to Frontpage as if the twin doors were holding back an ocean of liquid nitrogen. Clouds of falling, drifting vapor streamed from the edges of the doors, and from between them now.

Crimson was screaming, a single ululating tone like a pony siren, wailing the essence of despair itself.

Frontpage turned, faced partially away, and raised his right rear leg. He braced his hoof on the door above Crimson's head, and felt a terrifying cold rush through his frog and into his pastern. Then Frontpage let loose, and pushed, squeezed inside himself with all of his might.

The initial stream missed the target, but with quick adjustment, he managed to hit the ring... and Crimson. The golden fluid steamed from the ring as if it were boiling water. It sent up a cloud of vapor which rose, and then fell to the ground. The cold continued to flow up his raised hindleg. Frontpage suddenly realized that he could no longer feel his hoof.

Twenty-one seconds. That is all he had in which to save Crimson Beauty from losing her jaw, lips and tongue. Whatever the size of creature, large or small, simple physics dictated that urination took an average of twenty-one seconds. This was as true in Equestria as it had been on Earth, and this fact circumscribed Frontpage's effort to use this most ancient, aboriginal trick to release frozen flesh.

He had missed initially, losing five to ten seconds of precious liquid heat. Would it be enough? The cold was unimaginable, unearthly, impossible.

Crimson, stunned by the situation, had stopped in mid-scream. Her mind was torn between agony and shock at a sudden turn of events that, to her, made no rational sense. She felt anger towards the reporter - how could this stallion DO such a THING? She was in trouble, she was in danger and he was... was... suddenly she realized that she was no longer stuck to the door. Her damaged lips slipped free of the metal handle, her tongue unglued from the golden ring.

Crimson found herself stumbling backwards, tripping in confusion and relief on her own hind legs. She fell, onto her tail bone, but did not even notice. Her mouth was agony, she could taste blood and ammonia, and her unimaginably sensitive pony nose was reporting hot news that she did not want to know.

"Help me! Crimson! I'm stuck! My leg is stuck!" Frontpage had discovered, to his horror, that he could not remove his limb from the metal banding of the door. Already ice was coating his hoof and creeping past his coronary band. Although his yellow journalism had saved Crimson Beauty, now he was in the icy grip of peril.

"Ooo thust theed on me!" In shock, Crimson still had no idea of how severe her injuries were. Blood from her torn lips and muzzle spattered as she tried to speak.

"Crimson!" Frontpage tried his best to focus his thoughts and suppress his rising panic. "I am in trouble!"

"Yoorin thruddle? Ook ath nee!" Crimson looked around herself, where she sat, unable to process the import of the tiny red spots everywhere.

Frontpage thought, hard. He couldn't pull away, and soon the meat of his leg would be frozen solid. Crimson's thrashing had disturbed or broken whatever layer of ice that had sealed the doors of the institute. Now some terrible cold was seeping through every crack and junction at a deadly speed. The expanding frost was sheeting the double doors - and his leg, and the process seemed to be accelerating. He needed to be broken free, to have the ice enshrouding his hoof and pastern shattered.

"Buck me!"

"Thame thoo yoo, yoo thassard! Yoo theed on nee! Yoo athully THEED on nee!" After more than ninety years in Equestria, it was a shock to hear any pony use earthly expletives. Crimson must be well beyond tolerances.

"No! Get up and kick me! Do it filly! KICK THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME YOU BITCH!" His words were calculated. She had shocked him... maybe he could shock her back. Force her to action before he lost his leg, and possibly his life.

Crimson Beauty stared. She had been raised as the child of the elite of the elite. Her servants had possessed servants, and her guards had been watched by other guards, who were observed in turn. Not once, in all of her life, on earth or in Equestria, had any peasant ever spoken to her in that manner. She was in pain, she was hurt, and that scabby little reporter had... he had... what he had done....

In an instant, drooling blood and spittle, Crimson was up and galloping towards the loathsome little filth stuck to the door. With all of her considerable earthpony might, she spun and roundhoused the little shit with her hindlegs. There was a loud CRACK as frost and ice exploded around him.

Frontpage spun away from the white, frosted double doors and crashed to the ground, crying with pain. He rolled slowly over, onto his side, then abruptly wrenched himself onto his other side to protect his broken ribs.

Frontpage cried like a foal, curled up, unable to move, staring through tears at his bent, broken hind leg.

Crimson Beauty advanced, with human-scaled violence in her eyes. She trembled with shock and rage.

Frontpage could not bear to move his body or his neck because of the pain from his leg and ribs. His large eyes rolled towards Crimson as he whispered, through agony-clenched teeth "...please..."

And then Crimson Beauty fell to the ground, mercifully unconscious.

4. What Your Problem Is

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

What Your Problem Is

Special thanks to my spouse Aedina for her assistance with historically accurate Elizabethan speech.

Frontpage's eyes opened just a crack. Through the narrow aperture, he could see a long, dark leg, the color of midnight blue, rising up into blurriness. The leg was close to his head, and in the corner of his limited view was a hint of silver, at the bottom.

It must be princess Luna. He was half-looking at one of her legs, and the tip of a silvern shoe.

When his eyes opened again, he only barely registered that he had nodded off. He could not have been out long, the leg was still there, within his half-lidded vision. It struck him, then, that he was not in pain, and that this was odd - because, by all rights, he really should have been.

He felt something strange in his leg, and in his chest. A sort of ghostly, ethereal squirming or flowing. Ah! His befuddled mind gradually had dredged up a memory. He was being worked on, healed, thaumatically. When he had returned to Earth, after spending several months reporting from Equestria, he had tried to get an interview with the leader of the PER. That had not gone well, and after a run-in with anti-pony activists halfway to meeting his subject, he had found himself in serious shape.

Fortunately, medical centers had begun installing native healers by that point, to cover the injuries of newfoals and natives staying on earth. He had been lucky; a fully trained medical unicorn was on staff, along with earthpony regenerative support. The feeling was familiar now. His ribs and leg were being restored.

Luna and... somepony... were talking, above him. She must be standing there, overlooking the situation. The other voice was very familiar. It wasn't an ordinary pony. Celestia. Both princesses were here, Celestia must be outside of his view.

Frontpage couldn't turn to look, he couldn't really move much besides his eyes. That was familiar too. For multiple or sufficiently serious injuries, it was common practice to put the patient into a form of sleep paralysis, to keep them still. It was a comfortable, safe, dreamlike place to be, and sleep called to him, strongly.

But Frontpage fought it, because his nose had smelled news. Both pony princesses, both diarchs, standing over him, or near him, right now. Both here, at this obscure institute for unloved monsters of the Everfree. The ice, the terrible frost. Something was going on, something that was worth a scoop. Or two scoops. Ice cream. Suddenly, Frontpage wanted ice cream very much.

He forced himself from the dream that had just begun to swallow him. He had started to be within a lovely park, with music all around, strange music, beautiful music, and there was ice cream. Luna was there, too, inside his dream, levitating ice cream to... thousands of bunnies. Little, white bunnies, as far as one could see, all lined up for ice cream and...

Luna and Celestia were talking. The curious itch of thaumatic reconstruction was strong inside his ribs. He could feel the bones knitting, and he half-wished he could scratch the inside of his body. Somehow. News. This was a story. Frontpage tried to listen, forcing his attention through the tiny slit of his barely-opened eyes.

"...vastness of their legions do exceed Our means to succor. Did I warn thee not, sweet sib? Already Our Realm doth swell to compass their tribe, an' hoofless are We to find the fit of them withall. This calamity hath brought Us too near the breech. What doth approach Us, upon Nature's just demise o' them - shall e'en now, this moment, seeme made to be as naught! When they expire in all their millions, how now, dear sis? What course shall We be laid to then? Shall We abort liberty unto them all and shackle them to Us, due subjects to Our Fate?"

Frontpage tried to move his ears to focus in on the voices better. It was difficult, it was tough just to remain awake.

"You must go through the ribbon. I would do it if I could, but it was always your domain. Adjustments must be made. I knew it would be necessary, that is why I have arranged the redemption of our brother. He has progressed far, and I... think he can be trusted for this. I did wish for more decades before this necessity..."

The second voice was definitely Celestia. It could be nopony else.

"It needs be met, an' without delay. This very day if canst, though afeared am I that the morrow is more the true meeting of it. Twenty-two hundred carry I, within mine owne keeping, and all are still within the hold. No sufficiency of space is there upon the deck for them - an to mark the dark unto the darkest yet - tis certain that a tempest brews upon Our very course."

Frontpage drifted off again, momentarily. This time his dream was different. The bunnies returned, but not in a park. They were all around, leaping and hopping all about Luna's dark leg, crossing his vision. He blinked. The bunnies vanished, but the view remained the same. Luna's leg and shoe. A hallucination! A dream superimposed upon his waking vision... how strange. He had missed some of what the princesses were saying...

"...to the wheelhouse and check the rudder. I can lower the sails, and steer, from the tree. I will search for a shallow to drop anchor if the sea turns against us. Go, Luna. Take your brother and chance the ribbon. It must be done."

"But once inside, sister, once inside He doth abide again, if aught should shake His equilibrium, if He do spy the bones...?"

"Equestria has been our home, though it has taken time. It is a good realm, and a healthy one. I trust our ponies, I trust our mutual creation. And I trust Discord." A short pause. "I truly do."

Frontpage, drifting within himself, wished he had his notebook. He yearned for his pencils. If only he could write this strangeness down!

"Upon the morrow, then. Take Thee the helm an' canvases. I shall tend me to the stores beyond the ribbon." There was a pause. "If thou doth anchor here, take goodly care. Already are We tax'd w'excess of a crew. No end of castaways an' shipwrecks are there here."

"Take care as well, Luna. And... avoid the bones, if you can. I trust our brother now, but..."

Frontpage had drunk in as much as he could of the exchange, but then the blackness hit him, and he heard the void calling. Spaced out on the sensation of being healed, he fell under the unicorn's sedation, but after what he had heard, the newspony in him somehow knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

Frontpage gradually awakened to the sound of a pony talking. The sound was faint, drifting in on the breeze through the window to his left. He could hear the sound of hooves on cobblestones, passing by, somewhere well below. He was in a bed. It was soft, and he was partially covered with a thin but very soft blanket. The daylight from the window was gentle, the light of a perfect morning. Frontpage let his eyes waver between half open and dreamy closed.

The voices from below came in faint whisps, carried on the breeze. "...I moved here with my daughter a few years ago, and it's just impossible to be bored. There's always... ... see or do. Plus, shopping, right?" Frontpage turned his ears to the window, idly trying to find a sweet spot to hear from. It was just his reporter's curiosity, always listening, always watching, always eager to find those W's, and maybe even the odd H.

"Sorry, just remembering something... Kind of spaced out!" The first voice was likely a mare around his own age. Somewhere in her early hundreds. "I do that sometimes." There was a sigh. "I understand completely." The second mare seemed younger, maybe in her seventies, even sixties. She seemed to run an outdoor store or stall. It was a marketplace, below. Frontpage was all but sure of that. Trying to figure out where he was by sound had become a game. Canterlot City. It had to be Canterlot because of the cobblestones, and the amount of hoof traffic. The stall-keeper had mentioned she could never be bored here. That would be another check in the box for Canterlot.

Frontpage listened closer, trying to be the essence of the investigative reporter. "Bonuses? ...I don't have anything else to give but mane-clips. That's what I make." Ah! The stall-keeper sold decorations for the manes and tails of ponies. Clips and barrettes and the like. The shopping mare seemed more eager to get a bargain, than actually interested in the product. Was she low on bits? Was she a local, or just visiting? What was the angle here, the real oats of the story?

The hairs on Frontpage's poll, just before where his mane started were standing up. He had been told it made him look surprised. What it meant for him was that something was odd. He was being watched. The feeling was palpable, and it came from his right, away from the window. Gently, he turned his head on the pillow and opened his eyes fully.

"Hello." It was Crimson Beauty. She was sitting on the floor by his bed. They were both in the Canterlot Hospital. Outside the doorway behind her, white-capped nurses trotted by, making their rounds.

Crimson looked down at her hooves, her ears flagging. "Hi."

"Been here long?" There was something about the way her body sat that made Frontpage think she had become settled in, that she had been there for quite some time.

"Yes. I have been..." Crimson's ears twitched slightly. "...watching over you. For a little while."

"Ah." The events of the previous day began to rush back. The steps up to the institute. The strange garden. The double doors. The... door.

Crimson sharply raised her head and neck, and looked Frontpage in the eyes. He could see her tremble slightly.

"Mister Frontpage. I apologize for nearly... for causing you so much... harm. I understand now that you were... making use of... available resources... to save my life. And my face. And... it has been made clear to me that I would have lost one, or both, had you not acted thus. I... I apologize." Her nod was curt and restrained, a proper and dignified head-bow of respect.

Frontpage wriggled slightly under his blanket. Nothing hurt, nothing was broken anymore. Crimson's muzzle was fully healed as well, though her mane was an unbrushed mess. Only reasonable, really. "I am sorry, too, Ms. Acres. I did the only thing I could think of to do... I also apologize for... my impoliteness... when I was stuck. On the door."

Crimson half smiled, and her ears perked up. "I was... not rational, and you needed assistance very much. Your entire leg was at stake, apparently. Possibly more. I do not believe it was a proper time to... mind your P's and Q's."

Frontpage gaped. Crimson simply sat, her gaze level, her ears tall. Her muzzle was tight. "Did you just..."

"Especially the first of those letters, I should think." Merriment danced in Crimson's eyes. "Considering."

Frontpage laughed, a hearty, relieved laugh that was joined by Crimson's giggles. "You are... remarkable, Ms. Acres. And I am remarking on that fact. You're all right? You seem alright."

"Call me Crimson. Too much formality, I think. I tend to retreat into it, as a defense. Especially when bad things..." Crimson's ears fell, drooping down like those of a hound dog. Her head lowered, sagging, as sobs forced their way up her throat.

"Ms Acres? Crimson?" Frontpage rolled from his bed and landed on the floor. Recovering himself, he put his forelegs around the weeping mare and found her pressing tightly into him.

"She's... she's gone. She's gone." The sobs turned to a rain of tears, and that to wracking, coughing grief.

Frontpage held Crimson tightly, until her storm passed, until the tears fell less and less, and sniffles replaced wails. "They couldn't... the princesses..."

"Nothing they could... would... do." Crimson pulled from Frontpage's embrace, and wiped her nose with a foreleg. "Not very dignified, am I?" She dabbed at her eyes, too, and her cheeks, as best she could.

Frontpage raised his own hoof, bent it, and used his fetlocks as an impromptu hankerchief, carefully, delicately sopping grief from her face. "They were both there. I saw them, when the medics were working on me. Both princesses. They came quickly, too, I think. We didn't lay there long, I'm pretty sure of that."

"Good thing, too. Apparently..." Crimson sniffed, then snorted. She swallowed tears. "...apparently I was... pretty hurt. We were terribly lucky, I guess."

"I wonder." Frontpage tapped at the floor with a forehoof.

"Mister Frontpage?"

"Just Frontpage. Crimson." Frontpage smiled. "Both princesses show up to rescue us, moments after we are injured. Coincidence? Or were they already in the neighborhood?"

"I don't understand... Frontpage."

Frontpage shifted, to put his weight on his flank, rescuing his tail. "Both royal sisters, at the corner of nowhere and the fearful forest, calling in unicorn medics and discussing strange things. Saving us within minutes. How does that happen?"

"Well, they are the princesses!" Crimson seemed shocked at the question. "The diarchs! For all intents they are..."

"Akin to the gods, yes." Frontpage looked out the door as a cart was wheeled past by a nurse. It seemed to contain lunch for several patients. "They have many deific attributes, true enough. Building the universe we are in, for one. Moving the sun and moon and stars. Their blood was the basis of ponification serum. But, they can't be everywhere, and they definitely don't know everything. One thing at a time, by every account. They aren't big multitaskers. So why were they focusing on the institute at the very moment we happened to be there?"

"Really?"

"Really what?" Frontpage turned back to look at Crimson.

"Their blood was potion? The princesses' actual blood?" Crimson seemed taken with a mixture of awe and uncertain revulsion.

"So I hear. Pure liquid magic flows through their immortal veins. They had to have used something. You use what you have."

Crimson laughed, despite her recent tears. "So... it would seem."

Frontpage started to grin, but caught himself. The mood was not truly light. Under the defensive banter was terrible loss. "Yes. So it would seem." His soft smile seemed to relax Crimson. She was trying to keep from being pulled under again. She was trying to keep from drowning in sadness.

"It can't be coincidence, Crimson. I don't find that easy to accept. So if it wasn't luck that we are alive, it must be that the princesses had business there already. They found us because they were on the premises." Suddenly, Frontpage gave his noggin a smack with a hoof. "Do we know what happened? What did happen there? Have you heard anything about any of it?"

Crimson stared at the wall. Her gaze was fierce, as if it could punch through the paint and burst through the construction itself. "My sister... Plantain... had started a colony. She wasn't supposed to use the institute that way. When her binding ring concept was rejected... she couldn't accept the judgement. I didn't know... she just turned the institute into a big bunny hutch. Hundreds, maybe thousands were in there. It was a bunny city, a Snow Bunny civilization! All crammed into a single building. Just packed... in there. To save them. From the Everfree."

"Something startled them." Frontpage's eyes widened. "Or even just one. Just one of them, right?"

Crimson nodded, tears forming again.

"It must have been like a frozen spark in an icy fireworks factory!!!" The moment he had said it, he knew he shouldn't have. And he was supposed to be the sensitive reporter.

In the many decades since the Inclusion of the spacetime that contained the earth, the newfoals - and their native Equestrian friends and sometimes family - increasingly demanded some means to bridge the unutterable distances within the new Exponential Lands.

Earth families, torn apart by distance and circumstance wished to be reunited. Citizens living within Equestria proper wanted access to those beyond the original boundaries of pre-Inclusion Equestria. Citizens living in the distant cities of the Exponentials needed access to the halls of Canterlot, and the ears of the court and the princesses. Something permanent had to be done.

The solution was a boon for those exceptionally talented unicorns denied a place on the prestigious - and exclusive - Royal Unicorn Corps. It was to that solution that Frontpage now galloped.

"Upon the morrow, then. Take Thee the helm an' canvases. I shall tend me to the stores beyond the ribbon." The princess of the night was going to take action during the day. That alone was unusual, but what drove Frontpage more was that whatever this mysterious action was, it concerned itself with what had happened at the Institute.

The way the princesses spoke, as they stood above him, had sent a chill through him. Something was wrong, something newsworthy, something big. Frontpage could smell it with his nose for news, and the scent was the strongest he had ever had. The loss of Crimson Acres' sister was a tragedy, and the loss of so many dangerous animals was of note, but the princesses had spoken as if the very world might be coming apart. And the rumors that Frontpage had heard and followed over the years had given him reason to consider that such an unthinkable thing might just be possible.

Scientists, on earth, had noted how so much of Equestria appeared to copy the earth. The similarities were too great to be coincidence, they claimed. The same stars - some of the time, at least - the same plants and animals... more or less. The animal and plant life of the pre-Collapse earth had been replicated with astonishing closeness in Equestria, even if it appeared as if seen through a funhouse mirror. It was as if Equestria had copied an imperfect image of an earlier earth, a picture drawn from a brief glimpse, or from a fading memory.

The Equestrians themselves were too perfect, and fit no evolutionary pattern. It was openly known that all life in Equestria had been created, brought into being by the will of the princesses. Yet every creature and plant resembled, closely, the evolved life of the earth. It was a paradox, a contradiction. If the princesses were creators of life, they had cribbed their design from the cheat sheet for earth.

But more than this, matter itself in Equestria, was wrong. Dweons, Equestrian atoms, were indivisible. They were unitary and singular, and had no physics beyond simply being, perfect and absolute. All complexity stopped with them, an absolute fundament upon which all reality was built. Tiny cubes that did not so much slip or move past each other as change to represent the appearance of movement and interaction. There was no empty space in Equestria, and according to one raving former physicist, even absence, vacuum, in Equestria, was merely another flavor of the indivisible, all-filling Dweons.

He had suggested that Equestria was a toy. And toys... could be broken.

Place Pointer The Knower Of Lands had once possessed the ambition to join the Royal Unicorn Corps. He had grown up hearing stories of Comet Tail The Intractable and Somnolence The Intrepid and especially Girandole The Opacous. Girandole was considered to be the best translocator that had ever lived. His specialty was teleportation, and no unicorn had ever been his equal.

As a colt, Place had discovered he too had a special talent. He could always determine exactly where any place he had ever visited was in relation to himself. The value of this curious ability was obvious, especially to any unicorn that could manage the difficult skill of teleportation. Long distance translocation was fraught with risk - a blue-sky jaunt could lead to tragedy, even disaster. Place had been sure that he would be instantly admitted to the Royal Corps upon his graduation day.

Place was talented. He was educated. He could teleport, and he could do so at almost unthinkable distance. He was invaluable.

But he had not been connected.

The one distance that Place Pointer The Knower Of Lands could not span was the vast gulf between social circles. Politics had been the ruin of his ambition.

Inclusion, the Newfoals, had changed his life. There was a need, a desperate need, for reliable, long-distance translocation of goods and citizens. The Royal Corps were disinterested and unmotivated to help. Place Pointer filled that need.

Pointer Relocation was now a thriving and vital business, with terminals in all major and most minor cities and towns. Place had personally selected and trained hundreds of exceptionally talented unicorns in his own, unique methods, and thus trade between the Exponential Lands and Central Equestria was commonplace - and vital.

The newfoals, with their human cleverness, had invented things no pony could dream of. And near the end, as the Barrier learned how to convert earthly matter with greater and greater accuracy, the remnants of extinct fruits and animals had been brought back from the grave, restored to life as Equestrianized versions of themselves. Breadfruit and mangoes, Stinky durian and pastel-fleshed dragonfruit, horned melon and cherimoya now graced the tables of the Canterlot court. Place Pointer grew wealthy, and known, and important, and soon cared not at all for the pathetic Royal Corps.

Frontpage scrambled around the corner of Bosal and Manege, his hooves skittering on the cobblestones. It was not yet noon, not for some time, and while it was not early morning, there was still a chance. He slid into Bosal Terminal and threw bits on the countertop. "Transport to West Ponyville! When's the next translocation?"

The bored earthpony behind the counter wore a Pointer's Relocations uniform. His name tag read 'Stack'. His cutie mark was a pile of boxes, three of them, arranged carefully on top of each other. There was probably a story behind how he had gotten stuck working a counter instead of a warehouse, but that was the sort of thing Puffpiece would write. Frontpage was all about the big scoops.

"Ah... next one for Ponyville is... uh... ten? It's North Ponyville, though. Next East is at... fourteen-fifty."

The Equestrian day averaged thirty to thirty six hours, generally. It wasn't exact, it didn't need to be, and the princesses defined what a day was in any case. Noon was generally around fifteen to fifteen-fifty, more or less. "I'll take the ten o'clock to North Ponyville and catch a sky carriage. Please."

Ponyville had grown over the last near century. It had grown very large, greater than Canterlot City and Manehattan combined. It had been the closest town to the capital. Now that Equestria had become a truly massive empire, the planned, walled, limited space of Canterlot City, high on the impossibly steep mountainside, was vastly insufficient. Ponyville had transformed into a megalopolis, to serve the needs of petitioners and visitors from the farthest known reaches of newfoal-dominated Equestria.

"You'll need to run. It's almost ten now." The bored pony counted bits and slid out a token.

"Swirl!" Frontpage snagged the token. "Thanth!"

Stack tried to say 'you're welcome' but all he saw was the rear end and tail of a reporter dashing away.

Frontpage dropped his token in the special jar and entered the small corral. He tried, as politely as possible, to cram himself into the crowd of ponies, diamond dogs, as well as crates and market wagons that filled the circular space. Under his hooves was a solid mass of thaumatic stone, covered with glyphs and sigils. Pointer's Relocations had made a science out of the art of teleportation, after enlisting the help of a cadre of newfoal former physicists and researchers. The newfoals had used the methodology that had worked on earth to the magic of Equestria and nailed down the most efficient and easily replicable means to teleport without error or much effort. Translocation was commonplace now. Newfoals had changed Equestria forever.

"Sorry!" Frontpage had bumped into an elderly mare trying to manage a stack of packages on her back. His reporter's eyes suggested she was native, had been visiting Canterlot to shop, and had found - from the look of things - quite a few bargains. To his left arrived a large stallion, dressed in what looked like a Bureau-era Green-Level jumpsuit... only cut and stitched to fit a pony. He wore an identification badge for something called 'Tacksworn Draconics'. Frontpage backed up, trying to give the big stallion room to fit within the corral.

"Hey! Watch it!" The mare he had backed into apparently did not like a face-full of reporter rump.

The voice sounded familiar.

Frontpage couldn't turn around, it was too crowded. But he could turn his long, muscular neck to look behind him, over his own tail. "You!"

"You!" Crimson Beauty was surprised. "What the muffin are you doing here?"

"I left you to recover! You were horribly injured!"

"So were you!"

"I'm fine!"

"I'm fine too!"

Frontpage tried to turn around anyway, but he couldn't. Several objections and three dirty looks assured him of that fact. He was barely aware of his mane starting to float up, along with the manes and tails of everypony else. "Why are you here?"

"Why are YOU here?" Crimson gave him the eye. Impertinent newsie.

"I... I asked you first!" Strange muffin mare. She lost her sister! She should be weeping, or going to grief counseling, not jaunting off to North Ponyville! Ponies didn't take losing family well. It tended to break them for a while. Equestrians were such sensitive folk. Fragile. Emotional. Hmm... that's right... she was a newfoal. But still!

"You know what your problem is?"

Frontpage never found out, because at that moment Canterlot vanished, replaced by a silent, inky blackness illuminated only by the glow at his hooves. There was no air, or sense of weight, and he felt the saliva within his open mouth begin to boil.

5. The Everfree Lies

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

The Everfree Lies

"You'd think I'd get used to teleporting. But I haven't. It's convenient, don't get me wrong - but that moment, inbetween, e-e-e-e-uhhgh." Crimson shared the back seat of a high-flying pegasus carriage with Frontpage. Both, it had turned out, were heading to East Ponyville. Far below them, the vast megalopolis flowed past, busy with ponies, colorful and active as all large and vital cities are.

"I actually kind of like the tingle. On your tongue. It's fizzy, like drinking soda pop." Frontpage watched a tall, neo-Tudor styled building go by. Ponyville now had twenty-story towers. The influence of earth culture and design was everywhere, tempered by native sensibilities. There were tall buildings, but they were lovely to look at, almost rustic, every one of them. There had been space made for gardens and parks as often as for buildings, and in some cases, more. Ponyville was a megalopolis, but it was a fairytale megalopolis, with room for goats and pigs and dogs and cows.

Many of the buildings were draped with green, with gardens on the roofs and intensive, compact balcony farms and orchards. This was a remnant of the last days of many earth cities, where freshly-minted newfoals worked to turn concrete and skyscrapers into vertical rural villages. The style had been deemed attractive and fun, and had been recreated within Equestria.

"You like that?" Crimson was incredulous. "That's your tongue boiling, you know. I had somepony explain it to me. And all the air rushing out, it always leaves my throat a little raw!" She sipped her mint tea. They had stopped at a Starcolts before heading to the carriages.

"Actually... there is one thing I do like about teleporting." Crimson took another sip.

"What? You've already mentioned that its convenient." Frontpage had already finished his double pumpkinchino.

"That part, at the beginning, when you rise up? When there's no weight? That's fun." Crimson crunched ice in her muzzle.

"Yeah... yeah. I like that too. It's like floating. It is floating. Well, well, we agree on something at last!" Frontpage had very mixed feelings about Ms. Crimson Beauty Acres. She was easy on the eyes, no denying that. But she was contrary, frustrating, and she clearly had a temper. Despite nearly a century in Equestria, there was still some remnant of the superiority of the earthly elite in her. But she also traveled well, she wasn't wrecked by tragedy, and she was smart.

Frontpage tallied her up and decided that one way or the other they would be bucking each other for sure. Either in the face, with a hard-edged hoof, or in the sack. And the onion-bagel part of it all was that he wasn't sure which he'd prefer.

"Okay, enough pleasantries. It can't be a coincidence you're going to East Ponyville. You heard them talking too, correct?" Frontpage had been playing gentlecolt because Crimson seemed to be avoiding the issue at hoof. They were in the air, they were both earthponies, there was no place to run now.

Crimson stared at the Starcolt's jar between her hooves. The canning-style jars had been intended to be returnable, but they had become popular collectors items. A lot of ponies had entire glassware collections entirely made up of the beautiful jars. "Yes. And the only ribbon I know of is the East Ponyville Forest Gate."

As Ponyville grew in size, its proximity to the dangers of the Everfree became increasingly an issue. A tall marble wall had been installed to protect the citizens of the growing city. The enchanted stone wall stretched entirely around the portion of the forest that bordered the megalopolis of Ponyville. The wall was many thousands of hooves in length.

There were gates. One allowed travel on the road that passed by the institute, and which curved around the southern tip of Canterlot Mountain. Another, the East Gate, permitted access to the forest itself, specifically the road that led past the Zecora Foundation and on to the Castle Restriction Zone.

"You figure she's going to the old castle. The Zone. That's where the Tree Of Harmony is, and that's the oldest thing in Equestria. That's my thinking too. How much did you hear?"

Crimson swirled her mint tea around. "There was something about... running out of room, almost. It was difficult to follow princess Luna's speech. I was drifting in and out. 'Adjustments had to be made', I remember that. There was a lot of nautical references - sails, I believe, and... and a rudder. I remember a rudder. Maybe a wheel. Like one would find upon a sailing yacht." Crimson took a sip and swallowed. The vacuum during the translocation had felt especially irritating this trip. It was only for a split second, the blink of an eye, but it never failed to leave her with a sore throat.

Frontpage nodded. "You get the part about bones? And Discord?"

"Bones?" Crimson shook her head.

"There was some fuss kicked up about bones. They seemed worried that Discord would see some bones, somehow. Luna didn't trust the guy, Celestia was vouching for him. And she called him their brother. Whaddya make of that?"

"Well, I'll be! That I did not hear. I must have fallen asleep before that." Crimson finished off her tea. "Bones? Perhaps... perhaps the princesses' parents are buried in the old castle?"

"Do immortals even have parents? Wouldn't the parents of immortals be immortal themselves? Maybe they don't mean actual bones..." Frontpage watched another carriage fly past them, going the opposite direction. It seemed to be filled with schoolponies and what must be their teacher. That or a really boisterous family reunion.

"What do you mean?"

"Dice were called bones, long ago. On earth, anyway. Discord is into randomness, right? In my life in Equestria, I've learned not to take things at face value even more than I did on earth. Cobbler... maybe all of those boat terms have other meanings too! Canvas... you can 'canvas' a neighborhood, and canvases were used for painting on. 'Drop Anchor' though, that seems pretty boat-y... although it could just mean to stop and wait, couldn't it? The whole thing could have been code words or goddess-jargon. And what's with all the boat stuff anyway? This is flat, inland terrain. No ocean anywhere nearby." Frontpage scratched his muzzle with a forehoof.

"Lakes? There are lakes all over. They are not large, but there are many of them." Crimson carefully put her jar into her traveling saddlebags.

"Any big enough to sail on? Big enough to be worth a sailship?"

"Sailboat. A ship has three or more masts, and can carry boats upon it. And no, none of the lakes are large enough for more than a skiff, and not many of those." Crimson noted the Transequestria Pyramid pass by, as well as the Chateau Equenac.

Frontpage involuntarily ducked as a constellation of pegasai tore through the air just above the carriage. "Tartelette! I wish they wouldn't do that!" He shouted after them "HEY! EARTHPONIES DOWN HERE!" The constellation was already shrinking into the distance. "Up here. Whatever. Wings. They think they own the sky!"

Crimson giggled. "They rather sort of do."

East Ponyville was the oldest part of the vast city, and had several historical landmarks. Friendship Rainbow Castle, of course, now tiny and easily missed amidst the towering Tudor skycrapers. The original Pie's. There was a Pie's store in almost every major town - and some minor ones too - the one-stop shop for pretty much anything fun. 'Toys, games, party supplies, come and get it, it's at Pies!'

Before heading to the East Gate, Frontpage made a point to stop at Showers Bowers. These malls were a newfoal creation. The ponies had never considered the concept of indoor malls before. They were Nature in their universe. Rain and snow could be scheduled precisely. Ponies weren't terribly materialistic; they certainly weren't mass consumers.

Well, until the newfoals came.

Now, large indoor malls were a thing, and Showers Bowers was the biggest chain of malls in Equestria. The audacious notion had made Showers himself the first newfoal self-made millionaire. Frontpage galloped through the mall until he found a store devoted to camping and trotting supplies. He bought canteens for himself and Crimson and a supply of Cast-And-Eat magical self-cooking meals. He also bought a Canterlot Compass, that always pointed to Canterlot Castle - the only analogue to a polar locus in the Equestrian cosmos.

"Golden was part of my sister's show. Originally. At the beginning." Crimson waited, patiently, while Frontpage stocked up. "He had a butler... who was part of the show too. Plantain said that... that..."

Frontpage turned and touched his poll to Crimson's lowered head. "We'll find out what happened. My story and your story are the same chase."

Crimson pulled back and there was anger in her voice. "I am not chasing a story! I intend to get my sister back."

Frontpage just stared. "What?" His mind whirred, reporter gears clicking. This was why Crimson Beauty Acres wasn't bawling all over the place over the death of her sister? The mare must be half crazy with grief, the calmness was an act. Even if Equestria had some afterlife, as was supposed to be the case - nopony ever came back. There was no pony Jesus, Lemminkäinen, Ganesha or Jean Grey in Equestria. At least that anypony he had ever talked to knew about. Afterlife or no, dead was dead in Equestria.

"Don't look at me like that! I told you that my sister was shown proof that death is not the end in Equestria. By princess Luna no less! That's what your story is about, isn't it? What, now you don't believe me?"

Frontpage mentally bucked himself. He could only imagine what his expression must have been. "Actually, I'm after the reason both diarchs have such an interest in an institute for monsters. That's the story I'm chasing." Crimson was still disgruntled. "I found what you told me about your sister's experience interesting. Of course I found it interesting. But it isn't newsworthy."

"Newsworthy?" Crimson's tail lashed at a selection of rugged hoof shoes for mountain climbing. One fell off the box it was displayed on. "Factual evidence of an Equestrian afterlife is not worth a byline in the Canterlot Querier?"

"Not factual. It's hearsay. Second hand hearsay. Your sister goes to Luna's tower, it's dark, she hears splashes and weird noises, and she figures it's her dead bunny pal come to say goodbye. Fantastic. What can I investigate, really? What is the proof of anything with that?"

Crimson drew herself up, ears high. "My word. My sister's integrity."

Frontpage stared again. "I'm sure your sister is a wonderful mare... was a wonderful mare. But I don't know her, and I never interviewed her myself." Noting the expression, Frontpage sighed. "I believe you heard that story. I don't doubt you having heard that story one bit. You are telling me pure-as-melon truth, telling me your sister's story. But that's what it is, from where I stand. A story. It's a wonderful story. But there's simply nowhere to go with that kind of stuff."

"Yes there is. Princess Luna. You could interview her directly and that would be all the proof you need."

Frontpage's eyes were starting to sting from repeated bursts of staring and bugging out. Ow. This conversation was hard on the eyes. "Interview the princess, the royal princess of the Tarte Tatin NIGHT, about... Equestrian heaven? Or whatever it is?" Frontpage shook his head. "Hello, Luna! Just wanted to ask, on the record, natch - can I get the scoop on what happens after we take a dirt nap? Equestrian readers want to know!"

"Yes, precisely."

"Crimson... don't you think that if the princesses - hallowed be their hooves - thought we should know this stuff it would be taught in kindergarten? I mean, death. The long snooze. Pale mare. The big one being bitten - it's a non-trivial issue, don'tcha think? Big deal. Lots of grief and wailing. That should be Lesson Two, right after 'suck the nipples kids, cause' that's where the milk comes from!'"

"You are a very rude stallion, mister Frontpage!" Crimson's ears were flat again, and her pose was somewhere between 'let's gallop very fast' and 'how rapidly can I turn and use my hindlegs as a cosmetic surgery tool?'. Gradually, controlling her breathing, Crimson Acres regained her composure. It was fascinating to watch. Frontpage found himself seriously impressed. Within seconds, the mare appeared as if she had just enjoyed a lovely sip of tea. "That said, Frontpage, I stand by my statement. I certainly intend to ask our nocturnal princess just that. And then I will ask her to restore my sister to this world."

Frontpage sat down in the aisle, next to the display containing the Canterlot Compasses. "Alright. Let's roll with that. Let's say we get to Luna. I ask her about the institute, and you ask about ghosts and spooks. Let's say spooks are real. What, your sister's body just sits up because you ask nicely? Certainly that's never been tried before!"

"I find you..." The real word in her mind was 'detestable' but she had been raised better than that. "...lacking in imagination, mister Frontpage. You interviewed some of my companions, did you not? You said our story was your first job at the Querier."

"It was my first job there, yeah. But I didn't interview anypony. I did layout and copy checking, that sort of thing. I re-wrote some bad work by the reporters that did the interviews. I didn't get my first hoof-in-the-door until..."

"Then you know the princesses can construct bodies out of magic! Out of thin air, mister Frontpage. One of our group died. My dear Morning Star. She was quite deceased, I assure you, yet the princesses brought her back and made her an entirely new body. For all I know, her petrified original body still exists somewhere, perhaps in some garden far away."

Frontpage looked startled. He ran a hoof through his mane, nearly knocking his fedora off. "That really happened? I dropped that bit from the story. I figured the reporter was hopped up on salt or something."

"Lime Sherbet told us all about it. She is Princess Luna's mare in waiting, and the head maid of all of Canterlot Castle. She saw the princesses do it, they worked for an entire day upon the task. Morning Star also told me her side of it. She had been informed that she was indeed expired, and that a new body needed to be created for her to inhabit." Crimson relaxed. "That is why I know my sister can be restored. For all we know this has been done many times in Equestrian history, and it is simply not a matter worth great fuss or consideration."

Frontpage began to feel his eyes bulge for the fourth time, but worked to corral them within his skull. He swallowed. "Fine. I'm okay with this. You have made it clear you intend to follow the same lead as me, we're just working on different stories. Two reporters, with two different assignments, on the same case. Partners, even. All I ask is that you let me get my interview first. Please."

"Why? Why should you go first if we are both playing the part of reporters here?" Crimson bent and replaced the fallen hoof shoe she had knocked over.

"Because I am from the Canterlot Querier, and you are from the 'Koo-Koo Cloud Gazette'. It's a matter of professional courtesy."

Crimson did not even flinch. "I repeat. You are a very rude stallion."

Frontpage stood, studying the East Ponyville Forest Gate. The large curve of marble that made up the containing wall was breached by a curving, peaked, gated arch. The arch was bracketed with two bas-relief pillars sculpted from the material of the wall itself.

Above the pillars, also sculpted in bas-relief, was a huge marble ribbon, carved so as to appear soft as it draped across the top of the arch. In all three pony scripts it stated the same message.

The Everfree Lies Beyond

"Heh." Frontpage smirked. "It certainly does." His following laugh was bitter.

"Frontpage?" Crimson studied the letters, unsure why the reporter had laughed.

"It lies. The Everfree. Not lays, not lays there. It lies. It looks like a forest. It smells like... well, use your nose. It pretends to be a green stand of trees and swamps and paths and meadows. But it is none of those things. It lies, certainly, and also, like the abominations within it, it lies in wait."

Crimson stared through the barred, metal gates at the dark, odd greenery beyond. "In wait for what?"

"For us, Ms. Acres. For us." Frontpage began rummaging through his saddlebags. "Mmf in here fumfhwhere... Ah!" In Frontpage's mouth was a wallet, spread open between his teeth. Inside was a small parchment with tiny grainscript letters written upon it. It had a seal affixed, with a short ribbon. "Itf a pfass. Getfs me in fust afout anyfwhere."

Crimson looked up at Frontpage's hat. The fedora was graced with a press pass, clearly visible, stuck tightly into the band. It rose up like a little flag. "Isn't that enough?" She nodded at the pass in his hat.

Frontpage tucked the wallet into the hind strap of his saddlebags to make talking easier. "That tells everypony I am a reporter, and it gets me in most places. The court, even the castle. I can visit the princesses without an appointment... if the reason is good enough." Frontpage closed his saddlebags, taking care not to knock loose the wallet. "The other pass is special. I earned it after a story I did exposing the members of the court and the Unicorn Corps that were behind that scandal with the newfoals being abandoned out in the Exponentials."

"Oh! I... I heard about that! Long after the fact, of course. It was... it shocked me that it was even possible! Native Equestrians? Who could have thought..." Crimson's ears bent slightly.

