Xenophobia

Chapter 10

Five Days to Employment Deadline

The moon cast its silvery rays upon the path leading to Ponyville, lighting the road in its luminous glow. It was a beautiful night, and Gordon was just over halfway home after a long day of foraging. Soon, the larvae would be fed, and his mate, Sheila, would invite him to sleep. It had been an average cycle, really.

Gordon scuttled along the path to his hovel, carefully avoiding a precarious looking pebble-formation and observing the night with a pair of beady, compound eyes. It was Sheila’s day to do the foraging, but Gordon had taken the opportunity to himself since the larvae needed turning that morning. He hated turning the children… almost as much as regurgitation to feed them.

Almost.

Larvae are heavy bastards, especially his overfed little spawn. Sheila coddled them way too much. She got them fat; therefore she was in charge of the weekly turning. Can’t have their underdeveloped insides congealing now can they? Heavens nooo…

Personally, Gordon thought a little congealing would help build some character in those little maggots. Chittering heavily, he looked up at the round, shining eye in the great blackness. It wouldn’t be long now. Home was just over the next dirt outcropping, hidden right at the edge of the enormous desert path among a clump of spongy-rocks and thin-trees. Exoskeleton creaking, he slowly began crawling again, following the faint pheromone trail he’d left that morning.

He was getting way too old to do this. Seven cycles was a long time. His father had been retired at eight light cycles for crying out loud! If Gordon had any vocal chords to speak of, he—

The earth shook.

Gordon froze as the quake subsided, quietly choking on a cloud of sediment as it sifted around him, displaced by some unknown force. He didn’t dare move, doing his best to become as small as possible against the dirt. It was the only thing he could do.

Nobug ever outran a Titan.

The landscape around him was cast in shadow, the light of the glowing white eye above blotted out by something of tremendous size. The trembling insect cast its gaze upward, his eyes meeting an unforgiving wall of black, rushing towards him in the cool night.

Copulate… vigorously.

*CRUNCH*

A figure wreathed in shadow walked the path toward Ponyville, a small satchel swinging at his side. Occasionally, the strap would slip off the figure’s padded shoulder, giving the traveler pause as he re-adjusted the bag with a soft rustle. The quadruped’s town grew larger as he strode onward, the memory of a motherly voice giving stern instruction swirling in his head.

“You will go disguised as entertainers from far away, so as not to cause unnecessary panic. The wedding will be a huge event, and its success rides on the cooperation of thousands of my subjects: subjects who must be calm and collected in order to do their duty.”

He hated that voice. The smooth, caring inflection of the words was a lie, and Gerald Hanes knew it. One doesn’t deal with Company bureaucrats and not learn the subtleties of the spoken word: the language of politics. Jer knew a lie when he heard one.

“In five days, Twilight will arrive with a letter inviting you to the wedding. You are to be ready for your task by then.”

The Princess of a nation of sweet, gentle pony-folk had stolen away their one chance at going home. Not that Earth was Jer’s home, really… but then nowhere was if he actually thought about it. He had no home, and no real family other than Ray. So with his quiet friend he remained. Earth was Raymond’s home, Raymond’s life, and Jer wanted him to resume that life. If not for that damned pony…

“You will be tasked with protecting the Elements, guarding them with your lives against Discord and his tricks…”

Guarding. Protecting. Jer kicked a small stone out of his way as he continued down the path.

She wanted them to be glorified bodyguards. It would be laughable if it weren’t also infuriating. Here they were: two former members of the Colonial Military, survivors of the Earth Hive, and all-around badasses… demoted to security duty.

Gerald snorted.

Okay. It was kind of funny, but Jer most definitely wasn’t going to tell that to his thoroughly pissed off friend.

“… with your lives…”

Celestia’s decree echoed through his mind once more. Guard a bunch of natives with their lives? Really? What kind of danger did she think they were in? A wedding! They were guarding a bunch of ponies at a wedding, and these ponies weren’t even a part of the ceremony! Shouldn’t they be guarding the bride? Or the groom? Weren’t they the ones most likely to be targeted?

What wasn’t she telling them?

An icy, prodding sensation wormed into the back of Jer’s skull. He felt… violated. The traveling human halted in his tracks and turned his gaze upward, scanning the sky for anything out of the ordinary. His eyes lingered on a small cloud, silhouetted against the sea of light streaming from the unsettlingly familiar pockmarked moon. He could have sworn that he’d seen an equine figure posing atop the condensed water vapor.

“Celestia…” he guessed to himself, not amused by the white pony’s presence. Glaring heavily at the sky, he raised his left arm above his head, extending his third-most finger and presenting it to whomever may have been watching from above. Satisfied with his small gesture of defiance, he continued down the path.

Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to make everyone happy and get retribution at the same time. The thought was a little idealistic on his part, so he dropped the idea, settling for vengeance alone. He’d come up with something; he was sure of it.

In the mean time, however, Jer had probes to plant.

“I do not find this course of action to be exceptionally wise, Dear Sister,” the self proclaimed Goddess of the Night asserted as she watched the strange, bipedal creature make its way toward Ponyville. Its thoughts were tainted with the malicious desire to spill blood, most of which belonged within the body of the Goddess of the Sun: her beloved sibling. “Why did you choose to anger this creature so? Can you not sense the anarchy lurking beneath its naked skin?”

A soft breeze wafted to Luna’s left, rustling her deep blue feathers and prompting a small shiver. Celestia had landed next to her. The two alicorns were situated upon a darkened cumulus floating lazily above Ponyville—the home of her sister’s fair pupil, Twilight, and her companions.

“You remember how easily my student and her friends were corrupted, Luna,” the Sun Goddess’s voice lilted. “Discord revels in the desecration of harmonious creatures, but Chaos cannot defile itself. If they are angry, they will give into the madness you are sensing, and Discord will have little power to sway their minds.”