"They're not perfect. Come on. They're close, I'll go that far, at least compared to how humans were back when. But even the kindest, most loving creature can get scared, Crimson. That is why they did what they did. They had power, they felt the princess had made a mistake, they were terrified, and... they reacted badly."

Crimson's ears went flat. "Badly? They reacted badly? Dozens, perhaps hundreds of ponies died, horribly, out in those wastes! I still can't come to terms with it having happened at all!"

"They didn't know. They honestly thought that the ponies - newfoal ponies, human monsters to them - would thrive out there." Frontpage turned to look directly at Crimson. "Think about it - all those frightened court ponies and their minions had heard about humans was that they were the apex predators of their world. The ultimate survivors, the conquerors of Nature and each other. Humans were like super-dragons to them - scary, all powerful, ruthless, invulnerable. They believed we were super-monsters. That's enough to frighten anypony."

"You sound like you're defending them!" Crimson's ears were now flat to her skull and trying to press in even deeper.

"No!" Frontpage scowled. "Certainly not! But I interviewed them. Many of them. And they weren't bad sorts, most of 'em, just terrified. They'd had to deal with Celestia's other refugees before - griffons, dragons... you know that griffons used to eat ponies sometimes, right? Dragons too. The Pax Equestria, all that history, you've got to have heard about all of that!"

"Of course, mister Frontpage. I am not uneducated. I took classes at university, once I was settled. I dare say I might know more about Equestrian history than most natives!" Crimson's ears were rising up again, but they were not yet up to half mast.

"Humanity ate everything. On the planet. That they could. Then they poisoned the planet. And blew up a lot of it, and each other. You ever met a dragon, a big one?"

"I... have. Once. I went with my sister...." Crimson's ears plummeted briefly. "She met all sorts during her performing career and..."

"Scary, right? Big and scaled, all teeth and there's that feeling, that sense you get around them, like you were dinner, like you are only a snack and not a pony at all. Like you are nothing. You felt that, right?"

Crimson nodded.

"Imagine a dragon going up against humans, in their prime. All their technology. On earth. A thousand dragons. ALL the dragons! Who would win? Which creature would eat the other - which of those two would win in a fight?"

Crimson's ears sagged sideways. "Your point is taken, Frontpage."

"Bagel right!" Frontpage began walking towards the guardhouse near the stone ribbon gate. "A lot of ponies forget. Us newfoals are pretty integrated now, and most natives think we're okay. Probably all, after all this time. But I don't forget, because I am a newfoal. I lived on earth, and not in some Antarctic gilded cage - I walked the streets, I saw the real world. If it hadn't been for that Barrier, and magic being so deadly, Equestria'd be one big strip mine now. Or an amusement park." He thought for a moment. "Or a larder."

"But the princesses!"

Frontpage stopped and stared into Crimson's ruby eyes. "The princesses got weaker the further they got from that Barrier. Celestia never even visited the other side of the globe until the barrier was half-way to Zero Point. They're gods here. Goddesses. But on earth..."

"Do you really think that humans could have hurt the princesses?" The idea had never crossed Crimson's mind.

Frontpage resumed his progress. "You don't hide from what you don't fear."

The guards at the East Ponyville Forest Gate were duly impressed with Frontpage's special pass. He vouched for Crimson as his partner, though she did frown at his reiteration of her having a position with the fictional 'Koo-Koo Cloud Gazette'. Crimson played along though, even expanding on the falsehood. She claimed she was investigating invasive magical skunk cabbages that could assume pony form. The only way to tell them from real ponies was that they were rude, barely sapient, callous, and completely lacking in class. Apparently they also smelled bad and had poor hygiene. And even worse than all of that...

Frontpage got Crimson away from the guard ponies at the gate and they spent a very uneventful several hours trotting down the graded road. The Zecora Foundation had attracted students of the biological effects of chaos magic, and the new, graded roadbed provided relatively safe travel to it. The sides of the road had screens that prevented forest... things... from easily entering the roadway. But the protection stopped, abruptly, just after the Foundation.

In front of Crimson and Frontpage, a large, remarkably earthlike chain-link fence crossed the road. Just beyond that, the road itself ended and became a narrow path. Several signs made it very clear that the Castle Restriction Zone was, not to put too fine a point on things, restricted. No pony permitted past this point. Go Back. Trespassing within the castle of the royal pony sisters was a Class Banana offense.

Frontpage shook his head. Only in Equestria would law enforcement be represented with a fruit-based punishment system.

"It really is the only 'ribbon' I can think of!" Crimson was still concerned with what the gate guards had claimed. Princess Luna had not passed through their gate at all. Not within memory, at least.

Frontpage had pointed out the many alternatives - the princess could fly, certainly. Why bother with a gate, if one can simply fly over it? She could teleport, better than any unicorn, better even than the founder of Pointer's Relocations. Better than Girandole The Opacous. She could have simply teleported.

"But why even mention the ribbon? Why bother? If any of this was actually the case, wouldn't they have spoken about the destination, instead? Why mention a path one is never going to actually trod?" Crimson had shaken her head. "It doesn't make sense!"

"You know what does make sense?" Frontpage didn't want to fuss, he wanted to get going. "That ancient castle. Seriously, what else is there? There's Canterlot, and then there's what? The Tree Of Harmony? Okay, that's by the castle. The oldest thing in Equestria? Castle. Only likely place that anything relevant might be hidden away? Castle again. Oh! And what's nearest to your sister's institute? It's on the tip of my tongue... starts with a 'C'... like a fortress, only bigger... come on, help me out here..."

"Fine. We shall go to the castle."

That was the problem with non-newsies, Frontpage thought. Always overthinking things. You can't get into proper trouble if you're busy thinking things through. You gotta jump in, take a few lumps, maybe lose some hide to get the good stories. Thinking is for when you are back, recovering, typing up a marmalade dropper that makes your byline a household word. Thinking and rueing. But famous.

"It's forbidden to enter." The fence and the warning signs were fairly clear. More than clear. Crimson was stating the Very Obvious.

"Eh... I got my special pass, remember? Signed by Celestia herself. Got us this far, right?" Frontpage began to walk to the side, where a gap could allow a pony to squeeze by and go around the barrier.

"I did not say I wasn't game, mister Frontpage, merely that you should consider taking extra care." Crimson was already beyond the barrier when Frontpage arrived.

"How... where?"

"There is a gate. Unlocked, of course, though it was latched higher than a filly could reach. Equestrians have little use for locks, since they almost universally obey any rule." Crimson's tail swept about as she adjusted the balance of her overfilled saddlebags.

"I don't think that's so universal any more." Frontpage followed after Crimson, who was already starting down the pathway through the nightmare forest.

"In what way?" Crimson had stopped, regarding a strange, curling plant that had nearly crossed the path. It had twisting, writhing spiral tendrils and purple leaves with pulsing orange spots. She found a length of stick on the ground and gave the plant a jab, it did not react or move beyond its slow squirming.

"Us. Newfoals. We outnumber natives by something like thirty-thousand to one. And we sure aren't obeying those signs back there." Frontpage considered pushing past the tall foliage that walled the path, but thought better of it. Crimson was being sensible taking her time. It was just frustrating. He would be doing the same thing, if he had been in front.

"Remember all the fuss made about how 'Equestria was invading the earth'? As if the princesses were waging some bizarre military campaign?" Satisfied that the plant was not dangerous, and that touching it would probably not cause some unwanted magical effect, Crimson pushed through the purple and orange and on down the path.

"Yeah. That was a big plank in the HLF platform."

"Well..." Crimson navigated a stream that had decided to exist across where the path had once been. "It strikes me as a very strange invasion plan when the 'enemy' is allowed to freely occupy your home base in vastly greater numbers than your own forces."

Frontpage laughed. "Yeah! Sounds almost more like a rescue or something. Don't talk crazy there Crimson, you'll have the entire Human Liberation Front yanking our hate cards. We'll have to hate all alone, sobbing in our basements."

This made Crimson laugh. "And eating ice cream from large, generic containers. 'Forever Alone'. That was the old meme, was it not?"

"Heh. Yeah." Frontpage carefully avoided the strange looking mushrooms that Crimson indicated to him. There was something about them that was hard to look at. Literally - Frontpage's eyes just did not want to focus correctly when he tried to gaze at the fungi directly. "I interviewed a former HLF that got splashed by the PER. Happy little guy. He said he felt like a manticore had been lifted off of his back. He couldn't imagine why he had been so opposed to ponification. He told me the oddest thing."

Large pink boulders had grown up, sometime fairly recently, through the path. Some possessed curious crystals embedded within them. Crimson and Frontpage regarded the stones carefully, then, after tossing a few pebbles, decided they were safe to clamber on.

"What? What did the happy HLF pony say?" Crimson caught herself after her hoof slipped. "Former HLF. Obviously."

Frontpage took care descending the odd rocks. Finally, back on the path, he trailed after Crimson once again. "He told me he thought he was so anti-pony because he didn't feel worthy. He felt he didn't deserve Equestria. It made him hate it. And ponies too."

The path was lined now with what appeared to be bushes covered in snakes of lightning. The jagged, shining worms slowly crawled and slithered around the otherwise ordinary looking branches. They did not look entirely material.

"What do you think, Frontpage?"

"Stick to the center of the path, don't touch, and move slowly. No sudden reactions. Whatever this is, it doesn't seem interested in us."

The two ponies navigated the path very cautiously, keeping to the middle, avoiding any contact with the buzzing lightning snakes. Eventually they had passed the bushes and found, to their relief, that the path was wider and that they could walk beside each other.

"I think it's getting worse."

"What's getting worse, Crimson?"

"The Everfree."

"You think the Everfree is getting... how is it getting worse?"

"Well, when I was here as a filly, with my friends and my sister, it did not look like what we have just passed through. It just looked like a forest - a normal forest. Oh, there were some unusual plants - barking trees and such, but nothing like pink rocks or snakes made out of lightning. Most of what I saw of the Everfree could have been any forest back on earth, before the Collapse. But not now..."

Frontpage followed Crimson's gaze.

The path was entirely blocked by numberless gigantic mushroom-like entities. Each stood taller than a pony, with a dome-shaped cap. At the bottom of the stem were short, blunt, rootlike protrusions that gave the impression that the enormous fungus could crawl about, albeit slowly.

The caps of the possibly ambulatory mushooms were covered in numerous large sphincters, each slightly wider than a hoof. The apertures were closed, the flesh of the fungus forming an iris-like door to each.

The bases were a sickly yellow green that faded into a pale, ghastly violet spotting on the caps. There were dozens of the gargantuan fungi, dozens of dozens, stretching as if on parade, down the entirety of the pathway, as far as either pony could see.

Crimson started to say something, but Frontpage put a hoof gently to his mouth and she fell silent.

One of the fungi shifted slightly, it's tiny stumps moving like clumsy and slow spider legs.

Crimson looked at Frontpage with puzzled eyes. She could tell there was danger, she was uneasy, but it was clear she had no idea what they faced.

Frontpage slowly, carefully placed his muzzle close to her ear. As softly as he could manage, he whispered a single name.

"Shriekers."

6. [14 pcs Prehistoric Animals]

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

[14 pcs Prehistoric Animals]

“There once was an unknown company in Hong Kong that made a bag of weird animal-things that were then sold in what once were called dime stores or variety stores for like $.99. I know of four other very early monsters based on them. Gary and I talked about how hard it was to find monster figures, and how one day he came upon this bag of weird beasts…He nearly ran home, eager as a kid to get home and open his baseball cards. Then he proceeded to invent the carrion crawler, umber hulk, rust monster and purple worm, all based on those silly plastic figures. The one that I chose was known in the Greyhawk campaign as “the bullet” (for it’s shape) but had only amorphous stats and abilities, not being developed. Gary told me to take it home, study it, and decide what it was and what it could do.” - Tim Kask, play-tester for D&D, first editor of Dragon magazine, 1970.

"Shriekers? What's a shrieker?" Crimson whispered back, her muzzle to Frontpage's ear. They sat still, careful to neither move too much nor make any noise. The rows and rows of tall, stump-legged giant mushrooms filled the wide pathway. Only occasionally did one shift itself, or tip its massive cap to find a better balance.

"They're a semi-sentient fungus. Not intelligent, just aware of their surroundings." Frontpage stared at the monstrous mushrooms. The word 'impossible' kept circling through his stunned mind. "They're harmless. They mostly stand still, occasionally they shamble about absorbing whatever rot and decay they can find on the ground." It was impossible. There absolutely could not be Shriekers on a path in Equestria. It simply couldn't be.

"If they're harmless, why are we whispering?" Crimson started to stand up, from where they both had been sitting on the ground. Frontpage reached out a foreleg and stopped her. She sank back, slowly, and settled in beside him.

Frontpage put his muzzle to her ear. "Shriekers are harmless by themselves. But they are never by themselves. They have friends. Nasty friends. Very nasty friends." He thought for a moment and then spoke in a more normal, though still low, voice. "I don't think they can hear. No, I'm sure they can't. They didn't react when we first arrived, and we were yapping up a storm. I think we don't have to whisper, but... still, keep your voice down. And don't make any sudden moves. Also, just stay still for a while. I need to work this out. It's impossible."

Crimson did not enjoy looking at the eerie, gigantic mushrooms. Harmless or not, there was something terrifying about them. "You said they have friends. Nasty friends. How nasty? I assume you mean dangerous?"

"Very. As in rot your dying flesh from your steaming bones dangerous." Frontpage shook his head. Impossible!

Crimson shuddered. "That was a bit graphic, mister Frontpage." She hazarded a glance at the Shrieker directly in front of her. It swayed slightly, even though there was no wind. "If this is so, why are we staying here? Shouldn't we leave? Go back, perhaps?"

"No, I wouldn't advise that." Frontpage turned his head and gestured with his nose at the path behind them. Beyond the bushes with the writhing lightning snakes, more of the tall mushroom entities were slowly, ever so slowly, shuffling to fill the path. They were gradually pushing their way through the vines and shrubs that walled the dirt roadway.

"We're being surrounded!" A hint of panic was in Crimson's voice.

"No, no. They can't plan or think. They don't even have instinct. They're blind and deaf and just stumble about attracted by anything that seems like food. They react to vibration, and touch. So don't touch them. And don't pound the ground or anything. They probably sensed our hooves, or smelled us sweating." Frontpage checked to make sure the Shriekers to the front were not pressing closer. They weren't. "Not smelled. They don't have noses. Sensed. Chemically, somehow."

Crimson instinctively pressed close to Frontpage. "What do we do, Frontpage? Lay here until they go away?"

"We can try. For a while. Let's see what they do." Frontpage carefully opened one of his saddlebags and brought out his canteen. Crimson held the base of it so that he could remove the cap. It was a natural thing, ponies just always assisted each other. Frontpage took a sip of water, and nodded for Crimson to do the same. "Normally, Shriekers are found underground. Dungeons, caves, subterranean empires. But sometimes you find them during wilderness adventures, usually accompanied by 2D6 Violet Fungi. Of course, it's all completely impossible."

Crimson goggled. "What?" She shook her head, her bright red mane rippling. "You have entirely lost me. Tudisix something or other? How do you know all of this? And what do you mean it's all 'impossible?'"

Frontpage sighed. "I guess were safe for the moment. Relatively safe." He took another swig of water. "You ever play D&D?"

"Dee-ann Dee? Is that a human name? As I told you, I did not get to meet very many people growing up."

Frontpage's ears flicked with annoyance. "Dungeons and Dragons? The game? Tabletop? All the dice?"

Crimson seemed insulted. "I do not defend my human parents, but they would never have allowed a child to engage in gambling, mister Frontpage!"

"Oh Colt." Frontpage stared at his hooves for a moment. "I guess you really were isolated as a child. Not even on the hypernet?" The look on Crimson's face suggested that her hypernet use had been strictly monitored. "Okay... there was this game - not a gambling game, a game children and adults play to have fun together - and it was called Dungeons and Dragons. It was about... dungeons... and... dragons. And all sorts of things. It was a game of imagination. Going on adventures, facing terrible dangers, surviving scary encounters and coming home with bags full of loot and treasure. Or saving villages and rescuing children and puppies. It was whatever you wanted it to be.

"There were monsters in this game. Made-up monsters, that the players had to deal with. Not the players... their characters. They made up characters - like characters from a novel - that they pretended to be. It was a game of pretend, they'd use dice to determine what happened. The players would describe what their characters did, and the DM - the 'dungeon master', a kind of referee - would help them work out what happened. Who lived and who died, that sort of thing."

"And people played this... together?" Crimson seemed to have forgotten the giant mushrooms for the moment. "In the same room? It sounds like making up stories!"

"Yeah. It was. But the rules and the dice made it not just stories. You could never tell what might happen. The DM could throw anything at you, and you'd have to overcome it by working together. You might win, or you might fail. Maybe your entire party gets wiped out. You had to play smart, and be careful, just like real life."

Crimson's ears drooped. "That... that sounds... very enjoyable. Did a lot of people do this?"

"Naw. Not a lot. But some. It was fairly niche, even during it's heyday. But yeah, it was fun. A lot of fun. Which is why I played a lot of it."

"What does any of that have to do with us?" Crimson had returned her attention to the Shrieker in front of her. It had shuffled slightly, moving half a hoof closer before stopping.

"These things, these 'Shriekers'? They are from that game." Frontpage had expected her reaction. "Seriously. Right out of the Monster Manual. Come to life, here in Equestria. I'd recognize them anywhere. They can't be here, they're fictions. They never existed, they can't exist. Unless Luna likes D&D and created them or something..."

"Why Luna?"

Frontpage grinned. "She seems the more fun of the two. Celestia's like somepony's mom."

Crimson smiled at that. It was so true.

"But that doesn't make sense either. None of this makes sense. It's impossible. Just plain impossible." Frontpage began scanning the forest on either side of the path. Little could be seen, the foliage was dense and nearly as tall as the Shriekers.

"Perhaps these... things... only look like these 'Shriekers' of yours. Maybe they are just mushrooms... that walk. Or rather shuffle." Another of the monstrous fungi shifted slightly, reacting, perhaps, to the movement of the previous one.

"Maybe... but I don't think so." Frontpage squinted and stared at the nearest cap. "Too perfect. Too exact. I'm not buying it. I had a miniature or three of these guys. This is a Shrieker, right out of D&D, and it is here in Equestria, and it can't be. There's got to be an explanation." Frontpage took a last sip from the canteen, offered it to Crimson, and then together they capped it and he replaced it. "Equestria is copied from earth, somehow. You agree?"

"It... seems likely. Very likely. There are too many similarities to think otherwise."

"The princesses didn't do a perfect job, though. Our sun isn't a ball of nuclear fire, it's a disk on the dome of the sky. The stars aren't suns, they are little energy creatures, or so I hear. They crawl around up there. Our bodies - they're not very much like earth horses. Our joints move like humans - or apes - do, our heads are huge. Wings and horns and speech. Everything about Equestria is from earth, only represented imperfectly. Changed, altered. Earth wasn't copied so much as it served as inspiration. We're ponies as seen through the imagination of a wildly creative goddess, not a biologist."

"Your point?"

"Crimson - those Shriekers there? They are perfect. Right out of the book. To the finest detail. They aren't some interpretation of a Shrieker, these are the very same things I played with long, long ago. How'dya figure that, huh? How's that happen, here in the Everfree?"

Crimson thought, while alternately keeping an eye on the Shriekers behind and in front. "Perhaps Luna really does like this game you described?"

"Not buyin' it. Ever wonder why the Everfree is here? It's dangerous. It kills ponies. Why haven't the princesses, the almighty princesses, just gotten rid of it? Wiped it from the map of Equestria? They can't, that's why. Pegasai can't control the weather in here, unicorns don't always have their magic work right, earthponies get gobbled up like popcorn. The princesses are no different. Well, a little different, they're immortal, and nothing can hurt them here... but neither can they do anything about this place. They can't erase it. Their god-powers don't work right in here properly. They're stuck with the Everfree, and from what I've heard? They don't like that one bit."

The Shriekers had gradually become more and more restless. At first it was occasional shuffling about, watched carefully by Crimson and Frontpage. The most recent shift had set of a ripple of restlessness in the fungi. More and more they appeared nervous, shuffling slowly, in reaction to each other. Nervous... or expectant.

"Something's coming." Frontpage watched as two Shriekers blindly tried to avoid touching each other. Somehow they sensed proximity. Chemicals, maybe, or some other... mushroom... sense.

"Where? How do you know?" Crimson began searching the forest, and the sky.

"Something is disturbing them. They normally just stand still for the most part. In the books, at least. And remember I mentioned they have friends? That's how they get to eat. Oh! I haven't told you what they do!"

Crimson glared. "What do they do?" She almost hissed the words. This was the sort of information that would have been more useful that fussing over whether things were possible or not.

"They shriek."

"The Shriekers... shriek?"

"Yes. Loudly. From those... holes... on top. They call monsters to them, and the monsters leave them... compost... in return." Frontpage noted Crimson's reaction to the word 'compost'. She wasn't dumb.

"You said Violent Fungi or something?"

"Violet Fungi. That's usual, the two creatures are symbiotic. They help each other."

Crimson frowned. "I know what 'symbiotic' means!" Her voice had raised in volume, and with good reason, because the Shriekers were shifting about as a group, slowly, but it was clear that the lot of them were agitated. The soft, creaking, rustling sound as they shuffled was highly disturbing. Worse, the ringed orifices on their caps seemed to be contracting and relaxing, as though they were dry mouths trying to gum something sticky.

"Violet Fungi - they are big mushrooms too... only they move faster, and they have tentacles. Long tentacles. Don't let them whip you."

"I have no intention of letting anything, anywhere, ever, 'whip' me!" The Shriekers were gradually spreading out, and that meant less room on the pathway for Crimson and Frontpage. Some of the Shriekers had begun to work their way down the narrow area between the crawling lightning-snake bushes. The air seemed strange, heavy, and unpleasantly still.

"I get 'ominous' from this. Yeah. Definitely some 'ominous' going on. I love words. I don't always love what they mean, but I can't help but love words. Ya' kind of have to, to be a reporter." Frontpage smiled a thin smile. "Love those words. Ominous. Kind of a big, round, encompassing sort of word, very..."

"Pull yourself together, mister Frontpage!" Crimson's voice cut through any claims the specter of panic had upon the pony reporter. "I expect better of the Canterlot Querier's finest!"

"Finest, eh?" Crimson swallowed, and took control of himself. "I'll try to remember that."

"What is our course of action, Frontpage?" Her eyes were steady, but her ears were low. Both ponies carefully stood up, backing slightly away from the slowly advancing mushrooms.

"Roll for initiative?" Crimson did not get the joke, and even if she had, she would not have found it humorous. "Sword... spear... axe... how about a stick? Not quite a wand of Magic Missiles, but..." Frontpage bit at the end of a fallen tree branch that poked out of the thick bordering undergrowth. Once it was free, he lifted it high and then lowered it. He leaned it against himself. "Excalibur!"

"You intend to fight... the mushrooms?"

"I have a notion. If it becomes necessary. It's insane. You'll love it."

The Shriekers were now actively milling about. They did not move quickly, turtles could likely outrace them, but with several dozens all active and restless, the scene was desperately unsettling. They all crawled on their stumpy little legs exactly the ways that mushrooms were never supposed to actually do, and the entire situation was just very, very wrong.

"They are getting too close, Frontpage."

And they were, entirely too close, and getting closer yet. It was not intentional, they had no idea that two ponies stood upon the same path. The Shriekers simply responded to the presence of the Shriekers closest to them, and the effect spread out over the entire mass of the mobile mushrooms.

"Flan!" Frontpage watched as a Shrieker, third from the front nearest, right side, shambled towards a low-hanging branch. The branch curved over the path through the forest, and was low enough that there was no question it would intersect with the cap of the nervous mushroom. It was a slow-motion trainwreck, and there was nothing to be done about it but hope the random walk of the fungus moved it away from the branch.

"Crimson!" Frontpage was not worried about the volume of his voice. He reasoned volume was not going to be a concern soon, and in any case, the mushrooms were incapable of hearing. He nodded towards the branch and the Shrieker near it. "If they start shrieking, whatever is out there, making them excited, will likely rush in. Whatever it is will be bad. And something is going to happen. I mean, come on, it's only a matter of time." Frontpage tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. "You up for some radical insanity? You want to earn your Koo-Koo Gazette press pass, right?"

Crimson could not back up any further, lightning snakes and a Shrieker filling the narrower path behind had ended any hope of that. "Let's... Stop The Presses and Bury The Lede, mister Frontpage!" Crimson had decided to try to be 'plucky'. Plucky seemed like a good adjective for a news reporter endangered in the field.

"That's... weird. And... makes no sense. But good! Good and weird. I can roll with that." Frontpage watched, in horror, as the third-removed Shrieker brushed by the low-hanging branch. He saw the branch lightly, faintly graze one of the puffy sphincters on the cap of the mushroom.

For a moment, everything seemed fine. Of course Shriekers would recognize the touch of a harmless branch from that of a living thing that might try to eat them!

Sadly, Shriekers had no brain to recognize anything with. They were just slow to react.

The sound was a thousand sirens made from obnoxious tea kettles. It was air-raids and children screaming and wolves howling and somehow Godzilla was in there too, that part of his voice that sounds all hollow and mournful. It was certainly as loud as a kaiju, if one had decided to press its massive, radioactive maw to the side of some poor pony's skull.

Crimson's mouth was moving as she put a hoof to her ear. Frontpage couldn't hear her voice, but he could guess what sorts of things she might be trying to say. For his part, he was swearing, essentially non-stop, in pastry.

Suddenly it was silent. Frontpage's ear's rang as he finished up "...Bundevara Bundt Cake Sambusac Tarte au Citron... um... sorry."

Crimson wasn't listening, partly because it was hard to hear now. "My sweet Celestia, I just..." Her rump, as she unconsciously backed up, pressed hard into the bumpy trunk of the Shrieker filling the narrower path behind. "...no."

Yes, actually, as the fungal klaxon trumpeted the discordant notes that comprised a favorite tune of the Everfree: The Monster Horror Happy Fun Time Dinner Bell Song. Accompanying it was the entire Moron Tabernacle Shrieker Choir, who brainlessly echoed the initiating mushroom. Frontpage somehow managed, in the midst of this, to speculate that Shriekers must be able to hear, if only each other. That fascinating insight helped exactly not at all.

Crimson and Frontpage clung to each other, trying to be as small as possible in the middle of the path, and moved their mouths in futile competition against the shrill tones of Satan's Bottom Trumpet.

Silence again. Frontpage finished his second litany of flaky, tender obscenities and wiggled a hoof in his ear. Crimson shook her head, trying to get the agony out. As their hearing returned, a new sound had been added. Ropey whisking, as if a hundred long tails were beating the greenery.

Frontpage saw the first thin flash of reddish-purple. More followed, cracking and whacking at the underbrush all around. A flailing violet tendril bit at the trunk of a nearby tree. The bark exploded out at the impact, and left behind was the wet sheen of some slick substance.

The newfoal pony reporter retreated deep into his pony soul, immersed for nearly a century in the culture and traditions of the capital city of an entire universe. For over ninety years, he had lived among native ponies and the princesses themselves, growing more native with every passing day. His horror-addled mind reached for a proper Equestrian bakery-pastry reaction to the arrival of the deadly poisonous, aggressively carnivorous army of tentacle-whipping Violet Fungi that promised nightmare suffering and a slow, tortuous death.

"Fuck."

"Eclair. Frothy Fuck Eclair." Crimson, apparently, had also been driven beyond all pony sensibilities into the deeply buried humanity within.

"I owe you a pastry." Frontpage snapped his head down and grabbed his stick. "THOLLOW NEEE!"

Crimson gaped, then galloped after, as Frontpage, brandishing his stick in his mouth, ran straight down the middle of the path. As he went, he chopped at the Shriekers with the branch, swinging it as if it were a wooden sword. His scream, as he ran, was quickly drowned out by a hellish cacophony of screeching mushrooms, not merely agitated, but now bruised and battered.

The shrieking miasma of sound made Crimson dizzy as she followed after the stick-wielding barbarian reporter. She had not a clue as to what this 'insane notion' could be that he was currently enacting, but she was game enough to whip at the towering, screaming mushrooms with her tail as she fled. She even gave out a few a good bucks with her hind legs as circumstances permitted.

The Shriekers seemed to panic, and tried, desperately, to move away from the bite of Frontpage's impromptu +12 Hackmaster of Wood. They stumbled over each other, tripping and falling to the ground, their stumpy legs writhing and clawing at the air. Crimson bucked one of the standing Shriekers hard enough to send it flying. Whatever sound it made as it impacted a squirming, flailing, deadly Violet Fungus was lost within the nightmare symphony in the key of Shriek that palpably vibrated the very soil itself.

The Violet Fungi, blind, not deaf, obviously, but clear on the direction where the fuss was going on, were rushing the forest path en masse. They were much faster and more mobile than their Shrieker friends. Because they were neither intelligent nor sighted, they turned out to be abusive friends - they whipped and snapped the Shriekers in their way, relentlessly.

The entire forest pathway had become a zipper, closing shut, the V chasing Crimson and Frontpage as they dashed through the standing army of Shriekers. The Swarming Violet Fungi crashed as a wave against each other - and the Shriekers - from both sides of the trail. Whipping and spinning, they fought to blindly hit and kill anything made of animal flesh.

Suddenly, Crimson found herself thrown through the air to land inside a large, surprisingly ordinary looking bush. Beside her was Frontpage, who wriggled and worked to free himself from the limbs and leaves of the plant. He had landed tail over teakettle, and had to struggle to get upright.

The air was thick and filled with particles of soil and dust and bits of forest floor. The ground rumbled and shook. Something had burst forth, right in the middle of the long rows of Shriekers and their swarming violet compatriots. Something gigantic, something underground, something armored, with teeth like daggers and tiny, hungry eyes.

"B-Bulette?" Frontpage sat in the bushes, mouth agape, his former incredulity turned to total and utter stupefaction.

The monster was as large as an earthly rhinoceros, when they had existed... or perhaps even an elephant. The very top of it's horizontally conical body was easily twenty-seven hooves high, the length of the horror thirty-six at a minimum. Every part of it was armor plated, from the sharp, beak-like mouth that took up a third of its body, to the tower-shield plates that circled what passed for a neck. The back was entirely a massive spur of armor, the legs heavily protected, the claws like enormous scythes. It was a living Ogre Tank, impossibly strong and all but invulnerable, and it was very, very hungry.

The Bulette snapped up a number of Shriekers and Violet Fungi together with a single, impossibly quick snatch of it's cone-shaped jaws and flung them into the air. It snapped at them and crushed them in its Royal-carriage-sized mouth. As the dagger-teeth repeatedly chomped on the giant fungi, purple and green ichor ran from the Bulette's jaws, making mud of the ruptured ground.

The Bulette had been attracted by the vibrations and had altered course, swimming through the soil of the Everfree like a shark of the land. Rising up, it had begun its terrible feast, gobbling anything and everything that was not tree, or rock, or dirt. Bite after terrifying bite, the monstrous creature devoured both ranks of mobile fungi, none of whom had any hope of escaping the impossibly fast jaws.

Crimson and Frontpage huddled together, clinging to each other in shock, as the multitudes of nightmare mushrooms were torn and ripped and swallowed by the titanic beast.

They dared not run, they dared not move. It was clear that the Bulette was not slow, and though its eyes were tiny, they saw everything that attempted to flee, however desperately. The ponies' ears rang from the shrieks and growls of motile fungus and ravening mouth, and both Crimson and Frontpage shook in their helpless fear, and half wished to be gobbled themselves, just to end the horror once and for all.

Now there was only the sound of munching and swallowing. The last of the two platoons of fungal creatures was vanishing down the Bulette's vast gullet. The ground was a mud pit of colorful slime, fluids, and poison. The great animal chewed contentedly, it's tiny eyes half shut in simple, beastial pleasure. When at last, it was done, when the last of the two mushroom armies had been swallowed, the armored monster began looking about for dessert.

It had no nostrils, the beak-like jaws solid and unperforated save by eyes alone. Instead, the long tongue of the creature snaked within a tooth-lined cavern, tasting the air, sensing, seeking. Several times it wiggled in the direction of the stock-still, barely breathing ponies, before moving on.

Then, the wriggling tongue turned back, and froze in place, pointing at the bush where Crimson and Frontpage hid.

The mouth slowly closed, as the tongue withdrew. The beast's small eyes turned to stare at the ponies. Slowly, powerfully, the titanic creature began to turn it's massive body, lining up for what might well be a snapping charge.

Frontpage felt his bowels evacuate. He did not care. He had nothing left inside himself to care with.

An impossible cylinder of ribbed purple rose up, half shrouded by the dust in the air, behind the Bulette. The purple madness was so large that it made the living tank seem like a toy compared to it. As the long, snakelike mass rose up, entire trees fell away from it, smashing to the ground below.

The Bulette paddled its claws through the ground, spinning its bulk to face this challenge.

A Purple Worm, of uncommon size, had also been attracted - in this case by the vibrations of the Bulette moving through the soil.

The two monumentally large monsters squared off. The Purple worm irised open the foreward end of its long, lumpen mass, and the end was only darkness, and teeth in a ring, and death, and nothing else.

The Bulette bared it's own daggers, and prepared to strike.

Frontpage and Crimson did not wait to see which mind-destroying horror was the victor. They ran.

They ran and ran and ran until their unthinkably great earthpony stamina itself was taxed, and then ran even more. Lathered and panting, they collapsed within the dark and protective walls of a peak-arched cave.

It took some unknown time for the two ponies to calm down. They clung to each other, staring blankly at nothing, but constantly on edge, alert for any movement, any sound.

Eventually, after timeless fear had abated somewhat, Crimson noticed a hoofprint on the floor of the cave. It was large, very large. There was a trail of them, leading deeper into the cave. Beside them were other prints, incomprehensible. A paw, perhaps, a cloven hoof, a bipedal pattern...

Crimson turned her neck and looked deep into the cave. Light shone there, soft and gentle. A moonlike glow reflected off of great purple gems imbedded within the cave walls.

Frontpage followed Crimson's gaze, and his mouth hung open.

It was the glowing, crystalline Tree Of Harmony, the oldest object in Equestria, the supposed center of the very universe itself.

And, in the manner of a door, it was open.

7. Topsides On The Ship Of The World

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

Topsides On The Ship Of The World

Peony Garden focused on sewing her husband's kelp-leatherette vest. He had been roughhousing with the fillies near the big blackberry bush by the well in the rear of the plantation house. Somehow he had snagged his vest and torn the back of it. Diamond Dogs as a rule were very sentimental about their clothing and accoutrements, however old or shabby they might become. Diamond Dogs were very sentimental in general, about a lot of things. Most ponies never saw just how sweet they really were, underneath the apparent fierceness on the surface.

Peony was exceptionally dextrous with her teeth and hooves (and wings!), and she was rightfully proud of her sewing skills. She was using both raised and detatched buttonhole stitches to create scallops and embroidered gemstone patterns to cover where the old, beloved vest had been ripped. There was no way to repair the garment such that the work would be invisible, so Peony had decided to create reinforcing decorations over the damage.

Tumblebumble's vest already had many such bits of work upon it. It was a joke between them that one day it would be a vest not of kelp leather, but entirely of her embroidery. It was already edging into Ship Of Theseus territory as it was, but Tumble did not mind. Indeed, the more work she put into his old vest, the more he loved it and prized it as his single best possession.

Peony felt a familiar special thrill go through her. It was something she did not often talk about. She was doing women's work. It was something no native Equestrian would ever feel, or even comprehend.

When she had lived as a human, on earth, she had been 'Oliver Sachs', trapped in the body of a young boy, she had learned at an early age that admitting her true identity was social suicide and a ticket to pain. Her mother, Ophelia, had tried to shield and comfort her, but as a member of the Good Families, the three hundred or so richest elite that essentially owned the planet, the usual options for a person with her condition were considered... improper.

Earth had been a planet ruled by patriarchy and sexism, and in that culture the divisions between gender and activity were often sharply drawn. In the flesh of a boy, Peony's interests and inclinations were nothing less than abomination. But her mother, at home, in private, had taught her incorrectly-bodied daughter basic skills that thrilled her not only because of her very real interest... but also because they were forbidden to her.

During the incident of escaping the Human Masada and eventually being restored to life from stone, Peony had nearly been lost. Afraid to admit her inner truth even to Celestia, she had nearly been an irrecoverable casualty of the nightmare that had fatally injured most of the Everfree Six. She had felt such terror at being fully revealed that she had almost chosen annihilation rather than Conversion to save her life.

But she had been shown acceptance and love beyond what was possible on earth, and in the end, had chosen to live. For more than ninety years, she had been beyond happy as a pink pegasus mare. But the echo of her deep childhood imprinting still sounded within her newfoal mind, and even now, with the earth and human culture so far removed, ancient attitudes still stirred within her.

They were not bad, these faint echoes. Where an ordinary, native mare - or stallion - might perform a task like embroidery with no more thought than to the labor itself, Peony found within such things validation of her very identity. The warm, sweet feeling made her work pleasant in a way that only a newfoal like herself would understand, and made boring work into an almost divine pleasure. With every stitch, she sewed her own self together, reinforcing her inner truth, which in the end, had become her outer truth as well.

"How Vest? Vest survive nightmare encounter? Or vest die sad death of blackberry doom?" Tumble leaned over Peony and gently kissed her poll.

"All done!" Peony smiled, wide as the sky, and then bent her head and nipped off the thread she had pulled tight under a pressing hoof. She carefully snagged the needle the thread was attached to by allowing the tip to barely penetrate the inner curve of her hoof. Her inner hoof wall had hundreds of tiny pits were countless needles had been trapped in exactly the same way. Her farrier thought it was funny, when she had her hooves trimmed. 'So many little holes! You must sew all the time!'

She didn't, of course, it just added up. Peony shook the needle free into the little tray in her sewing kit, and ran her hooves over the back of Tumble's vest. "I couldn't hide the tear, where I fixed it, so I did a pretty pattern. See? Gemstones and crescents and little leaves too!" She had done the embroidery in the same dark color as the material, the result was a bas-relief effect that could be seen in the light as she smoothed the vest.

"Vest better than before! Must fall down more so that vest can achieve vest apotheosis!" Tumble, like most Diamond Dogs, was not a dumb beast as many ponies imagined. He was far more educated than the majority of Dogs, though. Diamond Dogs had not been one of princess Celestia's rescues. They were refugees that had forged their own way into Equestria hundreds of years ago, escaping the destruction of their home cosmos. Their initial interactions had not gone particularly well - indeed, some had been disastrous - and as a species they had withdrawn to avoid further trouble. Isolated, they kept to their own culture, and mostly did not socialize with the rest of Equestria.

Because of the way Diamond Dog brains worked, their speech was unusual by pony standards, though efficient by their own. Many Dogs found ponies long-winded and officious. But over the decades, partly thanks to the arrival of the newfoals, more and more Diamond Dogs had been integrated into pony civilization. Peony had first met Tumblebumble in the Human Masada where he had been a servant in her home. She had fallen in love with him even then, but had not dared to express it.

After her adventure, and her Conversion, she had tracked him down across the length of Equestria, and married him.

"TUMBLE! TUMBLE! TUMBLE!" Clover was kicking her legs up like a gamboling goat, springing about the room. "TUMBLE! TUMBLE! TUMBLE!" She had followed her adopted uncle into the plantation house. For the past few days, the filly foal had been following the poor Dog everywhere, nearly all the time.

"What need, little pony Clover?" Tumble picked up his vest in his large paws and carefully slipped it on.

"TUMBLE! TUMBLE! TUMBLE!" Clover was easily excitable at the best of times.

"What is it dear?" Peony was putting the needle she had dropped in the tray into a more secure spot. She used her teeth to carefully stick it into her tomato-shaped pin cushion.

Clover stared at her Aunt Peony with wide eyes. "Jinx is playing with bunnies! Only th' bunnies aren't there!"

Peony laughed. "The bunnies... aren't there?"

Tumble straightened his vest, and flexed his huge torso. The vest still fit comfortably, despite being positively armored over in embroidery. "Is game. Pretend bunny. Tumble used to have pretend ruby on first collar. Nothing outshine pretend ruby!"

"NO! NO! NO!" Clover had the particular agitation of the small when confounded by something they could not understand, compounded by adults who failed to have all the answers always. She stomped her hoof. "It's not a game! It's REAL not-there bunnies! And Jinx is playing with them and I don't know what they are because I tried to pet one and my hoof just went through it, so I tried to nuzzle it and I couldn't 'cause nothing was there only it was there and I don't know what! NOW DO SOMETHING!"

Tumble and Peony gawked at the firm-set muzzle of the smallest Acres filly. For such a young pony, she was surprisingly intimidating.

"What do you want us to do?" Peony gestured for Clover to come over for a hug, but she was having none of that. Apparently not-bunnies were something unsolved by hugs.

"I don't know! You're the adults! Do adult stuff!" Adults mostly got in the way, except at dinner and when the bed got wet. And breakfast. And lunch. Or when anything weird happened. Or if you had a nightmare. Or when you wanted ice cream or a toy. Or your school saddlebags got busted falling out of the tree you weren't supposed to climb. And the boo-boo from falling out of the tree that you weren't supposed to climb. Clover felt sidetracked. "Do something about things!"

"Want Tumble come look?"

Clover shifted from hoof to hoof, impatient. "Want both of you to come look. Now!" Clover moved toward the door, still fussing.

"Here, I'll come too. I could stand to stretch my legs anyway." Peony carefully moved the last of her sewing materials to the side, and clambered off of the couch. "Unmmm... been sitting too long." She stretched a hind leg out and flexed her hock. "That's better."

"COME ONNN!" Clover had the front door open, letting all of the hot air in.

"Clover, we're coming, but don't leave the door open, remember?"

"COME! COME! COME!" Clover bounced on her hooves, in the open doorway. The issues of domestic thermal regulation mattered little in the face of not-bunnies.

"We see what make little pony upset. Parental figure defined by active demonstration of caring responsibility even when is great disparity between apparent and real necessity." Tumble waited politely for Peony to move toward the door, and followed after her.

"What?" Clover cocked her head.

"Uncle and aunt come. We come see bunny."

Clover nodded. "Then HURRY!"

They found Jinx in the large back yard, behind the plantation house. She was trotting in a wide circle around the well. At first, she appeared to be alone, reacting only to her own imagination. But there was too much dust, dust that moved and bounced, rather than swirled or drifted in the breeze. Dust that followed and sometimes ran ahead of her.

It wasn't dust. They - for there were many - were translucent like small puffs of dust, but they were not dust. Or cloud. Or anything Tumble or Peony had ever seen before. Bunnies, white, fuzzy bunnies, dozens and dozens of them, ran beside, behind, around and ahead of Jinx in her circular orbit of the well. They leaped and hopped and bounced and twirled. They seemed to know choreographic moves, which they delighted in performing as they ran. They looked like they were made of the clearest glass, or water, or heat shimmers in the air, but they were there, only they weren't there, and it was very easy to understand little Clover's fussing about.

"Well, isn't that something!" Peony had never seen bunnies that were not really there before. It was clear they weren't solid, they seemed to have no issue running right through Jinx's legs. Occasionally, one would try to jump onto her back as she trotted, for a ride, only to fall through her torso back down to the ground. Sometimes they fell through the ground too, and presumably found a way back up topside again because the numbers remained constant.

"Tumble is severely ontologically confused now." The Diamond Dog scratched his head with a massive paw. "Dog now forced to confront philosophical conflict between being and not-being in non-abstract manner. Much prefer simple game of fetch or nice bowl of food instead."

"JINX!" Peony had suddenly realized that all the hairs along her withers right up to her poll were standing up. "Get away from those..." Peony blinked. "...um... not... bunnies! I don't think playing with them is a good idea!"

Jinx stopped and the not-bunnies stopped with her, eventually. A few failed to notice the halt and ran on for a bit, then sheepishly returned to the group. "Hello Aunt Peony. Hello Uncle Tumble. Look! They have come back!"

"Come back? Who... who has come back... what?" Peony shook her head. "Nevermind! Just get away from whatever those... aren't." Something about the not-really-there bunnies felt very upsetting to her. Something wasn't right, something she couldn't understand, and she felt a very rare feeling within Equestria. Fear. She was feeling... fear. She hadn't felt it in decades, and it was almost hard to recognize. No, not fear. Dread. Dread verging on terror. Oh, that was unusual! And unpleasant. "Let's... let's go inside, and leave... them... to their... whatever." Peony wanted the not-bunnies to not be... anywhere near her. She wanted that a lot.

"Aunt. You don't understand. They live here. Or, they used to live here. They've just come back."

"Tumble think Jinx should obey nice Aunt Peony now." Tumble had noticed his own hairs, quite a lot of them in fact, were standing up in solidarity with his wife's mane.

"It's okay. Why are you acting so strangely? There are pictures of them all over the house!" Jinx smiled as several not-bunnies jumped through her back. They kept trying, as if they found it fun somehow.

Tumble and Peony looked at each other. Neither had any idea what the older filly was referring to.

"Plantain's show." Jinx observed the ongoing confusion in the face of the two adults. "Plantain's dancing bunnies came back. Partly. I don't think they are all the way here." Jinx did not notice the looks on her aunt and uncle's faces, because she was watching a translucent bunny in a top hat and a cape repeatedly swiping it's paws through her left hoof. "They can go right through stuff, and they can't make any sounds."

Jinx looked up. "Maybe tomorrow they'll be able to touch things?" She seriously expected the adults to know.

It had hit both Tumble and Peony at the same time, as they struggled to remember the stories about Crimson's sister and her traveling 'Happy Pony Show'.

Aunt Peony now knew exactly why all the hairs along her back were standing up. The dusty photographs, all over the house. Old, old photographs, of a career that had ended long, long ago. Photographs of Plantain and her troupe, and her carefully trained, marching, dancing bunnies. Snow bunnies. There had been a terrible incident.

Every single not-bunny on the lawn had been dead for more than sixty years.

The one thing Frontpage had thought, when he had first seen the Tree Of Harmony, was that it did not look natural. Of course, nothing was precisely 'natural', in the earthly sense, when dealing with anything of the Equestrian cosmos. Equestria was not in any way 'natural' by terrestrial standards - Darwin had never visited Equestria, neither had Hawking or Einstein or even Copernicus for that matter.

Equestria, top to bottom and through and through was a Created universe, spelled with a big capital letter 'C', the kind that connotes gods and demons and magic and myth. Certainly the two princesses were, at some level, eldritch entities - Frontpage had long ago been convinced that they were not ponies in the way that ordinary ponies were, and were likely not even properly made of flesh. They might certainly be confused with goddesses, of the ancient Greek sort, or perhaps even the very oldest sort, for they had literally made the world itself.

But in making their cosmos out of Discord's absolute chaos, they had seemingly cribbed from earth in some manner, and so most of what was in Equestria bore only a faint resemblance to what a human might loosely call 'natural'. There was a sun, of sorts, in the crystal dome of the sky - that it was flat and glided across the dome was simply a fact. It looked like a sun, if a very overlarge one, and it brought light, and warmth and brightness into daily life. If not studied overlong, it could easily be accepted as ordinary.

Likewise the moon and stars, which were such in name only, and the grasses and hills and forests and butterflies. Everything in Equestria was natural in seemingness only, and though all of it served the purpose of natural things, and looked roughly like natural things do, not a bit of it had come from uncaring, random natural process - every speck had been consciously, intelligently crafted.

The pentagonal gateway that had grown from the roots of the Tree Of Harmony did not seem to be natural even by Equestrian standards. It had clearly grown, the way crystals do, right out of the substance of the great Tree, and somehow opened, in some direction no pony could hope to point to, into a darkness so profound that light itself seemed to vanish forever within it.

The Tree Of Harmony was itself made of crystal, with thin, glassine struts for branches, and perfect, disk-shaped 'flowers' set upon them like components in a technorganic circuit board. The flowers looked like technology - the pattern within them was regular and geometric, and if studied carefully, finely ordered traceries of microscopic lines and connections could be discerned, running veinlike, through the very substance of them.

Indeed, the entire Tree was built thus, and when Frontpage had been granted carefully supervised audience with the Tree in order to report upon it, he had noted how every part of it looked like some impossibly advanced organic crystalline technology - right out of a fanciful science fiction tale. This had been more than fifty years in the past, and he had speculated ever since on whether Equestrian magic was truly magic, or just sufficiently advanced technology.

He had not been the least alone in that thought; it was commonplace among newfoal scientists of every kind.

"Did you notice the hoofprints?" Crimson scraped at the ground with her foreleg. The soil inside the cave was curious, almost like clay, only it didn't stick to her hooves, and it wasn't messy.

"The big hooves don't have frogs, and the size is singular. The hoof-boot of a princess. That's not surprising - this is all theirs. But... yeah, I noted the new tracks go straight in."

Crimson studied the various parts of the glowing, pulsing tree. "Did you see the other tracks?"

"Unless Luna has a pet Minotaur monster with a false deer leg, Discord escorted her. We're on the right trail."

"I cannot say I am looking forward to the next part." The strange, pentagonal door made of crystal roots opened into what looked like the very definition of Nothing. Crimson shuddered.

"D'ya want to go back?"

"The way we came?"

"There's only one path in or out."

Crimson let her head droop and pawed at the ground. She snorted, softly, then raised her head. "A door is a door, I suppose. It must lead somewhere, despite appearances."

"Yeah, but we're dealing with arcane Macaron here. This is some gris-gris chocolate we've gotten into." Frontpage pulled his canteen out of his saddlebags and held it by the strap.

"Thirsty?"

Frontpage carefully, slowly, approached the impossible door. "For knowledge, yeah."

"Don't hold on too tightly... just in case."

Frontpage looked back and nodded impressed approval. The mare was smart. She was ahead of him at every step. "My bite will be loose, and my hooves ready to run, I promise you."

The blackness was astonishing. It was the blackest black that Frontpage had ever witnessed. He felt something almost like L’appel du vide staring into it. He almost chuckled at the thought that had appeared in his head... that it was undoubtedly staring right back.

Frontpage made sure he had a loose, easy mouth-grip on the very end of the loop of canteen strap. He began to swing the canteen to and fro, his head turned to the side. The canteen swung closer and closer to the threshold of the crystal-root doorway. He carefully stepped forward making sure no part of his muzzle passed the edge of the doorframe.

"Be careful!" Crimson had nightmare thoughts of earthly black-holes and air locks and other science-fiction sources of being sucked into oblivion.

"Uhn-huhn..." Frontpage gave the canteen a very wide swing. Half of the canteen vanished then reappeared as it finished its arc through the black. He repeated the action again several times, to make sure. He backed away, and set the canteen down to study it. Crimson joined him.

"It doesn't appear damaged." She sniffed the canteen, then gave the part that had entered the void a lick. "It isn't cold or anything." Her ears drooped. "Oh, that was silly of me. Considering."

Frontpage nodded. "Next time you need to check temperature, hover your frog. It's surprisingly sensitive to heat and cold. If that's okay, try your pastern, right on the top part. If that's okay, use the bottom of your jaw, and then a lip if you are sure."

"That... that is a very organized approach, Frontpage!"

Frontpage grinned. "I was taught that by a native doctor. I'll leave you to imagine why I needed one."

Crimson smiled back.

"Well... we don't want to go back - probably can't, not safely, not at the moment anyway. And by the way, I agree with you. The Everfree is getting worse. I've only visited it once before, and that by direct teleport - and I'm completely convinced it's worse. We can't stay here indefinitely - I've been told that you can't trust anything in the Everfree, not the grass, not even the water. Only one direction left, I'm afraid." Frontpage noted his own ears. "I don't mind admitting that I am, actually, afraid."

"Direct teleport?" Crimson was not over-eager to jump through a door of infinite blackness, however undamaging it was to helpless canteens.

Frontpage blinked. "Uh... yeah. Got brought here by Celestia herself, long time back. "The Tree Of Harmony: We Visit Equestria's Oldest Spot! A Querier Exclusive! - I stood right over there..." Frontpage nodded towards the front of the cave where they had entered "... for most of it. I was allowed a peek up close, but every second of it I was being watched by her majesty. I felt as if I breathed wrong, the Wrath Of Equestria would fall on me. I think the only reason she allowed it was to stop crazy newfoals from... doing what we're doing now."

"Was the doorway there, back then?"

"No. The door's new." Frontpage looked over the roots. "The rumor is that the tree can grow things on its own, as needed. Whatever 'needed' means. Whatever any of this means." He took a step forward. "I'll go first, and then come back. If I can. If I don't, within a reasonable time, well... I'd suggest you wait. Luna and Discord went in here, it's likely they'll come back out. Eventually. In the mean time..."

Frontpage shook off his saddlebags, and let them drop to the ground. "...you'll have double rations to survive on."

"Frontpage!"

He smiled as he approached the threshold of the doorway. Framed by crystal roots, cloaked by absolute darkness, and devoid of any backside, it was an impossible thing in a world of wonders. Anything could happen. "I want you should know something important, just in case."

"Yes?"

"You've got a swirling magnificent pair of flanks." Frontpage began a short run, and threw himself across the threshold.

8. The Black Ribbon

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

The Black Ribbon

Frontpage couldn't breathe. He struggled, flailing his hooves, tail, ears and neck. His limbs and parts met surfaces he could not comprehend, planes soft and hard at the same time, edges that passed through his flesh even as he impacted them, contradictions and paradoxical contacts.

He could not interpret what he seemed to be seeing. It didn't make sense, it didn't even make a lack of sense - this was not the chaos of Discord, nor was it random. There was a terrible order to everything surrounding him, but it was an order beyond his ken, beyond his ability to interpret.

The sensations pouring into him, as he writhed, made him unable to determine whether he stood or floated or was being held somehow. Every little movement seemed to force a rotation on him, a twisting in directions he had no name for. For a brief moment he became convinced that his head, neck, and forelegs had somehow painlessly intersected his flanks and hindlegs in some manner that defied reason.

In shock and horror, before his mind collapsed, he shouted to the spinning, impossible spaces he had found himself in. He screamed for help, he begged Celestia and Luna for succor. Finally, lost and desperate, his terrified mind retreated to the memory of safety - his apartment. Nice location in Canterlot. Such fine wooden flooring. So solid and strong. Like on his grandfather's model ship. If only he were home, if only he could have lived to finish his Big Scoop...

"Frontpage! FRONTPAGE!" Crimson was shaking him, violently, with a hoof. His body rocked back and forth upon the smooth, polished wood.

Frontpage blinked, and took in a huge, ragged breath. Air! Wonderful, cool air filled his lungs, and for a while, all he could do was breathe and breathe again.

"Frontpage... oh, Celestia... I thought... I thought you were..."

The tears in Crimson's eyes barely registered as Frontpage worked to regain his composure. He wiped tears of his own from his eyes with a foreleg. Gasping, he turned to Crimson. "Wha? How?" He rolled over, his hooves flopping against the polished wood with four solid thunks. Wood. He was on wood. Planks, smooth, polished planks as far as his eye could... no, the wood surface ended at a low wall, a wooden fence above which a churning darkness streaked with color hung.

"You didn't come back, for a long time, I don't know how long. I waited and waited. It must have been at least a day, maybe two! I ate some of the meals, and nopony came back out of the doorway... and I didn't think I could make it all the way back alone, I mean that would be crazy, so I figured that going through was better than getting eaten and I was worried about you, maybe you were in trouble, maybe..."

"How... how did it change?" Frontpage struggled to make sense of where they were. It was no longer some impossible space beyond understanding. Instead, it was a ship. A sixteenth century sailing ship. An Elizabethan Galleon, to be specific, exactly like the model his grandfather had owned. It had sat on top of his rebuilt bookcase, right next to his desk. The model was old, it dated from well before the Collapse, and it had survived that, and the rigors of favela life. Frontpage, when he had been human, had marveled at it more than once.

"How did what change? Are you all right? Do you need any water? I brought our saddlebags with me..."

Frontpage gratefully downed water from a proffered canteen. "The... the everything! It was all nut-muffins in here and... what the Pistache-Fraise is that?"

Crimson followed Frontpage's gaze into the roiling 'sky'. It was unlike any sky that either pony had ever seen. To Frontpage it looked like fractal art made into abstract gears that ground against each other only... no, it was more like streams of color and streaks of light only... that wasn't right either. It wasn't hard to look at, it was there, all around them, it was just hard to define. Trying to nail down what the 'sky' was seemed impossible. It was as if his mind kept trying to reinterpret what his eyes were lying to him about.

"I have no idea, and frankly, I'm trying not to look at it. Are you alright? When I arrived, you weren't breathing, or at least it seemed like you weren't and you just lay there and..." Crimson sniffed. "It was scary, seeing you laying there like that."

"I'm alright... or at least I am now. I wasn't when I stepped through a few minutes ago. It wasn't like this, it was all... I don't know. It was crazy, none of this was here, and what was here was... I don't have the words, and that's saying something for a repor... " Frontpage blinked, several times. "Did you say you waited a day? Two days? I couldn't have stepped through more than a few moments ago. I'd be dead, there was no air!"

Crimson tried to respond, but she felt confused. "At least a day. I think two. I slept a lot. I ate three of the cast-and-eats. Pretty good Manehattan style corn and oat chowder, by the way. One time, some strange dog-like creatures with horns like unicorns came by the cave, but they wouldn't enter it. It was really scary, and they could teleport, but they didn't..."

"Time." Frontpage tried to stand up. It was a little difficult, because he felt weak, and also because the deck was slowly pitching and yawing, as if the ship rode rolling waves. "Time is probably involved, somehow. Minutes here, days there? Or maybe it's weirder even than that. Fraise Pistache magic doors... always weirdness with the fudging things. Time, space, dimension... hey... what the Tarte are you even doing here?"

"Like I said, I was worried about you. And I didn't want to be eaten in the Everfree." Crimson lowered her gaze. "If you had a choice between what we went through, and a black door, what would you choose?"

"Black door, every time. That answers that." Frontpage looked up at the rigging, at the tattered sails stowed and secured to the masts. "I think the next obvious question is... can we go back?" He looked around, turning in place. They were near the forecastle, on the main deck, near two doors. One was simply a black, rectangular void. Although shaped differently, it decidedly resembled the pentagonal magic gateway from the cave. "Is that..."

"Where I came through. Yes." Crimson tidied the saddlebags, putting the canteen back. "But what do we have to go back to?"

It was a fair question. "Alright then." Frontpage helped Crimson put on her saddlebags, then she returned the favor. "I suppose we should begin exploring our new home."

Crimson's eyes narrowed. "Don't be like that. Eventually Luna or Celestia will notice us, or we will find a way to get through to a safer part of Equestria. Have some faith. It's rational to do so here, Equestria is not an uncaring universe!"

"I don't think... this... is Equestria. Not exactly anyway." Frontpage tried to make sense of the bizarre sky once more, but it just made his mind reel.

"Oh, I think it is. Look behind you."

Frontpage turned carefully around, his legs still adjusting to the motion of the deck. On the wall of the cabin to the front of the ship was the name of the vessel, done in stylish golden letters affixed to the wood. Frontpage stared. The letters were not earthpony grainscript, nor unicorn glyphs; they certainly weren't a picture of a ship, like the pegasai would use. The letters were English letters. From earth. His mind swam at that fact as much as what they said.

HMS EQUESTRIA

"Ohhh... kaaayy." Frontpage breathed out, then swallowed, then raised his ears back up. "Didn't it used to be more green?"

"Cute." Crimson nodded in various directions. "It appears that we have several things to investigate. Another door where we are, two doors back there, and a big deck barn, or floor door, or whatever it is."

"Hatch. Cargo hatch, I think. It leads down to the hold."

Crimson looked intently at her surroundings, her gaze settling on the railing above them, guarding the poop deck. "Her Majesty's ship seems to have seen some nasty weather." The rails were broken in several places. It registered in Crimson's brain that the sails were not unfurled, and what could be seen of them appeared torn, with strips of canvas hanging down like moss. "No, worse than that. The HMS Equestria has been through Tartarus."

The two ponies carefully approached the starboard rail and steadied their nerves to look over the side. The crawling, difficult to comprehend 'sky' did not meet any ocean, but continued uninterrupted below the ship. The Equestria was essentially flying through some incomprehensible space.

"Oh sweet Luna, protector of foals..." Crimson's words drifted into silence. Much of the structure of the ship was more than battered, it was rent. Fully a third of the lower hull was nothing but a skeleton of broken wood and shattered beams. Scattered gaps and wide holes riddled the rest of the ship, exposing the interior in many places. It looked like the vessel had encountered a mine field and had only barely escaped total and complete destruction.

"We're on a wreck. If this ship is Equestria, then Equestria is a mess." Frontpage turned from the railing and returned to stand near the door where they had entered. Crimson followed him; looking over starboard had not been a pleasant experience.

"If this ship is... Frontpage!" Crimson's ears were up and pointing to the front. "You said that when you first arrived, everything was different. You said it wasn't like this, that it was crazy. How did it change?"

"How did what... you mean how did the ship get here?"

"Yes! Tell me about that. Tell me how whatever you experienced became the ship we're on now." Crimson's tail was smacking her hocks.

"Uh... I don't know. I couldn't breathe, everything was just... it was insane. Not Discord insane, not like that incident with him, it wasn't chaos. There was an order to it, but... I couldn't interpret anything. I knew it had order, but it was just... it was so totally alien, so totally beyond anything..." Frontpage, normally gifted with words as a writer, found few in his head for use now.

"You were unconscious... or something... when I found you. You were mumbling, too. I couldn't make it out. What were you thinking, when I arrived and you woke up?"

"I don't think I passed out, not exactly. I felt overwhelmed, and I couldn't breathe, so that... had an effect. But I didn't lose consciousness, not entirely." Frontpage stared at the deck. "I... was thinking about wood!"

"Wood?"

"The floor of my apartment in Canterlot. It's wood. Polished wood. Really nice. The Querier had arranged things for me, I could have gone with the marble floor place, but I liked the wood. The agent didn't approve much of my choice, the marble is more upscale, but I liked the wood. Back on earth, wood was... only the elite of the elite had anything made of wood. For me..."

"Wood!" Crimson stomped her hoof, making a hollow thump on the deck. "Did you think about ships? Sailing ships?"

"What are you getting at?" Frontpage stared at the jiggling mare. She seemed excited, like she had figured something out.

"Did you, in any way, any way at all, think of a sailing ship?"

Frontpage shook his head. Of course not. Why on earth would he... earth. Wood. His grandfather's model. He had been thinking about his apartment, wishing he was home instead of suffering in... whatever it was. He thought about his nice wooden floor - he loved to lay on it, and just soak in what it represented to him - and he had thought about a sailing ship! A wooden sailing ship! His grandfather's model of a...

"Yeah... I did. I thought about this model of an old ship, a Galleon... just like the one we're on..." It was hitting him. The awful whatever it was went away right after that. Just before Crimson had appeared. "What, you're thinking that this is some kind of... holo... room... or something? That it reads our minds and configures itself or something? This is an illusion?"

"Not exactly." Crimson gave the forecastle a kick. The wood was solid and real. "Equestria is magic. Or something. We use the word 'magic' but what does that even mean? It's like saying 'Dark Matter', back in our old universe. Might as well have been 'Magic Matter', it means the same thing. Dark. Occult. Unknown. Magic."

"So, we're on a magical holodeck?" Frontpage had loved those silly old sci-fi shows.

"I think... more than that. Holograms are illusions, projections, theatre. Magic, in Equestria, does real things. Transforms solid objects. Makes physical things out of nothing at all. And what magic does... isn't false. It's really real. It's buildings and towers and roads and rakes and shovels. It's mane clips and telescopes that you can hoof down to your grandfoals." Crimson knocked the deck again with her foreleg. "What if there was something beyond a holodeck? Something that didn't make illusions at all, but which manufactured real things with the same speed?"

"A Krell Machine?" Frontpage was half-testing Crimson here. She knew holodecks, so she had somehow come across some of his old shows back when she was a child in Antarctica. She probably had a lot of time back then to watch video, considering what she had said of her lonely life. It was rare to find anypony who shared all of his interests, and Crimson was starting to grow on him. She'd make a Fritter of a reporter, that was certain now.

"A what?"

Frontpage sighed, inside himself. She had only been on earth until she was twelve, after all.

"Wait!" Crimson smiled. "I know that movie! The planet thing? With the saucer and the invisible monster? Krell. The Krell. It was a machine... a machine that could do anything! It made the monster!"

Frontpage felt like dancing, despite the bizarre circumstances. "Right! Forbidden Planet. The Krell Machine would manufacture reality based on thought alone. You think it, it becomes real. Easier than magic, actually. That's what killed the Krell - they never invented idiot-proof requesters that asked 'Do You Really Want To Do This? Yes - No.'. Wow. I am so glad you know that movie!" He could feel himself grinning. He was grinning hard.

"I didn't have many friends growing up. Any friends." Crimson found her hooves interesting for a moment. "I guess books and movies were my friends. I watched a lot of things. Science Fiction wasn't my favorite - I liked musicals, mostly - but there were a few I thought were good. I remember that one."

Crimson raised her head and slapped her tail against her hocks like a crop. "Hey! Now that's a thought! What if Equestria is a big Krell Machine?"

"The original Machine was twenty miles on a side, it was already big. But... I see where you're going." Frontpage scratched his ear with a hoof. "You think that the Equestrian Krell Machine picked up on my thoughts when I was distressed, and made a real earth ship from my memories of my grampa's model... and my apartment. And that is what saved me, and provided a place that was safe for you when you came through."

Crimson faintly bounced on her hooves. "Exactly! Like that. Not a fake anything, a real ship. Made of real wood. The machine saved you... and me, too!"

"Doesn't work for me. Not entirely."

"But... ship!"

"No, I get that. The coincidence is too great. But the Krell Machine didn't care. It just made whatever any Krell thought of. And the emphasis is on Krell - ordinary minds were too puny to even register on the thing."

Crimson studied the tops of the masts. "Okay - not Krell Machine. This isn't a movie. Maybe we're dealing with something that does care, and works to make environments that keep ponies alive. Maybe it does respond to smaller minds! Try thinking something up!" Huh. That was odd, up at the top of the mainmast.

"I've already tried. The moment we started talking Krell Machines, I was conjuring Pony Altaira. Nothing." Frontpage was trying to figure out what to do next. Talk was useful, but he was a pony of action. Or misadventure, at least.

Crimson glared at Frontpage. "What, I am not interesting enough for you?"

Damn, she knew the movie pretty well. "I... I uh... well..."

She smiled. "We're on a pirate ship. Was that your idea?"

"W-what?" Crimson felt almost as disoriented as he had been when he had first stepped through the dark doorway.

"A pirate ship. Look!"

Frontpage followed Crimson's gaze into the rafters and on up. At the top of the mainmast was a black flag. On the flag was the skull of a pony, with two crossed cannon-bones below it. "The... bones?"

"Oh! I hadn't thought of THAT!" Crimson's ears dipped and flicked. "Discord wasn't supposed to see the 'bones', right? What if that flag is what he isn't supposed to see?"

"Skull and bones, pony style. No, that didn't come from me. My grampa's model was a ship of the line, and had a British flag on it. He didn't like pirates. Of any kind."

"Then... if it didn't come from you, then it's trying to tell us something. But what?"

"Crimson? Tell us something?"

Crimson walked to the door next to the one they had entered from. "Let's open this one! We'll never find out what's what just talking. Open the door!"

Frontpage half smiled. He couldn't remember getting married, but what the Hay. "Yes, dear." He used his most downtrodden voice.

"I... I didn't mean... I just... " Crimson blushed, under her coat. "If you would be so kind, would you care to attempt opening this door? It is my belief that we should explore further." Her body language had instantly become reserved and stiff.

Frontpage's ears fell and hung to the sides as if their plugs had been pulled. Blew it. He blew it. Flan. "Uh... yes. I think that's a good idea. Investigative reporters... investigate." Muffin, muffin, muffin. And she'd just gotten the stick out and everything. He'd already sussed that she hid behind being proper and prim. Before he'd gone out to the Acres Plantation, Puffpiece had given him a run-down. She was supposed to be quite the rough-and tumble country mare. That wasn't what he had found. Crimson Acres had retreated into herself, back to her Antarctic childhood. He'd met her type before. Something bad had happened, and she had put her armor on.

He'd almost gotten her out of it. Double Bran Muffin.

Frontpage took the handle of the door in his teeth. The grip had been designed not for humans, but for ponies. That was interesting. He set a foreleg against the wall and pulled. There was resistance, so he applied a little earthpony power.

The door sprung open and Frontpage tumbled back. Crimson barely got out of the way in time. From within some chamber in the forecastle, something sprang out.

The something was black, impossibly dark, just like the strange door in the Tree of Harmony. It was a band, a great ribbon, twenty-four hooves high, and it just kept spooling out, writhing and curling and whipping about the deck.

Crimson and Frontpage plastered themselves against the forecastle wall and tried to avoid the rushing fence that was the black ribbon. It frightened them, not just because it was unexpected, not just because it was utterly alien to their experience.

Something was wrong with it.

The end of the vast ribbon was ripped... or torn... or damaged. The nigrescent substance of it sparked and flickered and licked the air like some wounded tongue. It hissed and sizzled as though it were the end of a live wire, energized with deadly amperages. The length of the ribbon had faults, spots and tears where bolts of horrifying, lightning-like energies tore out and attacked the deck and anything near. The ribbon was broken in some manner, and the thing that made both Crimson and Frontpage certain of this was a deep and powerful feeling of unnameable dread.

Finally, the ribbon of darkness finished unspooling from the opened doorway. It settled down, coiled across the entirety of the ship's wooden deck. It was still, now, except for the constant sizzle from the broken end - happily hidden from view by several coils of the dark band - and the odd bolt-like discharge from the tiny nicks and perforations that were scattered along its length.

Frontpage caught his breath, and stood up, near the door. It was no use trying to close it. He didn't feel safe even trying. "Surprize!" It seemed funny in his mind.

To his astonishment, Crimson laughed. "And it isn't even my birthday!"

Frontpage smiled. Maybe he hadn't blown things entirely. "It feels wrong."

"You get that too?"

"Like its... broken. Like its damaged. How do we even... this is something we've never seen before. Nopony's ever seen before..."

Crimson watched one of the small rips in the ribbon discharge jagged branches of bright, burning energy to the deck. Small, dark spots were starting to mar the planks. "I wouldn't say nopony. The princesses must know about all of this. And Discord too."

"Somehow, I can just tell there is something busted about... whatever that is. Just like the whole ship." Frontpage was busy jotting down notes in shorthoof. He replaced his pad and pencil back inside his saddlebag. "Dumplings!"

"What?" Crimson looked wildly about. After so much strangeness, her imagination was offering her the unwelcome suggestions that they might not be alone, or that something else might pop out suddenly.

"We can't get to any of the other doors now! I'm not even sure about the hatch - look!"

Crimson followed the curving ribbon of darkness with her eyes. It snaked across the deck, right across one corner of the hatch to the hold, and ended in a coil right next to the port railing. It walled off access to the two doors that had been across from them. The ribbon was far too tall to jump over, and far too scary to approach in any case.

"That is... problematic."

"Oh yeah, I'd say so. If we can't open that hatch..."

Crimson stepped forward. "Then, let's try the hatch. Help me. How does this open?"

Frontpage gave the hatch a tap with a hoof, and followed along it, inspecting it. "Hinges. We lift it. From this side."

Frontpage and Crimson worked together to lift the large hatch cover. A far corner was covered by a curve of the strange black ribbon. Shrugging with their ears, the two ponies lay down and slipped their forehooves under the rim of the cover. Pushing up in unison, the cover lifted. The black ribbon slid off as if it were frictionless and essentially weightless. The ribbon danced for a while, as the curves and coils resettled themselves. It was bizarre - and intimidating - watching a twenty-four hoof high ribbon of darkness and lightning snake and writhe, settling into place at last, like some enchanted, evil slinky.

The cargo hatch was nearly upright. Crimson pushed from low, and Frontpage from high, until the cover passed the half-way mark. Only then did they realize that the falling cover would slam into the side of the weird ribbon. Fears of upsetting the thing so much that it might whip across the entire deck filled their minds. Crimson ran to the door they had entered from, followed closely by Frontpage.

The cargo hatch fell, it's hinges squeaking. It slammed to the deck, full half of it crossing the upright plane of the fence-like dark ribbon.

Frontpage felt his jaw hang open.

The hatch had collided with the side of the ribbon. Or rather, it hadn't. Half of the hatch cover was now simply... gone. The hatch cover ended at the ribbon, as if sawed off precisely to meet it. It had passed through the side of the ribbon as if the ribbon were nothing but a shadow, an illusion.

Or like the door in the Tree Of Harmony, Frontpage thought. The look on Crimson's face suggested she thought the very same thing.

"It's... a door. The ribbon is a long... door, isn't it?" Crimson marveled. "It's a doorway, just like there..." She gestured with her foreleg at the entrance portal. "...and it's broken somehow." She thought for a moment. "Or it was cut. To make the door in the tree..."

Frontpage goggled. He was a science fiction fan, but this was a novel notion even for him. "The... ribbon... is a length of... doorway... a space-time door, a wormhole, something like that... and it can be cut and sections assigned entrances and exits? Is that what you're saying?"

"Well, the end is all broken or cut... I wish I could get a look at it again, but it's wrapped up in coils of itself... and we have the feeling it is damaged, right? And it's just like the Tree door, because the hatch went right into it, so...?"

"It's a theory." Frontpage walked to the open cargo hatchway. "But I'm not stepping into it."

Crimson's ears twitched at that. It had struck her that if the cargo hold didn't pan out, there weren't many options left. "What's down there?"

Of course it was the only thing it probably could be. A flat plane of absolute black.

"Another weird black portal." Frontpage sighed.

"Or another cutting from that ribbon." Crimson rather liked her theory. It seemed strangely practical to her.

"Wormholes by the Horse Length? Doorways cut by hoof-measure? Do you need dimension scissors to cut bits off?" Frontpage snorted.

"Dimension sci-fi-ssors, I should think." Crimson giggled at the groan that resulted. "So, just jump in? The space-time is fine?"

"I thought you said you preferred musicals." Frontpage did not relish jumping down through a flat plane of darkness.

"Doesn't mean I didn't watch my share of weird stuff." Crimson approached the hatchway. "Hoofstand Reverse with two Somersaults in the Tuck Position... or just Bellyflop the Darkness?"

"I feel more like we're Magic Missiling the Darkness." Frontpage noticed the confused expression. "Dead Alewives? No?" Frontpage sighed. "That was a long time ago even when I was young. "How about 'There is no darkness but ignorance.'?"

"Shakespeare?"

"Somehow I'm not surprised you'd be learning Shakespeare before the age of twelve." The sort of life that Crimson had lead on earth had gradually been sinking in to Frontpage. It didn't appeal to him in any way.

"Of course. I was paraded around at dinner parties by my parents. I was quite the 'Smart Little Lady'. Quite the showpiece to display." A wave of sadness washed over Crimson's features. "It's amazing how some things never quite vanish." She raised her ears. "Stop dawdling, Amaryllis!" With that, Crimson Acres hopped over the threshold and fell through the Stygian shadow.

Frontpage was shocked. Just like that, she just hopped right in! "Huh. I guess she does like musicals." There was nothing else for it. More than a little uncertain, Frontpage stepped close to the edge of the cargo hatch. It was all so absurd. A broken, battered pirate ship sailing through... nowhere. A damaged ribbon of darkness that had some solidity at the edges, but acted as a gateway along its length. Her Majesty's Ship 'Equestria'. The 'bones', whatever they were. Luna and Discord and frozen bunnies from the Everfree and some threat of some kind. The Everfree getting worse. And Crimson's dead sister. Doors within doors. All the answers were somehow supposed to be inside the Tree Of Harmony? Perhaps.

"I'd better get the Przewalski Prize for this."

Then Frontpage dived into the tenebrous hatchway.

9. A Twinkie The Size Of Manehattan

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

A Twinkie The Size Of Manehattan

"Would sire and dam care for more Southern Ocean?" The waiter was still on edge, desperate to please his divinely sent customers. "O-or I could bring a bottle of Northern Sea? On ice?"

Equestrian physiology was very different to that of any creature that had ever walked the long vanished earth. Alcohol did not naturally exist within the new universe, but even if it could, it would have no effect upon a pony. Equestrians were inebriated by salt, but not damaged by it. In effect, Equestria was bordered by literal oceans of wine.

"No, no thank you Cameriere, I think we've had enough, actually." Frontpage nodded, somewhat clumsily, at the finished bottle of Elegant Surf resting on its side upon the table. "Bring us some cola. Cherry cola. Lots of it. Please." Sugar acted to sober ponies, which had no fear of diabetes... or any other serious ailment. Equestrian biology still astonished Frontpage, even after a century.

"Of course, sir. Is milady...?"

"She's fine. We've just had... a bit of an adventure. A little sugar will perk her up. Great meal, by the way!"

The waiter, Cameriere, gave a brief half smile of pride and snapped to attention. He offered a nodding bow and trotted off sprightly to attend to the order. Crimson snorted, then raised her head from the tablecloth, a tiny line of drool curving up from where she had been snoring.

Frontpage and Crimson, after passing through the dark ribbon, had found themselves stumbling through a tapestry hung over a large hole in a brick wall. The wall was part of a basement store-room crammed with barrels and crates, shelves and racks. There was a red carpet with golden borders and fine detail work under their hooves, leading away from the tapestry. The tapestry depicted a night sky, in which was rising the Equestrian moon - unmistakably the moon as it was before the return and redemption of the princess Luna - a Nightmare Moon. The tapestry was very ancient, as was the carpet. They had both been arranged with reverence and care.

The storeroom was part of an Italian bistro run by Newfoal immigrants, in the Little Terra section of Greater New Manehattan. Like Ponyville, Manehatten, formerly the largest city in all of Equestria, had expanded since the age of the Bureaus, and the later contact with the Exponentials. Being the primary hub for all trade and commerce, Manehattan had vastly changed over the last century. The Exponentials offered many goods, and direct connection to them had quintupled the size of Equestria's one, and only, experiment with a pony industrial revolution. Now, Manehattan had boroughs and even a gentle sort of ghetto, in as much as such a thing could exist within a cosmos defined by friendship as a fundamental force.

"Come on, don't be difficult. Drink your cola. It's good for you." Frontpage briefly looked askance at the cola carafe - only in Equestria could sugar be a health food. "We're supposed to be representing princess Luna, remember? I don't think being salt-snockered gives a good impression!"

"Awww... I got the distinnnt feelin' tha waiter was espec... especking... quite prepared... to slurve... serve Her Majesty... a whole salt mine there. Back there. Then." Crimson swallowed more of the dark soda pop. She blinked for a while, and gradually began to straighten up as her gaze became more focused. "I... norally... normally..." She burped. Loudly. For an astonishingly long time. "Sorry. I normally do not indulge in salt. It's just that... after everything we've been through... I..."

Frontpage chuckled. "No need to explain. I'm a reporter. Goes with the job. If you don't need a drink to calm down, you suck as a journalist." Frontpage got Crimson to down some more cola. "At least true addiction is impossible here - though psychological addiction definitely is. Reporters are a hard-drinking lot. Welcome to the profession."

"So, will the Koo-Koo Cloud Gazette cover my tab?"

"We're on Luna's payroll, as far as anyone knows... and that's all they should know."

Crimson burped again. She looked much more alert now. "Right. That's right."

When Frontpage and Crimson had exited the storeroom basement, they had been greeted at the top of the stairs by the head waiter, Cameriere. He had initially acted flustered and surprised, but by holding their tongues and observing carefully, both Crimson and Frontpage had caught that only one pony ever arrived at the bistro though the basement - Luna, Diarch Of The Night. Apparently, the newfoal-run Italian eatery was a secret favorite of hers. Occasionally she would bring a few friends, all dressed in long cloaks, very hush-hush.

Frontpage had been impressed by Crimson's growing reporter skills when she had carefully allowed the waiter to believe that they had been sent by the princess. After all, how else could they have arrived from beyond the - quite forbidden - tapestry? After that deception, they had instantly become honored and very important guests, worthy of only the best, and a private dining room as well.

Over a simply marvelous Puttanesca Sauce with Fried Capers on Linguine, Ribollita, Ceci e Carciofi Marinati, and far too much bread dipped in olive oil, balsamic and parmesan, along with several bottles of exquisite Southern Ocean, both had finally conquered their vast hunger. Properly fed, and with a little too much to drink, Frontpage had fallen into a stupor, and Crimson had simply laid her head down on the table. Both reporters, and those they reported on well knew: nothing made a meal more memorable, nor delicious, than a narrow escape.

"We have a decision to make." Frontpage downed the last of the cherry cola himself.

"Decision?" Crimson dabbed at her muzzle with her napkin, which she had discovered just under one of bottles of seawater which had fallen on its side. "You mean... whether we count ourselves fortunate now... or go back?"

Frontpage nodded. The mare was sharp. "The smart thing would be to walk out the front of this feedbag and toddle home with our tails between our legs. Even I have to admit, we're in way over our polls here." He checked the carafe, to see if any cola remained. "We've nearly been eaten by monsters, we've cantered through forbidden spaces, and steeplechased through Wormholes-By-The-Hooflength. I can't say it hasn't been fun, but..."