“But how do you know they wilst not simply join him?” Luna queried, raising her voice slightly in exasperation. “What stops them from turning against us for our actions?” Celestia was silent for a moment, and Luna watched as her sister observed the biped travel toward the sleepy town below. Finally, she spoke:

“They understand morality… that much I have seen. Their comprehension is twisted and seeded with irrational hate, but it is still there. The aliens will do what they see as right. We can only hope that vengeance does not follow.”

“I still suggest we incarcerate them,” Luna huffed. “They will influence the populace: they will bring change your little ponies haven’t seen for countless centuries.”

“Our Little Ponies, Luna.”

“Yours, Sister,” Luna mumbled, turning her back on her taller counterpart and the small burg of Ponyville. “They’ve always been yours: it simply took one thousand years of exile for me to accept it.”

She spread her midnight wings and took flight.

Four Days to Employment Deadline

The Hayseed had seen better nights.

Hearty Chuckle had just finished his set, and, though he was always an outwardly agreeable stallion, Cymbal could tell he was pained on the inside. Not many ponies had turned out that night, and the pink-and-blue comedian walked off stage with little more than a couple drunken cheers.

His smiles were starting to look forced, and Cymbal worried about him. He sat several stools to the left, away from his unhappy friend and employer, in case he needed someone to confide in. The green unicorn didn’t think Chuckles would ask—he was too proud—but he would be there nonetheless. He levitated his drink to his muzzle, sipping carefully as he eyed the comedian from down the bar. The frothy liquid soothed his dry throat after the two-hour comedy set, though, he just played the drums.

“Chuckles always gets water to sip… but he is the ‘talent’, so I guess that makes sense. Why don’t I do that again?” Cymbal Crash pondered his lack of preparedness as he took another sip from his mug. “Aaahhhhh… I remember now. Cider tastes better when you’re bone dry.”

Apple Cider. The good stuff: Sweet Apple Acres Vintage ‘82. Liquid Gold knew how to take care of his acts, that was for sure. Cymbal had asked Macintosh Apple if the family wanted any extra help during Cider Season that year, but the benevolent workhorse had gently declined. It was a shame really. The bar didn’t get much action during Cider Season, and Cymbal needed the bits. Mac’s sister wasn’t bad looking, either. Cymbal’s father had always stressed that intangible benefits made a job all the more rewarding, and, having had the privilege of watching Applejack work, the green stallion was inclined to agree with him.

The creak of the Hayseed’s double doors did nothing to distract the green stallion from his daydreams, and he didn’t notice the stranger waltz inside until he was right on top of him.

“Well hello there my good pony!”

Cymbal jumped, spilling a few drops of precious cider and jarring thoughts of the Element of Honesty’s flanks from his mind. He was about to turn around and give the pony interrupting him a piece of his mind, when he noticed the few patrons still in the building had fallen silent and were staring at the spot directly behind him. Cymbal slowly spun on the barstool, coming face-to-face with one of the aliens he’d met a few days ago. The creature was standing at his full height, his short, brown mane almost brushing the ceiling tiles. The oil lamps hanging behind the bar glinted off the brightly colored pins adorning his rough, green jacket, and shined brightly against the alien’s wide grin. Cymbal silently tried to remember which one the biped in front of him had been: the quiet one, or the weird one.

“Why do they have to look so alike? Are all members of his species the same color?”

“Mind if I sit down?” the biped asked, smirking as he glanced around at the bar’s other patrons, all of whom were staring openly at the tall creature. Cymbal nodded slowly, still trying to figure out how to act around the clothed ape. With a faint creak the alien settled onto the stool next to him. “What’s good on tap?” he queried, eyeing Cymbal’s mug in a predatory fashion.

“Canterlot Orchard’s Apple Cider is all Goldie’s got on spigot, but if you want anything good I’d go with the local brew,” Cymbal offered, trying to act nonchalant and unafraid. He had felt much safer when the bar had been full of excited ponies (safety in numbers and all that), but now that he was practically alone with the guy, aside from Chuckles, Goldie, and maybe two other patrons, Cymbal was a little nervous. The mischievous grin and distant look in the creature’s grey eyes weren’t helping the green unicorn feel any better.

Seeming to shake himself out of a waking dream, the alien waved Liquid Gold, the Hayseed’s aging earth pony barkeep, over to them. The brown stallion had been standing over by Hearty, cleaning a mug with an old dishrag. He didn’t look all that frightened, and, now that Cymbal thought about it, if he were confronted with the best customer his bar had seen in weeks he wouldn’t be all that skittish either. The unicorn drummer remembered how much the biped sitting next to him had drank the week before… mostly because he’d had to pay for it. Watching the hunched creature eye Goldie now, however, Cymbal wasn’t about to ask for reimbursement anytime soon.

Liquid made it over in record time, setting his favorite polishing mug down with a soft clink.

“What can I git’ ya?” he drawled, maintaining a convincing mask of boredom that almost fooled even Cymbal. He’d been working for Liquid Gold long enough to notice the bartender’s visual cues, no matter how small. The brown stallion eyes kept flicking to the brim of his hoofball cap (Yeah Mareami Maulers!): something the scruffy pony often did when he was nervous.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” the creature replied, gesturing toward Cymbal’s almost empty mug. The new drink was in his hands in record time, and the alien downed it almost as fast, amber rivulets of cider dripping down his odd, flat muzzle. He slammed the mug down on the wood countertop, sending several drops of precious cider flying through the still air of the bar before once more turning his gaze toward Cymbal. “So you’re a drummer?”

A brief flashback of a drunken biped from several nights ago flitted through the unicorn musician’s mind:

“So yer a drummist?”