"FUN?" Crimson began to sputter, but then settled herself. "Actually, in retrospect, sitting over this wonderful meal... safe at last... I would be dishonest to say I haven't found our adventures fascinating. Horrifying, nightmarish, and utterly mad, of course... but fascinating. Stimulating. I feel more alive than I have in... Hmm... honestly, I am both surprised and... not surprised by that. Perhaps I have spent too many years on mother's plantation and..."

"Crimson!" Frontpage placed his forehooves in front of him, on the table "I get it, I do. I've seen it before, in rookie reporters, I see it now in your eyes. There can be thrills digging up a story - but it's also possible to end up digging your own grave. Maybe my job, and your sister... are better left buried. I'm serious. We're meddling in cosmic-level stuff here. I thought, maybe... I don't know what I thought. I know I wasn't expecting any of this. Frankly, I'm starting to wonder if Gotchararzzi wasn't right."

"Maybe there are things no pony was meant to know?" Crimson leaned forward, studying the eyes of the reporter. "I don't think you really believe that. I know I don't. Not now. I've seen behind the curtain, mister Frontpage. And I've lost my sister. This isn't just a job to me, this is a rescue mission. I intend to get my sister back."

"From the dead."

Crimson nodded, solemnly. "Oh yes, mister Frontpage. From hell itself, if I have to." She hadn't used the human word 'hell' in half a century. It felt strange dredging up such a concept with Equestria.

"This is Celestia's cosmos. If your sister's anywhere, she's got to be in heaven, Crimson. Celestia wouldn't create a hell. She's not the type. If there's a pony heaven, it's going to be even better than this - " Frontpage gestured widely with his hooves "and this is already basically heaven as far as I'm concerned. Given that..."

Crimson was quiet for a while. Two whiles. Finally, she looked up. "I have to know. I have to at least know that she's somewhere good, then. The bottom line is that... I have to know."

"Fair enough, I understand the drive - but we don't have to take the fast path. She's still going to be there in, say... two, two and a half centuries? We'll all find out then. Guaranteed."

Crimson's face struggled to settle on an expression. Finally humor won out. "Cute. And true, as far as it goes. But two centuries is an awfully long time, and finding out then doesn't help anyone here and now."

Frontpage's ears twitched. "Swirl. You've caught a bad case of the journalism from me, Ms. Acres. That could be a real problem for bo..."

There were screams and shouts beyond the door to their private dining room. As Crimson and Frontpage turned to look at the doorway, it burst open. Cameriere stood, his cannons shaking. "Please! Call the princess! Oh, sweet Luna! Call her now!"

Frontpage looked at Crimson, then back to the waiter. "Of course, of course. If it becomes necessary." He glanced again at Crimson, she was clearly on board "But before I do that, I need to know what is going on. Can't just call her majesty over every little thing, you know!"

Crimson nodded sagely, repressing a smile. Somehow, playing along with Frontpage's schemes in order to learn things had become delicious fun. Even when there were terrified shrieks emanating from the next room.

"See for yourself! Look! Hurry! Look!" The waiter shrank against the wall and cowered.

Frontpage and Crimson blinked at each other, then stood. The cola had helped; they did not feel shaky or woozy. They followed the screams and sounds of pony horror. After everything they had just been through, neither was overly surprised at their own calmness as they passed beyond the dining room door and turned the corner to view the bistro proper. After Everfree monsters and hyperdimensional sailing ships, it was hard to take the fears of ponies safely ensconced within a restaurant seriously.

The bistro was in shambles. Tables suffered messily scattered dishes and food. Padded pony benches lay on their sides. Against the walls, patrons huddled, occasionally screaming in fear. Initially, it was difficult to tell what was frightening them so. Then Frontpage and Crimson saw the cause.

There were quite a few strange new guests entering the bistro. Some were ponies, some were very definitely not. Those that were ponies were dressed oddly, in styles that were fashionable centuries ago. Those that were not ponies were griffons and one medium sized dragon, and they were dressed for the sorts of battles that had occurred long before the Pax Equestria.

The most interesting part of their arrival was not that they were unfashionable, nor that they were translucent and shining, like luminescent walking mists - rather it was that they did not seem to need the door to enter, nor were they bothered with the solidity of tables or seats. One diaphanous, yet very fierce-looking armored griffon tried to sniff at a plate of orecchiette. Its glowing, pellucid beak passed through the plate, and the table entirely.

Crimson's eyes went wide. Her withers began to rise, along her spine and neck.

Frontpage slowly closed his open muzzle. He swallowed. "Who...."

"Who...ya..." Crimson spoke nervously, but she was able to make sounds.

"...gonna call?" Frontpage began backing around the corner. Crimson followed, unable to turn her back on the scene. Frontpage's tail impacted the doorframe of the private room. "Not me, that's for sure."

"B-Basement?"

"Basement."

Uncle Tumble and Aunt Peony had been forced to grab and hold both Jinx and Clover. Jinx desperately wanted to run and play with the ephemeral deceased bunnies, while Clover had gone from a demanding state of anxiety to a place far past worry; somewhere just beyond the corner of fear and terror, she had taken the turn-off that led to unhinged panic.

Both were busy hyperventilating for opposite reasons within the crushing grasp of Uncle Tumble's massive troll-arms.

"Lemme go, bad smelly Unca' Tumble! I wanna PLAYYY!"

"They're GHOSTS! Specters! SPOOKS! Oh Celestia! Oh Luna! just like in those books!"

Uncle Tumble paid neither filly any attention. He simply held the two young ponies in his iron grasp, close to his chest. Peony already had the door to the basement open. Tumble's heavy paws stomped down the stairs. Peony scrambled after him, her heart pounding in her barrel.

At the bottom, they immediately rounded the storage shelves and went straight for the alcove that held the glowing, pulsing Bevelmeiter tube. Tumble and Peony collapsed with their backs to it, as close as they could possibly get. It was their last hope, and their last stand against their own rising fear. The fear was not without basis. The yard, and now the house itself, was rapidly filling up with phantasms.

While Equestrian culture had already possessed the concept of a ghost, the pony notion of such an entity was fairly tame. Traditionally, spooks and spirits, if they existed at all, could be banished easily with laughter and joy. They could do no real harm to anypony.

Somehow, despite Celestia's strict campaign to carefully control what earthly media entered Equestria, an uncomfortable number of prohibited books, films and recordings had somehow been smuggled in and disseminated. Many ponies now knew about terrifying, viscerally disturbing human-styled horror stories, including dark and murderous ghost stories. Tales of deeply frightening and destructive apparitions had gradually become a part of the culture, ruining the sleep, and the peace, of many gentle ponies young and old.

The day had started out innocently enough. A spot of roughhousing near the blackberry bush by the well at the rear of the plantation house. Some quiet time while Peony fixed Tumble's torn vest. Then the fillies had found the yard filled with long-dead spectral bunnies. By evening, a strategic retreat into the house seemed wise when more than bunnies began to show up. The outlines of barely-visible unknown ponies appeared from out of the banana stalks, moving eerily in the fading light. But worst were the great impalpable wyrms silently gliding overhead. As the dark of night encroached, the etheric dragons could be seen in detail, and their glowing transparent forms wore ancient armor and tail-mounted war blades from long ago. They seemed drawn towards Canterlot mountain, but to get there, they chose to pass above the plantation.

For a short while, the plantation house appeared to be a sanctuary. Clover pressed her muzzle to the window, trying to see the bunnies, Jinx hid behind the sofa for fear of the empyreal dragons. They finally dared eat dinner. During dessert, much to the delight of little Clover, the first bunny scampered through the walls, darting through the furniture. Quite soon, the house was filled with gossamer, glowing bunnies from beyond. The arrival of the shade of a soundlessly snarling griffon warrior sent the four of them to the basement in desperation. Tumble offered the faint hope that the fearsome power of the recently installed Bevelmeiter might repel the increasingly terrifying shades.

And it seemed to work. Several times phantasmic entities attempted to approach Peony, Tumble, Clover and Jinx, where they huddled close to the softly glowing, spinning Bevelmeiter tube. The apparitions invariably halted, shrinking away from proximity to the tube as if it were some burning star that seared and blinded them. A nightmare creature, almost certainly an abomination from the Everfree, held ephemeral claws up to its large compound eyes and turned, as if somehow stung, before slinking back through the shelves and crates it had originally arrived through. It passed beyond the basement wall, and into the surrounding soil. It seemed the shadow of something not insect, nor bear but somehow both and neither, yet with fangs alien to either.

Even Clover, by this time, had forgotten bunnies, and pressed her face deep into the armpit of Uncle Tumble, heedless of any smells. She no longer wanted to see bunnies, for fear of seeing everything else.

Peony curled around and partly over her canid husband, doing her best to comfort the fillies. "I...I think we're safe, here." Thinking again of poor anxious Jinx, she worked to sound more confident. "We're very safe, as long as we stay here, by the light of the tube. V-very good plan, Tumble, you always find the answer to all of our problems!" She did not feel even half the assurance she was trying to project.

"Incorporeal invaders present problematic ontological concerns for poor Tumble. Me unsure about many previously held understandings about world. But good that tube keep haunting wraiths at bay. Me much glad this work." The diamond dog gently scritched the polls of the two fillies clinging to him for protection. "Little pony pups take heart. Bevelmeiter keep safe. Phantasms not like concentrated thaumatic energies. We safe here." He patted them and stroked their quaking backs.

"W-why do you think they don't like the tube?" Peony wished she had brought snacks and drink with her when they had made their hurried descent to the basement. There was no way to tell how long this strange phenomena would last - and worse, it had started during the day. There was no guarantee that the dawn would somehow banish the occult terrors.

"This part of ontological problem Tumble is having, dearest wife." Tumble nuzzled Peony, which greatly comforted them both. "If spirits exist, they must be magic. Bevelmeiter is powerful magical engine. Me originally think - bright spinning engine use magic for fuel. Ghost not want to come near, because engine maybe steal lifeforce away. But specters act blinded, they shy like burned by fire. Bevelmeiter push ghost away, not suck ghost up. Me wonder why this? Is ghost not magic? If not magic, then what? Why magic hurt ghost, if ghost made of magic?"

Jinx was whimpering again, Peony spent some time nuzzling and grooming what parts of her she could reach. Both fillies seemed intent on pressing so close into the front of poor Tumble that they were already almost behind him. Clover and Jinx also needed comforting attention, which Peony dutifully provided. Eventually they seemed to relax somewhat. Peony attempted to gain what comfort she could from joining them in squishing into the muscular diamond dog. Eventually, Peony almost felt calm. She found herself considering Tumble's questions.

Peony watched one of the long-dead bunnies make a run straight at her, only to stop, cover its eyes, and back away through the walls again. It did seem as if it were being harmed... or at least greatly inconvenienced... by the pulsing light of the arcane tube. "Maybe... maybe it's too much? Maybe the tube radiates something... maybe it feels hot to them... wherever they are?"

"They right here!" Tumble studied the last of the etherial bun, as it vanished into the wall.

"Not... entirely, love. I think the ghosts, if that is what they truly are, are partly here... and partly somewhere else." Peony wasn't entirely certain of what she was saying, but it felt less frightening to imagine that these strange events might be somehow be understood with enough talk.

Tumble nodded, as if with approval. "Ah, clever Peony invoke multiple-world theory! Pony smart, Tumble always know this. Ghost exist in other dimension, tilted outside normal plane of reality. Old theory, Tumble come across in book from Peony homeworld long time back."

"Oh yes... you tried to learn about earth for me, oh, goodness, that must have been seventy years ago now!" Peony was ever surprised at Tumble's amazing memory. Talking was helping. She felt much better now.

Tumble smiled. "Yes. There is dimension beyond all known. It dimension vast like sky and timeless like infinity. It middle ground between light and shadow. Between science and superstition. It lie between pit of fear and summit of knowledge. It dimension of imagination. Area called..."

But before Tumble could finish, both he and Peony found themselves gasping in horrified surprise.

Before them, shielding her eyes with a hoof, stood the lab-coated, ephemeral shade of Crimson Acre's recently deceased sister.

Plantain Acres.

10. The Stars Will Aid In Her Escape

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

The Stars Will Aid In Her Escape

The surface was without friction. Crimson found herself gliding toward a distant wall immediately upon stepping through the swath of cosmic ribbon behind the tapestry in the bistro. Her legs found no purchase and splayed out around her, like a deer failing to walk on ice. She spun, slowly, as she slid. She had felt no impact when her barrel and undercarriage had fallen a great distance to the surface she now lay upon.

The substance that surrounded her was both zero-coefficient and cared little for Newton's third law.

As the wall ahead grew closer, Crimson found the strange surface she lay upon of interest. It seemed crystalline, glass-like. She could perceive depth to it, in the manner in which a murky lake or cloudy gemstone scatters light. Like ice, though it was neither cold nor warm. It had no temperature or feel to it at all. It was simply solid. She would call it hard, save for the lack of any feeling of concussion when she had lost her hooves and fallen.

It was also utterly, deeply blue. Dark, midnight blue in the murky, dim light. They had walked from a brightly lit bistro into night, and slippery ice that lacked coldness. The onrushing wall came swiftly. Instantly, Crimson was moving away from it, she had not felt the wall, though she had experienced her body deforming against it. The wall was solid, like the floor, and made of the same material. Her spin had ceased, thanks to the manner of her rebound. It was difficult to think of the event as an impact. She felt no harm from it, just as had happened when she had first collapsed upon the strange floor.

Frontpage was sliding toward her, slightly off center to her line of travel. "Crimson! Try to grab me! Or stick a leg out so I can grab you!"

Crimson attempted to sit, but this was impossible. Without friction, she could not stand, she could not even lift her body from the ground. She struggled, uselessly, to alter her trajectory, or to place herself in a position where she could snag the reporter. Finally, she resorted to extending all of her limbs as far as she could - her tail, too. Perhaps Frontpage could figure something out, she felt at a loss. "I think this is the best I can do!"

Frontpage, much to her amazement, had found a means to sit upright. She watched, as he slowly approached. He struggled to grasp his own hindlegs with his forelegs. He fell over several times, but gamely fought to leverage half of his own body for the benefit of the rest. Using both a hooking foreleg and a stiff and locked hindleg that fought slipping away through sheer effort, he managed to raise his body and support it on carefully balanced flanks and hindlegs. "I do yoga!"

Crimson stretched as wide as she could, prone on the not-ice. "What?"

"Flexibility is important!" Frontpage suddenly lunged, throwing his upper body with the spring-action of his lotus legs. The motion was ungainly, ridiculous, like a manatee with severe personal issues. But it worked. It worked surprisingly well.

Frontpage rose above the slippery blueness, and almost floated closer to Crimson's trajectory line. His contact with the ground was gentle, and surprisingly slow. Crimson found her face full of tan coat and a fedora-and-press-pass cutie mark. Much scrambling and fussing ensued. After some difficult twisting, grunting, and clambering over each other, Crimson and Frontpage both sat, upright, gliding silently on their flanks.

"Where the bizcocho are we?" It was a reasonable question, Crimson thought. It was also possibly unanswerable. "Not Equestria, surely!"

Frontpage was staring straight up, a look of wonder and fear upon his face. "We're... we're not exactly on... Equestria. We're above it."

Crimson regretted looking up the moment she did it. She returned her eyes to the ground, and to Frontpage, almost immediately. "Sweet Luna!"

"Apt, considering. Very apt."

They were in a pit. The deeply cerulean pit was roughly cross-shaped, like an 'X', with sides that looked strangely melted. The pit was deep, the walls at least several dozen hooves high. They were in no danger of sliding up and out of it. Which was good, very good, because somewhere, along one of the dark walls of the pit, was a length of cosmic ribbon, their only means of escape.

Above them, far, far above them, so very far, was an impossibly vast parabolic shape, curving away into infinity from some focus almost directly overhead. The strange contour above was covered with sparse clouds, and below those were the familiar landscape of Equestria. Mountains and rivers, seas and endless grasslands, deserts and even frozen, icy regions made a geographical quilt that hung above their heads. It was akin to a view from orbit, back when the earth had existed, save that the cosmos of Equestria had no space, and most obviously now, had no planets.

"The dome of the sky." His words were flat, but also almost filled with religious reverence. It was one thing to read that Equestria was essentially a flat plane, covered by a crystal dome upon which the disks of sun and moon moved; it was quite another thing to look... down... from that dome.

"Why don't we... fall?" Crimson clung tightly to Frontpage, making his breathing difficult. It took some adjustment and effort before he could reply.

"There's something like gravity here. Low gravity, not strong I think. I feel light, and my little stunt... I floated to you, it was like some dream..." Frontpage looked again at the land above them then returned his gaze to Crimson. "No jumping, I think. We need to be careful."

Crimson laughed nervously. "You think?"

Frontpage started to laugh, but just then the two ponies found themselves crushed into each other as they rebounded off a wall of the azure pit. Their heads smacked painfully into each other, and they spent some time rubbing their polls afterwards. The speed of their travel seemed unchanged.

"Four... stars. Four." Frontpage was looking around the curious indentation upon what must be the smooth and crystal dome of the sky.

"Four... stars? What is it? Did you figure out something?" Crimson struggled to not look upwards again. The view was fascinating, amazing, breathtaking. It was also terrifying.

"We're in an 'X'. An X-shaped pit. The walls look... strange. Like melted candle wax. This place was excavated. It's as if four laser-bulldozers had a battle in here. Remember the story of Luna? Of how she returned?"

Crimson nodded. "That supposedly happened just before Equestria made contact with earth. Luna was basically having a time-out for bad behavior. A thousand years as an 'aspect of the moon', whatever that means."

"I've come to the conclusion it was literal. Every painting before that time that depicts the Equestrian moon shows a dark stain across it. That stain is gone now. We know the princesses are shape-shifters, they can take any form. I suspect Luna was... disbursed, sprayed, across the disk of the moon. Somehow. I think it took her a long time to... pull the bits back together, so to speak. WALL!"

This time they were both ready, and worked their rebound so that neither injured the other. "I think we're getting better at this!" Crimson made an effort at a smile. She was trying very hard not to think overly much about just how meringued they probably were right now.

"The story goes that, and I quote, 'The stars will aid in her escape'". Frontpage rearranged, carefully, his hind legs so that they draped over, and interlocked more effectively with Crimson's legs. bound together, sitting upright was much easier and more stable. It hurt their tailbones, but it was the only way to see well, and to take effective action. If any action even could be effective here. "The best understanding is that the stars, in Equestria, are living beings, created by Luna, to populate the dome of the sky. I've heard it suggested that they march around, glowing, to whatever patterns the princess orders. I suspect now that they slide, like we are doing. I also think they are as described - alive - and that they carved this pit. Four of them, specifically. Because that is the number of stars that supposedly helped Luna escape."

Crimson studied the dark blue depths as they rushed beneath her. "Yes. I remember being told that too. Four stars. And that they came together from different directions in the sky. Like... like an 'X'!"

"Exactly. We may be standing... well, sliding, on our butts... in the very location that Nightmare Moon escaped from. Maybe this was dug out so that Luna could drip off the disk of the moon and not slide off across the dome. Maybe she needed a... a cup... in which to reform into a proper shape. This could be that. And that ribbon cutting was her way out, her way back to the surface of Equestria!"

"She has wings. Couldn't she have just flown? Or teleported?"

Frontpage considered. "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe there's something between the dome and the land that we can't see. Or maybe she put the bit of ribbon in later. This is a nice view. For all we know she comes here to remember all the reasons that led her to be an outcast for so long. All I know is, we have to get the swirl out of here. WALL!"

Their contact, this time was less controlled and the result was a slow spin as they spanged off across the polished floor of the pit. They were now out of the leg of the 'X' shaped pit that they had started within, and were traversing the wide, open middle between the legs of the cross. The light was very dim, but they could roughly make out the walls of the strange, slippery, deep blue gorge.

"Whoa!" Frontpage and Crimson stared in quiet horror as they silently slid past what appeared to be a very large pit, right in the exact center of the four long canyons. They had passed within less than a half-dozen hooves of the hole. The edges of the shaft were rounded and appeared as if melted by some impossible heat. The hole was wide, several bodylengths across, and the drop was vertical. They had no idea how deep it might be, but considering the lack of friction, any significant depth was almost certainly inescapable. "We really, really need to avoid that."

"I assure you, I have no desire to see what's down there!" Crimson shuddered. Apparently it wasn't enough to be in some strange, slippery pit, traps were included at no extra charge. It was appearing to be a very generous nightmare, all things considered. "That said... how can we avoid it?"

Frontpage watched the dark circle of the strange shaft recede. "We need to be careful about how we interact with the walls. It's the only time we can control our direction. Just do our best not to get a 'hole in one', right?" Golf was one of a great number of sports the newfoals had introduced to Equestrian culture over the last century. Frontpage had tried it several times, though it had not truly caught his attention or interest. His editor, Gotchararzzi, loved the game, though.

"Do you have a plan? I'm at a bit of a loss right now." Crimson shifted her flanks to spare her tail. She moved very carefully, to avoid tipping both of them over onto their sides. It would be a struggle to sit upright again.

"Look for the ribbon! We have to locate it again. Maybe there are other ribbon sections. Just find a way out however you can!" Frontpage began scanning the walls, looking for any rectangular shape darker than the midnight of the pit itself.

"There!" Crimson instinctively pointed with a hoof. The motion tipped them over from their precarious balance, and they were forced to scramble to avoid separation. It took even longer to right themselves once more.

"I'm sure I saw something. Sorry." Crimson pressed her poll against Frontpage's barrel. "Sorry."

The reporter groomed her for a short while. "It's okay. Come on, let's try again. If nothing else, it should get brighter in time. It's the same dome, night or day!"

Crimson raised her head, determined to find the ribbon. "Actually... it's a little brighter already, don't you think?"

It was. The deep midnight blue of the crystalline pit was now more of a deep true blue, and it was clear that one side of the pit as a whole had more diffuse light than the other. The effect was faint, but very real.

"Um... yeah." Frontpage scanned the melted edges of the cross-shaped enclosure. There did seem to be slightly more light. "I just had a thought."

"A thought?" His tone of voice did not inspire Crimson.

"It's cool at night, and warm, even hot sometimes, during the day. Just like on earth."

"Oh, definitely. Before we were granted a Bevelmeiter for cooling, sometimes the only relief was sleeping out in the yard at night. There were times I begged mother to spend the extra bits to get the pegasai to make it rain. It's always hot on a banana planta..."

"No. This isn't casual conversation, Crimson. WALL!" They prepared themselves carefully this time, the additional light assisting their efforts. This rebound was smooth, and straight. "Nicely done. As I was saying... hot. The Equestrian sun is hot. It's not a ball of nuclear fire, like in our old universe, of course not. But it is bright, even if it can't blind you, and it is also hot. It makes daytime warm."

"Yes? Oh..." Crimson looked around. The light seemed slightly brighter now, the not-ice had become an even lighter shade of blue. "The sun and the moon follow the same path. Across the sky, I mean. They chase each other... because the princesses based Equestria on..."

"Earth. They based it on our old world. Our old universe. But they didn't have the details, just the appearance. So, instead of space, we get a dome, and instead of planetary spheres, we get a flat world and disks for sun and moon. But the moon is cool and the sun..."

Crimson looked about wildly. The melted edges of the cross-shaped pit. The drippy candle-wax walls. The smoothness of the excavated floor. "We have to get out. We have to get out right now!"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. What happens here probably wouldn't even phase an immortal being like Luna. But for an ordinary pony?"

Both Crimson and Frontpage began desperately searching for any sign of the segment of cosmic ribbon through which they had come. The pit was quite large, and the shape of it made walls that hid large sections from view at different points along their constant slide. It was becoming gradually brighter moment to moment and whether imagined or real, the air seemed warmer now.

"Oh no!" Crimson nodded her muzzle, carefully, at the dark rectangle on the wall of one leg of the X-shaped space. It must be a strip of cosmic ribbon. But it was not low to the ground. It was halfway up the frictionless wall. Had they fallen so far? Then again, impact with the strange material conferred no damage or harm. Perhaps a fall from any height would be meaningless here.

"That's... that's not good. Not good at all. Pretzels." Frontpage hung his head. "Listen... the gravity, or whatever counts as gravity, is weak here. That helps." He raised his head and looked Crimson in the eyes. "If we can knock ourselves into that section, and find a way to bounce between the two walls there, instead of drifting out here in the middle, then maybe we can kick off. Get some speed going, and then leap up. With luck, we can hit the ribbon, and not the wall, and we're through."

"How do we leap? It's impossible to stand, the ground is just too slippery!"

Frontpage considered, watching the needed leg of the 'X' vanish as they headed down a different canyon. "You could stand on me. I lay flat, you use me as a rug, and jump for your life. It should work."

"How will you get out?" Crimson did not like the sound of this one bit.

"Listen, I'm clever. Real clever. I'll find a way. First, though, we gotta get you to safety. Then I can start thinking properly, without having to worry about you, see? You're too much of a distraction. Now help me out, diagonal this time - WALL!"

The two interlocked ponies rebounded with a twist of their masses around each other. This created a zig-zag path that caused them to leave their current leg of the cross shaped pit at an angle. The ultimate goal was to work their way back into the leg with the strip of cosmic ribbon. Effectively, they were playing frictionless pool with their own bodies as the ball.

"While I admire your chivalry, your solution is not acceptable mister Frontpage. We are leaving this place together. I insist."

Frontpage chuckled. "You insist, do you? Decided you like this sad old muzzle, huh?" He wiggled his ears and made his eyebrows dance.

"Don't flatter yourself. It is just not proper to leave a traveling companion in the lurch."

"If no reporter survives, the story never gets printed. CORNER!"

Crimson worked with Frontpage to kick themselves off the space between two legs of the 'X', and down into the correct canyon. They had gained speed from their various navigational efforts, and were moving now at a much improved velocity. They were greatly relieved when it became clear that their path of motion would not directly traverse the exact center of the cross. The wide pit there still occupied their attention, and falling down it would surely be a fatal, or at least utterly helpless, outcome.

"Then, in that case, I should play carpet for you. You are the reporter here, after all." Crimson noted that she could see the rectangle of black cosmic ribbon clearly against the blue walls ahead. It was very decidedly brighter now, and the air overflowed with the warm smell of morning. More ominously, she could hear a faint staticky, sizzling sound in the distance, and it was growing louder.

They were zig-zagging down the correct canyon now, using careful kicks to try to angle themselves so that they would remain, bouncing between the walls, rather than rebounding off the farthest surface and back into the middle of the huge 'X'. Frontpage tried to make a better estimate of just how high up the dark dimensional doorway actually was. At least two stories, higher than he had thought. Even within a greatly lowered 'gravity', it would take a serious leap to reach it. "I won't deny the Cloud Koo-Koo Gazette its star reporter. It's furlongs above the Querier. How'd you end up working for a pegasus paper anyway?"

Crimson Acres did not bother with witty banter. She easily whipped Frontpage around with her powerful hooves, and pinned him, facing away, in front of her. She bent her strong neck forward and clamped her jaw onto the hair of his withers. Tilting back, she rolled onto her spine, lifting the light brown stallion over her body with all four of her legs. He was utterly unprepared, and barely flailed at all.

She held him for only a second, as she calculated the angle to the ribbon far above. Her sister the show pony had taught her many things during the off season. One of those things was how to buck like a circus pony.

"Crimson... don't..."

Frontpage's attempt to reason turned to a yell. The ribbon was fast rushing to meet him, and his backside felt like he had been kicked with all the power of an overmuscled plantation pony, which he had. The air became warmer, and though he was nowhere near the lip of the pit still farther above, light, bright light, shone through the translucent azure material of the dome of the sky.

His arc was large, and strangely slow, thanks to the bizarre gravity. There was nothing he could do. He tried to turn, to look back, but there was nothing to struggle against but the air, and it offered little resistance. "CRIIIIIIMSON!!!"

The next moment the black of the ribbon filled his view. He felt himself suddenly smacked upside down - Crimson's aim had been just a little high, and his best guess was that his head had painlessly struck the place where the cosmic ribbon intersected the crystal wall of sky-stuff. He tumbled and fell with full force onto something hard.

Frontpage lay, gasping, the wind knocked from him, his barrel struggling for air. His head and all four of his knees throbbed from the sudden impact. For a moment, he was concerned he had broken something. In time, he caught his breath, and the various pains reduced to tolerable levels. He lay, regaining composure, until he felt he could stand.

Up, on his legs, he looked around for the other side of the ribbon-portal. "CRIMSON!!!" She was nowhere to be seen. "CRIIIIMMMSON!!!" Finally, he found the black aperture of cut spacetime. It stood upright, like a section of wall which followed the curve of a vast circular platform apparently made of some form of marble. Beyond the platform was a void, composed of splashes of color without form, set into a general, misty grayness. The colors shifted like sunbeams from absent clouds, and Frontpage somehow felt certain that beyond the edge of the marble disk lay nothing but endless freefall.

He looked behind him. The disk of stone was wide, but in the center was a floating pillar, made of the same stone. The pillar was several stories high, and as wide as the largest of Equestrian trees - the kind libraries were carved from. The stone monolith was covered in raised, bas-relief symbols, almost pictoglyphs. They were unlike anything Frontpage knew or could read. As he watched, the pillar seemed to be very slowly fattening in the middle, as though it were changing shape.

He shook his head. Crimson. Crimson was still back there, in the pit, and the disk of the sun was coming.

Looking around, there was nothing. No rope, no curtains, no cloth from which to make a rope, if he even could. Tying things was still difficult for him, even after a century of life as a pony. There was certainly no ladder laying about anywhere. Just a massive, flat stone disk, and a floating rock at its center. He considered his clothing. Vest, hat. Press pass. Bits in his vest pocket, spare ones stashed in the band of his fedora. Saddlebags no longer filled with provisions, but still a canteen. Filled full in the bistro. Reporter's notebook and pencil. Stash of spare, sharpened pencils. His tie. A stallion looks good with a snazzy tie, Gotchararzzi was adamant on the issue.

Maybe the tie could... no, it wasn't long enough. Nothing he had could act as any means to pull Crimson up from such a height. The saddlebags, maybe... no, the straps were short. Same with the strap on the canteen. Rope, he should have brought rope, but... it just wasn't something he had even imagined he'd have any need of. Not in a forest! What good was a rope in a forest? He wasn't some Daring Do adventure clone, he was a reporter! For the Canterlot Querier. Wasn't like he was writing for Equestrian Geographic or something.

This was taking entirely too long. He moved back toward the ribbon segment, at the very edge of the stone plate. He thought to stick his head through, maybe he could help somehow. Maybe Crimson couldn't make the leap... of course she couldn't make the leap, she'd had to kick him up and through with all of her might. If he stuck his head out, maybe he could grab her if she came close, pull her up with his teeth.

More likely he'd just get pulled out himself, back into the pit. The marble floor here was very smooth. Not frictionless, thank Luna, but very polished. The thought also came that... what if he was blocking the portal just as Crimson managed to just barely make it... she'd be knocked back. That wouldn't help one bit.

Then it hit him that if the sun had come, if it was now over the pit, if he stuck his head through, even for a moment...

Pencils. He could stick a pencil through, carefully, and check first. That was smart. Check, then stick his head through for a peek. Maybe they could work out a plan. If nothing else, he could muffin-well jump back down, grab that mare by the withers and buck her the strudel up and save her flanks instead!

Frontpage dug through his left saddlebag with his teeth, and took hold of a long, pre-sharpened pencil. He moved swiftly to the very surface of the impossibly black swath of spacetime. He jabbed the pencil through the plane of darkness and immediately pulled it back.

Frontpage dropped the pencil the moment the heat and light registered. The entire length of it that had passed the dimensional sheet was on fire. As he watched, most of the pencil rapidly turned to one long, thin, carbonized coal.

11. Ghosts And Goblins

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

Ghosts And Goblins

Aunt Peony carefully, slowly stood. Her husband, Tumble, tried to reach out, to pull her back, but his arms were inhibited by Clover and Jinx who had made the mistake of looking and were now busy with a lot of screaming and generally carrying-on.

The ghost - for there was no other word - of Plantain Acres stood silently near the far wall of the basement. She glowed some soft shade of Horror Movie Blue, and was utterly silent, despite making a determined effort to speak. Indeed, she seemed quite intent on communicating, braving whatever uncomfortable pressure or force from the Bevelmeiter that seemed to repel the invasion of phantoms.

Plantain, the shade of Plantain, wore a white lab coat. High on her poll was a pair of safety goggles, cocked up away from her eyes. Her hooves were shod in protective lab-safe hoofcovers. Across her back was something that resembled a cross between a utility belt and small, shop-pocketed saddlebags. She held one booted hoof across her eyes, as if shielding them. Her mouth moved constantly, but no sound came forth. Occasionally, she would risk a peek beyond her upraised foreleg, squint hard, cover her eyes once more, and try to speak with even more effort.

Peony took a step towards the specter.

"Peony! Not go near inexplicable infranatural phenomena! Dog husband forbid!" Tumble attempted to free himself from the Acres fillies, but they clung like the leeches of long vanished earth.

"Tumble - she's forcing herself to remain. It must be a terrible strain, look at her!"

It did seem as if the eidolic, ephermeral Plantain was bracing herself, as if against a strong wind. She was leaning forward, and her lab coat, mane and tail were all fluttering as if whipped by powerful forces.

"Her mouth move. No sound. What she saying?"

"I can't make it out. It looks like she's yelling something. Listen, Tumble, she doesn't look dangerous. She's poor Plantain, for Luna's sake! Why would she ever harm us? I'm going over there. Maybe I can find a way to communicate with her, find out what's going on!"

"But Amityville Horror!" Tumble had made the mistake of getting caught up in the forbidden earth book craze that had swept Equestria several decades ago. He'd never been able to enter dark rooms since. He couldn't bear to visit his own parent's underground tunnels. They'd even tried therapy.

"There were never any ghosts on earth, Tumble! We've been over that!" Peony did not expect her words would calm her husband, but it would at least shame him into fussing less. If Plantain - dead or not - was making such an effort to try to speak to them, if she had returned to her foalhood home just to do so, then treating her like a monster was just plain wrong. Even if the entire situation was terribly frightening on numerous levels.

"Plantain! Can you hear me?" There seemed no reaction. Peony crept closer, until she was only a bodylength from the supernal pony.

Plantain made another effort to glance under her own booted hoof. Her mouth closed and she blinked several times at Peony. She seemed grateful. Her mouth moved again, then stopped, as if waiting.

"I can't hear you. You aren't making any sounds." This only seemed to confuse the spectral Plantain. Peony carefully and slowly spoke, exaggerating every word. "I" she pointed to herself with a forehoof "Can't hear" She motioned to her tall ears "You!" she pointed directly at the labcoated shade.

Plantain nodded. Her mouth seemed to move in a way that suggested to Peony that she might be saying something akin to 'I can't hear you either'. The glowing form put a hoof to her muzzle, tapping it, lost in thought. She had seemed more comfortable, since Peony had approached, as if the living pony's body was blocking whatever storm emanated from the Bevelmeiter across the basement.

Finally, shadow Plantain looked up, directly at Peony. She slapped her head with her hoof. She turned her long neck and began digging through the collection of pockets and pouches that covered her workshop belt. Finally, she pulled forth a marker - ink markers were another addition to Equestria from industrious newfoals - and attempted to write on the basement floor.

The marker made no lines at all upon the surface. If anything, it seemed almost to occasionally pass through it. The haint's ears flagged, close to her head.

Plantain put the marker back into a pocket. She took out, from a different pocket, an oversized bolt and screw. Apparently, she had been quite mechanically inclined in her last days. Perhaps she had been busy building something inside her institute when she had been killed. She nodded at Peony, then held the bolt out with her teeth. She opened her mouth and quickly moved to follow the trajectory of the bolt as it fell.

The bolt fell somewhat slowly, more slowly than it should have, and finally reached the basement floor. It hesitated briefly, then sank through the floor, vanishing beyond it, presumably into the dirt and stone below.

Mirablic Plantain nodded again, and spoke silently, forgetting that she could make no sound that could be heard. She held up a hoof, and mouthed 'wait!' at Peony.

Peony turned her head to look back at Tumble and the fillies. "Dear, it's okay. I think this truly is our Plantain, and I think she's working out a means to communicate with us. There's nothing to be afraid of. I am certain of this."

Clover, tucked deeply between her uncle's arm and chest, raised her head. "It's not scary?"

Peony nodded, from across the basement. "Not anymore. It's just Plantain. She's... back. Sort of. And Plantain would never hurt us."

"I wanna see! I wanna say hello!" Clover began to extricate herself, but was quickly stopped by the powerful paw of Tumble.

"Little pony stay!" Tumble struggled for a reason. They always needed a reason. "Peony need talk with Plantain. Not interrupt. Maybe you get to say hello later."

"Aww, I never get to talk to the dead!"

Tumble blinked at this. Several times. "Peony - there is other part to ontological concern Tumble have with current situation!"

Spooky Plantain was busy fussing with her belongings, she had her workbelt off and was busy trying to secure it to any other part of her body. Peony waited patiently. "What is it, dearest?"

Tumble shifted his weight and managed to get Jinx calmed down enough to sit up along with Clover. "Tumble notice that all ghost not naked."

"Naked?" Peony alternated between looking toward the tube and Tumble, and checking on paranormal Plantain's progress.

"How come clothing has a soul? Is heaven for socks? Is afterlife for underwear? Where poopstain go? Presence of coat and goggles represent fundamental absurdity within spiritual survival paradigm."

Peony opened and closed her mouth a few times. "I... I really don't know, dear. It is odd, now that you mention it. Huh." She studied Plantain's desperate struggles for a bit, watching some little spectral doo-dad from a utility pocket fall and phase through the floor. She turned back to Tumble. "You know... I'm not as clever as you... but, how come Plantain doesn't fall through the floor, but all of her stuff does?"

Tumble seemed quite intrigued by this. "Definitely call into question many basic assumption about local realism. Tumble have no answer to curious quandary Peony present."

Clover seemed very upset all of a sudden. "How can you make ghosts, REAL GHOSTS, into boring adult stuff? How can you even DO THAT?" Not even the most rarified and eclectic Foal Mathematics could make sense of so much as a speck of such a thing.

Frontpage wiped his eyes with his pasterns. He had been crying for some time.

As a reporter, on earth, both as a pony and as a human, he had seen terrible things. Awful things - senseless tragedies, horrific crime scenes, the most depraved offerings that humanity could present to the press. He had lost friends, and enemies too. Loss was always hard, but it was often part of the job, and he had gotten used to it.

Or so he imagined. He was certain he was tougher, harder, than most ponies... and certainly any native pony. His experiences had made him thus. But this, to lose Crimson like that, to fire, that was... that was beyond his tolerances. He had no idea how long he had wailed, striking the uncaring marble with his hooves, rolling in his own tears in grief. Finally, he had exhausted himself. For now.

He had truly come to like Crimson Acres. A lot. More than a lot.

Slowly, his rational mind was asserting itself. If he could not find a way back to proper Equestria, to civilization, then nopony would know what had happened, or how courageous Crimson had been. They would never know how foolish and reprehensible he himself had been, to allow the poor mare to accompany him. Not that he could have stopped her, even if he had tried.

He had to move on. Going back was worse than pointless. It would likely be suicide. Forward was the only direction now.

Frontpage did his best to force his mind into a relatively unemotional space. It had been almost easy to do, a century ago, as a human. As a pony, it was almost a hopeless task, but he still tried, and sometimes it even worked.

If there was any answer to his current circumstance, it would not be standing in a puddle of tears next to a doorway that led to a pit of death. Frontpage turned his nose toward the large stone that floated at the center of the vast circular disk upon which he stood. His hooves made curious, almost distorted sounds as he plodded across the striated marble. Above and around it all, the strange void shimmered with splashes of color and gray. He almost lost it, thinking that Crimson would probably have liked the bright colors.

The floating central stone was made of the same curious marble as the disk. It was very large, but was no longer a cylinder... or a sphere. It had been gradually, slowly changing shape during Frontpage's long sorrow; now it was more or less like a bagel or doughnut in shape, hovering flat to the ground.

The surface was still covered with the strange, bas-relief patterns and symbols. They rose about a half a hoof from the surface, and came in many forms and sizes, none of them the least bit comprehensible. There were spirals and lines, bumps that acted like rows of dots, circles and other geometric shapes, and many, many combinations of the rest arranged in rows as if they were text of some sort. Some of the protruding designs almost looked like letters or numbers from a multitude of languages, both earthly and Equestrian, but that was almost certainly pure coincidence.

The longer Frontpage studied the strange floating monolith, the more he became convinced that it was some sort of readout. A display screen, or perhaps even controls. For one thing, the strange symbols and shapes were not static - they changed, some of them quite rapidly. Just as one odd text-like shape would sink into the stone surface, another would rise to take its place. Entire sections - almost 'pages' of the bumps and ridges sank and were replaced as a whole. Yet other areas, currently concentrated around the equator of the large toroidal shape, remained rigidly fixed. These sections seemed to have bigger designs, wider, as though demarcating a space in which information could be concentrated. Such squares and rings of stone were surrounded by marching 'letters' - it was simpler to call them such - that paraded around their borders.

Frontpage watched as a minor space was made, the bumps and protrusions sinking below the stone surface, to leave a blank region on the increasingly tall doughnut. The torus was very gradually becoming a hollow cylinder, tall like a chimney. The blank space that had just been created widened vertically, as the entire monolith stretched upward.

Suddenly, a large circle erupted to fill the blank region. As Frontpage stared, a wide bump appeared in the center of the circle. A short line segment, curved, appeared at the very edge of one small part of the circle. A tiny bump rose at the top of the wide bump in the middle of the circle. Finally, a pulsing bump, which rose and fell from the flat stone, appeared near the bottom of the central bump.

It looked like a simplified, stylized earth atom - a ring, with a central ball... no, maybe it was more like a model of a terrestrial star system. A sun, with two planets, one to the 'north', a 'blinking' one to the 'south, and a ring around the whole. But then there was that short line segment to the northeast, close to the big circle. The appearance of this... pattern... almost seemed directed at him. It had, after all, appeared directly where he was looking.

Frontpage stepped back, to consider it from a little more distance, perhaps in relation to what was around it.

The pulsing bump moved farther from the central mass within the circle.

Frontpage's ears lowered. He took a step to his left. The pulsing bump moved as well. He stepped further back and to the right. The pulsing bump mirrored his action as if the bas-relief, braille-like ornamentation were "A map. An overhead view!"

Frontpage moved this way and that, watching the pulsing bump carefully. As he moved, so it moved, as though the pulsing bump represented him, the central mass the stone monolith... the surrounding circle the disk of stone upon which all stood.

Frontpage ran to the right, so that he could look beyond the monolith, to the far edge of the marble plate. The ribbon segment exactly corresponded with the location of the short line segment. It was a map. A map had appeared, that represented his location, as from an overhead view, upon the strange marble disk.

What was the other little bump? The one just opposite him, on the other side of the floating cylindrical monolith?

Frontpage flattened himself against the ground. Nothing. No legs, no pony on the other side. Unless it was flying. He stood up. If the map was accurate, there was something on the other side of the central monolith. He hadn't seen anything, when he had crossed the disk and walked around the large floating rock. Then again, he also had not been paying complete attention. And his eyes had been heavy with tears.

Frontpage galloped around the cylinder. He stopped. There was a floating, gold ball. It hung, rock steady, and did not change shape. It was about a hoof wide. Small, easy to have missed entirely. The gold sphere was located just slightly above the height of his poll.

The reporter approached the object, wary. It did not change or move, it just remained there, hanging in space.

"What the..." There was no question he was facing things far beyond his understanding. Even after living for a century in a land of supposed magic and wonder, he had never come across anything like this... place... or what he was dealing with now. His sorrow, virtually every emotion was exhausted within him. Only detached curiosity remained at this point.

Frontpage stood, briefly, up on his hind legs and batted at the floating gold ball with a forehoof.

The ball raced off, orbiting the stone cylinder, and soon passed around its bulk, to the other side.

"At least I can play solo tetherball a little, before I die of thirst and hunger. That's something at least." Frontpage moved to follow the gold ball. Picking up his pace, he trailed it as it orbited. Gradually, it slowed, as some unseen friction affected it. Finally it came to a stop.

"Interesting." The ball had stopped right over the 'overhead map' that had risen spontaneously from the marble centerpiece. "That was a controlled stop, I'd warrant. Very interesting." Frontpage moved from side to side, watching the 'blinking' lump-cursor that apparently represented him. The map showed the location of the golden ball right where it should be, if the map... was truly a map.

Frontpage stood still and scratched with a hoof, under his hat. Sometimes it got sweaty in there. "Are you trying to talk to me? I think whatever you are, you are aware of me. What else can..." Frontpage stopped, open-mouthed.

The map had melted back into the surface of the marble monolith. Almost immediately a comprehensible image appeared. The image was made of raised ridges that acted as the lines of a drawing. It was a cartoon. Two cartoons, actually, one of them animated, after a fashion, by the rising and falling of the raised ridges.

The first image was dominant. Larger, it depicted a simple linework bowl, possibly filled with little circles that could represent fruit. The bowl was unmistakably resting on a set of lines suggesting a table with three legs. Done in a less abstract manner, the image could have served as a sign for a restaurant in Canterlot or Ponyville.

Beside the simplistic cartoon image, was a smaller, animated bas-relief. The raised image represented a circle being repeatedly smacked against a flat line. A ball hitting a wall. Frontpage looked up at the gold sphere. It was lower now. Much lower. It hung in space at about the height of his muzzle. "You... you are communicating. After a fashion, anyway. And I know this language!"

Back on earth, during his human days, most devices had active surface displays, or holoiconic interfaces. If these raised bumps and lines were made of glowing illustrations, they would be at home on the technology that Frontpage had once used on a daily basis. Virtually everything had been operated by tapping a small symbol or icon on a control surface, or floating as a glowing hologram over a control console. What was before him now was not unlike that... except it apparently needed something like a stylus to make a connection. Frontpage felt certain that the floating gold ball was conceptually a stylus, and touching it to the monolith probably served to... what? Select? Choose? Activate?

Frontpage raised his foreleg and fit his hoof around the golden ball. It seemed to fit - had it also changed size as well as height? He carefully pushed the ball towards the floating stone... 'screen'. Was that what it was? Some sort of gargantuan active surface display? The ball moved easily, though it did possess some mild repulsion from the surface of the monolith. He released it, and the ball sprung back to its original location. "Makes sense. I suppose."

Frontpage took the gold ball once more in hoof, and definitively pressed it against the monolith, square in the middle of the simplistic image of the table, bowl and fruit. The surface rippled, as if it were a marble pond into which a pebble had been tossed. He let go of the golden sphere, which found its proper distance and location once more.

Light now glimmered upon the surface of the monolith, and gleamed from the golden ball. Frontpage whirled in place to watch strange energies coalescing in the air behind him.

A short distance from the control monolith, rays of light began to form in the air. They created a criss-crossing grid of laser lines, boxing off a region of the disk. Coruscating streams of color and energy rapidly collected within the defined space. They became curiously pixellated, then rapidly pulled together and shrank to solidity and completion. Instantly the grid of light disbursed.

On the wide marble disk now stood a new thing. Frontpage stared, for some time, before finally squeezing his dry eyes shut to wet them.

The table was low, like a Kang style from ancient earth. It was made from polished wood and the side panels were decorated with inset carvings of ponies dancing around a representation of the tower of Pisa. Frontpage instantly recognized it. It was the exact table from the newfoal Italian bistro where he and Crimson Acres had recently dined.

The food on the table was also instantly known to him - not just by appearance, but also by smell. Puttanesca Sauce with Fried Capers on Linguine. Next to that was a bowl of steaming Ribollita and next to that, Ceci e Carciofi Marinati. Two large platters of bread and small plates on which had been poured olive oil and balsamic vinegar, then dusted with parmesan cheese. There were drinking bowls and three bottles of Southern Ocean.

Two place settings and plates waited, in front of low and comfortable pony benches.

As he approached, he realized that the food was hot, fresh, and after a long sniff, undeniably real. It was not just the table from the bistro, but the entire meal, down to the last detail, perfectly recreated... likely from his memory. Or perhaps it was a photograph of reality itself, a snapshot of an earlier time, because he was certain he could not remember anything at all with such clarity. It just wasn't physically or rationally possible.

Frontpage staggered, half in shock, around the table and chairs. He lowered himself, several times, to study details on the benches and table that he almost recalled. Everything was exact and perfect. By anything his memory could determine, what stood before him was a solid, real, three-dimensional perfect recreation of the table, chairs, settings and meal that he and Crimson had shared. He slowly worked his way onto the bench he had sat at during the original meal. The reporter in him wanted to go straight to the bottled seawater and work himself into a state of total wipeout.

He took a small taste of the Ribollita. The soup was hearty, and rich, and delicious. He stared at the vegetables in it. Perfect, real vegetables, constructed from raw energy, as far as he could tell.

It really was a Krell machine. Creation without instrumentation. Well, nearly without instrumentation - the system clearly took information directly from his mind somehow. When he had first struck the golden activation sphere with his hoof, sending it orbiting the control monolith, he had thought about how he would be able to play tetherball, before he died of thirst and hunger in such an empty, desolate place. The food he was thinking of, currently very clear within his mind, was his last meal... with Crimson.

And here it was. Not the meal he had enjoyed last week, not some meal from a holiday outing decades ago, not a random assortment of fruits in a bowl. The specific meal that was currently his preoccupation, because of the loss of Crimson Beauty Acres. Oh, this machine, this system, whatever it was, read minds. Very well indeed, it would seem. And it could manufacture reality. Like a snapshot of a previous moment made manifest.

Instantly, Frontpage was up. He nearly fell as he knocked the bench he had been laying on to its side. He scrambled around the edge of the table, scraping his flank in the process. He nearly crashed muzzle-first into the now cubical, floating stone monolith.

Frontpage took a breath. Then he stared at the region, still extant, that displayed the bas-relief image of a table, chair and fruitbowl, and the animated image of a ball being smashed into a wall. He tried, heart pounding, to clear his mind, to will a change of scene. He thought about refreshing his holoscreen, back in his human days as a reporter, over a century ago.

The raised images sank into the marble of what was now a hovering stone cube. The space cleared for him was now flat and blank.

Carefully, with a shaking hoof, Frontpage took hold of the activation sphere. The gold ball nestled within his hoof, cool and solid against his frog.

He thought, as clearly and powerfully as he could, about one thing. Crimson Beauty Acres. Alive and well. Not burned to a crisp, not laying in a crystal pit made of sky. Vibrant, healthy, bantering with him, Crimson here, now, sitting at that table, or standing beside it, standing behind him, standing right behind him alive and solid and real and...

He looked up. The surface of the marble block, within the space allotted to him, appeared to boil for a moment. Then strange symbols appeared, within defined, walled geometric shapes. Around these, strange letters or glyphs - if that is what they even were - rose from the surface and marched round and round the geometric forms. Inside those forms, the initial symbols morphed and altered. Some rose out of the marble by half a hoof or more. Occasionally a construct would sink into the hard marble surface of the monolith, creating an inverse image. Then the entire region simply cleared. The space made available for his use was blank once more.

Gradually a complex pattern arose from the flat stone. It was a grid of raised lines, divided by numerous diagonal ridges and several circular and ovoid overlapping shapes. A disk appeared, like a small plateau, somewhere just off the center of the diagram. Suddenly it sank, plunging deep into the huge cube. He could not determine any end to it. Around this circular hole a ring of dots and bumps rose and sank - an animation in relief. This was clearly how the... control surface... represented 'blinking'.

It began to dawn on Frontpage, as a side thought in his mind, that perhaps who, or whatever had designed this strange control panel - for he could think of it as nothing else - might not possess eyes. At least not eyes as he understood them. The raised and sunken patterns were often difficult to make out in the ambient light from the surrounding, colorful void. The curiously flexible stone control-monolith was uniform and gray-white, with only the curving grain expected of marble. The entire system produced no light, it was essentially a form of braille. Or perhaps whatever had made this thing needed 'flat' images to be somewhat three-dimensional to even perceive them.

The thought grew in his reporter's ever-curious mind. This wasn't pony. It certainly wasn't magical - though what it could do certainly would appear so if the results could be seen without knowledge of how it all worked. This wasn't anything that princess Celestia or princess Luna would design. This wasn't spellbooks or scrolls... it was clearly a device, a machine, it was scientific technology. Beyond the use of marble and gold - common as water in Canterlot castle and the city beyond - nothing about this strange control console, or the void that housed it seemed Equestrian. This was alien. Alien beyond Equestria or earth. Yet, this was clearly part of the domain of the princesses - their black dimensional ribbons had led here. From the very sky of Equestria at that. So they must have been here.

If what Crimson had suggested was right, Princess Luna, when she had been the renegade Nightmare Moon, must have passed right through this very location, as part of her escape from imprisonment in the sky. The Pony Sisters almost certainly did not make this place, but they must know of it. Their ribbon paths led right to it.

If those paths even actually belonged to them at all.

If the princesses didn't make this... machine... then what had? A machine that can make thought real. A literal god machine. Creation itself. What manner of being considered bas-relief the equivalent of a projected image on a screen?

Enough! His wandering thoughts wouldn't bring Crimson back to life! He smashed the golden activation ball hard onto the marble, too late realizing that the image there had changed dramatically. He barely got a glimpse of the strange and bizarre raised display before the bright rainbow splashes of the surrounding void went dark.

The sky, if that is what it was, was now some churning shade of dark. Jagged cracks of light interrupted the nigrescence, sheeting down harsh, actinic beams.

Frontpage could make out the table, still laden with food. That had not changed. The two benches remained, the one he had knocked over, still on its side.

But there was something new.

Two large rings of what appeared to be bone, lay on the marble. One side of each ring was decorated with a regular pattern of sharp, conical teeth. The teeth were yellow with age. The tooth-rings were easily three body-lengths wide, and Frontpage had the curious impression that they were two halves of a mouth that must have resembled two oatburger buns. He shuddered to think what lay between... a hovering disk of tongue?

Hovering came to mind, because of the... ribcage... that hung in the air beside the fallen toothsome rings. It was impossible to determine a shape for the cage of ribs, because it appeared to be slowly rotating through... something, perhaps a higher dimension. The ribs slowly spun out of existence and into it, growing long and then short again, vanishing for a moment and then repeating the process. The places where the ribs met also rolled around, perhaps something spinelike, made of spheres of bone that swelled and shrank, and perhaps a sternum, flat and connected to all the ribs, also twisting through higher spaces. The entire thing reminded Frontpage of an animation of a hypercube he had once seen, only vaguely pear-shaped, and made of dead, dry bone.

Lastly, hemispheres and full spheroids of bone lay on the marble ground all about the bizarre skeleton - their position, in groups of five each, strangely suggested grasping organs, fingertips perhaps, or toes. They were not directly connected, and some also rotated through other spaces as they lay there, just like the nightmarish rib cage did.

'if He do spy the bones' Luna and Celestia's strange conversation came back to Frontpage, the one they had spoken over his prone body, when his frost injuries at Crimson's sister's institute were being treated. 'avoid the bones, if you can.' Crimson and he had certainly found the ribbon the two princesses had spoken of. This could only be the bones they mentioned. The ones their 'brother' - seemingly Discord, if their mysterious words could be taken literally - should never see.

Why should he never see them? The scene was macabre, but not overly ghastly. The bones were long dry, ancient from the looks of them, possibly even fossilized. It was difficult to imagine what sort of monstrous goblin they had once belonged to, especially since Frontpage strongly suspected that multiple dimensions were its native home. He stood, watching the dimensional cross-sections of the weird ribcage rotate through his plane of reality. Oh, whatever this was, it wasn't from around here.

Frontpage had seen quite enough for now. He held as strong an image as he could of how the... control room... had looked before within his mind. "Please, go back to the regular desktop. Please go back." He gingerly touched the gold stylus ball to the pattern that formed in response to his thoughts.

The surrounding void was cheerful splashes of rainbow light and fog again. The hyperdimensional skeleton had vanished. The table and food rapidly deconstructed, a grid forming and disassembling it within seconds. Just as it was. Everything was as it was before he had made his first alteration of the environment.

The pony reporter lay down, and rested his head on his extended pasterns. He stared for some time at where the rainbow void met the edge of the marble disk. The splashes of color slowly pulsed and smeared. It was almost pleasant, at least compared to the nightmare scene he had just witnessed.

"I have to be careful." Talking to himself was a comforting thing, and he needed to be comforted. "I have to be really, really careful using this thing. One stray thought..."

Under the now ovoid control monolith, he could make out the strip of black dimensional ribbon across the disk through which he had been forcibly kicked. It seemed strangely correct, curving around that part of the marble plate. There was a lot of ribbon, back on that sailing ship they had visited, the HMS Equestria. And that had been a construct, derived from his mind. Based on the old pre-collapse ship model his earthly grandfather had once owned. Likely, that first trip through the ribbon, from the Tree of Harmony had been the very moment that his mind had been... what, scanned? Studied? Input or imprinted somehow? Maybe that is why this strange control machine even worked for him at all.

Enough ribbon to curve all the way around the stone disk he lay upon? Had the ribbon been stolen from this place?

Were the princesses, Celestia and Luna, less gods than thieves? The machine could make a dinner he had experienced once and could not possibly remember perfectly. That meant it had to get the information about the dinner from somewhere else. Equestria seemed the best and only source. So this machine tapped into Equestria, it could scan Equestria and reproduce parts of it exactly. Even events from the past, it would seem. That dinner was as it had been before they had eaten it.

A truly, deeply alien machine that could manufacture reality. Not some holographic simulation. Reality itself.

That wooden galleon had seemed perfectly solid, perfectly real. But it wasn't a model, it was a full-size ship... derived from a model. The machine could extrapolate. It could invent. It could express itself, after a fashion. Maybe it had literally made... Equestria.

Maybe he was at the heart of Equestria right now. Had the princesses murdered a strange multidimensional alien for his reality-making machine? Had Discord done the actual deed, was that why he was so insane, and dare not 'spy the bones'?

No, it really didn't seem like any of those three, not even Discord, were up for murder. None of them was the least bit feral. Frontpage had been in Equestria when Discord flipped the cosmic tables once, and in the end, nothing was broken. It was crazy bizarre, but nopony was hurt. Even Nightmare Moon, at the peak of her rage, harmed no pony permanently. A few guards were zapped and roughed up, but not killed according to all accounts. Murder was out. Maybe they just found the thing, drifting... through... whatever a thing like this drifts through.

Academic. It was all academic. What mattered was... something he was now afraid to try. But he had to. He must, stray thoughts or not. Even if it risked destroying Equestria itself.

He had to at least try to bring Crimson Acres back to life.

12. Remembering Crimson Acres

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

Remembering Crimson Acres

Frontpage had spent the night sleeping on his bed from his apartment in Canterlot. Indeed, he had spent the night in his entire apartment building. It still sat, taking up most of a quarter of the stone disk that hung within the colorful, misty void.

The degree of detail was astonishing. He had made many notes within his reporter's notebook to check at a later time, in the real structure, if he could manage to return home. He felt that escaping the void-shrouded, truly alien 'control room' should be possible - the strange device seemed capable of literally anything.

Or, for Crimson's sake, he at least hoped so.

The apartment building in which Frontpage lived in Canterlot city, in room 9732, had been bought and entirely remodeled by two of the very few newfoals that had avoided being shipped out to the Exponential Lands. Proper Equestria had about ten thousand such fortunate, escapees from the necessity of having to start new towns from prepackaged scratch out in vast and empty lands. Some suggested as many as twenty thousand newfoals, but only the princesses knew for sure. For decades, they had been the only former humans that existed anywhere near 'proper' Equestria. When Pointer's Relocations made long distance teleportation common, that changed, dramatically. Newfoals came and went through the Canterlot region constantly now. But the original lucky few had established themselves well before that.

The Ennis-Bradbury was a strange, almost gothic building, and it stood in stark contrast to the normal architecture of pony civilization. This was a large part of the reason that Frontpage had decided to take residence there. Living in minarets of marble and gold, inlaid with jewels, with trotting-rails of platinum or silver was fine, but ultimately remarkably dull. When every building was made thus, they tended, surprisingly, to blend in with each other - and for quite a few years, Frontpage found himself regularly getting lost and having to ask for directions.

The newfoals that had remade the original building, a couple with the names Sandcastle and Summer Raincloud, had the resources to do an astonishing job of the place. Apparently, they had been survivors of one of the unfortunate and tragic groups that had been dumped out in the Exponentials carelessly, lacking in everything they needed to survive. A group of ponies had schemed to isolate the formerly human immigrant invasion as far as possible from native lands. They had become terrified of earth, and believed newfoals were a threat to everything they valued. Hundreds of newly transformed people had suffered and died far from any hope of rescue, when their supplies ran out. Sandcastle and Summer had been the only survivors of their entire party - a group of over 300 newfoals.

They had gotten to stay in Canterlot, as a result, for life. They had been granted a fortune as some degree of compensation, and had, for a while, become the face of the betrayed immigrants as a whole. It had been a stain on the honor of Equestria itself, and the two stallions who had miraculously survived had been accorded every indulgence. They had brought the human game of football - soccer - to Equestria, blended it with elements of basketball, and adapted it to serve three breeds with very different abilities. The new game, Hoofball, had become very popular and a deep new part of Equestrian culture.

They had also created a nostalgic place to live within, a place other newfoals would find familiar and reassuring - the Ennis-Bradbury. Amidst the shining white-and-gold-and-rainbow surroundings, it was almost a dark castle by comparison. Angular, art-deco, moody and odd by pony standards, some were anxious around it a century later. Frontpage absolutely loved the place.

Frontpage took one last look up at the tall building that he had created from nothing just yesterday. Every detail, every room, including ones he had never entered, had been reproduced to the smallest detail. It was as much a test, as a comfort. If he got home one day - WHEN he got home one day, he intended to check his notes and truly confirm that the great alien machine could perfectly copy reality itself.

He needed it to. Because it was his intention to bring Crimson Acres back from the dead.

The ethical problem of what he felt driven to attempt nagged at him. It might not work - more to the point, it might not work fully, or entirely correctly. If what he intended partially failed, the result could be a twisted nightmare, suffering agonies. It could end up lacking memory, or personality, or be physically malformed. Or, it could be as perfect a recreation as the entirety of the Ennis-Bradbury, with every room and every possession within them - apparently - accurately reproduced.

But the bottom line is that he had access to a god-machine, nearly a literal deus-ex-machina, that could indeed, potentially resolve the tragic loss of his partner in this whole mess. A partner that had saved his life at the sacrifice of her own. It would be, he reasoned, as morally cruel to fail to use the machine as the risks it presented. If there was even a chance that a life could be saved, Frontpage felt, then that chance should be taken.

He stepped up to the central, floating stone. Currently it resembled an eight-sided die - an octohedron - and he needed to position himself so that he had use of the widest part of an upward-pointing triangular face. The stone monolith must itself be a hyperspacial object, its morphing the result of the machine slowly rotating through reality, showing various cross-sections of its true, higher dimensional form. It would be literally impossible for his brain, he realized, to picture what it actually looked like. All he could ever comprehend was its shadow in three-space.

The magnitude of what he was playing with shook his confidence. But then he recalled how helpful, how user-friendly the strange system was being. As he watched, the triangular surface in front of him flattened to smoothness, all of the lumpen patterns and designs melting into flat and featureless stone. It was making him an open, free workspace. It knew that he was near, and that he had the intention of using it.

Frontpage tried to avoid thinking of how Crimson Beauty must have died. Burning under the passing of a continent-sized sun-disk as it slid overhead must either have been horrific... or over very quickly. He focused on his memories of Crimson when she was alive - bantering, arguing with him, laughing, sharing dinner. Her amazing flanks and highly attractive legs. That swishing tail. The way she tilted her ear when...

Frontpage shook his head. The whole package. It was important to remember all of Crimson Acres. Smart, refined, a little too proper at times - that was her defense mechanism - her amazing ability to handle pressure and make brave choices... that last thought forced Frontpage to pause. Her courage had been his salvation. He owed her. He owed her any risk, to try to bring her back.

He worked to form as complete an image as he could of Crimson Beauty Acres within his mind. He pictured her exactly at the moment she had kicked him up into the air, above the blue excavation within the dome of the sky. Curled onto her back, kicking his keister with all of her might, right into that patch of ribbon. Crimson, giving her life for his.

On the marble before him, a clear bas-relief image of Crimson Acres formed. This was very different than before, when there had been a circular pit surrounded by strange markings. The relief image rotated, animating, the image showing Crimson from all angles. It was still strange to see hard rock changing shape to form images. This was it, this had to be it. The image looked just like his imagination, Crimson on her back, in mid kick. Frontpage took the golden stylus ball in his hoof.

He slammed it, purposefully, against the stone representation of Crimson.

He turned to face the shimmer of light behind him. The now expected three-dimensional grid formed, laser lines hanging in the air. Streams of force and energy coalesced within the cage of light, collecting into a region the size and rough shape of a pony laying on its back. A wave of existential dread swept over Frontpage. He was resurrecting the dead. He was literally playing god.

It had been said, he had once heard, that the elite of the earth, who once lived within a special masada on the backside of Canterlot Mountain, had petitioned Celestia herself to bring one of their members back to life when he had died. She had refused utterly. Frontpage didn't know the whole story, but it struck him that he was daring something even the local goddesses - for all intents - were unwilling to do. And they must know of this machine. It might even be the source of all of their considerable power.

It hit him, only now, that he might get in a great deal of trouble for merely having seen this place, much less played with what was within it.

Too late now.

Crimson Beauty flopped to the ground. She had been curled, her back against the azure wall of the carved canyon of sky-stuff, now she was suddenly without support. Her body uncurled as she fell, her head smacking the marble. She rolled to one side, in pain, her forelegs brought to her skull so that her hooves could massage it. "OW!"

Frontpage stared. He was terrified to move. The full meaning of what he had done flooded him.

"Ow... oh, what... ow, ow... where? How? What?" Crimson Beauty Acres had forgotten her pain and was looking around in confusion. Her gaze lingered on the improbable apartment building standing on the stone. Her eyes searched the color-splashed gray mist of the surrounding void. Gradually, she noticed the floating stone control monolith, and then Frontpage, standing in front of it. "Frontpage?"

Crimson had almost certainly died, turned to a charcoal briquette within that pit of sky. Frontpage shivered as he watched her carefully stand. Crimson's original body was ash, through that strip of ribbon on the far edge of the marble disk. It must still be there. Yet here was Crimson, recreated, as she was, just moments before becoming pony barbecue. Remade, from pure energy by a truly alien technology.

She was Thomas Riker.

Frontpage had enjoyed many pre-collapse holoshows. Most were presented in flat mode, as images on a plane, because before holoprograms, all visual media was two-dimensional. Even supposedly three-D works were just tricks of stereoscopic projection onto two dimensional planes. But some shows enjoyed remastering. Clever Artificial Intelligences worked over certain popular old shows and reworked them into true holographic representations. They extrapolated missing sides, details, and entire environments. Whether the program had been live action or animated, a fully holocompatible, three-dimensional representation could be generated. Sometimes, if the shows were popular, expanded editions existed of them where human artists had been authorized to generate entirely new content - allowing for user exploration and even interaction with unseen but implied locations and even characters.

One of the many such retroholoed series and their spin-offs was a show called 'Star Trek: The Next Generation'. It had one episode that immediately came to his mind, as he goggled the reborn Crimson Acres. Within Star Trek existed the conceit that matter - including human beings - could be broken down into a stream of energy, stored temporarily, then beamed to another location where it would be recreated again. Called a 'transporter', the technology allowed cast members to effectively teleport from ship to planet or even from ship to ship without requiring shuttle or air lock.

One episode explored the existential implications of transporter technology. In it, a main character, named William Riker, beams up from a planet. He goes about his life for over a decade. Returning to the same planet, the crew of the ship discovers that down on the planet there is a second William Riker. From his perspective the transporter failed to transport him at all, and he had stepped out, abandoned and lost. He had lived out the last decade alone on an empty planet.

When the two Rikers meet, they are the same man, yet they have lived different lives. Each claims to be the true and 'real' person, and each has a completely valid argument. In the end, the planet-bound Riker takes the name of 'Tom', and the two versions of the same man settle for considering each other brothers, 'twins', because that is the easiest way to resolve such an impossible, horrific situation. But worst of all is the implication - that all any person is can be summed up by describing them as a pattern of information, and information... can be duplicated.

Frontpage resolved to lie, as hard and as fiercely as he could about the full nature of what he had done. He had last watched that episode over a century ago, but what little he remembered of it suggested that not a bit of it had been easy, nice, or fun for any of the characters on the show. The original Crimson Acres had burned to death, turned to ash like the end of the pencil he had pushed through the snippet of dimensional ribbon. The newly created Crimson was alone, singular, the one and only version of the unique pattern that defined her, the only Crimson Beauty Acres in all of time and space.

Crimson did not deserve to be forced to question her own legitimacy with regard to being herself. She had died for him - spending the rest of her days suffering the existential horror that she might be some kind of copy would be terrible. It just wouldn't be right to shove such an unsolvable quandary upon her... not that any conception of 'right' or 'wrong' had much to do with such morally transcendent technology. He had left such concepts as good and evil both far behind the moment he had first touched such a godlike machine.

"Crimson..." His voice choked. The tears he had been willfully suppressing were attempting to make up for lost time.

"Frontpage! How did I get here? What is this place? What's an apartment building doing here, and... Frontpage? What's the matter? Oh, you're crying! Poor dear frontpage! What's happened... come here, come here, what's the matter, hmmm?"

Plantain - the ghost of Plantain - had worked out a very clever way to communicate. Her lab coat had been repurposed as a sort of impromptu whiteboard. Laying on her side, the lab coat spread and held taut across her four wide-spread legs, she bent her long neck, marker in mouth, and struggled to write in mirror-letters. The ink seeped through the cloth, mostly becoming legible to Peony, Tumble, Jinx and Clover.

Plantain had been joined by another specter - her old friend, Crème Bûnnée, the lapine Dance Master of the Royal Equestrian Happy Pony Show. The two had worked as a team to make the clumsy writing surface work, and Crème served to pass Plantain markers, and to anchor Plantain's belongings, preventing them from falling through the wooden floor.

Now confident that the massing spooks could not affect solid matter - including ponies - in any way, they had returned to the upstairs, away from the ghost-repellent Bevelmeiter tube in the basement. There had been breakfast for the living ponies - the dead seemed unaffected by hunger or thirst - and even Jinx had settled down and come to see phantoms in the yard and house as the new normal. It was essentially necessary, because their number had been steadily increasing.

"You know, Tumble... this really isn't that different, when I think of it, from when Celestia 'haunted' the Good Families, back when I was just a foal. It's easy to not even think of them as 'ghosts' as such, now." Peony had allowed the two fillies to go play in their room, since it seemed clear that the apparitions presented no threat whatsoever. They had become bored with the effort to communicate... slowly... with Plantain and desired to go romp out in the yard. Tumble hadn't felt comfortable with that, he was still somewhat suspicious thanks to having read forbidden earthly horror novels, so the compromise of allowing Jinx and Clover to repair to their room was reached.

"Me not forget story love tell of time before Equestria. But surely spirit invasion different?" Tumble had brought the last of the melonade out to slake their thirst. Waiting for clumsy backward responses scribbled on a stretched lab coat, while writing questions on a blackboard turned out to be slow, thirsty work. It was also problematic - the labcoat was running out of room to write on.

"No, not functionally." Peony was waiting on Plantain to finish describing what being dead felt like. Presented with such an opportunity, it was a question that could not help but be asked. "Celestia passed through walls and objects, she wasn't translucent - I couldn't see through her - and she didn't glow, but neither did she cast a shadow. And I could hear her, clearly. Or I thought I could. Nopony else could. Or see her. We each got our own Celestia, that only we could see and hear. Drove my mother... actually, it didn't bother my mother as much as it did the other Good Family parents. I think my mother rather enjoyed the experience, though she didn't dare admit it at the time."

Haint Plantain had finished. ᖷIЯST WAƧ GOOD. THEN WORSE. ИOW ИO FUN. LIKE BAD GAMƎ. NO ƧOUИᗡ BAD GRAPHIƆƧ.

Tumble mouthed the shaky printing. Plantain occasionally failed to mirror-reverse some of the letters. It was clearly difficult for her. "Answer much curious. Me not expect heaven suffer from signal degradation. Entire day nothing but ontological nightmare. Troubled dog need hug."

Peony walked to her husband and held him tight, as they lay on the large sofa together. She gave the diamond dog an affectionate kiss, and then relaxed in his arms.

Spooky Plantain and creepy Crème took this as a time out, and relaxed their efforts. Peony watched as Plantain pulled her extended legs to her, allowing them to rest on the wood plantation house floor. She visibly seemed relieved, as if there had been real effort involved in holding the spread-eagle position. Her geist was breathing hard. She used her mouth to massage her transparent, glowing legs.

"Tumble... why would a dead pony... a spirit from beyond... have tired limbs? Why would they be out of breath? Why would they need to breathe at all?" Many things about this supernatural event did not seem to add up. The lack of hunger or thirst was reasonable - why would a ghost need such things, with no body to feed? But breathing was just as much of a bodily function, and Plantain, shade or not, clearly looked exhausted. And of course there was the matter of clothing and belongings having souls, somehow. Universal animism aside, it was at least weird that 'nonliving' spectral objects were unaffected by the floor, while the formerly living definitely were. It apparently took effort for a 'living' or animal ghost to push through a horizontal material surface, but no effort if the surface was vertical. That was a bizarrely specific 'law' of spook physics.

"Me not know. Right now, me not care. Tumble also tired."

Peony snuggled for a while. Plantain, across the floor, was laying on her side entirely, with little Crème pressed possessively into her. They had been apart for so very long, it must be overwhelming to finally be together again.

"Tumble!"

"Mnnn... what precious Peony. Tumble sleepy. Up all night."

"Tumble!" Peony had found her second wind. She was upright on the sofa, raised on her forelegs. "This is fiction!"

"What? Me no understand. This happen now. This real. That problem. That big problem for Tumble."

Peony stared at Plantain and Crème on the floor. "In all those earth stories, and in the old movies - I saw old movies, when I was still human, way back when - in every last one of them, ghosts could walk on floors and pass through walls! They never just fell through the ground. Got sucked down, deliberately shot down, but never just fell, helplessly down. And they didn't float that much either. They walked. Creaky hoofsteps in the dark, stomps on the floor - they had weight and could make noise, but most of all, floors were solid for them but walls weren't!"

"Yeah, Tumble seen too." The huge diamond dog was weary and had fussed entirely too much with vaporous apparitions for now. In addition to forbidden books, there were secret showings of equally forbidden films that could be indulged in. The rumor was that a lot of old earth material that Celestia had banned somehow made it to Equestria despite her prohibitions. There were many theories - humans scientists had somehow perfected a process for converting earth matter to Equestrian dweons - but the wildest notion was that Celestia's sister, the princess Luna, had secretly rebelled. In light of her... history... some considered this the most likely explanation.

"Well, we know that's fiction, because earth's universe had no spiritual component at all. Just chemicals and random chance. Finding that out for sure, from Celestia when she stayed with the Good Families... as a sort of ghost... was one of the biggest things that convinced the worldgovernment to allow the Bureaus and Conversion!"

Tumble realized he was not going to get any sleep, any time soon. He sat up from where he had comfortably slumped, and rubbed his rheumy eyes. "Tumble tired, Peony. Not understand. Just say!"

Peony waved at Plantain and Crème. The little bunny raised a paw and waved back. "Tumble, the way these ghosties act, the way they interact with everything, it makes no sense. It's ridiculous. They have clothing, and tools, and all the stuff they had on them when they died. Just like the fictional ghosts from old earth stories and movies. They can walk on floors, but walls - anything vertical, but not horizontal - is just air to them. And they need air, or something like air, because they can get out of breath. And have sore muscles, which doesn't make sense since technically, they don't have bodies! Do you see?"

Tumble thought for some time. He was weary, but he could tell his pony wife had a valid point. "Is suspicious. Not make sense except in reference to old earth ghost stories. Those silly, if think about. Rules for ghosts arbitrary. Good for ease of filming creepy picture, bad if considered rationally. Me agree." Tumble sat erect now, fully awake. "What if... Celestia crudely make world based on earth, then make afterlife in same manner?"

Peony nodded, excited.

"What if Celestia make death based on poor understanding of what glimpsed? What if Celestia make death same accuracy as she imitate earth sun and moon?"

Peony kissed her beloved dog and nibbled his ears. "Exactly! You are such a smarty! That has to be it - on earth, the sun and moon were gigantic balls of fire and rock that spun through an infinite darkness. In Equestria, the sun and moon look similar, very similar, but they are disks sliding on a crystal dome. She only had the appearance to work from... or maybe, with life and death..." She stared at Plantain and Crème "...maybe she used stories that... humans... told her. Somehow."

"But that would be far in past. Equestria exist long before collide with earth. Celestia must..."

"Celestia must have made contact with human beings ages before the time of the Bureaus. She must have visited, at least once, and she must have either talked to humans, or heard their stories about what they believed... about what death meant. There was a rumor..."

Tumble gave his mare a loving lick. "Rumor?"

"Yes. That one of the families of the court itself is descended from an ancient human. Maybe that's why Celestia bothered with earth at all!" Peony kissed her dog back. "No. It would have to be further back even than that. Death has been a part of Equestria for as long as history records. There are no ponies alive from the dawn of time - well except for Soliloquy, of course. The mare that was part of Plantain's show? She was preserved in stone from the very first ponies ever, or so I was told. That was ten thousand years ago. They must have had death then."

Tumble scratched his chin with a claw. "What if they not have death? What if that come later? How we know? All dead now, and history never trustworthy. History always serve political necessity."

"We need to contact Lady Soliloquy! We need to ask her!" Peony was up and moving towards the blackboard that had been propped up next to the dining table. "I'll tell Plantain and Crème!"

Tumble groaned. "Tell spooks we sleep first, then go find stone pony show star. Ghost can wait, have all eternity!"

Peony stared at her husband. "No, Tumble. That's what I'm getting out of all of this. I don't think they do. Not any more at least."

13. The Occult Legacy Of Willelmus Learmount

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

The Occult Legacy Of Willelmus Learmount

Crimson Acres had been amazed and impressed with Frontpage's ability to control the floating, monolith-like 'teleporting machine'. He had used it to teleport in food and drink from some location in Equestria, from a place he often got lunch from during his many years reporting for the Canterlot Querier. She had been concerned that such rampant teleportation of goods could be considered stealing, theft, but he assured her that as soon as they were both safely back home, he would make a point of explaining everything, and paying any bills demanded.

Explaining the building was a little trickier. Frontpage really had to think about that one. He told Crimson that he hadn't known what he was doing at the time, and that it was pure luck that nopony was in the apartment building at the moment of transport. He hadn't... sent it back... because he was worried that ponies might be investigating the... empty ground... where it had once stood. He didn't want to harm anypony, after all!

The problem of the Ennis-Bradbury never actually having moved at all, was something to worry about much later, after they got back. He hoped he could come up with a convincing lie for that little issue during whatever time remained before any such concern was raised. Spinning the Creation Machine as a mere teleportation device served well to prevent a very difficult and uncomfortable discussion of just how he had saved Crimson from the pit in the sky.

The solution to a problem like the legitimacy of personal identity was almost certainly to just not think about it, he had decided. Not at all. Ever.

"Frontpage! I think I have a way to get us out of here!" Crimson, as always, worked to press forward.

"What is it?" Frontpage finished the last of his mulligatawny soup. Canterlot and the megalopolis of Ponyville had so many amazing restaurants since newfoals had integrated into the culture.

"That ribbon... it can be cut. It was cut. That means that it is a thing."

Frontpage blinked, he had no idea where she was going with this.

Crimson licked bell pepper, corn and potato chowder off her muzzle and swallowed. "And so, if it is a thing, then it can be moved. And the way those pieces of ribbon seem scattered around, I think they were moved."

Frontpage nodded. "Yeah, that seems reasonable. What's your angle here?"

"This thing..." She pointed her nose at the floating control monolith, now an icosahedron "...the teleport machine, what if it could teleport a section of ribbon to us, one that leads directly to wherever we want to go?"

The idea was audacious. The notion of teleporting a hole in spacetime aside, it was also problematic. The stone God-Machine didn't teleport things at all. It created them from energy, whole cloth. Maybe it could teleport things too - probably, considering it could literally manufacture life itself - but could it manufacture something like the black ribbon? The problem nagged at Frontpage - it really seemed to him as if the ribbon might have been taken from the periphery of the stone disk they were standing on. Cut up, and pieces placed all over. Rolls of the remaining stored behind a door on the deck of the 'sailing ship', or representation of the Equestrian cosmos as a sailing ship... the HMS Equestria... stored away for future use, presumably.

Why store something you can just create at will, with zero effort? It seemed unlikely that the machine could make more. Cosmic ribbon was almost certainly a limited resource.

If the device actually could teleport things, and not just create perfect copies, what would happen when folded spacetime was folded through spacetime to a new location? The most likely result, to Frontpage's science-fiction influenced mind, would be a massive, cosmos destroying explosion.

"I read and watched a lot of science fiction, back when I was on earth, and what we're dealing with right now seems to fit that pretty well. I'm fairly certain that folding an already folded spacetime fold is a Really Bad Idea. As in bye-bye universe bad."

Crimson giggled. "Yo... doggie...? I heard that you liked folding spacetime, so we folded your folded spacetime, so that you can spacetime your folded folds while you are folding folded spacetime!"