Jer. That was his name. He was the one Berry had fawned over half the night before moving on to Caramel.

“Yeah… I play for the comedy act,” Cymbal responded slowly, confused by the alien’s sudden interest in him. “Why? What do you want?”

“Straight to business! You’re an alien after my own heart,” Jer answered, giving Cymbal an appraising look. “I got a job offer over at the capital and I need someone who can play,” he continued, once again getting a distant look in his eye and sporting a thin grimace. Liquid Gold nervously tried to refill the biped’s mug but was immediately waved off. “Sorry, I’m on the clock tonight,” he said, his grimace morphing into a small smile as he sent Goldie on is way. Turning back to Cymbal, he persisted with what the green unicorn realized was a job offer. “The pay will be pretty good. Your Princess commissioned Ray and I for the entertainment at some wedding. I’ll just need you to memorize some tablature for our set and the show practically does itself… you in?”

Playing at the capital? This was definitely too good to be true, but…

Cymbal glanced over at Hearty Chuckle, who had chosen to ignore the attention his musical accompaniment was getting and nurse his drink, and made up his mind. He looked Jer dead in his grey eyes, having to crane his neck a little to get to the alien’s eye level.

“Sure: under one condition.”

“Shoot… er, I mean go ahead.”

“I’ll play if Chuckles over their gets a chance to do his comedy act for a few minutes.” Jer looked at the oddly-colored stallion across the bar.

“He do Celestia jokes?” he asked, simply.

“A few…” Cymbal conceded, a little perturbed at the tall alien’s suddenly angry expression.

“Perfect. He’s hired.”

Jer reached into the folds of his green jacket and produced a thin, metallic tablet: one side a deep black and the other a pristine white. He placed it on the counter and slid the book-sized object over to Cymbal. Each barroom oil lamp threw a soft glare off the tablet’s reflective surface, looking almost like a pair of dark sunglasses would on a bright summer’s day.

“Just tap the front,” the alien said, carefully extricating himself from the pony-sized barstool. Cymbal opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Jer was already halfway out the Hayseed’s double doors, his long pant legs rustling with every stride.

Cymbal looked down at the flat object. He hesitantly touched a hoof to the glossy, dark surface. Immediately, his jaw dropped on its hinges. Bright flashes of light and color leapt from the tablet’s dark surface, weaving into a striking display of images that floated in the air right next to Cymbal’s wide-open muzzle: it was beautiful.

The amazing lightshow was almost enough to make Cymbal forget that Jer had left the bar without paying. Again.

He’d just put the bits on his tab for now…

Three Days to Employment Deadline

The target was just two yards behind the choke cherry tree. It wasn’t exactly hard to spot: the towering walls glinted metallically in the dim sunlight filtering through the canopy of the Everfree. An even taller flagpole jutted from the structure’s roof, its weathered, red banner dangling limply due to a distressing lack of wind. The forest encampment’s entryway yawned menacingly, having no doors to speak of, and dark, formless shadows dominated the inside.

All she had to do was capture the objective and she was free. Piece of cake.

One hoof in front of the other, she crept toward her goal. As she got closer, the inner shadows of the fort receded, and she was able to make out her target: a tin canister adorned with the depiction of a fluffy, white cloud rent asunder by a multicolored thunderbolt jutting from its base. She was so close… and the structure looked practically deserted.

The creeping pony allowed herself a small smile. This was just too easy.

Suddenly, the absolute silence of the forest around her registered with her racing thoughts. There were no birds calling; no distant roars of some frightening beast; not even the wind made a sound. The previously confident young mare froze, eyes darting about the tree trunks surrounding her objective. They were here—she knew that much now—but where?

A shadow fell over her, and she looked up to find two dark silhouettes barreling into her from above. She didn’t even have time to scream.

“Gotcha!” shrieked the two fillies as they butted into her from above. A flailing ball of limbs, wings, tails, and one horn tumbled past the scraggly choke cherry tree and knocked into the fort, toppling the rickety wooden ramparts and sending the emergency blanket they’d used as a cover for the walls fluttering away. The flagpole toppled, the gnarled branch it had been made from cracking and vibrating as it struck one of the downed deadwood walls of the makeshift fort. Scootaloo missed the continued destruction of three hours of work, the crusader cape they’d used as a flag having draped itself over her eyes.

The fact that her objective, a tin can with Rainbow Dash’s cutie mark crudely painted on its side, had rolled right into her hooves, wasn’t missed, however, and the orange filly quickly grasped the old container and shoved herself out of the filly pile with a triumphant shout:

“Victory! Hoo-yeah! Take that, Applebloom!”

“Whaddaya mean ‘victory’?! We caught you fair and square!” came a defiant response from a small yellow earth pony as she struggled to get up. “Sweetie Belle, gerroff!”

“Sorry!” squeaked a little white unicorn as she stumbled off of her friend. Ignoring her, the other two fillies continued their argument.

“I got the can, so I win. That’s how it works,” Scootaloo needled, sticking out her tongue at her earth pony compatriot.

“Nu-uh! We caught you first, so we win!” Applebloom retorted. “It’s in the rules. You said so yerself!”

“Yeah, well, Jer told me that as long as the in-infiler-intfultrainer—”

“Infiltrator,” Sweetie Belle corrected quietly, sighing to herself.

“—Yeah, right, if the infultrader gets the ‘flag’ in the end and gets rid of it they still win!” Scootaloo finished. With a flourish, she threw the can into the woods, where it struck an invisible wall of energy with a loud zap and explosion of blue light.

“Yer’ just saying that,” Applebloom countered, clearly skeptical of Scootaloo’s explanation. “Jer didn’t really tell ya that rubbish. Yer’ just twistin’ the rules! An now we can’t play anymore since ya’ zapped the can!”