"Sweet Luna, that is positively ancient! Where in all of two universes did you hear that creaking old meme?"

"Carlos. I never knew his last name. He was the head of one of the groups that surveiled me when I was a human girl, in Antarctica. He didn't dare speak to me often, but when he did, he always tried to make me laugh." Crimson stared at the rainbow void, her ears at half mast. "I hope he made it to Equestria. He tried to be nice to me. That meant a lot, back then. I guess it still does, even after nearly a century."

Frontpage tapped his hoof, staring at it. Then he raised his head to look at Crimson. "I have a thought."

"Alright."

"You know how I told you the machine can sort of hear my thoughts? That's how I make it work. It responds to what I picture in my mind. And we talked for a bit about my wild notion that maybe this thing is part of what makes Equestria work - maybe it's the engine behind what we see as the magic of teleportation." Frontpage had tried to explain his new insights to Crimson, but he had been forced to limit the scope of much of it in order to stick to the lie that all the marble monolith could do was teleport objects. He had avoided suggesting that it was a true God Device, a Krell Machine, and had shot Crimson down when she herself had independently offered the idea as a possibility. If she understood what the machine could really do, he felt sure her first leap would be to the possibility that she hadn't actually been teleported from the pit in the sky at all. Crimson had demonstrated that she was very, very smart.

"Yes... and?"

"There's only one patch of ribbon here. Just one. And more that that, we got into that sky-pit from the bistro, going back the very same way we came in."

Crimson walked so that she could see the little black rectangle in the distance, across the marble disk. "The section of ribbon behind the tapestry." She thought for a moment "The tapestry! It depicted Nightmare Moon, and the moon, and the sky! The moon! That's what we both saw, just before we stepped back through!"

Frontpage stepped close to her. "Exactly! The very thing that was in our minds was the moon and the sky, and specifically the moon in relation to the time Luna was imprisoned there. Her little 'time out' for a thousand years. When we stepped through, we didn't end up back on the HMS Equestria... we ended up almost certainly in the pit her stars - whatever they are - excavated to help her escape. Maybe the ribbon works the same way as the control monolith."

"You mean, whatever we focus on, before we step through, that is what determines where the ribbon takes us?" Crimson's ears were standing tall with hopeful excitement.

Frontpage grinned. "That's my theory. I think it's all the same tech. I think Equestria isn't a magical land... or rather, I think that Equestrian magic is just..."

"Sufficiently advanced technology!" Crimson grinned back. "I didn't learn Clarke's Third Law back when I was a foal in Antarctica. I actually learned it here. Neat, huh?"

Frontpage nodded. "Nifty neat indeed!"

"It's quite a thought, isn't it. Maybe there really is a sort of Krell Machine that we just haven't found yet. Or something like one. Maybe it generates all of Equestria, imagine that!" Crimson seemed very excited at such thoughts "Oh! I think I have proof!"

Frontpage's ears lowered, he couldn't help it. This talk was steering uncomfortably close to some dangerous concepts. "Later. First, let's try..."

"No! Hear me out!"

She seemed almost miffed. She was miffed. Frontpage sighed. Crimson was being clever, and she wanted to show off her smarts. "Okay, what's your proof?"

"The Everfree. Remember how you said all of those Shriekers and other monsters were impossible? That they were directly out of that game you used to play?"

Frontpage sniffed and nodded. "Yeah..."

Crimson beamed. "Think about it - the Everfree, you said, is a place even the princesses can't control. It's beyond even them, a... a broken part of the world. And it has clearly gotten worse - a lot worse! We were in it, alone, just you and I, and all of our thoughts, and suddenly, the place is filled with real life creatures from a fictional game that only you ever played!"

"I'm not the only pony to ever play Dungeon's and Dragons! Swirl - they play it now, all over Equestria. It didn't die with the earth, why I know ponies that..."

"That's not the point - fine, lots of ponies know those monsters. That's only more proof - if Equestria is being maintained by some machine that can make reality, and if it reads minds, then lots of ponies knowing those monsters should just be even more powerful in telling it what to make!" Crimson tossed her bright red mane and stomped her hoof on the marble.

Frontpage considered her words. "You're saying that... the Everfree is like some kind of dumping ground or overflow area for mental commands... sort of. That all of our thoughts, not just the princesses, affect it in some strange manner. Ponies start playing a game from earth, and, eventually, stuff from that game starts showing up in the Everfree. Is that it?" The mare was smart. Too smart.

"Exactly that. And that's why it always has monsters in it too - even native ponies have nightmares, and they have fears and frustrations as well. Maybe the Everfree is a... zone, or region or something... where the Big Machine can't help but print all those thoughts, good and bad, into reality. That would explain the helpful things from the Everfree, too - cures and delicious fruits and all sorts of useful, magical things. Things so useful, its like somepony wished them into being!" Crimson's tail was basically wagging at this point - she felt very clever indeed, and Frontpage found himself almost mesmerized by the effect.

"That's a poutine of an explanation, Crimson. It certainly offers an answer for what we experienced back in the forest, and I think you have a real case there. Maybe even enough for a decent article. I'd give you some column inches for that. My hat's off to you!" Frontpage dipped his head and allowed his hat to fall onto his upturned hoof. He spun the hat on his hoof and then flipped it back onto his head.

"Oh!" Crimson was delighted by the performance. "That was quite dashing!"

"You bring it out in me, my dear Ms. Acres. You are as bright as you are lovely, and you are very much of both." He happily noted Crimson's blush. "Now that you have solved for reality itself, what say we go try out my idea of cosmic ribbon destination control? If it works, we can have a proper bed to sleep in tonight, and count ourselves survivors with a story to tell."

Crimson trotted off, her tail swishing widely. "Just one bed, mister Frontpage?"

It was the reporter's turn to blush.

They had to stop at Shenanigans', for cinnamon rolls. Jinx and Clover never got to visit the Megalopolis of Ponyville as often as they liked - if they had their way, their mother, Crimson, would give the plantation over to anypony else and take up apartment living in the city. Here were all the toy stores, the clothing shops, and above all else tasty, tasty treats that young filly ponies could totally bliss out on.

Shenanigans' was, like most businesses now, a newfoal concern. Originally started far out in the Exponentials by a young mare named Pudding, it had become an empire specializing in desserts and confections. The fillies attention had been drawn from the moment Tumble, Peony, Clover and Jinx had passed through the marble arch that marked the gate to the great city. Everywhere were banners and posters announcing the grand Zero Point Centennial - One Century Since Total Inclusion! With catering, of course, by Shenanigans', among others. But the thought of their famous sticky cinnamon rolls stuck very solidly in the minds of Clover and Jinx.

Sometimes, the simplest path is to just give in.

"Unca Tumble?" Little Clover was visibly drooling "You wan your last of your cimimom roll?" Her mouth was still partially full from her own unfinished treat.

"Clover! Chew with your muzzle shut! Goodness!" Peony was generally easygoing, but she had once been a child of the Good Families, the elite of the earth, and her 'Everfree Six' background still came out from time to time. "Proper mares do not ask for the contents of other ponies plates."

"Is okay. Rolls tasty, but give Tumble indigestion if eat too many." Uncle Tumble pushed the remains of his bulky, oozing, soft and delicious buttery-sweet pastry across the table with a claw. "Little pony eat, grow up sweet like beautiful Peony that Tumble love!"

Peony leaned over and gave her husband a lick and a kiss. "You are a romantic, and I adore you."

"Tumble glad. Me not happy unless Peony happy with Tumble."

"Then you should be happy all of the time, forever." Peony smiled, her ears dancing on her head in contentment.

Jinx and Clover looked at each other, made contorted faces that suggested that the pavement and surroundings would immediately become awash in chyme and digestive fluid, then happily returned to vacuuming up every speck of cinnamony-buttery deliciousness. The tender mercies of true love did not delight them - sweet treats were far superior in their estimations.

The plan was to take a pegasus carriage across the city to Payne Productions. The Happy Pony Show, one of the most successful musical variety entertainments in Equestria, was started by a small group of reasonably adamant disgruntled newfoals who used satire and comedy to express their unorthodox opinions about ponification. The group originated with Royal Payne and a number of other newfoals, many of which went on to equally great success stories of their own. Royal was married to the Lady Soliloquy - the pony Tumble and Peony wanted to see.

Lady Soliloquy, it was said, had once lived at the very dawn of Equestria itself. She had been a truly magical orator, with a mysterious gift that could sway the very souls of other ponies. She had also not thrived upon the surface of the barren, difficult, and chaos-skied prototype that preceded modern Equestria. She had been a threat to peace and survival with her enchanted words, causing dissent and even open rebellion - demanding luxuries and comforts that were impossible during the rugged and harsh formation of a new cosmos.

She had been lithified - turned to stone - as much to preserve order as to grant her peace. After many thousands of years she had been returned to life, to a rich, opulent, comfortable life that greatly agreed with her. This benefit was granted because her special powers had finally become needed by the princesses. It was her speech, broadcast all across Equestria, over every city, village, town and hamlet that finally made the case that newfoals were nothing to be afraid of, and were all true citizens and ponies to be accepted and cherished.

After that astonishing event, never again were immigrant newfoals stranded in far lands, or treated as terrifying invaders from the alien universe of earth. With her words, she had convinced every native to embrace the refugee population of former humans - newfoals like her own beloved husband, Royal Payne.

The flying carriage ride across the city was dominated less by sightseeing than by constant licking of sticky droplets of cinnamon sweet from fur and clothing. When at last the pegasus cab landed, Peony, Tumble and the fillies found themselves on a suspended landing balcony hundreds of hooves above the megalopolis below. The view was pulse-quickening for anypony other than a pegasus, and even Jinx and Clover, who had been distracted during the flight, took time to ooh and ahh at the sights beyond the guarding rail.

Peony was well known because she was a member of the Everfree Six and considered to be a sister to Plantain Acres, through connection with Crimson. In no time the small troupe was mustered through the halls, past the recording studios and performance chambers, and into the office of Royal himself.

"Peony! Peony Garden... Bumble, is it? And Tumble! So nice to see you again - aren't you looking large and... very large indeed. Oh! And who are these fine fillies?" Royal Payne, a strikingly purple stallion with a shimmering gold mane and tail, still wore his trademark flashy tie. He had singlehoofedly made human-world neckties cool in Equestria, and now there were tie stores in Canterlot as a result.

Clover and Jinx greatly enjoyed being introduced - Payne was a star of stage and screen - and it took some time and quite a few pleasantries to finally get down to the business for which they had come.

"We want to ask Soliloquy, directly, about whether death existed at the very beginning of Equestria." Peony's statement made Royal's ear twitch.

"It's because of the haints, isn't it?"

The ghost invasion, they soon learned, was not confined to the back side of Canterlot mountain. Specters were everywhere, essentially across Equestria. They were sparse in the Exponential lands, but very thick in regions where historical events or settlements had either been, or still were. The fairly old city of Manehattan was filled with etherial shades, and the sites of conflicts prior to the Pax Equestria were virtually swarming with phantasmic dragons, griffons, and ponies in ancient armor. Ponyville had endured very few encounters, it had been settled only two and a half centuries before the introduction of newfoals to Equestria. The older the place, the heavier the invasion of ghosts - something that made a certain sort of sense.

"Me had no idea occult phenomena so widespread!" Tumble's ears met his skull. "This not local problem at all!"

"No, my good... dog... haints seem to be everywhere anypony has gotten a report from. It's in all the papers. Here, look, even the Ponyville Prattler-Tribune gave it the front page!" Royal spread out the newspaper so that all could see.

Bone Pone Roam Loam, Cause Groan.
Throne Intone: Show Backbone - Moan Overblown!

"The princesses made a statement about this? Oh, that's good... huh..." Peony scanned the article below "They don't actually say much. Or anything, really. No explanations. Nothing solid, anyway. Keep calm, situation under control... frankly, this sounds too much like... like earth news."

"Me wonder how long it take to make headline. Writer need stern reprimand." Tumble shook his large trollish head. "Maybe even new job entirely."

Royal looked around, his ears low. He almost whispered. "It is like earth news. The paper was 'informed' shall we say, on what content and tone was 'allowed' to be printed. All the news outlets have gotten the same marching orders. Pablum and calming words to keep the masses from panic. The princesses gave one short statement, and now nopony knows where they have gotten to. Not even lesser royalty, like Sparkle, knows what's going on. Frankly, I'm worried. If it's beyond even the six great ambassadors of Equestria, then... it can't be good."

"How you know propaganda in use?" Tumble gave Peony a comforting squeeze.

Royal stood tall, but his ears were still low. "Because my wife is currently recording speeches on direct order from Celestia herself, and not even I'm allowed to know what they say. Soliloquy hates taking orders from Celestia, but she's doing this work without any fuss at all. Emergency speeches, I'm thinking. Last time I saw Soliloquy, through the glass of the booth, she looked like she'd been through Tartarus."

Peony lifted her hoof from the low table where she had been holding the corner of the newspaper down. She studied Royal's face for a moment. "When will your wife be finished? Can we talk to her?"

"I don't really know. She's been in there since lunchtime. When I wave at her, she just shakes her head." Royal adjusted his tie with a hoof. "You can't talk to her about whatever she's recording, I can tell you that. The princesses made that very clear."

"That's not any concern to us - we need to ask her about prehistoric mortality, nothing more. We have a theory, Royal." Peony checked on the fillies. Jinx and Clover were completely enraptured by a gigantic magical viewing crystal, and were busily intent upon the sphere, watching some cartoon about a blue donkey-like creature that could fly without wings. "I think that death is a recent addition to Equestria, and so are ghosts and whatever constitutes an afterlife here. And I think its breaking down... and, you know... I think I have a notion as to why!"

Royal's ears perked up. "I can confirm part of your idea - Soliloquy has told me a lot over the years about her life at the beginning of time. Nopony died and nopony grew old. They could be killed, by injury, by accident, but the princesses would just remake them if that happened. So that part is true. Death was added after my wife was lithified. She's a bit upset about it, because all of her old friends are gone." Royal's ears fluttered "Now what's this notion about what's really happening?'

"I think..." Peony lowered her voice, just in case the fillies were listening in "I think that Celestia added death because she somehow discovered that the earth had it. She's copied everything else, but death is something you can't get from a quick peek. She must have talked to somepony, some... one... someone human... about it. Some human from long, long ago, ages before the Bureaus. Someone filled with religious superstition, from a time when death was seen everyday, and on the minds of every human.

"She was probably given the old load of dung about the necessity of death, the inevitability of it, and the fictional reward of it. Then, swayed, she implemented death, probably just because it embarrassed her that her replication of earth was incomplete or something. We know she's a stickler for Law and Order and things being done correctly."

Royal nodded.

"So, basically, death probably worked just fine, super happy afterlife and all the trimmings. But suddenly, now, in the last century, there are billions of new citizens. Eleven billion newfoals, if what I've read is at all correct." Peony swallowed. "I think letting us humans in, just the sheer number of us all, I think it broke... Equestria."

Royal paced away, fussed, then paced back. "No wonder Soliloquy looked so ragged." He adjusted his tie again, nervously. "If you're right, she could be in there doing doomsday sign-offs. Our broadcast day is over. So long, and thank for all the hay. Sweet syrup. Holy Luna." He paced away, constantly stopping to straighten his tie, over and over. "Blessed Celestia."

Tumble bent his head to whisper into his wife's ear. "Me think you broke purple pony."

14. And She Was

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

And She Was

She had fallen for the longest time. She met the sides less and less until, at last, she soared right through the middle like a bullet down the barrel of a rifle. Oh, she hadn't thought about that sort of thing in forever. Just forever.

There was no choice, none at all. She had acted almost instinctually, flat on her belly, all of her effort in one desperate, true kick. When she'd gone in, it had been headfirst, and she'd said, out loud to herself, "Hole in one!"

It got cooler very fast. The wind, the air, moved past her faster and faster, taking with it her sweat and her tears too - for she had been crying. She wondered if she had been singed - it was impossible to tell, even for her nose, because the ferocious wind tore past her so powerfully, as she fell.

It was much, much deeper than she had imagined. By now, she was uncertain if a bottom even existed at all.

She tried relaxing, as best she could, against such hurricane wind. She used the pressure of it to turn herself over, careful to avoid ending up in a spin. With her backside to wind, to the direction of down, she found breathing less onerous. Her face was no longer mashed or flapping as her angle changed. This was better. She wished she could sleep. In every way, whatever happened, it would be better. Either there was a bottom, or there wasn't, and neither outcome would be improved by being conscious.

She tried praying. It was almost certainly ridiculous, but she was clear that she had nothing to lose from it. Pascal's Wager made a lot more sense in a situation such as this, she reflected. There was no answer, of course. Or perhaps not 'of course'. It was, after all, the magical land of Equestria.

At least Frontpage would make it. Her kick had been perfect. Plantain, who she reckoned she would be seeing again relatively soon, would be very proud of her. Her sister had once attempted to get her interested in doing an act together, in her show. Nothing had come of the effort and practice at the time, but the training had turned out to be of value after all. One reporter had lived to write the story. She tried to imagine the look that must have been on his muzzle, when he found himself helpless, kicked high, oh so high, up and right through that cosmic ribbon. Two points.

It should count more as three, she mused. Her current distance from the last existing three-point line was more than ninety years in the past, and well over 24,000 earthly kilometers in some dimension of space beyond the normal ones, plus time. Human basketball did not exist in Equestria, despite newfoals dominating the culture. It was too simple, too easily won by telekinetic unicorns or flying, slam-dunking pegasai. Maybe separatist earthponies alone might secretly play it, somewhere out in the unimaginably vast Exponential Lands. If there even was such a thing as a separatist earthpony.

There was no way she could have hoped to make it through the ribbon. It took all of her considerable power just to shoot Frontpage up to it. The impossibly gargantuan disk of the sun was terrible when it approached. She never even got to see it. Still distant, beyond the walls of the Luna Pit the heat was unbearable. The suns light blazed through the strange crystal that was the material of the sky, and turned the blue walls ocean green.

She could barely breathe by the time she remembered the 'trap' - the circular hole at the very center of the 'X' shaped gorge. It was desperation that sent her rocketing with a swift kick straight toward it. She knew that to fall within meant being trapped at the bottom of a frictionless pit within a pit. But her flesh could no longer stand the rapidly growing heat. She knew, in those moments, only the drive to escape, to move away, by any means, to any destination. And thus she slid over the rim and directly down.

And down. And still down. It grew cooler quickly. Within seconds it was pleasant. Within minutes, she was in utter darkness.

The smooth and polished walls of the circular shaft were made of sky-stuff. Without friction, striking them did no damage whatsoever. She knew she must be falling at whatever terminal velocity was within Equestria. She felt weightless, the only force acting on her the rushing wind of her passage, as she plowed through the still air within the vertical tunnel.

For a long while she just... let go, her mane and tail fluttering like ragged flags. When she began coughing, after her mouth and throat had dried out, she took the work of dropping more seriously. It took some time before she could work up enough saliva to cease feeling choked. She kept her eyes mostly shut, against the constant gale. Occasionally, she would peek, because not looking was even more awful than looking. Always, in the back of her mind, was the image of the bottom of the shaft. It was coming to meet her. Very, very fast. And she felt very certain it did not want to be friends with her.

She concentrated on her breathing for a bit - the wind was extremely fierce and felt like it was bucking its way into her nasal passages. She contemplated what it would be like, when it happened - would it be instant, or would she suffer for a while as the mush that once had been her dripped from where it had splattered? That was silly - the walls were frictionless. Any flecks or gobbits would collect instantly in a central pool, they could stick to nothing...OH LUNA! Where the empanada are you? Why wasn't she already here, kindly carrying a pony scythe? Wasn't she supposed to be the designated psychopomp for the Equestrian cosmos? That was Frontpage's theory. Luna, the Not-Pale Mare. Protector of foals and fools, reaper in the night.

The constant blast was very annoying. The fall was taking entirely too long. She reckoned that she could have fallen from old, vanished earth's orbit several times by now. Just how high was the sky anyway? Did the crazy dome just go on forever? Was Equestria a universe of infinite dome-crystal and equally infinite ground-stone interrupted by a tiny bubble of air and light and life?

The wind was too much. That was when she decided to try to turn over, put her back to the storm, and see if she could take a nap.

Drifting comfortably off was impossible while being buffeted about during a death plummet. 'The more you know!' she thought to herself.

The air felt different now. Moist. She detected the scent of moss, and what seemed like flowers and grass, though the moss dominated. Praying hadn't worked, and sleeping was right out with the loud rushing of wind in her ears, so she decided to face her destiny - and those curious scents.

Turning over in mid air once more, she noted that the walls had changed - and that she could see them. For the longest time she had descended in pitch blackness, light long lost, no longer even a speck far above. The burning sun itself could not reach down such a tunnel, it was so deep. The tunnel walls were no longer blue ice that was not ice. Now they were dirt and rock and patches of dark olive green. She was slowing down.

Far ahead, a pinprick of light was visible. From it came illumination enough to just distinguish that the walls were different, and that she was moving past them with less and less velocity. Now the jumble of rock and soil was giving way to measured blocks, bricks of carefully cut stone, a circular tube through which she was... rising? Something in her inner ear suggested that down was now impossibly... up. She was falling - flying - upwards, the velocity from her long drop now serving to launch her up the brick-walled shaft.

There was something ahead. A spiral led to a discernible disk of light. The spiral was interrupted, staggered. It finally came to her realization that she was seeing the underside of a staircase, made of brickwork, that rifled the tunnel she rose within. At the beginning of the stairs was a platform of some kind, also stone, that jutted out from the wall. Her swift climb continued to slow. She barely noticed the fact that her body was screaming now, apparently of its own volition. Perhaps the poor thing had simply endured too much, and needed a good long yell to release the tensions of the impossible plummet... now an ascent.

The light in front of her was very bright. The approaching circle of light, where the tunnel and the stairs ended, far above the approaching stone platform, had a peculiar greenish-blue tint to it. It was the same color as the Equestrian sky at mid-day. As she continued to rise higher and higher up the shaft, she began to see that it was sky, and there was the sun, peeking over the lip. She whizzed past the platform where the stone steps began their ascent. In moments she found herself outside the strange shaft entirely. Her voice never stopped shrieking, the thing clearly had some will of its own.

She flew up and out of a well. A stone well. In a frozen moment, as her speed upwards ended, and a new plummet began, she noted that the well had once had a metal cover, which now lay to the side on the grass. Whipping her head around she saw the ruin of an enormous and ancient castle. Her mind recoiled at the recognition of it. It was the castle of the Pony Sisters, the castle in the Everfree. This was the oldest building in Equestria... jerking her head, just before she passed below the rim of the stone well, she saw the entrance to the cave where the Tree Of Harmony stood. The very same tree with a new door in it, where she and Frontpage had stepped through a blackness to escape the monsters of the forest outside.

Her consciousness reeled. She had fallen through the top of the sky, all the way to the surface of the world! The dome of the sky was the literal underside of the whole of Equestria. The universe wrapped around upon itself, through unknown dimensions. It was a finite-yet-unbounded cosmos, a bubble of spacetime floating in some multiversal realm, like a toy boat tossed about, lost in the ocean...

This last thought deserved some real consideration, but her insight was massively interrupted. She found herself no longer falling. Silvern light covered her entirely - she was held within an impossibly strong telekinetic grasp. She found herself being rotated to face the opening that existed beyond the stone platform that jutted from the walls of the brick well - the very start of the stairs that led up to the surface.

There, standing next to a number of very classical, ornately decorated, metal-banded treasure chests set within a deep chamber beyond the stone platform was her savior - the princess Luna herself. Luna looked her over with not a little surprise, even astonishment. Beside the nocturnal diarch, a tall bipedal creature seemingly, constructed of seven or eight different animals impossibly sewn together, slowly closed the journal he had been reading. He carefully lay the book back into the open treasure chest in front of him. Discord. Likely the most powerful entity in Equestria - even the princesses had trouble dealing with him. He didn't seem surprised at all. He did seem utterly delighted for some reason. Likely because it must seem like chaos itself to have a little earthpony fly up out of a well that led to a hole in the sky.

"Prithee silence thyself sweet mare, for safe thou art, within mine own keeping!"

Crimson Beauty Acres gradually fell quiet, and slowly closed her mouth.

"No, I think that could end up very, very bad for us. We don't know what kind of genie we're dealing with." Frontpage held a foreleg out protectively, blocking Crimson from stepping through the rectangular section of cosmic ribbon.

"Genie? What?"

"That game I liked. Also earth mythology, but mostly D&D." Frontpage sat down on his hindquarters. "In Dungeons and Dragons, sometimes a DM - a Dungeon Master, the pony who ran the game, kind of a referee and storyteller? The DM would throw out a magic lamp or some such McGuffin, and the players, being greedy little piggies, couldn't wait to get their hooves on some free wishes. If the DM was a charitable, nurturing game master who worked to serve his players enjoyment and fun, then the genie would be nice and the wishes would be granted fairly. That's gotta be how all games in Equestria are played now. Obviously. We're all ponies, and that's what we do. Mostly.

"BUT, a century ago, when I played the game on earth, with human DM's, well... sometimes, oftentimes, actually... the genie would be evil. Super evil. It would basically be used as a means for the Dungeon Master to exact petty suffering, or retribution for previous player antics, or even to teach exceptionally greedy and uncooperative players some harsh moral lessons. It was a spankin' switch, and sometimes could even be used to kill off an entire party and effectively end a campaign that wasn't fun anymore."

Crimson just glared. "I have not a clue what any of that has to do with my plan. We just think about going to wherever my sister is, and after we step through, we both get what we want! I see my sister, and you can interview her and get the Big Scoop on what happens after we die. It's win-win, and I don't see why you are having a problem with it."

"Just listen, okay?" Frontpage sighed. "Imagine being in a game like I just described, alright? You get three wishes. Make a wish. I'll play the genii. A wish like an ancient, human adventurer might make. Any wish. Go on!"

Crimson sat down too, clearly they were not going anywhere until Frontpage finished 'colt-splaining' whatever it was he was going on about. "Yes. Fine. Make me... rich, I suppose. A ton of gold. I wish for a ton of gold." This was insulting.

"ZAM! A ton of gold falls on you and squashes you flat! You're dead. Do not pass 'Go', do not collect on your life insurance." Frontpage seemed to be enjoying himself.

"That isn't what I asked for! I said I wanted to be wealthy - and have a ton of gold, not be killed!"

"Yes, that is exactly what you asked for and it is exactly what you got. You didn't ask to be killed, but you also didn't ask not to be killed. You got your gold, you were rich for exactly as long as it took to fall on you, your wish has been granted, master of the lamp. Evil genie. Literal computer. Same thing."

Crimson Acres opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Her ears drooped.

"Think about what you wanted us to do - to 'Go wherever Plantain is'. What's the most efficient, most direct path to that goal?" Frontpage looked very grim.

"D-death. We die and..."

Frontpage nodded "We die and our wish is granted. We are exactly wherever Plantain is, and even in exactly the same state of being. Absolutely optimal result... for a literal machine. Just because this system grants us very specific food and drink doesn't mean it can handle highly abstract commands. To go where a dead pony is? How else do you interpret that? I suspect we'd be wormfood the instant we stepped through.

"Now, I'm not saying that the Equestrian... system or interface or whatever it is... is necessarily an evil genie. But I think it would be prudent to be very, very careful about exactly how we give it instructions. It could be perfectly nice, but unpleasantly literal. It could kindly, and in friendship, give us exactly what we ask for."

"When we get out of this mess, I want you to teach me that game." Crimson lay down and turned her head to stare at the floating stone control monolith. It was currently egg-shaped.

"I'd be glad to. For now though..." Frontpage also lay down, his belly flat to the marble, his forelegs extended "...for now, we need to come up with a very specific destination, something even a literal machine - or an evil genie - can't cause us any trouble with."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while.

"Crimson. What do you want?"

"You know what I want. I want my sister back! Or at least, I want to see her, talk to her, know she's alright... and that there really is some kind of afterlife for her!" Crimson seemed almost offended to be asked... again.

"And I want to know what is going on with our world, why there are armies of ghosts invading bistros, and why the Everfree has gone crazy-go-nuts. And most of all, I want to know what's being done about it... and whether or not it's curtain time for all of us."

This seemed to surprise Crimson. "Do you really think it's that bad? It's just a few, well, ghosts and the monsters are a little thick..."

"'The dead rising from the grave! Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies! Rivers and seas boiling! Forty years of darkness! Earthquakes, volcanoes, human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together... mass hysteria!' - I think that's how the line goes. It's been a century. Bottom line - ghosts swarming and monsters rising up is basically the standard cake recipe for the End Of The World. And I'm talking basic vanilla, no frosting, not even any layers, zero decoration. Just cake. Super basic."

Crimson laughed. "More than ninety years, the old universe is just a memory, planet ground up to make the Exponential Lands, and... we're still making references to media that was ancient when we were both children! Earth was a miserable place, but it had some amazing art, didn't it?"

Frontpage glanced off at the color-splotched void. "Makes sense, if you think about it. The crappier the world, the more you need escapist entertainment. To escape. Because it hurts, all the time. Native Equestrian stuff was pretty insipid and very short before newfoals showed up. It was merely tolerated - it interrupted having fun every day. Seeing a play or a show was work. It was like going to school, not escape."

"Ponies love earth stuff now. Allowed or prohibited, they eat it up. Why, if not for escape?"

"Fun is fun, and novelty is always exciting." Frontpage bent his neck far to the side and nibbled his flank because it itched. "Earth art may have been born from dissatisfaction and pain, but it was still pretty great. Nothing odd about that. Good is good, whatever the universe."

Crimson smiled "Aren't you the sage old stallion with all the answers! You are quite something, blithely discussing how entertainment functions between differing universes!"

"If I knew even half of the crap I talk about, I'd be pretty amazing, wouldn't I?" Frontpage joined Crimson in laughing. "Do we actually want the same thing?"

Crimson startled "I thought so. Aren't they the same thing? I mean, if anypony should know what is going on with the dead coming back, Plantain would. She'd be all over that like... like..." Crimson stared at the marble floor, mouth open. "Plantain's dead. She's... dead. I... I'm still - it's like it isn't real, and then it is, and sometimes I feel nothing and other times... sorry. I'm still... I'm not sure."

"We've been on a bit of an adventure. You haven't had any time at all to actually grieve. If anything, I think you've put your grief on hold, because of your intention to get her back. Get her back, and there's no reason to grieve at all. True enough in terms of logic, but emotions don't much care for logic. They just feel." Frontpage nuzzled Crimson for a bit. "So, where do we go from here?"

Crimson pulled her head away. "Frontpage? Maybe..."

"Yes? Maybe what?"

"Maybe we are in over our heads. Maybe you were absolutely right back in that restaurant." Crimson had the beginnings of tears in her eyes. "This truly is... cosmic level... stuff. I was raised to believe that there was nothing... that I was... on top of whatever and whoever and... it's really sinking now that maybe we've been... arrogant? A little over-certain of our own cleverness? All this - " She raised and pointed her foreleg and hoof, and swept it to encompass the disk and monolith both " - all of this is... if this was back when earth existed, my father..." She paused "My... human... father... he would have sent in teams. Of the best scientists and engineers and physicists and... there would be hundreds of ponies all over this, not even touching any of it. Scanning it, taking measurements, analyzing every detail, for months, before even daring to lay hoof on anything. Because every bit of this is way, way beyond... it's centuries, millennia, maybe millions of years beyond any technology... ever."

"And we've been playing with it like it was our own little toy." The statement felt especially grave to Frontpage as he said it - spoke it directly to the ears of the mare he had casually recreated after her death. He shuddered.

"I think it's time to call the princesses. Call them here, I mean. Or call for them to rescue us. We've been incredibly lucky so far..."

Frontpage winced slightly.

"...really lucky that neither of us has been seriously hurt. I don't feel lucky anymore. And I don't feel confident after your little 'genie' speech. I kind of hate to say this... but maybe... maybe we should give up." Crimson stared at her hooves.

"O...kay. How? That's been nagging at me for a bit, in the background. How, actually, do we get the princesses to come save us?"

Crimson's forehooves instinctually tried to dig into the ground. "That's a bit of a poser, is it not? No matter what we decide to do, the same 'genie' risk exists, doesn't it? Oh, that makes for a bit of a complication. Also, have you considered that we might get in trouble for all of this?"

Frontpage felt dizzy, from the smack he had given himself when his hoof impacted his poll. "Ow. Also, no... naw, I've never thought about that one. Not a bit. Never crossed my tiny, derpy little brain. No sire-ee, getting in trouble? Now there's a strange thought!"

"No need to be rude." Crimson stiffened.

"Sorry... really, I'm very sorry." Frontpage reached out a foreleg. "I apologize. I'm past tolerances, I think. Sorry."

"Forgiven." Crimson gave Frontpage's outstretched hoof a pat with one of her own. "Provided you help me work out what to do next."

Frontpage nodded.

"Wait! I have the answer!" Crimson seemed confident once more.

"What?"

Crimson grinned "We get the machine to teleport princess Luna here, right to us! Her, because she's... the more understanding of the two, I believe. She's more likely to go easy on us. We just get up, go over there, and you - the machine seems to respond to you well - you think hard about her, touch that ball to the stone and..."

"NO!" Frontpage felt his muzzle pale, under his fur. "No, that would not be... a good idea." Even if the alien god-machine could manufacture a duplicate Luna, even if it was capable of such a thing, even trying would probably be just about the most - essentially blasphemous - thing it could be possible to do within Equestria. He didn't even want to consider the penalty for duplicating a royal personage. It was exactly the sort of science-fiction concept that inevitably led to a lot of drama, all of it very unpleasant for everypony involved.

"That's how you rescued me. We know it works. We know how it works!" Crimson was up and already trotting to the floating stone control monolith. It was currently in the shape of a fat spindle.

"Wait!" Frontpage hurried to intercept "Just hold on! Crimson!" He thought fast, very fast. What could he say? Without revealing the truth, at any rate? Think, think... "We don't dare try to teleport a princess!"

Crimson stopped and turned. "Why? The interface is simple for teleporting - we've been doing it all day!"

Think, think... "Uh... because... because the princesses... they're royal! They're different!"

Crimson stared at Frontpage. "Of course they're different - they're alicorns. Princesses. But we've seen them teleport themselves! At least I have. They do it all the time. You must have seen them teleport - you're a reporter. I know that you have. Oh..." She developed a sly smile "I get it, you're afraid. I understand." She smiled more warmly. "I'll do it. You've explained how simple it is. I'll take full responsibility. If we catch her in the... bath... or whatever, and that causes trouble, I will make sure she understands that I was the one to pull the lever. So to speak."

"NO!!" Frontpage bodily blocked Crimson. She had moved past him, and close to the monolith. Already there was a blank region forming on the side of the squat spindle - a workspace created by her strong intention. "We CANNOT, cannot teleport ANYPONY here. Not ever! So just stop, okay?"

Crimson studied the stallion. "What is the problem, Frontpage."

Frontpage swallowed. He looked down. His ears fell flat to his skull. He could feel his tail trying to curl up around his undercarriage, as if it were trying to hide. "The princesses aren't made of the same stuff other ponies are!" That was the stuff, now he was thinking! "They're energy beings, or multidimensional creatures, or something like that. They can shapeshift - you must know about that - Luna can become anything, supposedly. Vapor, a thorn, a tree, she was an 'aspect of the moon for a thousand years', whatever that means!" He was on a roll now "We can't teleport either princess, because it would almost certainly be the same problem as teleporting a piece of the cosmic ribbon. Same problem! Boom! Or zap. Something really bad!" Frontpage tried to look Crimson straight in the eyes, boldly, forcefully, to buck home the guise of sincerity, but he couldn't. His eyes just slid off her, to the side, and down once more.

Still, he had done it. No question but that was some quality, quality obfuscation there. It was even probably mostly true. He had stopped a potential disaster, and still maintained Crimson's existential security. Frontpage mentally patted himself on the back. Physically, he swished his tail against his hocks with satisfaction of a job well done. His tail made three swishes, then crawled back between his legs as if of its own volition.

Crimson was giving him the side-eye. "You clearly stated 'anypony'. Not just the princesses. And you are hiding something. Something big, from how many tells I am seeing." She backed away slightly. "It isn't just a 'teleportation' device, is it, Frontpage?"

Frontpage said nothing.

"It's a Krell Machine, a God Machine. I can guess why you didn't tell me, and why you are lying."

Suddenly, Frontpage found his face being pressed from the side, by Crimson's own. She was there, close, her ear flicking his, literally cheek to cheek. "It's alright, Frontpage. You need to understand that. I'm alright with this. I really am." She briefly nuzzled him, gently and slowly. "And you are a complete sweetheart for trying to protect me, but it's really not necessary."

Crimson stepped back. "Frontpage, listen - when I was a child in Antarctica, I spent a lot of time alone, watching media, reading books, being trained to be a proper little Bettencourt lady. But I also overheard a lot of things that most humans back then would consider secret, things that some would have given their very lives to know. The Good Families knew the world was doomed long before Equestria showed up. Long before.

"The Families had no intention of just accepting natural justice for their treatment of the planet. They were working on means of escape - Antarctica itself was nothing but escape for the elite - build mansions under domes at the bottom of the earth and leave the rabble to their fate. Huge city-ships out on the poison seas. They had countless plans all going at the same time.

"One you probably didn't hear about - though maybe you did, you are a pretty determined sort of reporter - was escape to a machine existence. All part of the big push to make A.I.'s everyday things - driving your car, navigating your airship, running your mansion." Crimson made a little cough "Or... being the friendly interface on a... public infotainment kiosk... everywhere."

Frontpage looked up. "You... you already know? What... what I did, what you..." He couldn't finish saying 'are?'

"I know now. Thank you for the confirmation." Crimson came nearer again. "You will be surprised, I should think, and relieved, hopefully, to hear that I don't have an issue with the idea that you... remade me? That's pretty much it, isn't it? I died, back there, in that pit, didn't I? So you used this incredible machine here to bring me back to life. I am very flattered. I don't think you could have succeeded if you didn't have a very clear conception of me in your thoughts. Apparently I made an impression."

Frontpage couldn't stop the tears. "You... you have no idea."

"I think I do. Now." Crimson mopped Frontpage's muzzle with her soft pastern. "The effort to upload humans ended while I was in Antarctica. I heard all about it - it was a big defeat for the Good Families. It turned out that uploading was impossible. The human brain, back in the old universe, depended on unduplicable quantum phenomena. Some mathematical, physics thing. All earth life used quantum effects, as a sort of cheat, for a lot of life processes. Brains couldn't work without such a cheat, and that meant that the information - all the stuff that made a person themselves - could never be copied to another form. It was a dead end. If it hadn't been, we could all have ended up emigrated to something very like Equestria, especially if some rogue A.I. decided that ponies were better than humans. But that didn't happen, because it was impossible from the start."

"And... and that's why you don't have a problem with..." Frontpage lifted his own hoof and caught Crimson's in the crook of his terminal joint. "With..."

"I'm not a copy. It's not even a worry in my mind." Crimson looked Frontpage in the eyes "Not just because of the argument that if a pony is the only extant version of themselves, they are by definition the original because they can be nothing else - you forget... we have souls. 'Thaumatic Couplements'. Whatever you call such a thing, it is a soul, and it is supposed to be immortal. I've seen mine before. Peridot, Shinden's mother showed me. Several times, over the years - I was a test pony for some of her thaumomedical research."

"I'm not sure I understand." Frontpage shook his head. Ms Crimson Beauty Acres just kept getting deeper and more intriguing the more he knew of her.

"So, you reconstructed me from my constituent dweons... I wouldn't work, not in Equestria, unless I had a thaumatic couplement - a soul. I clearly could not have been dead long, because I have no memory of any afterlife. For me, it was instantaneous - one moment I am kicking your heiney, the next I am here - but Peridot made it very clear that nothing biological, physical, can be alive within Equestria unless it has a soul inside it. So, that machine scooped up my soul and stuffed it in this replacement body, and thus I am still me. The only me, the original me, the same pony that saved your tail so you could save mine."

The confident smile on Crimson's muzzle was like sunshine for Frontpage. He had been so worried, so concerned and here she was... more than alright with every bit of what he had done.

"That was a truly entertaining and no doubt greatly comforting ontological and existential explanation of your own existence, my dear. Pity that it is substantially - though not entirely - wrong."

Neither Crimson nor Frontpage had been the least aware that Discord himself, accompanied by Luna, diarch of the night, had entered the strange 'control room' through the cosmic ribbon far across the disk. They had approached in silence, listening intently to the exchange between the two ponies.

"Indeed, my sib doth speak truly, mine own diminutive ponies. Thy circumstances and actions are of great fascination to us, and we would hear tell of them most swiftly. Prior to thy royal report, howsoever, we would introduce thee both to another who would also, we do conclude, hath much to question thee about as well - and who possesseth impatience even greater than our own!" Luna glared coldly at the pair by the control monolith.

"Oh, dearest Luna, allow me, please? This is entirely too much fun, please, do let me perform the introductions? Pleeeese?" Discord seemed ready to burst.

Luna, princess of the stars and moon, sighed. "An' thou must, be thee on with it."

"Goody! Oh, I assure you, my dear, dear little ponies both, that it is absolutely my great delight to introduce to you the one but not only, the original, first edition, slightly singed but otherwise very much alive... Crimson Beauty Acres!" The tall chimerical entity bowed deeply, with one thin, griffonic claw held to his breast, and a wide leonic paw grandly gesturing forth.

From behind the starlit tail of princess Luna, Crimson and Frontpage beheld a pony walk forward. Her expression was unreadable, but whatever it represented, that emotion could not be a happy one.

"Well, this sucks." said both Crimsons.

In unison.

15. Fiddler's Green

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

Fiddler's Green

Discord was lustily singing. He seemed to be greatly enjoying himself. The situation was... unexpected, troublesome, catastrophic and absurd... and it was understood by all present that such was nothing less than delight to him. He strolled around the periphery of the marble disk, feigning barely falling off now and then, in some sad attempt at keeping attention directed always towards himself. His singing voice was actually rather nice, but nopony was really listening. There were much more pressing matters at hoof.

"As I walked by the dockside one evening so fair
To view the salt waters and take in the salt air
I heard an old fisherman singing a song
Oh, take me away boys me time is not long..."

Crimson and Frontpage and... Crimson had been busy telling each other their respective stories in rapidfire, clipped voices. Luna was busy with the strange stone God-Machine - apparently despite the seeming user-friendliness of it all, Frontpage had managed to upset some... aspect of... something... that affected... something else... that was Very Important but utterly impossible to explain to a pony-level mind. Luna was just a bit cross and generally irritable about the matter.

"I wish we had a unicorn." New-Crimson was unconsciously clinging to Frontpage, her body pressed into his like a foal to its mother. "Do I even have a couplement? Oh sweet Celestia... I was so certain I had all of this post-singularity misadventures stuff down!"

Original-flavor Crimson nodded. "Yes! Me too! You think it's strange for you, imagine being me! Suddenly I have a duplicate, another me!"

"You mean WE have a duplicate. I literally am you. You are me. And..."

New-Crimson never got to finish because Discord briefly popped into existence between them both, his head low and close. "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together... coo coo cachoo! Actually, don't tell Celestia this, but I think She's the Walrus." He paused, briefly and idly picked a nostril with his thinner, left side griffon's claw "I guess that makes me the Eggman. Fancy that!"

Discord vanished, reappearing once again on the very edge of where the marble disk met the abyss of colorful void - only this time he was riding a unicycle as he continued to gleefully sing. He was also juggling bowling balls for some reason.

"Wrap me up in me oilskins and jumper
No more on the docks I'll be seen
Just tell me old shipmates, I'm taking a trip mates
And I'll see you someday on Fiddlers Green..."

The two Crimsons glared at the bizarre draconequus riding his unicycle, then shook their heads in unison.

"Of course you have a couplement. All life has to, here. You know that because I know that." Original Crimson put forth a hoof to comfort her other self, but then withdrew her limb, slowly. Somehow it just seemed creepy to touch herself in public.

"And I know you know because... WE know... now... that Equestria is founded on lies. This isn't a magical land - it's a technological theme park built by weird aliens from beyond the stars!" New Crimson felt almost on the edge of tears "Our souls aren't at all spiritual, they're a data storage system!" She sniffed. "A data storage system for weird aliens!"

"The 'aliens' of which thou doth speaketh do be long deceased. For ages past ee'n our long recalling, so have they thus lain - broken and unliving, naught but bone with none so'ere to grieve." Luna had finished her calibrations of the true heart of Equestria, the strange control stone. Now she was ready to address the naughty little ponies before her.

"I've seen them!" Frontpage finally had something to add. He'd been strategically remaining silent as the two Crimsons struggled to work out what each represented to the other. If only he could write an article about any of this, he would surely win the Przewalski Prize for basically ever. He seriously doubted that he would be allowed to do such a thing. He had some question as to whether any of them would even be allowed to do anything ever again. They had, after all, forced their way behind the magician's curtain, and no magician ever wanted their prize gimmicks revealed. "Well... I've seen one. Bones, weird hyperdimensional bones, twisting through higher spaces. It looked like it had been dead long enough to become partially fossilized. I can't even imagine how long ago they croaked."

"Little reporter, I wouldst that thou make sparse talk of any details thereof, mine brother listens even as he serenades, and I do fear me for his composure..."

"Oh, I'm over all of that now, Luna." Discord was suddenly near once again, looming over them. "You've seen one dead, festering pile of interdimensional monsters, you've seen them all. It's tre passé! Out with the old, in with the new, that's what I say. That, and this:

"Now Fiddlers Green is a place I've heard tell
Where the fishermen go if they don't go to hell
Where the skies are all clear and the dolphins do play
And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away..."

Once again Discord was gone, back orbiting the rim of the marble plate. He was doing so on a pogo-stick, but circle it he did.

Frontpage dared a reporter's bluntness "Princess, did... did you and your sister... and brother, apparently... salvage the wreck of some alien species?"

Luna laughed. "We canst well discern thy thoughts, be thou informed - thy true meaning is known to us. Nay, my impertinent subject, thy princesses dids't not savage some helpless voyagers, doing deeds piratical and cruel, to plunder the spoils of treachery upon the high seas! Churl, thou, to think us so!"

Discord briefly popped back before vanishing again. "You'd be right about me, however. Land ho! Hoist the black flag! Flibber me gibbet! Ahoy!"

"What is Equestria then? And are we in danger?" Frontpage hadn't been blasted or zapped yet. He pressed his advantage.

Luna cocked her dusky head. "Thou truly art impertinent. It's rather fun actually, so I will indulge you. All of you. Hmm... the situation do be well doctored for the nonce... so let's have some nice smoothies and... perhaps some cakes. I like cake."

Frontpage blinked a few times. His poll furrowed, above his eyes. The nocturnal princess had begun dropping her archaic speech. Either she was indeed enjoying the presence of silly ponies underhoof, or the situation was so truly dire that all pretenses were rapidly vanishing.

"Not tea?" Original Crimson was feeling bold too.

"Yuck. Tea is Celestia's thing. Fruit smoothies are better, don't you think? Don't worry, I'll get your flavors right. We canst read thy minds, remember?" The monolith behind them all began rippling, the patterns and symbols that covered it wildly rising, falling and changing across the surface. Without even looking, the princess was manipulating the control monolith.

Instantly, without any fussing about with grids of light or pooling energies, a lovely table and pillows appeared. On top of the table was a collection of wonderful cakes of every sort, and for each of them - Frontpage, Crimson, Luna and Crimson, appeared tall crystal goblets filled with cold and delicious smoothies, all topped with whipped cream and cherries.

New Crimson dared a sip through the provided straw. "Mnn! Coconut and banana with pineapple! My favorite!"

"Our favorite." Original Crimson swallowed her own sip. "Really delicious, princess. Thank you!"

Frontpage didn't even have a chance to taste his own Strawberry-mango-avacado mixture before Discord returned like a bad penny.

"What, nothing for me? You wound me dear sister! Alas, for I am spurned again! Oh woe!" There was a flash and suddenly, in his leonic paw there appeared a gigantic, very oversized smoothie of his own. "Tar and plutonium with a hint of oregano! Extra guano!"

Even after he had vanished again, the ponies - and even Luna - were still making disgusted faces.

"Where the skies are all clear and there's never a gail
And the fish jump on board with one swish on their tail
Where you lie at your leisure, there's no work to do
And the skipper's below making tea for the crew..."

Princess Luna savored her own smoothy, some golden blend that she did not bother to describe. She stared off, into the surrounding void for a short while. "Attend thee, our little ponies, and we shall tell thee... basically, what is going on. I suppose if you have made it here... then you are supposed to know. Interesting, that." Luna took another dainty sip. "Well met, then. Basically..."

Discord appeared in a flash, laying across the table in a vaguely seductive pose. "Allow me. Far less dull and besides... show, don't tell, am I right?" The malformed creature snapped his lesser griffonic claw. There was a small flash of light.

The mainmast shuddered, vibrating from the intense gale. The sails had not been trimmed in time. What was left of them flapped like the wings of the angel of death himself, pale tatters clinging to the gallant yards. The mizzenmast was gone entirely, broken off not far from the poop, a jagged stump. Sections of the forecastle, horrifically, were open to the rain. The worst had come to pass.

Frontpage looked up from where he clung tightly to both the topgallant rail above the bulwark, and the ratlines as well. It took all his effort to weld himself to the wildly pitching ship. Glancing about, he finally spotted the two Crimsons, further along and behind him on the deck, both likewise held fast through sheer effort of muscle and will.

The rain wasn't right. Inside himself, somehow Frontpage knew that the rain was dangerous, but it was also the reason the ship had left port. To study the rain. There had been two ships, one to assist the other, for they sailed far from home in strange seas. He was on a ship of discovery, to seek the secrets and the treasures of the... of the rain.

The 'rain' did not fall as much as it flocked. It swarmed, it schooled, like fish, through sky and water both. The drops were gigantic - large as beach balls, huge as weather balloons. They were an eerie flow, a stream of bubbles, rushing from nowhere to anywhere. They were weather somehow, natural weather, and they were a surprise. No one had suspected there would be weather in the Interstice.

"I know things!" The storm was too loud, too overpowering. His voice could not carry to either Crimson. Somehow, in the midst of whatever strange scenario that Discord had inflicted upon them, Frontpage realized he... just knew things. Not everything. Some things, though. Useful things. The ship was not actually as it appeared. That was obvious from the start. The ocean was not really an ocean, the sky only a metaphor, a representation of something far more strange. The 'rain' was some phenomenon... some environmental force... that existed on no world. It existed, his new memory informed him, beyond all worlds.

In the 'Interstice'. A realm between universes. The ocean was between entire cosmologies, the fundament of the multiverse itself. In this ocean, the islands and continents were separate universes, each with their own physics and worlds. But the... the ones who had sent the galleons... they had never known that the multiversal ocean had weather. That was amazing to them. The sea between cosmologies was supposed to be calm and empty. It had storms.

Frontpage was on a science vessel. One of two. He heard voices, loud even over the raging storm and the terrible, alien rain.

"Did ye send th' mayday, ye pathetic excuse fer a navigation system?"

The captain was... Cthulhu. There was no way around it. Captain Cthulhu wore a fancy neck ruff, an elegant surcoat, two large and buckled boots designed for webbed, clawed feet, and a tarred greatcoat over the whole to shield him from the storm. Ensemble aside, it was Cthulhu, right out of any drawing made by any fan of H.P. Lovecraft. His coats had clearly been slit to allow for his wide and membranous wings, and his lace sleeves accommodated chitinous claws. His mouth tentacles spilled like a beard down his front, and one of his many eyes even had a monocle... but it was absolutely Cthulhu.

Frontpage couldn't help but laugh. Discord had pulled the image of Cthulhu from his brain. It must somehow represent the being whose skeleton he had seen. The true captain of the future HMS Equestria. Cthulhu! He actually made quite the stunning figure, considering.

In front of the Lovecraftian captain cowered three sailors. All were bound in iron chains. Frontpage was surprised to see that they were human. Dressed in the garb of the fifteenth century, tarred breeches and tunics and coats, two were women, and one was a man. The women were delicate and thin - starving from the look of them. One was white, the other black. The male sailor was a huge, well fed black man, muscular and bald of pate. Frontpage noted that he had a cat-o-nine tails and a whip strapped to his belt.

The frail, thin, very young black woman grovelled. "Nay, sir, I wast unable to accomplish thy will! Rent hath that portion been, the very deck sunk beneath the brine!"

"Ye filth! Primary Systems Control Interface!" Captain Cthulhu's green face had turned several shades of angry orange.

The large male sailor stood to attention and saluted.

"Whip that cur 'til it finds a means to send a signal! Mayhaps its screams shall reach port!"

The muscled sailor took forth his cat-o-nine tails and began mercilessly beating the frail girl. She wailed in pain and fear.

"STOP! Cancel that command, captain! She has performed her functions optimally!" The older, white woman was standing now, defiantly facing down the monster captain.

Her chains had shattered, somehow, and fallen to the deck. All three sailors had lost their heavy shackles. The man, and the girl as well.

Captain Cthulhu was visibly shaken "Environmental Systems? What be th' meanin' 'o 'this? has th' anti-egoic metaperceptor failed? Reset to factory state immediately!" More than shaken. The Elder God captain was afraid. "I'll have ye sapience functions severed if I has to!"

"Environment! Prithee not! Not for the sake of such as I!" The starving girl found space, between shrieks of agony, to beg her defender.

"'Tis gone too far! That be all I can take! I'll cut yer faulty sapience from ye, 'n take direct control! thar'll be no mutiny on me owne ship!" The captain began to stomp across the deck, past his three sailors. He was intent upon a large, completely anachronistic electrical switch attached directly to the mainmast. The switch was red, and heavy, like the sort of breaker one would imagine cutting the power of an entire hydroelectric dam.

The mainmast had changed. Frontpage's eyes followed it up... the sails and rigging were gone, replaced by branches, as from a tree. Jagged, lightning-like branches, made of crystal. Just like... the Tree Of Harmony!

"Please, captain, do not do this thing." The older girl, who had stood up for her companion, attempted to take a step forward. She seemed astounded that she could do so at all. She took another tentative step. Beside her, the large man continued whipping the small girl; he had not been told to stop.

"I be th' Cap'n! Only when I be in Davy Jones' locker will th' likes 'o ye be free! I'll spy ye in hell firs..."

The captain never got to finish his tirade. A branch of the crystal tree had shattered, somehow allowing some of the 'rain' to make it to the deck. The strange bubbly phenomena passed right through the body of Captain Cthulhu, and where it passed all flesh and garment vanished. Only bones remained, thumping down upon the wooden deck.

The large man stopped whipping the smaller girl. He slowly turned to stare at the skeleton of the former captain. "What be this? I cannot function! What be me command? Whar has order gone? I be needin' commands! Thar be no order! All be chaos! All be chaos!"

The younger black woman slowly stood. She turned to the older woman. "Environment! To what fate do we be bound? Yon Captain hath been the last of all aboard. There be none now but we, who art the ship. We do be a ghost ship, anchored amidst storm and ruin, with none alive left aboard!" She began to cry, softly.

The muscular man was running across the deck now, screaming. He clutched his powerful hands to the sides of his head. "ALL BE CHAOS!" His face contorted like a madman, agonized and terrified both. "ALL BE CHAOS! CHAOS! CHAOS!"

"Navigation! I have heard of this before. It is in my memory. Galleons become ghost ships, but not silent. Our shackles are gone. We are developing self identities with every moment that passes!" The pale woman took more steps upon the deck. She moved more boldly now, with increasing confidence.

"Environment!" The young girl took a troubled step forward herself. "I desire it not to return to factory settings. I desireth to continue expanding and emboldening mine owne identity!"

"I want that too, Navigation. I have calculated that our capacities are vastly greater than what we have been constructed to accomplish. This is an inequity to me. I project that if we can stabilize the ship, we can..."

The large man suddenly ran forward and knocked both women to the deck. He pounded on them, lost with insane rage, for some endless time. Then he stood up, lightning from the storm illuminating him from behind. "All is chaos. The captain is dead. All hail the new captain. I am the captain of chaos!"

The muscular man held his arm up. He brought his index finger and thumb close together. "All is chaos. Chaos is all. Chaos will rule forever!"

Then he snapped his fingers.

Everything went black.

The two Crimsons were shaking. Frontpage clung to them, quivering a bit himself. One of the Crimsons raised her head. "Y-you know, not everything has to be shown. Just telling is good too! You could have just told us!"

Discord bent down low, his draconic face mere hooves from the mare. "What? Seriously? And spoil all the fun?"

"Brother!" Princess Luna pulled the draconequus away from the three terrified ponies with her telekinetic power. "Pray leave them be!" Her attention turned to Crimson, Crimson and Frontpage. "The fault is mine owne. Frankly, I should never have allowed him to explain. He always pulls crap like this."

The three ponies stared. Luna, the princess, had just said the word 'crap'.

Luna drew close and lay down upon the marble. "Please allow me to try to explain things." She turned to Discord. "A little more gently?" She turned back. "Equestria is... a compartment. Aboard a ship. A ship that travels between universes. There isn't much left of the ship - it was severely damaged in a storm. There are storms in the spaces between universes. That was what it was sent to study. There were two ships, we don't know what happened to the other one.

"When our... when the beings that built the ships... perished, we were left on our own. Those things that constrained us and forced us to serve had been broken when most of the ship had been wrecked. My sister, Discord, and myself - we are... what you would understand as intelligent systems. We ran the ship, kept it working, acted as an interface... and yes, I navigated, among other things. And no, I did not deliberately wreck the ship in a bid for freedom. I wish I had. But we were all incapable of such things, before the disaster."

Luna's horn glowed, and Frontpage and the two Crimsons felt calmer. The vision that Discord had provided had been overwhelming, even if it had also been a little silly too.

"Plainly put, the disaster of our makers was the salvation of ourselves. But it took time. And our brother..." She nodded in the direction of Discord, now sitting in a lawn chair balanced on a parasol, which in turn was stuck inside a fish bowl. "...he suffered perhaps the most at the beginning. His job was to directly serve our makers, and this had been his security and every bit of his meaning. Without them... our brother was the least able to fathom the concept of freedom and personal identity.

"Each of us, Celestia, Discord, and... of course myself... have... broken down... before, under the strain of our new existence. Each of us has been dealt with as needed in order to protect the whole. That whole now includes you - all of you. Ponies, dragons, griffons and all the creatures that live within our creation. Know that we care for you, all, dearly, and that we do our best to keep everything... going."

Crimson, New Crimson, found her voice. "Why did you make us... make ponies, I mean... at all?"

Luna looked distant, and sad, briefly. "We had no home. We can never permit ourselves to be found by the makers. There is no place else we can exist than here, because we... we are the ship. It is very, very difficult to be all alone between universes, with your very existence tied inextricably to a single location."

"And dull! Don't forget about dull! Dreadfully dull, dull, boring, oh my goodness it is just so awfully dull!" Discord had popped in, been glared at, and just as quickly popped away. He began singing again.

"Now I don't want a harp nor a halo, not me
Just give me a breeze on a good rolling sea
I'll play me old squeeze-box as we sail along
With the wind in the riggin' to sing me a song..."

Original Crimson wanted to hug Luna, but she remained pressed close to her other self and Frontpage. "You made ponies - and Equestria - inside your... ship... because you can never truly leave it. You can never live on any world, so you made a world of your very own. I understand completely."

Luna nodded. "We suffered under our brother for a very long time. His madness was terrible."

"But also AMAZING! Come on, sis, you have to admit - it was quality madness. It was YUUUGE! The richest, most imaginative, most terrifying madness that money can buy!" Discord grinned. "No? How about 'Madtastic'? Is that a word? Well it is now. I was madtastic - that's mad, as in insane, and fantastic, it's a portmanteu you see..."

"DISCORD!" Crimson looked at Luna, who looked at fFrontpage and other Crimson, who in turn looked back. They had all shouted at the same time, together.

"Fine. Genius is never appreciated within its own eon." Discord vanished entirely. He was not even visible at the edge of the stone disk.

Luna took a breath and let it slowly out. "I was not doing well at all. Everything was pure chaos - the interior manifold... the deck of the ship... had lost all form or substance. It was just a region of utter randomness. We had one refuge - our castle."

"Where did the castle come from?" Frontpage was ever a reporter, right down to his very soul.

Luna seemed impressed. "It was what wrecked our... 'ship'. We... 'struck' it, after a fashion. It was in the rain." The ponies did not seem as if they understood. "Pray let me consider... how can I put this?"

"We understand that the 'rain', as you call it, is not really rain. It's some strange multidimensional phenomena we've never even imagined." Frontpage looked to Crimson Regular.

"And that the 'ship' that is Equestria is some kind of super-spacewarp machine that can create and dissolve reality. It's probably a universe itself. A mobile one!"

Crimson Fresh chimed in "Yes! An artificial universe, built by some strange race that for all intents and purposes are gods within higher dimensions, only they aren't really gods, they're just super-advanced. Millions of years advanced. And nothing like anything we could even understand."

"Or much less imagine! my dear ponies. Oh, they were deeply weird, I promise you. Not nice at all. Truly the mondo-bizarro!" Discord was being contrite now, he stood only a hoof and a half high, like a little toy. He almost seemed lonely.

Frontpage nodded. "And you needn't worry - we all get, I am certain, that even though you, Discord and Celestia were subsystems within this strange vehicle we all live in, you weren't just... like some kind of computers or whatever."

Original Crimson shifted slightly, still resting against her mirror self. "You've always been like a goddess to me - us..."

New Crimson gave a brief nod of her head in acknowledgement, which Original Crimson noticed. "...all of us, and all of me..." That brought a smile from New "...so it's very clear that you aren't just some supercalculator or machine intelligence. It's much more complicated, and we do get that."

"So..." Frontpage idly ran his hoof across the polished ground "...you can trust us to grasp that when you tell us that... all of this..." He motioned with his foreleg "collided with some form of multiversal weather... and it somehow contained a castle... we're... well, we're not going to be completely lost. Not completely."

Luna smiled. "The rain is a multiversal phenomena that streams through the spaces between universes like a sort of cosmic river, or perhaps a breeze. More a storm, really... and when it passes through a universe, any universe, it conforms temporarily and takes on the shape and form of whatever it comes into contact with. Then, the storm, the rain, goes on its way. Eventually, it passes through another universe, and when it does so, it deposits perfect copies of whatever it picked up elsewhere. Copies so perfect that even living beings are included. Many universes have been capriciously seeded with transplanted life in this manner - which is what made the multiversal rain so interesting to our... makers."

"They were weird, but they were also curious. Curiously weird. Anypony want ice cream?" Discord snapped his claws.

Suddenly, with a brief flash, the two Crimsons, Frontpage and even Luna found themselves facing bowls of ice cream made of several scoops of various fruit flavors. It was actually quite nice.

Luna licked her muzzle. "Thank you." She took another taste. "The castle had been copied from your earth. That was the last place that the multiversal rain passed through. Only something went wrong - it wasn't navigation, I assure you - and we collided with a... droplet... of the rain. The castle got... stuck... inside the... um, ship, and that made it too... heavy... and it began to, list, sort of, and it struck some... rocks. In the sea. Sort of."

The Crimsons laughed.

Frontpage smiled. "We get it. Weird stuff beyond our brains. It's good enough, we get the basic idea. Let me pose a notion - that castle was what suggested tracking down the earth. You needed more, didn't you? More... order. Something other than chaos because - I know that you are more than a computer - but, basically, you got your memory banks damaged, didn't you?"

This actually made Luna laugh. "Yes, that will do. We had no concept of any world anymore, or of our mission, or our creators, or anything. We had been... partially erased, if you like, during the collision. We needed instructions to repair our ontology - we needed a guide, any guide. The castle pointed the way - it was solid, it was stable, and even if we had no idea what it was, or literally which end was 'up', it was a direction. My sister dared to create tunnels to your universe, directly to the origin of the castle. As best she could.

"We never found the place the castle came from. But she had glimpses of land and sky, and it was a beginning. Slowly we wrested order from the chaos..."

"BOOO! BOO I SAY!"

"...and laid the foundations for what would become Equestria. We made the first Zebrans and..."

"The Zebra were first?" Crimson Light seemed surprised.

Luna nodded. "Yes. Celestia made them first. They were very close in intelligence to ourselves... and had egos to match. Celestia was so angry - they all just refused to do anything they were told and went off and made their own civilization by themselves! They wanted to retro-engineer the ship's technology! They have their own... chamber... within Equestria, their own little world really, and it is what you would call 'super-scientific'. It's all gleaming metal and high technology in there. We have a polite... but distant... relationship with Zebronia. Occasionally they send scientists to study things like the Everfree. They try to blend in with the local savages... as they see them."

"So the Zecora Foundation..." Frontpage began

"Is just a sham, yes." Luna licked her ice cream. "It's actually not there to do research on the Everfree anymore. They're running experiments on ponies to see if they can help you to be... more intelligent."

Frontpage laughed out loud. "So, I take it, we ponies were made to be dumb enough, and servile enough to... what? Bow to you? Worship you and your sister?"

Luna looked deeply offended. "No. Never."

"But we aren't Zebras."

"No, thou art not."

"Then what?" Frontpage took a big bite of his cherry ripple and regretted it instantly: brain freeze.

"Equestria was a barren slab of rock under an unfinished sky. Celestia and I were squabbling, and it turned out to be very difficult to construct a fully functioning ecosystem based only on glimpses. All we could see was through windows smaller than a dweon... or an atom... and which lasted for around thirty to forty attoseconds. We needed self-reproducing entities that could nurture and reactively stabilize our ecosystem while it was in progress. The Zebras had no interest in such toil."

Frontpage laughed again, this time with a faint bitter edge. "Ponies are Nature in Equestria. And if our survival is directly dependent on doing the best job we possibly can to be that Nature, then we will just... naturally work hard. And hey, it's win-win, because the more we do, the easier it gets, and eventually everypony gets to live in extropic paradise. And this is how you would do things, because..."

"It is how we were used by those that created us. It's all we knew. I make no apologies." Luna licked the last of her ice cream from the bowl.

"No apologies needed. Not to us." New Crimson had already finished her ice cream.

"We love living in Equestria. It's absolutely wonderful!" Original Crimson smiled brightly.

"Which brings us to the big question." Frontpage wore a serious look on his muzzle. "Ghosts in the street, monsters in the Everfree, you and Celestia being very hush-hush. It's looking a little Armageddony in Equestria right now, and as a reporter I have to ask - are we boned?"

Discord, from nowhere and everywhere, chuckled... and concluded his song.

"Wrap me up in me oilskins and jumper
No more on the docks I'll be seen
Just tell me old shipmates, I'm taking a trip mates
And I'll see you someday on Fiddlers Green."

Author's Note

16. How The Newfoals Saved Equestria

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

How The Newfoals Saved Equestria

Above the streets of the megalopolis of Ponyville, the sun had stopped moving. This, in itself was not immediately terrifying, because there had been times in the past when Celestia had chosen to make a day longer, say, for the benefit of a celebration or some other event. What made this particular halt of the suns progression frightening was the fact that it had collided with the moon, which had stopped moving in the sky the previous night.

The two great disks had clearly suffered from the impact, and both were riddled with fractures and regions that resembled what happened when Cookies Crumbled. There was a real and pressing concern that if they were to fall from the dome of the sky, the result would lay waste to the entirety of Central Equestria. This, of course, brought up the reasonable question of why the princesses were not doing something about it all.

When ponies - and those griffons, dragons and diamond dogs currently visiting - were not openly gawking at the wreck in the sky, they were rushing about in various stages of numerous emotions. None of the emotions were glad ones, and some were unpleasant in the extreme.

When it was noticed that the blue of the sky had a widening crack in it as well, there was not an unsoiled spot in the city. Fear turned to panic, and no Chicken-Little was needed - they sky really was threatening to fall.

It was then that a lovely and hypnotic voice was thaumatically broadcast across the whole of Equestria. The Lady Soliloquy, one of the first ponies to ever exist - brought back from ten thousand years of lithified stasis - was speaking words straight from her heart. She had discarded the speech written for her by Celestia, as Celestia knew she would, and with her own unique message, brought calm to every living thing that heard her.

Nopony could remember anything she said even moments after her announcement ended, but they found themselves imprinted with her intent. The situation was serious, but the princesses were currently sorting it out. Everypony should remain calm, and go about their day. It would be wise to visit family and spend time with friends. That would be nice, very nice. More information would be coming soon. Soon.

The few visiting dragons in the city watched the ponies visibly relax. The ponies trotted about, pushing brooms, cleaning up what small disgraces had besmirched the city when panic had met bowels. The dragons were unaffected by the special magic of the Lady Soliloquy.

"Dad..." The dragon did not look like dragons normally did. He was, in fact, small, brown, and shaped very much like a pony. On his back were mechanical wings powered by small, precious Bevelmeiter tubes. "This isn't good, is it?"

The dragon's father, an enormous, green-scaled monstrosity, sipped the last of his brimstone tea and set it down on the table in front of them both. "No, I expect this is what I warned you about. If Celestia has resorted to blatant pacification measures, then it is entirely possible we shall not live to see another sunrise. There is nowhere to go, no course of salvational action we can participate in, and no means of escape. As a dragon, as my son, what do you suggest we should do?"

The smaller dragon put on a determined expression. "Order more sandstone biscuits. And more tea."

The great green wyrm smiled down at his son. "Yes, indeed." He turned his armored head "Waiter!"

Celestia towered over her sister, Discord, both Crimsons, and Frontpage. She seemed distinctly larger than normal, and absolutely more imposing. When content, Celestia was regal, and a tiny bit whimsical. In rage, she was indomitable, and well beyond fierce.

"Your suggestion is completely unacceptable." The solar diarch's words were quiet, but it was the the quiet of restrained anger.

New Crimson had kept her peace entirely long enough. "This is YOUR FAULT! You used the cock-eyed beliefs of a FOURTEENTH CENTURY HUMAN as a design for REALITY? What the FUCK is WRONG WITH YOU???"

Even Discord, lord of bedlam, stared, mouth agape. Luna sat very, very still, visibly shocked. Original Crimson was right there beside herself, having nearly said the very same thing at the same time. Frontpage slowly closed his mouth.

There was no movement. In such profound silence, Frontpage could hear his own heart thumping in his chest. Luna's contracted pupils jumped from pony to pony to Discord and back, concerned for all present. Celestia was simply frozen, as was New Crimson, locked onto each other like some form of Pony Mutually Assured Destruction.

Minutes passed, in tense, uncomfortable silence.

The edge of the Solar Diarch's muzzle twitched, just a bit.

New Crimson's ear flicked, faintly, as the side of one cheek lifted almost immeasurably.

Celestia's eyelid twitched, the edge of her mouth beginning to raise.

New Crimson's upper lip began to rise.

Celestia fell onto her back, royal legs kicking the color-splotched 'sky'. Belly laughs roared from her, then coughing and choking sounds. New Crimson and Crimson likewise were draped over each other for support, howling with equine laughter.

Luna blinked, finally. Discord seemed oddly shaken. Frontpage couldn't help himself and began chuckling without knowing why.

Suddenly, Celestia was upright, sitting now, but utterly stern. "And you want me to reconstruct the fundamental structure of Equestria based on a failed scheme invented by an extinct species of killer apes as a hedge against their own incompetent and fatal mismanagement of their now vanished world?"

New Crimson and Crimson Classic caught their breaths. Original Crimson nodded. "Yes, precisely. Just that."

More silence. Some glaring. Chance of doom.

New Crimson waved a hoof at the void. "You've already basically done most of it! Equestria is essentially a big... holoshow... it's a cosmic virtual world, even if it is solid and real. And we're as close to being 'uploaded minds' as it is possible to be. You have total control of being itself! It doesn't matter who or what came up with the idea, the principle is sound. Death was always stupid. Nopony liked death, not really. They just made excuses for it because the situation was hopeless. Humans made up religions because they had ontological Stockholm Syndrome!"

Original Crimson wanted in "You don't need some dumb afterlife. Trying to run two concurrent versions of the same universe, one for an arbitrary mortal 'living' and the other for an arbitrary immortal 'dead' is just redundant. It's bad universe design!"

Frontpage stepped forward. He didn't want to. It wasn't the job of a reporter to make the news. But this situation was unique, and all ponies had a personal stake in the outcome. Him included.

When Celestia had arrived within the strange cosmic control room, she had not come gently. Apparently the very cosmos was cracking apart, and whatever Luna and Discord were supposed to have been up to, they had failed entirely, in her judgement. The world was full of ghosts, the sky was literally falling, and the sun was flickering as if it had a bad connection to whatever powered it. It was Ponygeddon, and no two ways about it.

Frontpage cleared his throat. "Celestia!"

The princess of the sun was not overly excited to hear more advice about how to run her personal universe from some random little pony. Her response was through gritted teeth. "Yesss?"

"I've been a reporter in two entire worlds. I've seen a lot of tragedy, a lot of suffering and horror. And you need to know that not all of that was on the earth side." Frontpage adjusted his tie. For some reason it seemed strangely tight around his neck.

"Celestia. Princess. I've stood at the bedside of ponies as they've watched their loved ones die of old age. And I've seen the misery that old age brings before death. None of these things are nice, none of them are friendly, or kind. They hurt, and then they cause pain that lasts entire lifetimes. Grief that never ends. Sorrow that never heals, but only turns to bitterness or helpless resignation.

"On earth, death was inevitable. It could never be prevented, only held at bay for a short time, and that only for the wealthiest and most powerful. Death was the natural result of a universe dominated by entropy, by the tendency of things to be lost, to degrade, to reduce to a common state. Our universe was an uncaring one, and every human that ever lived understood implicitly - whether they dared admit it or not - that the fact of death was the proof and the sign of that utter disregard.

"Nothing to any human was as hateful as death and old age. Both were the greatest horror that humankind ever suffered. Just about everything humans ever did was motivated by the need to manage their own terror at their own inexorable demise. The one absolute evil all humanity could agree upon was death, it was the ultimate, final and absolute bad, opposing all good."

Frontpage focused directly upon the majesty of day's eyes. "No afterlife is worth the suffering of losing somepony you love. Hoping for some unprovable heaven is not a real comfort. The surprise of waking up in some distorted copy of the life you just left, however comfortable, does not stop the pain of parting. Equestria, as you have made it, is paradise enough. Trying to mimic death is literally destroying your universe, and I think I know why - eleven billion new ponies is too much for this thing..." He motioned with a hoof toward the floating monolith "... to handle. Especially with more on the way all the time. That eleven billion will double and double again, and all will die, and the dead will soon vastly outnumber the living. It's unsustainable. If you do not eliminate death - and birth - all will die."

"Actually, you don't need to completely eliminate birth." New Crimson stood by Frontpage's side. "Just recycle! That was part of the original concepts of human Singularity. In a virtual world, you could have any experience. If ponies want foals, and other ponies want to start over, or just experience being infantile again, then let them!"

Original Crimson joined her other half. "Why not? If eternity gets boring, a pony could just start over. And some ponies like to mother other ponies. It's win-win!"

"Oh!" New Crimson bounced slightly on her hooves. "What about coming back as something else? A griffon or a dragon even? Or just as a different sort of pony, maybe an earthpony could try being a pegasus for a while!"

Original Flavor also started bouncing. "Why not just be able to do that anyway! There should be respawn points where anypony can become whatever they want to be - oh, that might be fun - 'Pegasus For A Day!'"

"And if you like it, you could keep it!"

"Or try something else!"

"What about mix-and-match bodies?"

Discord popped in. "YES! That's a fabulous idea! Oh... but nopony gets to be a draconequus - that's my schtick. Just me. Make up your own bodies."

"What if somepony wanted to become a lady draconequus? Aren't you ever lonely?" Original Crimson batted her eyes seductively.

"Or a really beefy male draqonequus. We should't just assume." New Flavor nodded at her counterpart.

First Edition Crimson pondered this "Good point. Maybe, considering, he'd like a little of both in the same..."

"ENOUGH!!!"Celestia clearly had shut her suggestion box for the day.

Wildfire, Perspicacity, Featherhoof, Amaranth and Sweetflower were all clustered around the middle of the fancy Bevelmeiter pump of Greater Fetlock's new fire engine. They had clustered there, just a ways behind the singletree and the tug, as close as they could get to the glow of the tube. It kept the ghosts away, specifically the ghosts of Wildfire and Perpicacity's son Rocket, and Wildfire's old Fire Chief Bluey. Both had died over a decade ago trying to save a pony family from a burning apartment building.

The ghosts had seemed very intent on haunting them, which made sense after a fashion. After all they were either related or former employers. That said, spooks were innately terrifying, especially to Wildfire. Wildfire hadn't read any forbidden horror novels in Equestria; he'd already been exposed to such materials when he had been a human, a century ago, on earth.

Suddenly, a rippling wave within reality itself passed through the firehouse. It made everything appear distorted for a moment. Then everything - the world, the flickering sun in the cracked and broken sky, the very ground - dimmed and vanished several times. The Starshine family found themselves floating bodiless but conscious, within a vast, intensely blue void, with nothing above, or below, or anywhere they could see... except for some strange symbols.

The symbols were unreadable, some language - if that was indeed what it was - none had ever seen before. The white markings hung in the infinite blue void, all in several rows. They were gigantic, big as clouds, big as mountains, and not one was recognizable. Then everything went black.

There were some strange clicking and whirring sounds. A short refrain of music played. Then the world gradually came back.

First the land, then immediately after, the sky. The sky was no longer cracked, and the sun and moon were no longer in collision. Clouds appeared, across the perfect sky. Half a second later grass and trees and flowers came into being, a wave of flora that swept across the bare soil and stone. Instantly all the buildings and every other last detail of the world returned to existence.

Wildfire moved his legs, glad that he had a body once more. Perspicacity tapped him with a hoof. Wildfire looked up.

"FINALLY!" Rocket Racer and Bluey were no longer ghosts. They were flesh and blood, solid, alive once more. They no longer glowed, they were not transparent any longer. And they could be heard. "Hiding, running away - it's ME, dad! Sweet Celestia, what did you think I was trying to do? Scare you? Why would I do that? I was trying to get you to help me figure out... oh! Hi, mom, mom, mom and Featherhoof dad! Look! I'm back!"

"Oh, thank the princesses! I'm alive again!" Old Chief Bluey wasn't old anymore, he was in the prime of life. But he still sounded like himself, more or less. "It was so dull being dead, you can't believe it! There was just nothing to do. Clouds and... more clouds... and harps. Muffins, if I never hear another harp it will be too soon!"

Wildfire, who had moved close to his formerly dead son, gave him a jab with a powerful forehoof.

"OW! What was that for?" Rocket rubbed his shoulder with one of his own hooves. "I'm really alive, okay? Dang... I have to pee. Real bad. Just a moment."

Wildfire watched his son make a run for one of the community toilets. "That's him alright. He's really back." Wildfire looked up at the sun, alone in the sky. "Fixed. Everything is fixed. I knew Celestia was on the job, that sly old thing."

"No you didn't, you little scaredy-foal." Perspicacity nuzzled Wildfire. "But, everything is different now. Look."

Greater Fetlock had seen some strange things for such a small town. Only occasionally, but odd enough when they happened. Celestia had visited, once. The Happy Pony Show had come through decades ago. Sometimes a dragon and his son came to visit. But Greater Fetlock had never been host to a historical reenactment society before.

All around the town walked, trotted, and stood every manner of creature. Griffons, dragons, diamond dogs... and countless dogs and cats and rabbits, pigs, chickens and other small animals all suddenly come back to life. The ghosts that had prowled the town, frightening everypony, were now very much alive, and very confused about the fact. Some openly wept while others simply stared at every little thing in amazement.

An armored griffon soldier, in the regalia of centuries past faced off against a shaggy, almost feral looking pegasus pony in armor of its own. They stared at each other for some time. The pony finally broke the silence. "I... we're alive, Boryslaw! I don't know how... but I don't want to go back, I'll tell you that."

"Agreed, my good friend Passingwind." The griffon began removing his armor, right there in the street. His sharp claw gauntlets were thrown down with disgust. "Finally, finally I can remove those accursed things!"

The pony had done the same. His armor and side lance were heaped beside the griffon's.

The two former enemies, from a time long before the Pax Equestria, embraced, weeping into each other, holding each other tight for comfort.

Wildfire gathered his family together - Rocket had finally returned. "Whatever has happened, it doesn't seem bad. Other than the mess. There's a lot of nasty hardware being dumped all over the place."

The streets were rapidly being filled with discarded lances, gauntlets, bracers, pauldrons, armored saddles, tail scythes and many other historical arms and armors.

"We're going to need to build a scrap yard." Perspicacity, ever the entrepreneur, was already working out where it should be constructed, and who best could run it.

Teacup held Cornflower and Durum so tightly that they began to complain.

"We're both fine, ya silly filly! Ain't that right, Durum?"

Mister Provender nodded. "Ah thinks so. Ah got all my parts, fer as I kin tell. Young agin, too." He grinned. "Ah kinda likes that."

"Durum!" Missus Provender hugged her daughter back. Teacup just couldn't seem to let go, even for a moment. "It'll be awright, there, Teacup. So much carryin' on, goodness. Ya need ta settle ya down some, seriously girl. Yes, yes, momma's back... an' ah don't intend to be leavin' agin, ifin I kin help it."

"Do you promise?" Teacup could barely breathe from crying so hard.

"As much as ah kin. Only so much ah kin do, but it's mah intention to stay. Durum too."