“He did! I swear to God he said it!” Scootaloo tried to defend herself, crossing her heart with a hoof, and doing the rest of the motions for a “Pinkie Pie Swear” for good measure. Luckily, the argument seemed to stop there.

“Um… God?” Sweetie Belle asked, casting her pegasus friend a confused look. “Which one?”

“Oh… hehe…” Scootaloo blushed and rubbed her foreleg sheepishly. “It’s just something I heard Jer say this morning.”

“As in, like, the Princesses?” Applebloom queried, forgetting their argument for a second as a strange revelation kicked in. “You mean they have ponies that raise the sun and moon where they come from, too?”

“I… I dunno,” Scootaloo stammered, beginning to trot toward the edge of the protected area of forest that Jer had set up for them a few hours ago. “When I asked him about it he just laughed and said that ‘our gods died when Earth fell’ or something weird like that.” They neared the edge of the blue wire designating the end of their protective barrier. They passed through the wall with an electric tingle, and, just a little over two feet later, passed through the main defense system barrier and into the human’s clearing: Scootaloo’s temporary home.

“But, if they died, then who raises the sun?” Sweetie Belle countered, honestly confused and maybe even concerned. She always looked concerned about something, and Scootaloo often found it hard to tell when the unicorn sincerely felt worried or sad for somepony else. She looked sincere this time, though, and Scootaloo could understand why. Not having a night or day must really suck.

“I don’t know. I wanted to ask, but he seemed kinda busy so I left him alone.”

“What’re they doing, anyway?” Applebloom inquired, tilting her head and looking across the small clearing toward the human’s spaceship.

Jer was lugging some piece of machinery across the camp, bobbing his head to some unknown beat while he did so. He had just made it around the fire pit, where the remains of that morning’s breakfast—oatmeal that Applejack had insisted on bringing over when she had dropped off Applebloom—sat cooling in the noon air, when Ray came down the ships ramp in the “jeep”. The three fillies stared in awe at the growling monstrosity the humans had brought with them. Carefully driving past Gerald, the taller human parked the ponyless cart and hopped out, moving along to the back end of its tan chassis with a screwdriver in hand.

A sudden screeching noise startled the observing fillies, prompting Sweetie Belle and Applebloom to hide behind Scootaloo in fright. The orange pegasus huffed in annoyance at her two skittish friends. She understood that they weren’t used to this place yet, but even she hadn’t been that jumpy the first couple of days.

“Girls,” she soothed, something she would rather not be caught doing by anyone other than her friends, “calm down. It’s just Jer’s cutty thingy.” She gestured over toward the ship, which Jer had already crawled under with his sparking and whirring diamond saw blade. The two humans had fixed the shiny behemoth’s landing gear yesterday morning, and since then, Jer had been working on reactivating the bottom thrusters. He took several breaks throughout the day yesterday, though: retreating into the bowels of the ship and playing guitar with “Mother,” the magic voice that he said helped run the ship. How he played an instrument alongside a limbless magic voice, Scootaloo could only guess.

Just as quickly as the screeching began, it stopped, and Jer scrambled out from under the ship, jacket smoldering from the deluge of sparks.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he exclaimed waving his hands back and forth as he shuffled over toward Ray and the “jeep.” “What are you doing with the rotary!”

“Removing it,” mumbled Ray, just loud enough for Scootaloo to hear over the bolts he was holding in his mouth. The scarred human was holding onto an oblong, heavy-looking set of hollow rods melded in a circle in one hand, while unscrewing several more bolts at the objects base with the other. The object was set on a stand at the back of the human’s vehicle, and apparently was meant to pivot around to point in any conceivable direction.

“And why would you do that?!” Jer asked, clearly exasperated.

“Unnecessary.”

“How do you know?” Jer countered. Ray looked up from his work and raised an eyebrow at his overzealous counterpart.

“Okay, I get it, but we should bring it anyway! It isn’t like any natives will freak out about some heavy weaponry. They don’t even HAVE guns here! If we don’t bring it, something’s gonna happen, and we’ll regret not having it.”

“It’s an unnecessary hassle.”

“Well boo-fucking-hoo! We already discussed this!” Jer fumed, climbing up onto the jeep, reaching past the “rotary,” and pulling the bolts out of Ray’s mouth. “I have to do a damn show for those two big-wig lovebirds, so you have to deal with the actual equipment. That means taking every possible scenario into consideration. We’re taking it.”

“You have a plan, don’t you?” Ray murmured, placing his hands on his hips and narrowing his eyes at Jer, who had taken the screwdriver and was replacing the bolts his comrade had removed. “Enlighten me. We should be conserving ammunition and yet you want to bring our most wasteful weapon to a Bee-Jee Op. Why?”

“No, I don’t have a plan,” Jer stated calmly, not a hint of deceit in his voice, “ or, at least, not yet. I just want to be prepared for any eventuality. You were the Boy Scout: I thought this was your thing, Sarge.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sure thing, Fuss-Bucket.”

“Jer—”

“Am I interrupting something?” The two humans froze, looking across the clearing. Scootaloo turned her gaze over toward the new voice, finding its source.

She wasn’t pleased.

Rainbow Dash stood at the edge of the clearing, a concerned look on her stupid, fat face. Scootaloo fumed quietly and glared at the older pegasus. What the hay was she doing back here?

“Um… I brought your wheelie machine back from Sweet Apple Acres, but I can’t get it in with the shields up so… yeah,” the blue mare grinned sheepishly and rubbed her foreleg.

Well. She wasn’t here to try and take her away again. That was a relief, but that didn’t mean Scootaloo didn’t have to be mad at her anymore. Oh heavens no. The orange pegasus and her two friends watched as the humans looked at each other. Jer shrugged his shoulders and jumped off the dust-hued chassis of their vehicle, ambling over to the Defense Database. A few seconds later, the shield was down, and Scootaloo felt a slight breeze blow through camp, stirring up dust and the scent of stale apple-cinnamon oatmeal.

“All yours, Pride Parade,” Jer announced, resting his hands on his hips. Dash stood up a little straighter and opened her mouth in protest, but eventually hung her head in defeat, turning tail and trotting into the trees. She was back moments later, lugging Jer’s scratched “motorbike” into the clearing.

“Here?” the prismatic mare asked, straining under the load but nonetheless giving Scootaloo’s guardian a careful look.

“Here’s fine,” Jer soothed, smiling nonchalantly as he took the heavy vehicle from her. He flicked out a metal rod from the side of the two-wheeled vehicle and leaned the entire thing upon it. The soft click of a key turning in a lock hailed the illumination of the lighted screen on the machine’s upper body, and Jer began mercilessly tapping on it.

Scootaloo looked back at her two friends. They knew what the machine was, the orange pegasus having told them about her ride on the contraption before they nearly ran into Raymond and Big Mac, but still watched in rapt attention as Jer fiddled with the controls.

Suddenly, Scootaloo felt watched. The hairs on the back of her withers stood on end, and she felt a soft chill run down her spine. Looking back over at Jer, she caught Rainbow Dash staring at her. The pegasus filly glared at her former idol with as much venom as she could muster, and Dash winced and looked away, eyes downcast. Before Scootaloo could capitalize on her victory—maybe yell at her some more—a reverberating, electric hum filled the clearing.

“Haha! Baby’s still workin’!” Jer shouted, the level of glee in his voice far beyond the norm for a… creature of his age. The ecstatic human reached over the bike and ruffled Dash’s mane. The rainbow mare flinched at his touch, but quickly recovered, smiling happily at the kind attention. This development only served to make Scootaloo angrier.

Jer didn’t seem to notice, however, and began wheeling the bike toward the Duckling, when Ray decided to speak up again:

“We bringing the bike, too?”

The wheeling human stopped a moment, eyes glazing over in thought.

“Canterlot’s a big city, right?” he finally answered. “It might be useful… I mean the jeep’s great and all, but it doesn’t corner all that well.”

“I’m just thinking about fuel…” Ray intoned as he finished re-attaching the rotary to its stand atop the jeep.

“We have five rods, man,” Jer reassured offhandedly, giving their huge silvery ship a casual gesture. “That’s more than enough for a couple burns out of the atmosphere, plus one extra to cut for emergencies.”

“Wait wait wait…” Rainbow interjected. “When are you going to Canterlot? And why?” The rainbow mare looked genuinely confused, and Scootaloo could tell she was still rather nervous around the humans. She began to feel suspicious about the nature of the “talk” Jer had said he’d given the older mare.

“Don’t ask.” Jer dismissed Rainbow’s question with another wave of his hand. “Just rest assured that we aren’t all that excited about it.”

“Oooh ooh ooh! Can we come?” Applebloom and Sweetie Belle evacuated the area behind Scootaloo and started hopping around the two humans, pleading excitedly. “Please?! Can we? Huh? Pleeeease?!”

“Uh…” Jer gave his partner an uncomfortable look, and Ray simply shook his head before going back to his work. “I don’t think so girls… you’ll have to wait and see.” Raymond looked up and gave his faltering friend an exasperated glare. Jer grinned and stuck out his weird, short tongue. “Give it about three days and then ask your sisters, but be sure to wait it out, okay?”

“Yes Jer!” Scootaloo’s two friends chorused, not disheartened in the slightest by their reduced chances of going. The orange pegasus joined in their answer as well, even though she knew she was probably going. They wouldn’t just leave her in the clearing alone, right? She resolved to ask them later, so as not to make Applebloom or Sweetie feel left out should she be allowed on the trip.

Her former idol’s earlier question resurfaced in the forefront of the small filly’s mind. Why were they going to Canterlot, anyway? And why the talk of “heavy weapons?”

When she thought about it, Scootaloo didn’t really care. It was a free trip to Canterlot! The capital! She would get to see the Castle, roam the famous Canterlot merchant District, and maybe even catch a glimpse of the Wonderbolts! Wouldn’t that just make Rainbow Dash jealous, the selfish cloudstain.

Another breeze rustled the foliage at the edge of camp, kicking up the cold ashes of last night’s fire. With a soft sigh, Scootaloo trotted over to the Database and reactivated the shield: something she’d learned to do on her first day there and had to repeat quite often whenever her two pseudo-parents forgot to reactivate it. The orange and violet filly found comfort in knowing that she was completely safe within the invisible barrier, watched over by two big, frightening beings from far away. She’d decided that she loved her humans a little while ago, even though they were often forgetful and didn’t have all that much time to spend with her.

They had given her a safe place to sleep, food, and actually seemed to care about her, even Ray, and that was more than enough. Scootaloo just wished it didn’t have to be temporary. She sat by the database and watched as Applebloom hopped up onto the jeep to join Raymond and Sweetie Belle followed Jer as he wheeled his sputtering vehicle up the ship’s ramp.

“C’mon Sweetie; lemme’ show ya how to play the harmonica,” the scrawnier of the two bipeds drawled, poorly mimicking—maybe purposefully—a country accent. “Ah think Mother has one ‘r two good songs on archive.” Sweetie Belle squealed happily and dashed up the rest of the ramp after him.

Things were about to get a little noisier. Not that Scootaloo minded all that much, of course. She was often an accessory to lots of loud, dangerous stunts alongside her to friends. Still… Ray had been a bit impatient lately, and she should probably make sure that Jer doesn’t go overboard… like with the cooking incident the night before.

Scootaloo shuddered at the memory of Jer’s attempt at making pony-friendly food.

“Never again.”