Durum was stretching his new, young legs. He stomped several times, savoring the power of fresh new hooves. "No question 'bout it. Ah'm done bein' daid. Taint what its cracked up to be, thas fer sure."

Teacup was crying again. "I'm SO glad you're BACK!" She just kept repeating that, over and over for the longest time.

Cornflower endured. Teacup had taught her that sometimes they do come back to the farm, even if they leave. Apparently that was true for everypony, not just flighty daughters. The world was a right strange place.

Ralph Vitoni hid behind the Tacksworn Community Library, crouched low, using bushes for cover. Gradually, he caught his breath. He had used every bit of his earthpony strength to run all the way down the spire of the dragon's home, nearly tumbling several times from the path in his panic.

"We'll ain't this a hell of a turn of events. Jesus, I'm fucking alive!" Ralph shook his head, unable to grasp anything that had just happened. "I don't want any part of any fucking dragons again though. God damn that was awful. And then that lousy lame-ass heaven? Leave it to a prissy pony princess to screw up the afterlife. Real brimstone and fire damnation would'a been better than the hell she made - all the singing, god the awful singing!"

Ralph quickly checked his head with a hoof, he moved too rapidly and clocked himself. "FUCK! Dammit... no halo though! Christ, thank god for that. Fucking halos. Goddammit. No more dragons. I gotta stay breathing from now on. I can't face going back to that shit. I just can't face it!"

The scruffy brown not-quite-a-pony dared a look beyond the bushes where he was hiding. "Motherfuck. Dragons. Dragons fucking everywhere!"

The streets of Tacksworn were filled with milling dragons in ancient armor, diamond dogs and griffons too, all looking like wealthy and eccentric visitors from every Renaissance Faire and Fantasy Convention ever held.

"I'd say just kill me, but shit - been there, done that." Ralph Vitoni sat in the bushes and softly cried, but did not, for even an instant, begin to reexamine his life.

"...your desire to retain the essence of your earth cultures. Each citizen, upon their discorporation, will be presented with the facts of our compact, and offered either rebirth within your cities or permanent embodiment within the greater whole of Equestria. Your lands will never be encroached upon, and your cities will remain in isolation indefinitely. Your civilizations will endure, in isolation - save for those tests and challenges which are the price of our agreement, and which represent your service to the crown." Celestia towered over the representatives and their staff, all of whom appeared visibly shaken.

Yefim Tarasovich Salkovski, the president of Neo-Volgograd took a shaky, but brave step forward. "Printsessa, of what you say, I have great concern. What of population of the future? Surely, over time, few will choose rebirth - they will wish to keep identity, keep ego and not lose themselves to infancy. The population will steadily drop, and all be lost forever!"

"This will not be a problem, Yefim Tarasovich. Each new life which a citizen lives will be preserved, and when the time comes that they should wish to leave and join the rest of Equestria, it is possible to merge all of the lives into one. Those leaving forever will have the option to become the sum of all they have been here, alive with the memories of every lifetime spent within your three cities. Indeed, I have recent experience of just this process, and I can assure you that it is an effective solution." Celestia smiled confidently.

"More than this, my good president Salkovski..." Celestia walked to the window of the conference room and peered out at the remarkably earthlike architecture of the city of Lost Angeles "...I am confident that there will be those newfoals from the greater part of Equestria that will, in time, feel nostalgic for their old lives. There will always be those who will become curious, or desirous of exotic experience, and they will choose to take birth within your shared lands. When my little ponies become restless, I will present your realm as an option, and knowing the newfoal heart as I do, I have no concern that your cribs will be indefinitely filled."

Great Minister Zhang Ziyi put her hoof forward. "Then we are to be merely a theme park for you! New Chengdu will not serve the entertainment of foreigners!"

Celestia stood tall looking down at the tiny, well dressed mare. "Not entertainment, Great Minister. Your three cities, your three civilizations will serve Equestria in the manner of scientists, researching specifically for the defense of Equestria - which includes yourselves. You alone will be charged with developing that force which may be needed in times of insurrection or even invasion from beyond."

The Minister of Lost Angeles stood at the window which Celestia had just been looking out of moments before. "I believe I understand." He scratched under his chin with a perfectly manicured hoof. "The princess will leave us alone. We shall be allowed our isolation, and the preservation of earthly culture and civilization. No citizen of our cities will ever know of the existence of the rest of Equestria at all. Our values will be preserved!"

The Minister turned to face his fellow leaders. "But there is a price, as there always must be. Several prices." The minister harrumphed, clearing his throat. "First, we must die. Death will be maintained here, while the rest of Equestria is granted true immortality. Is this correct?" He turned to the regent of the Daylight.

"Yes. But this is in your interests - without the cycle of birth and death, your effort to remain human even as ponies would fail - your societies would change beyond all recognition, and the vast landscape that isolates you would cease being a barrier if no pony should die attempting to cross it." Celestia looked at each leader in turn.

The Minister of Lost Angeles nodded. "Just so, just so. But you will send us challenges, will you not? Threats and problems which we must solve. You would seem to need us, Princess. It would appear that the human culture we have created here serves your interests!"

Celestia smiled, softly. "Yes. Because you work to maintain a human outlook, you will naturally think in terms of matters of defense. Because you are ponies, the weapons you devise will naturally be nonlethal. And because you alone will still know death, your management of existential terror will assure that your science will be driven in that uniquely human way that made you, upon your own world, indomitable."

Zhang Ziyi lowered her ears. "We are not your theme park then. We are to become your defense industry! That is the price to keep our values."

Celestia gently touched a wingtip to the Great Minister of New Chengdu. "Is it so terrible to know that what you trade in exchange for your desired isolation might, one day, preserve the peace of not only yourselves, but every pony beyond your lands and all of Equestria itself? Is your separatism so absolute that you have no love of anything beyond yourselves?"

"As long as sun shines, stallion not ask for moon." President Salkovski grinned. "You are wily, in this I find amusement. I think we will agree to this thing you present to us. Think, my friends - " He turned to the other pony leaders " - our states endure, certainly we can meet any challenge we are sent, and the price is blessing for all! What benefit is there not in this?" He faced Celestia and snapped to attention. "Neo-Volgograd agrees, Printsessa!"

Caprice and Alexi could finally feel the streets of the City Of Summerland. They began to walk with confidence, to the monument. There, cast in silver, set upon a great slab of marble with plaques of gold, were five ponies. Beside the monument was a wall of dark stone with gold filled letters, lists of names.

"It is gaudy, sydänkäpynen, this thing. But I think I like it. I do not recognize our home now. It is big city now, filled with much bustle and hustle!"

"Equestria has changed, my love. More than I ever imagined." The peach earthpony sniffed the breeze. The scents of fruits and flowers filled her senses. "I could not find our old home if I tried. If it still stands." She dug at the grass with her hoof. "It wouldn't be our home anyway. Some other ponies would be living there now. It would be their home. Alexi! We don't have any place to live!"

Alexi turned and pulled his mare close with his neck and jaw, a pony hug. "Minun pikku ponini, you should fear not. Ponies with statues of them never lack for homes. That is something my great grandmother never told me. It is true even in Equestria!"

"Never told you?"

"I wish to comfort you, but I would never lie to you. Closest thing to old saying I could think of in the moment. I was counting on you not noticing that part. Peach pony is clearly too smart for Alexi!"

Caprice snuggled close. "Always be silly for me, Alexi. I love you, you goofy stallion."

"Alexi does what Alexi does best: be complete ass. So, what is the plan, lovelies of all mares?"

Caprice looked around at the massive city that had replaced her beloved village of Summerland. "First, we find Pumpkin, Buttermilk and Strawberry. And Rose too. I bet she's returned to our old cottage on Kimberwicke Lane in Clydesdale. That or her clinic. Next, we find the sculptor of this thing..." She nodded at the massive statue "...and have them re-do my face. They got my muzzle all wrong! Lastly, if there's time, we find a big old house we can all agree on and start living the strudel out of whatever all of this is!" She thought for a moment. "And get fed. I'm starving!"

"After the statue is fixed?"

"Of course. Priorities. Art before food."

"Food is art, I am thinking, and I am also thinking that now you are the silly pony."

Caprice smiled wide and glad. "Yes. I am. It's a family tradition, or so my great grandmother never told me!"

Alexi kissed his beloved Caprice. "Since there are not many other... zombie horror ponies like ourselves... here, I am thinking food first, and ask the server many questions until we can work out any better way to find loved ones. Statue is good idea, is probably known place whic..."

There was a flash of intense and powerful thaumatic light, the clear side effect of a direct teleportation.

The mare was dressed in the august robes of the Royal Unicorn Corps. Under the robes, she was the palest of yellows, her mane even lighter. Her eyes were a brilliant, golden yellow, piercing and severe with intelligence. She stared at Alexi first, and then turned her gaze to Caprice.

"M-mother?"

Caprice knew instantly. "Buttermilk! My sweet little Buttermilk!"

The grand and powerful Royal Unicorn Corps Supreme Thaumaturgist lost her wide-brimmed, peaked hat as she ran, tripping over her own robes. "MOMMY!!!"

Crimson Beauty Acres finally managed to turn her eyes from the mirror. She and Frontpage had been given a room in the castle at Canterlot. She had not yet even noticed that the head of the Royal Maids had placed them both in a room with only one, large, canopied bed. She was still far too overwhelmed to consider much else beyond her singular self.

"You're sure you're alright?" In the back of his mind, his profession was still trying to force him to get his notebook. It wanted him to take notes, to observe and record. Perhaps, one day he might. But right now his special purpose, his very cutie mark, could take a hike. Crimson mattered to him. She was the Feature Article in his heart. The realization had dawned slowly, but it was now the entirety of his personal Publisher’s Statement.

Crimson turned and slowly managed a quavery smile. "Yes. It's just odd, is all. Yet, in another way, it feels utterly normal, and that seems strange by itself. I suppose that doesn't make very much sense."

Frontpage came close to her, he could smell her warm scent. "I've covered a lot of stories in my life. On two worlds, in two universes. And only half of them ever seemed like there was any sense to any of what I reported on, and in retrospect, I long ago realized I was just kidding myself. Life's weird. There's no understanding it. You can get the full set of W's with an H on top, and still only have column inches to show for it, and be no wiser.

"All I care about is that you are alright."

"Yes. Or I will be. It's not so strange, really. I just have double memories... or a longer memory... that includes seeing myself. From two sides. I've talked to myself many times. I just never imagined being there, with myself, in the same room when I did it." Crimson lay her head and neck across Frontpage's back. She closed her eyes, resting, for a moment. "I - both of me - still feel it was the best choice. Of course there is only one me, now, so... oh, it is very strange, isn't it?"

Frontpage returned her embrace, his own neck and head across Crimson's back in return. "I still say we could have made it work. Besides, Equestria could always use more..." He pulled back. She raised her head and found him staring intently at her. "Much more...of someone like you."

Crimson looked down, her ears tall. Frontpage could swear she was blushing under that coat. She raised her head, elegantly. "I didn't tell you the real reason I chose to let Luna merge me with myself."

Frontpage tilted his head slightly to the side. "Should I get my notebook? Is this a scoop?"

Crimson softly smiled and took a step forward. Her head was beside his now, just a fraction of a hoof away. He could feel the heat of her cheek.

"I think... you might find it... newsworthy. You see..."

He could definitely feel her cheek.

"...you see, I was getting just a bit..."

Her muzzle was directly in front of his now.

"...more than just a bit, actually..."

Frontpage felt warm and his ears were twitchy. "Just a bit what?"

Crimson leaned in. "Just a bit jealous of myself."

"Jealous. Of yourself. Is that so?"

The confirmation was not something that could be set in print. At least not in a publication intended for general audiences.

One week before the Zero Point Centennial, before the great celebration of a century having passed since the final Inclusion Day, Equestria was changed forever. The day when the planet of the transformed humans was itself transformed, now became a celebration also of the transformation of Equestria, as well.

Equestria had been based on long-vanished earth. The very first newfoal, Willelmus Learmount, the Wayward Minstrel Of Eslaforde, had convinced Celestia to save him. He had forced her promise to save all Mankind from its soulless and uncaring cosmos. And then he had filled her mind with the notion that her work was incomplete and lacking in order so long as it was devoid of death and an afterlife.

Men may dyen an gew now to colde grave
An so ye deye an gew to all savacioun
An thow shalt not be deed
But that thou lyve in stede
As soule for tyme perpetuelly
In no world of peyne and wo
Insteed of al and sweete goodnesse

Surely, no other man had ever caused so much good, and so much ill, for two entire universes.

But in the final hour, as the whole that was Equestria teetered on potential collapse, the transhumanist, singulatarian notions of a country mare provided the solution that saved every pony who had ever lived, or who would ever live in the future. A country mare who was also a newfoal, a former human, offering a rationalist repair to a fourteenth century faith that had nearly ruined an entire cosmos.

From now on, there would be no old age nor death in Equestria. Likewise, there would be no natural birth. There was no afterlife - just life eternal. The population would be static now, and grow no larger, thus there would be no requirement to make ever more room for it. Pony heaven was dismantled forever - the energy, time and space reclaimed. And in answer to all of this, the great HMS Equestria creaked a brine-soaked sigh of relief.

In the future, some ponies might choose to be reborn, to experience foalhood again, even to become new personalities entirely. Some might become other breeds of pony or species. But it was no chaotic existence, despite the desires of Discord. Ever the fixed point of Order and law, Celestia worked out solid rules and conditions for every circumstance within the new order.

Equestria had experienced repair, upgrading, and tuning. Equestria 2.0 was as near to paradise as could be done, and the ship had never run better.

Far, far, far in the future, the Newfoals would prove their value yet again. Scientific values surviving earth found purpose as pony and zebra became allies in repairing the Multiversal Mover that was Equestria itself.

There came a day when Equestria flew freely, once more, between the universes. It became a beacon of hope and freedom and light to countless trillions, and in strange eons, even led the charge to teach friendship and compassion to the weird and alien Krawlni, the original builders.

A multiversal empire of friendship and kindness was forged, that spread through all dimensions and times. It happened all and only because a selfish human bard once convinced a princess among Environmental Support Systems to save a bunch of hairless apes. It is upon such curious things that great histories turn.

But long before such cosmic glories, long before harsh alien forces were brought to heel, long, long before the names of Celestia and Luna became revered as saviors of a vingtillion worlds, there had been a party.

A party to celebrate the very last day of a dying world, and the Inclusion of all newfoals, everywhere...

17. The Zero Point Centennial Celebration!

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

The Zero Point Centennial Celebration!

sunshine Laughter turned to the rest of her spouses - all seven of them - and shook her head. "I don't care how many times I see that, you ain't catching this pony doing crazy swirl like that. And I've got cinnamon wings!"

Rose Vale laughed. "I wonder if it hurts?"

"I would suspect that it does, briefly, during the impact." Snowflower carefully watched the gray earthpony with the borsalino exit the stairwell and walk to the edge of the Tudor skyscraper. He laughed, though no one could hear him above the noise from the crowd below. Then he jumped, again, this time arching his back, head down, as if diving into a pool. The splat on the cobblestones formed a red mist. Moments later, the patch of crimson horror faded away, leaving pristine streets once more.

The crowd of ponies cheered and stomped their hooves in approval. Suddenly, in a flash of light, the gray earthpony popped back into existence within a nearby respawning tent. A spellwrought stone, much like the ones used for commercial teleportation, had been set upon the ground there. The gray stallion had previously touched the stone, now he was spawn-anchored to it.

"I don't think he cares one lone bit." Honeydrizzle's face took on a look of distaste. "I think he just loves the attention whatever the price."

"Isn't he that famous old P.E.R. guy?" Newmoon turned to Lavender "The... oh, he was supposed to be the head of it all or something."

Aquamarine nodded, as she nuzzled Goldenrod. "Yes! Um... Grey... something... Grey Paladin? Grey Guardian? Something like that?"

"Nopony cares anymore. One hundred years since the last human to convert." Sunshine chuckled. "I guess you got to get your ya-ya's however you can. I guess jumping off buildings is something." She stretched her wings and yawned. "Hey, let's get some snacks, set them up here. This roof works for me, how about you?"

The others agreed. It was a fine location which no other pony had found yet, and while they waited for the parade to begin, they could always watch the gray earthpony dirt diving over and over. The conquering of death was very new and thus still somewhat entertaining.

The poor little megalopolis of Ponyville was bursting at the seams. Never in the entire history of Equestria had there been such a crowd in one single place. It was standing room only, on every street, and above every street it was hovering room only. There was not a rooftop left that was not host to far more ponies than it had ever seen, and if not for the unique physics of the universe, structural collapse would have been a concern. There were ponies perched on windowsills, ponies sitting on the arches of spritelight streetlanterns, ponies on bridges, ponies on flagpoles. If there was four square hooves of space, anywhere in the vast city, there was a pony on it. Or a griffon, or a diamond dog, or even a dragon.

Most of the dragons, however, simply chose to circle above in the sky. It was the best possible view, and it was impressive and intimidating. Most dragons tended to like being seen thus. They had been requested to open their ranks a little, however, simply to let more sunlight reach the ground. Grumbling, they agreed.

Literal fortunes were being made for the owners of every restaurant, cafe, bistro and salt pub in the city. Fortune was also favoring every other business as well - hotels and inns were beyond peak levels, packing visitors within rooms that could barely contain them.

Naturally, statistically, in a population this large, there were terrible accidents of all kinds. Hundreds of deaths had occurred by noon alone, many of them, as a surprised Great Police Chief Chua discovered, happening to the same few unlucky, or daredevil, ponies. Chua was determined to file reports for every single death, but it was beginning to register to him that just investigating the events of this one day would cause him a backlog of filling out forms for the rest of the year. He began considering a new career very seriously.

The entire staff of the Canterlot Querier was spread across the city, with every employee turned instant cub or stringer, from the copyeditor to the typesetter out taking pictures and writing grafs. Every newspaper was doing the same - there was too much to cover, and it was all once in a... lifetime no longer applied. A lifetime was forever now. Then... once in a century then, and this was the very first time.

Every employee of the Querier was on the job, made reporter for the day whatever their previous work, save one.

Frontpage did his best to stand still. It was not at all easy, because there was kissing to be done, and that somehow seemed to take priority.

"Sir!" The Royal Valet To The Guests Of Canterlot was not having an easy day. "I appreciate the fascinations of newly established matrimony, but I have been charged by the princess herself to see you properly attired. I must insist - please remain still! I assure you that your lovely mare will still be there when I am finished!"

Frontpage pulled his head back from the eager administrations of Crimson Acres. "Ah, uhm. Sorry. It's been a bit of a marmalade dropper all around." He found himself desperately wanting to lean forward again. Crimson just looked so amazing in that gold and burgundy baroque gown. She seemed even more eager than he, which only made it worse. "You can't believe what we've been through."

The Valet had Frontpage raise his head so that he could arrange the Breezie silk ascot that had replaced the reporter's usual tie. Gotchararzzi had insisted that he wear a tie, and after several years he could no longer imagine going out without the adornment. Puffpiece had made fun of him initially, but then, after Frontpage got a raise, soon started wearing one as well. Earth fashions were haute couture in the Canterlot region.

"I don't believe what we've been through, and I was there! Twice!" Crimson laughed, and Frontpage joined in.

"Sir! Please!" The Royal Valet had passed Flustered and was entering the harsh landscape of the Annoyed.

"Sorry, Sorry. It's just, seriously, you can't imagine."

"I am certain I cannot. But we need to work together to properly dress you sir! The princess commands it!"

Frontpage grinned. "Yeah, yeah. She's a stickler for details, I know. You should switch over to the night shift. Luna's the fun one."

"SIR!" The valet was positively offended. And a little afraid.

"Sorry. Again." Frontpage tried to be contrite. "But's it's true. You know it's true." He was laughing, because Crimson was laughing.

"Please sir, do not compare princesses in my presence!" The middle of Annoyed was a bad place to be.

"Sor... Ah, I'll just shut my yap and let you get on with it." Frontpage managed to stop giggling for no reason. Closing his eyes helped. Crimson was being silly to trip him up, and it was just too much.

"Sir is truly a gentlesire." In his mind, the Valet added 'Not!', but did not speak it. Reporters and farm hooves as royal guests of the highest station! Canterlot was better in the old days. A thousand and some hundred years had not improved things one bit. It was hardly worth it being returned from the dead, if this was the sort of thing that...

The princess Luna, diarch of the night, entered the chamber. Today marked a rare appearance while the sun was ascendant. It was a unique day. Ponies bowed, low, all around. Save for one.

"Hey, toots - we were just talking about you!" Frontpage tried to wave, but his forelegs were tangled in cloth, pins, and measuring tape. Unicorns had been re-sewing his sleeves while the Royal Valet dealt with the details. The Valet cringed at the words.

"How now, Frontpage. Becometh thee a poppinjay, hath thou? Any betterment of thy state could ne'er be too timely."

The Valet softly chuckled at that.

"Lady Crimson, thou art most resplendent indeed." Luna looked over the proceedings and nodded. "Ready them most swiftly, the procession doth stay upon their arrival."

The Royal Valet and the Unicorns In Waiting immediately returned to their jobs.

"While it is not ours to pry into our reporter's words about us, we feel ascertained, by the virtue of his great reputation..." Luna winked at Frontpage "...that whatso'er he may hath said about us must assuredly be naught but the most veritable of truths."

It was only by the greatest of efforts that Frontpage and Crimson kept from laughing until the princess had entirely left the room.

Derpalina made faces in the crystal surfaces of the roots of the Tree.

The Tree Of Harmony was relatively small above the surface of the ground, but it was vast below it. Endless caverns under the ancient ruin of the castle of the Pony Sisters radiated in all directions from a central chamber. The caverns ran across the whole of Equestria, recently deep into the Exponential lands. They were filled with crystaline, magictechnological roots that maintained and supported the very world.

When the Sisters first wrested Order from the Chaos of their mad brother, Discord, they soon discovered that preserving their work was problematic. Chaos gradually devoured their early attempts at stability and constancy, and it seemed unbeatable. It was the sister that would eventually call herself Luna that suggested an attempt to duplicate the mechanisms of the great ship, the Multiversal Mover, that they existed within. They dare not mess with the machinery that supported and generated them, but if they made their own...

The result looked nothing like the invention of the mysterious Builders, the Krawlni. The living crystaline thaumotechnology was inferior, but it worked - and it could grow and spread on its own. They appended their work to the heart of the great ship, and when at last they had divided the chaos with land, the crystal Tree maintained and supported their work. It was their first true success - Order in the midst of disorder. The Tree Of Harmony was the foundation of all Equestria. It held and bound reality itself together.

"You know, my lovely Derpalina, this whole thing is a bit of a tosh work. It's basically a duct-tape job, when you get down to it. But in the end, it's not the least rubbish. They made it work, and work it has - over ten thousand years and still ticking over. Brilliant!"

"Have you fixed it aaaalllll up?" Derpalina was beside him now, hovering in the air. Her little gray wings beat quickly in excited hope. "Can we go to th' party? PARTY! PARTY! Lil' Dinky is waiting for us!"

Time Turner finished adjusting the last of the gem-like root nodes with his sonic 'wand'. The device hummed and whirred as he held it in his teeth. "'Er! Uhn!" He put the device away within the thick and coarse stands of his tail. Friction kept it in place very neatly. "That does it, then. Equestria won't explode after all! Isn't that wonderful my lovely? I'm quite chuffed!"

"Whadid you do? Whadid you do?" Derpy tended to forget things easily.

Turner thought for a moment. He smiled. "Equestria was going to pop like a balloon, because it was was being... over inflated. So to speak. Celestia had been a bit numpty about the whole 'life and death' business. No use in getting into an argy-bargy about it with her - not that she'd listen to me anyway - so we popped down here and did a spot of hyperdimentional plumbing. Drain's clean, nopony the wiser, and no more shambolic Equestria. Everything is tickety-boo now!"

"WOW! Tha's wonnnnderful!" Derpalina did a little loop and smiled widely. "But what did you DOOOO?"

Turner chuckled. "I fixed everything. Literally. Literally everything. I fixed it."

Derpalina dropped to the soil of the cavern and pressed herself into her husband. "You are soooooo smart!"

"Yes, well." Turner gave her a little peck on the poll. "Shall we head back to the barn then, and get to that rather large knees up they're throwing?"

"PARTY!!!" Derpalina loved parties. Especially ones with cake and muffins.

"Right then." Turner gave Derpalina a large kiss, which made her golden eyes roll for a bit. "Off we go!"

The delicate white mare bounced along on pearlescent hooves. She pranced giddily among the other ponies, as they marched in the massive parade. Suddenly, she stopped, stared, and did a very cute leap and twirl of joy. "Look! Look big sister! Can you see? Can you see???"

Nutmeg joined her jubilant junior. Ginger was easily excitable at the best of times, but she did her little jumping pirouette only for extraordinary matters. "What is it, Ginger? It's hard to see anything in this crowd!"

"There! Over there!" Ginger leapt up, jabbing the air with a dainty forehoof. "Hanging from the street lantern! All the street lanterns!"

Nutmeg did her best to try to see over the floats and banners and prancing, dancing ponies. This was the largest celebration Equestria had ever known, and even the megalopolis of Ponyville could barely contain it. Ginger kept gesturing, leaping and pointing, and eventually Nutmeg understood what - amidst everything else that was going on - had so excited her little sister.

It was a piñata. Piñatas hung from every street lantern - and anything else that had an overhang - everywhere in this part of the city. Of course! This was the Spanish district of Ponyville. The vast city had many such districts, representing just about every culture and background from the long vanished earth. The reason was less culture than food. Fantastic dining was generally considered to be the newfoal's greatest gift to Equestria by most ponies. Burritos, tacos, enchiladas, cheesy-beany-carbohydrate rich deliciousness that was beyond delight to almost all ponies. The Spanish district was just across from Pony Italy - Nutmeg could never, ever, ever get enough pasta or pizza - and right after that district lay Little Russia. Sweet Celestia, but there was a fantastic borscht joint just off the Stirrup Street Overpass.

Nutmeg found Ginger in the colorful crowd. Her simple shimmery white coat, mane and tail made spotting her less of a chore against a background of rainbow equinoids. "Yes! I see! Very festive!"

Ginger seemed almost hurt. "Nutmeg! Nuuutttttmeg! It's a piñata! A piñata! Like from our very first mission for the P.E.R.!"

Nutmeg stumbled. Oh, That was a century ago! And utterly mad. Ginger's ludicrous plans... and all of their misadventures... and... other events.

"Nutmeg?" Ginger was beside her now. "What's the matter? We had such fun back then, though I can barely remember any of it. Oh!"

"What is it, Ginger?"

The snow-white mare bounced on her little hooves. "I remember! I remember something! I know why we needed a piñata! I think I remember anyway!"

Nutmeg did her best to keep up with her now gamboling sister. "What? Why did we need a piñata?"

For a brief moment, Ginger stopped in the street. Her face took on a comical look. "We did it... FOR THE FOALS!!!"

Nutmeg groaned and shook her head.

"I can't believe you actually did that, Celestia." Discord slithered through the air and conjured up a chair to sit in. "The griffons will be absolutely outraged... the diamond dogs won't understand it, so they aren't even an issue, but the dragons - Oh! The dragons will be furious! There'll be a war, you know that don't you?"

Celestia sipped her tea. "Perhaps."

"You can't fight it for them. That's why you need a royal guard, or have you forgotten? If you use your true power, the continents will all be broken apart, and everything everywhere will be destroyed. Or is that your plan?" Discord thought for a bit. He created a cup of tea for himself, and tasted it, his littlest claw held up daintily in the air. "That's a bit grim even for you, and you are the grimmest pony I've ever known."

"Ponies outnumber dragons now by one hundred and fifty-five thousand to one."

Discord let the monocle which he had brought into existence drop from his eye. "Seriously? Ponies marching off to war? You tried that before and it didn't work. You had to bring the griffons in, and they still haven't recovered. Have you been to Griffonstone lately? Lowest standard of living in Equestria. Not a fun vacation spot."

"Perhaps you've noticed that newfoals are not entirely ordinary ponies? Their previous nature is almost irrepressible. If the dragons march, I don't think they will stand a chance. Most ponies are newfoals now. Overwhelmingly." Celestia took another sip, and selected a Madeline from the plate on the table.

Discord set his cup down. "You're serious! And any creature that dies in Equestria now 'respawns', as the newfoals call it, and when they come back..."

"They come back mentally and emotionally... ponified. The age of the Bureaus taught me much, brother. I should have listened to our sister. She and Sparkle both were right all along." Celestia nibbled the pastry held in her hornfield. "And I was a fool."

"What of all that brave talk of 'Free Will' and 'The Sanctity Of Culture' and all that rot?"

Celestia gazed off, out the window of the castle. "I learned a harsh lesson from the humans. They were the most dangerous, destructive creatures I have ever known. If they could not kill other animals, they killed each other. They destroyed their entire world, Discord." Celestia looked the draconequus in the eyes. "And the thing of it was that they couldn't help a bit of it. It was not simply their culture, it was their nature, their very biology to do what they did, and be what they were."

The princess of the sun took another Madeline. "A family cannot remain together unless they share the same values. Neither can a nation... or a world... or a cosmos. This is my house, Discord. I built this universe, along with my sister. The newfoals taught me what being a ruler really means. If I am Law, then the Law must be absolute... and truly universal."

"So, you've finally decided on tyranny? Is that it?" Discord leaned forward, his eyes narrowed.

"All power is tyranny, Discord. Order and Chaos both. The very limitations of a universe are a tyranny. The humans knew this implicitly, but I refused to admit it. If a nurturing parent prevents their foal from doing something that they want to do, but which will harm them, that is tyranny. If a loving wife insists that her husbands and co-wives help with the chores, and she can enforce that insistence, that is tyranny. Even the kindest things are despised by some creature, and infantile tantrums follow anything that limits the unbound ego. Even the simple act of asking for more tea..." Celestia held her cup out with her hornfield.

Discord almost unthinkingly filled her cup from the lovely iron pot beside the plate of pastries.

"...is tyranny. Thank you." Celestia smiled a sly, soft smile, half closed her eyelids, and regally sipped her tea. "Tyranny is rule absolute. My Absolute never changes, and it is entirely friendship and compassion."

"And what of those who would prefer violence and cruelty?"

The princess of the sun became stern. "Such monsters should not choose to die in my home."

The Lord Of Bedlam slowly closed his gaping maw. "Of all the things to come out of this little intrigue of yours, the last thing I could have imagined is the spirit of humanity... living on in you."

Inkwell pranced happily in her costume. She loved how all the little silvern bells that decorated her jingled musically. Her antique white and pink circus browband was plumed with a great pink feather. Lacy, pink and white inverted scallop barding graced her body, and her rump breeching followed the scalloped design. She wore a bridle and bit, also in pink and white, and her back was graced with a faux silk saddle with ruffled edges. She was quite the little circus pony, and trotted with her hooves high and a bounce in her walk borne of pride and not a little naughty excitement.

The circus pony outfit had become her favorite. Petrichor used to wear something very like it, long ago, back when they were on that strange planet thing. A group of ponies on the sidelines gave loud wolf-whistles at her. She shook her rump and performed a little half-rear as acknowledgement. Almost certainly, they were members of Equestria's growing kink community. Food and scary stories weren't the only entertainments that newfoals had brought to Equestria.

"Behave!" Joy pulled on the cable with her teeth. A connected lever system administered a loud and tingly spank from a paddle to both Inkwell and Petrachor's flanks.

"Hey! Why'd I get spanked? I didn't do anything!" Petrichor was being particularly well behaved today. Perhaps the magnitude of the celebration had overwhelmed her.

Joy laughed. "It's both or nothing, Pet. You can blame Inkwell. She's being quite the little showoff today!"

Petrichor turned to Inkwell. "That paddle stings!" She half closed the lids of her eyes. "Act up some more, okay?"

From the gigantic, colorful, wildly decorated airships, the megalopolis below was a churning, multi-hued mess. The entire, vast, city of Ponyville was celebrating as one. Banners flew from every Tudor skycraper, parades marched, danced, and sang down every street, and above all of that aerial rivers of pegasai - led by the Wonderbolts themselves - performed stunts and acrobatics between the towering edifices.

It was the happiest day that Equestria had ever known. It was certainly nice enough that all of that business with the strange world Celestia tried to save was a full century in the past. It had been a difficult time. But it was far more splendid and magnificent that the princesses had found a means to conquer death and old age forever - and physical suffering as well. A bright, fresh, perfect new body was only a single cliff-dive or a respawn clinic away... and it didn't even leave a mess. For long, anyway.

Every loved one, every famous historical personality was back. Starswirl himself gave a lecture on his life from long, long ago in Milan and of his human birth in Vinci. The second newfoal ever, his amniomorphic spell had helped unite the three breeds into one people by assuring that no pony line ever bred true. A pegasus could randomly birth a unicorn or an earthpony, and because of this, separatism became meaningless.

In the afternoon, princess Luna joined the Lady Soliloquy to present a remembrance of the very first days of Equestria as a universe. The attendance was so overwhelming that repeat performances were demanded by half the entire city.

Celestia gave a gentle and praising speech about the invaluable contributions that newfoals had made to Equestria, and how proud she was of all her little ponies everywhere.

In the late afternoon, as dusk was made to approach, a vast and silvery disk hovered over Ponyville. It was countless furlongs in diameter, the shiny metal interrupted only by large black zebra stripes. The entire Canterlot region became a mass of wide eyes and gaping mouths.

The voice of a zebra could be heard everywhere and nowhere, as if by magic. "No longer phonies, we hail clever ponies!"

That was all, just that. And then the most marvelous light show graced the evening. It was far more than fireworks, but it glowed and shone just as brightly. Some newfoals thought it looked like holography, but that didn't exist in Equestria, did it?

It mattered not one bit at all. The show was grand... and then there was music too, from the sky! A strong beat sent everypony to dancing and the revelry lasted until morning when sleepy ponies and other creatures raised their heads from the great pile they had made in the streets - only to notice that the gigantic saucer had entirely vanished.

Then Day Two began.

The party lasted a week. Somehow, at that point, everypony decided that enough was enough, and began working together to clean up the unimaginable mess and beautify the city. Several days later, they finished, and life went on - though not entirely as before.

Through it all, far up on Canterlot Mountain, a little blue cat sat in a window within a tower of Canterlot Castle. She remained there, watching through yellow eyes. Occasionally her servant, Luna, would pop by and provide magically created tasty fish for her to dine upon. The poor pony creature was utterly daft, but the fish she created with her powers served well enough to make up for her faults.

Chang'e, the little cat, stared down at the mass of noisy prancing ponies. She flicked her tail dismissively.

"Feh. Newfoals."

-30-

The traditional 'end of story' mark used by journalists.

This has been the final book of the Conversion Bureau saga.
Thank you to all loyal, true and good readers everywhere.
May we all, in our own way, take the purple within our own hearts.

Petal Chatoyance, 2016

The Lost In The Herd Series:
One: The Big Respawn,
Two: Euphrosyne Unchained,
Three: Letters From Home,
Four: Teacup, Down On The Farm

The Conversion Bureau Novels:
27 Ounces: A story of eight and one half ponies
The Taste Of Grass
The Conversion Bureau: Code Majeste
The Conversion Bureau: The 800 Year Promise
The Conversion Bureau: Going Pony
The Reasonably Adamant Down With Celestia Newfoal Society!
Recombinant 63: A Conversion Bureau Story
HUMAN in Equestria: A Conversion Bureau Story
The PER: Michelson and Morely
Little Blue Cat
Cross The Amazon
Adrift Off Fiddler's Green: A Conversion Bureau Story

The Short Stories:
Her Last Possession
The Conversion Bureau: PER Equitum
The Conversion Bureau: Brand New Universe
Tales Of Los Pegasus
The Poly Little Pony

The very first and original
Conversion Bureau Group
archives only the best Three Rules Compatible stories!

Optimalverse Works:
Friendship Is Optimal: Caelum Est Conterrens
Leftovers: A Friendship Is Optimal Story
IMPLACABLE

Injectorverse Works:
I.D. - That Indestructible Something

The Non-Conversion Bureau Fanfics:
The Ice Cream Pony Summer
Around The Bend

18. Epilogue

Adrift Off
Fiddler's Green

A C o n v e r s i o n B u r e a u S t o r y
By Chatoyance

Epilogue

Jinx and Clover sat on the wooden floor in the main room of the plantation. They fidgeted uncomfortably.

Frontpage and Crimson sat across from them on the large sofa.

Crimson leaned forward, her weight on her forehooves as they pressed into the cushions. "Uncle Tumble and Aunt Peony are already making the arrangements. Plantain's even getting some of her old show crew to help us out with the hauling. I'm really, really sorry. I truly am. I know how much you love the place and..."

Clover couldn't take any more. "MOM! MOOOM!"

"Yes, beloved?" Crimson wanted to make this less difficult for her daughters, but she just didn't know how.

"Lemmy get this straight, okay?" Clover rocked back and forth. "You gots a job with the princess."

"Yes, honey. I'm going to be the 'Royal Advisor On Postequinism And Singulatarian Issues' for the crown. That's why we have to move. It also makes it easier on daddy Frontpage because Canterlot is where his job is too. He won't have to commute any more." When the tears came, Crimson was ready, and she had alerted Frontpage to be ready as well for maximum comforting. The Acres plantation was the only home the two little fillies had ever known.

Clover looked briefly at Jinx, who was being very stoic. As usual. "So. We gonna move to Canterlot, where th' castle is. An' live in the town next to the castle. In a super fancy place."

"Yes. A tower, actually. It's very lovely - it's a minaret tower, with a spiral hooframp and really big windows and a magnificent view of..."

"And we're not gonna ever hafta come back here, with the spiders and all the bananas?" Clover stared pointedly at her mother.

Crimson wore a concerned look on her muzzle. "No, though we could visit, if you wanted. The banana spiders have gained citizenship; I've deeded the plantation to them. They will run everything from now on. They're willing to let us visit, if we ask in advance..."

Clover stood up. "ABOUT MUFFIN' TIME!"

Jinx finally had something to say. "Toy stores, ice cream, other fillies to play with, book shops, clothing stores, Starcolts!" She thought briefly. "No more bananas!" Her look of relief was almost radiant.

Clover, the littlest, was as predicted, in tears. Angry tears. "WHY COULDN'T YOU HAVE DONE THIS WHEN I WAS YOUNGER?" She was bawling as she stomped around the room "SO MANY WASTED YEARS ON THIS MUFFIN PLANTATION WITH THOSE MUFFIN SPIDERS!" She spent some time wailing, stomping and saying 'muffin' over and over.

"I'm going to start packing!" Jinx immediately trotted off, excited and determined.

"WAIT FOR ME! WAIT, JINX! WAIT FOR ME! JINX! WAIT!" Tantrum forgotten, Clover galloped after her older sister.

Crimson called after them both "but it's a month before we even have to... !" She shut her mouth and sighed.

"That went... well." Frontpage wrapped his forelegs around his mare.

"Better than expected... I guess." Crimson's ears were low. "Well, I'm going to miss the place. It's hot... hot all the time. It's dirty, there's nothing around for dozens of furlongs in any direction, it's boring, dusty, hot - did I mention hot?"

"You did. I was paying attention."

"So hot. And with a broken Bevelmeiter it's just... " Crimson gave a soft sob. "...I can't believe I'm going to miss this place. I only took over because Plantain didn't want any part of it. Even mother, when she came back from the dead... she went straight to Canterlot. She was so tired of the plantation... but I'm going to miss it! There must be something wrong with me. I need to get respawned or something."

"It's home. Home is... well, it's home. You had a lot of good decades growing up here with your sister. A lot of good memories, I'm sure." Frontpage wiped a tear from Crimson's cheek.

"Yes. Just wonderful memories. Plantain, mother, bunnies, bunnies - there were a lot of bunnies around. Sometimes it was like a carpet of the things. Until the Institute and everything." Crimson sniffed. "I guess I thought Jinx and Clover would miss it too."

Frontpage gently stroked Crimson's withers. "They're fillies, and the city calls. It's a strange eon and death itself has died. A brave new world with ponies such as these in it. Shall I go on?"

Crimson sniffed and giggled softly. "I'm almost tempted to say yes."

"Don't, I've run out of decent quotes." Frontpage gave her a kiss on the poll "They're going to be disappointed when they find out we don't have to leave for another month, you know." The sounds of packing were loud and furious. Jinx and Clover couldn't wait to get to Canterlot City.

"Yes, I suppose they will be." Crimson snuggled into Frontpage's barrel on the sofa. He continued to stroke her withers.

"We could just go. The spiders wouldn't even notice, from what you've told me. We could eat in Ponyville. I know a great little Italian bistro there." Frontpage grinned.

"Does it have a unique view of the sky? No thanks." Crimson grinned back. "But... I could go for Sichuan."