The orange pegasus shook the thoughts from her mind and trotted toward the ship’s access ramp, ignoring the boring eyes of a certain Rainbow Dash. That mare just couldn’t take a hint, now could she? Scootaloo glanced left, avoiding Rainbow’s gaze, and watched Applebloom work a screwdriver with her mouth while Ray looked on. The raucous sound of a beginner in the musical art of the harmonica practicing her newfound craft made the scarred human wince, but the pained look was temporary. He had his own student to focus on, after all.

Scootaloo felt a tug of jealousy, but quickly smothered it with another shake of her head. She would get plenty of time with the humans later. Her friends deserved to hang out with them as much as she did, even if the humans were kinda… sorta… almost…

Well… like parents to her. Scootaloo wanted to hold onto them, and her heart clenched a bit whenever Jer left the clearing to go wander the forest or Ray’s bad leg started acting up, giving the taller human a bit of a limp. She wanted them to be safe so she could keep them for herself: so she wouldn’t be alone again. Was that so wrong?

Watching Ray and Applebloom work on the jeep, and hearing Sweetie Belle giggle from inside the ship, Scootaloo knew it was. Like she’d told herself earlier: they would get plenty of time together.

When her friends left for the night, Jer would try and teach her to cook some more, just like yesterday. And after dinner, Jer would practice his guitar by the fire and Raymond would tell her stories about where he used to live—wiping a thin rag over the metal pieces of his “rifle” all the while. It was a happy routine, and Scootaloo wouldn’t trade it for all of Equestria. No, she wouldn’t grudge her friends for wanting to spend time with them, too.

That sounded like something Rainbow Dash would do, anyway, and Scootaloo no longer wished to emulate that prismatic brush-off.

Ray’s deep, reverberating voice rumbled throughout camp, prompting the contemplative filly to pause at the top of the ramp and look back.

“Wrong direction, Bloom.” Applebloom blushed brightly and began turning the screwdriver in her mouth on the right bearing.

Raymond was a quiet man, but once he got to talking about his home planet he was quite the storyteller. He enthralled the tomboyish filly with his tales, but also succeeded in making her a little sad.

Ray told those stories so well, so longingly. Scootaloo pitied the poor alien, but a darker part of herself was also pleased. If the humans weren’t back home they were here with her. The feeling was selfish and she knew it.

Maybe she and Dash weren’t as different as she would have liked them to be...

“No.”

With the sound of laughter and the squeaky notes of a small harmonica tickling her ears, two scarlet eyes branding her in the withers, and adamant denial in her head, Scootaloo made an about face and trotted into the Duckling.

She didn’t look back.

Two Days to Employment Deadline

The rhythmic chirping soothed the human’s scattered, angry thoughts as the full moon slowly crept across the alien night sky. He had no idea how the cricket got past the security barrier, but he was thankful nonetheless, and continued to listen, memories of Earth rattling around in his head. The small cleaning rag felt good in his weathered hands—roughened before their time by xeno blood—and the scent of gun oil wafting in the stagnant air of the fire-lit clearing was almost as comforting as the softly warbling cricket.

Two days until payday. Two days until leaving planetside became a reality. Two days to the ol’ freezerino. He’d scouted possible infestations for far longer. This wasn’t long: this was nothing.

So why did it feel like an eternity?

A concerned, raspy voice invaded Raymond’s peaceful insect sonata:

“Ray, you’ve been cleaning out that rifle for two hours. Get some sleep, man: we’ve got packing to do tomorrow.”

“Done.”

“Eh?”

“Gear’s packed,” Ray grunted, taking one last look at the shine he’d put on the barrel of his rifle, “Wrath.” “Maybe just a little more oil.” “Well, at least my half is.”

“Body armor? Helmets?” Jer quizzed, taking a seat next to the polishing human with a soft thump.

“In the jeep.”

“Ammunition?”

“Four clips each for the rifles, two for the Peacemakers.”

“That it?” Jer asked incredulously. “How many did we bring for the N.I. job?”

“Five or so leftovers and the usual Company allotment… so, about twenty.”

“Grenades?”

“Small bandolier for each of us.”

“Smartgun?”

“We already have the rotary and two full canisters, Jer.”

“Point taken…” The two human’s sat in contemplative silence for a time, Ray continuing to rub on his gun and going through the plan once more in his head. A question arose.

“So… if you’re going up on the train, and I’m driving the gear, how’s that drummer you said you picked up getting there?”

“I dunno,” Jer quipped. He had picked up a small twig and was scratching something into the soft peat of the clearing, a wistful grin gracing his features. “He said he’d take care of his own stuff, so I’m not going to worry about it. Chances are we’ll get outta’ here before I actually have to perform anyway, right?”

Ray nodded carefully, watching as the stick in Jer’s hands furrowed the ground. The scarred human’s companion smiled a little wider, not noticing the attention Ray was giving him.

“What’s got you so happy?” Ray inquired, hesitating slightly. Honestly, Jer’s crazy grins and maniacal laughter didn’t frighten him nearly as much as that happy little smile he was wearing just then. It was unnerving.

“It just feels good to be on the clock, y’know?” Jer didn’t even bother to look up from his ministrations while he talked. “I miss work.”

Ray grunted. Work was fine, but the ex-marksman would have preferred to be doing it for his own kind on his own world instead of being coerced by that gigantic, white, talking jackass with wings. The job they were doing shouldn’t have even been considered work by Jer’s standards! Still… Jer hadn’t gotten to tote his rifle in awhile, and Ray guessed that any excuse to get out and about with a good P.R. and several clips of ammunition was a good one.

Maybe they’d even get to use them.

Ray looked to his left. Jer was gone, having left while his taller counterpart sat deep in thought. Down at the base of the stump Jer had been sitting on, between two faint boot prints, lay the twig Jer had been drawing with, along with the ex-colonial marine’s masterpiece.

It was a boot, descending upon what appeared to be a rather embellished caricature of a frightened cockroach. The little beast was depicted with limbs held high in an attempt to protect itself from the falling footwear.

A soft chuckle escaped the homesick human, and he went back to cleaning his weapon. The cricket’s chirping reached a fever pitch from somewhere near the edge of the clearing: the sound becoming far less melodic, and, consequently, not as pleasant as it had been earlier. A sudden flash of blue light and a loud zap swiftly remedied the issue.

The clearing was plunged into peaceful, nighttime silence.

One Day to Employment Deadline

“Lounge Lizard!” a jovial voice rang out in greeting.

Spike shook his head back and forth, eyes squeezed shut, as he tried to banish the dizziness that always accompanied one of Twilight’s teleportation spells. It also got the faint whiff of ozone out of his sensitive nostrils, so that was a plus.

A loud thump coming from just above his head caused the baby dragon to jolt from his recovery. He opened his naïve, jade eyes to find that he was, indeed, in the humans’ clearing: just as Twilight said he’d be. Standing a few yards ahead of him was Gerald, the jollier of the two creatures, and, oddly enough, Ditzy Doo, the local mailmare. The grey mare wound up like she was about to throw a hoofball while she hovered shakily next to the human. She squinted her lopsided, gold eyes in concentration before flicking her right hoof forward and spinning around midair in one, quick motion.

Another loud thump sounded just above Spike’s head. Slowly he looked up to find a shiny metal dart embedded in the trunk of the tree to his back, not two inches above the young dragon’s thin, emerald crest of scales. Several more of the metal points stood out around it, forming a small forest of colored plastic fins and cold metal.

Spike’s eyelid twitched.

They were hurling darts.

Ditzy was hurling darts... right above his head.

“Nice throw, Double D.” Jer congratulated, giving the hovering mare beside him a hoof bump before his beady eyes narrowed in challenge. “But let’s see how you compare to the master.”

With a loud yelp, Spike scrambled away from the arboreal target the two players had set up: just in time, too.

Spike felt a puff of air pass behind his crest, followed by the deafening crack of something striking the human’s electrical wall.

“Dammit!” the small dragon heard Gerald curse as he continued to move away from their line of fire. “I guess you win, eh?”

“Yeppers! You owe me a muffin!” Ditzy bubbled happily, folding her wings at her sides and dropping to the ground.

Spike looked back toward where Jer’s last dart went. Blue ripples spread out across the seemingly empty air before fading back into nothingness. He briefly wondered how that would have felt—to brush up against the humans’ barrier—and empathized with the most likely warped and scorched metal plaything.

Then he remembered who threw it.

“What the hay!” the baby dragon shouted indignantly. “You almost—huh?” Spike’s planned castigation sputtered to a halt. “Were those there before?” Jer cocked an eyebrow at the young dragon, munching on a still steaming chocolate-chip muffin. A whole pan of the piping-hot treats sat on an old stump between the two dart-throwers.

Spike could have sworn they weren’t there when he’d arrived. The two other beings in the clearing didn’t seem to mind the small stitch in reality, however, and both of them were tearing into the breakfast pastries with reckless abandon—especially Ditzy.

“Yah. ‘S this loophole Pinks taught me,” Jer mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate indulgence. “Sh’ calls it ‘reaching’.” The human swallowed loudly before speaking further. “So… what’s up?”

“Oh!” Spike sat up a little straighter, momentarily forgetting the impossible muffins as he remembered why he was there. “Twilight teleported me over to tell you an’ Ray that you were invited to her brother’s wedding in Canterlot!” Closing his eyes, the baby dragon crossed his arms and smiled smugly, waiting for sounds of excitement at the news he’d brought. Even an incredulously happy “Really?” would do.

When nothing happened for several seconds he opened his eyes, and was disappointed to find Jer simply staring at him, one eyebrow raised in what looked to be heavy skepticism.

“And?” he prompted before taking another bite of muffin.

What did he mean? Spike wracked his brains for an answer, and, after several seconds of staring, he remembered the conditions of the two human’s attendance to Shining’s wedding.

“Oh, yeah! Uhm, I forgot to mention! The Princesses requested that you play a song or two at the reception, y’know, cuz she liked that song you played at Pinkie’s party last week?”

“Phew. Glad I remembered that.”

Jer just continued to give him the same skeptical look.

“Uh… you do know what a wedding reception is, right?” Spike ventured, suddenly recalling the humans’ alien nature. “You have matrimony where you come from, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jer answered, strangely curt for some reason. Spike had been dragged to the clearing with Twilight enough times to strike up an odd acquaintanceship with Gerald, having hit it off when he was fixing the humans’ “jeep,” and he knew how his fellow biped normally acted. This definitely wasn’t his normal behavior. Ditzy seemed to notice it too, and had refrained from further muffiny indulgence to watch.

“Then… what is it?” Spike asked nervously. Twilight had sent him there on a whim, and he had no way of getting back magically. He wasn’t in the humans’ database either, which meant running wasn’t an option. Spike thought he knew Jer well enough to gauge his level of anger, and the clothed biped didn’t look violent, but the dragon couldn’t help but feel trapped.

“Why didn’t Twilight come tell us herself?” Gerald slowly inquired, moving the muffin tray aside and sitting on the tree stump they had previously occupied.

“She…” Spike began before trailing off. “Uh, well, she isn’t exactly happy about all this.” Well, that didn’t really do the situation justice… Twilight was furious. After he’d brought her the letter she’d left her Friday picnic early and stomped all the way back to the library. She’d then locked herself in her room for over an hour, presumably packing, before finally coming back downstairs to tell Spike to “inform the humans” of their “duties” and zap him with her magic. “She was too busy packing and ranting to herself about her ‘inconsiderate BBBFF’ to come out here herself.”

“She the overprotective type?” Jer asked, slowly dropping his suspicious pretenses and focusing on eating once again.

Spike answered with a relieved chuckle.

“You have no idea.”

“So when is it?”

“The letter said we should be there tonight, so Twi bought everypony tickets for the 5 o’ clock train out of Ponyville.” Spike remembered the teller at the ticket window giving his caretaker a dirty look after handing over the ticket slips: the lavender unicorn’s bad mood carrying over into her everyday transactions and making everypony that had to deal with her a little grumpy.

Jer looked at his watch.

“That gives me about five hours or so,” the human sighed. “Better call Ray… Ditzy? Would you grab my helmet from inside? It’s the grayish bucket-thing on the workbench in the back.”

“Okay!” the blonde-maned pegasus agreed, and she flew clumsily into the troop bay of the human’s ship. Spike had always been a little amazed that she could fly at all, considering her eye condition, but Ditzy Doo was the best mail carrier in town and made surprisingly few mistakes. The fact that she was in the humans’ clearing in the first place was rather strange, though…

“Hey, Jer?” Spike spoke up again. “How’d she get in here, anyway?” Jer looked down on Spike from his stump and smirked.

“The crazy pony crashed into our barrier bringing us Scootaloo’s grade reports,” he began, “She shook it off and flew straight back into it afterward. I’ve never seen a more determined postal worker.”

Spike stared after the grey pegasus in awe.

“She flew into it twice?!” the purple dragon murmured in astonishment.

“Three times before I shut it off, actually,” Jer stated before his eyes glazed over and he hunched over in thought. “I wonder who got Scoot’s grades before. Did she forge an address or something? How the fuck did nobody notice that?”

Spike was too busy staring at the doorway Ditzy had disappeared into, a new feeling of appreciation and respect for the local mailmare weighing heavily on him. HE was fireproof, a trait all dragons boasted, but even he feared getting zapped by the human’s electric wall.

“So what happened after that?” the amazed dragon asked. Jer’s brow un-furrowed itself and he gave Spike an amused grin.

“I apologized and put some of her hairs in the database so it wouldn’t happen again, then we got to talking—”

“And you started singing that tune,” Ditzy suddenly interjected, flapping out of the gaping troop bay. “How’d it go?” She cleared her throat and sang throatily. “Wait! Oh yes, wait a minute Mrs. Postmare~”

“Wai-ai-ai-ai-it Mrs. Postmare~” Jer continued, chuckling. “Yeah, and I already had the dart board out for my knife so we just started playing… then she decided to make a friendly bet.” The human emphasized the word “friendly” by extending two fingers from each hand up in the air in front of his face, bending them in unison.

“HEY!” Ditzy scolded, “You started that bet!”

“Quit complaining,” Jer shot back, sticking his tongue out. “You won, didn’t you? Now gimme my helmet.” The pegasus quickly complied, bucking the object mid-air: straight into the human’s stomach. Jer let out a quiet “oof” and fumbled with the helmet before finally getting a good grip. He gave the still airborne pony a mock glare. Ditzy just stuck her tongue out at him.

“I swear to Celestia,” Spike thought exasperatedly, “they’re even more childish than I am and they’re supposed to be adults!”

Spike watched Gerald slip the helmet over his head, the darkened visor obscuring the human’s face. It looked like a black, fattened “T” against the light grey material of the rest of the helmet. After a few seconds of silence, the human finally spoke up, the external speakers projecting his voice tinnily:

“Raymond, you copy?”

There was a brief period of static, followed by a sharp “crack” and what sounded like cheering.

“I copy,” Raymond, the quieter of the two humans, finally answered. His voice projected from the helmet much like Jer’s except much more distorted. “We rolling?”

“Yeah, train station at 1700,” Jer replied, “Meet there?”

“Copy,” there was another muffled ‘crack,’ “I’ll bring the girls.”

“Sounds good, over and out.”

“Jer, no one says that anym—” Raymond’s voice was cut off as the other human yanked the helmet off of his head, frizzing his short, brown hair.

Well, that was weird… it almost seemed like… no, that wouldn’t make any sense. Spike narrowed his eyes at the Gerald as he stood up: it was like he had already planned for this. The other girls had been sent into a complete tizzy and had rushed off to prepare when he’d presented the news earlier, but this alien seemed like he could care less… like he had already prepared everything.

“Uh, what is he doing?” Spike asked, crossing his arms, “and why do you sound like you’ve already planned for this. We just found out about the wedding today!” Jer simply smiled, and pat Ditzy on the back. The pegasus’s gold eyes rolled into the back of her head and she mumbled happily.

“Ray’s off showing the crusaders how he got his cutie mark,” he stated, as if an alien being showing three fillies his flank was the most normal thing in Equestria. Seeing Spike’s look he sighed heavily and chuckled weakly. “Don’t ask.” He stepped away from a contented Ms. Doo, and approached the Defense Database at the center of camp. Stooping low, he picked up a small, rectangular object with a brightly colored plastic cover. “As for your second question, being exterminators, preparedness is a habit of ours. We always bring a little more material than necessary.”

The human’s smile had grown considerably wider as he was talking, and now stretched to obscene proportions across his face as he stood up, holding the strange rectangular object. He flipped back the bright, plastic portion from the device, revealing a small, metal switch.

“For example,” he continued, “Detcord.” He faced away from Spike and held the metallic device up above his shoulder. “You may want to cover your ears.”

“What?” Spike asked, watching as Jer flipped the switch with his thumb. The baby dragon realized too late that taking the alien’s advice was probably the best decision as the world before him erupted in a blinding flash of white flame and an immense, deafening roar.