Chapters It's just a crazy world we live in
And I'm out of my mind
You pray tomorrow but you’re leaving today
An evil one is coming and he's knocking your door
‘Cause today's the day you'll pay
-Ozzy Osbourne, “Facing Hell”
The middle of a Tuesday afternoon was still a slow time for bars, even though the world was ending. There were only two other souls with Chuck in his favorite haunt, and one of them was a pony who had just come in.
Amongst the suburbs of the skeleton of a city that Charlotte had become, Ross's Sports Bar was one of the few establishments still graced with visitors at all. With the magical radiation already making the east side uninhabitable, most just decided to pull up stakes and move further inland. The die-hards, however, saw fit just to make the trip across the river to Belmont, where Ross's had sat for the past twenty years. Belmont wasn't quite on the ragged edge, but people weren't exactly taking out leases there, either. Whether passing through or staying a while to shake their fist at the Barrier, folks still got thirsty, though.
The pony reared up onto his hind legs and placed his forehooves on the edge of the counter. The clacking jarred Chuck, seated on the stool just next to the stallion, from his pleasantly dark mood. He glowered sidelong at the pony, who was just a plain brown earth-pony with a dark brown mane, girt with travel saddlebags on his back. He was an adult, but didn't have a cutie mark. Newfoal, then.
Even on two legs, the pony was still barely able to see over the counter to lock eyes with Ross. Pretty much any human without a green HLF brassard on his or her left arm had gotten used to the sight of ponies here and there, but there were still some havens to be had for those still walking on two legs. Ponies weren't unwelcome in most places, but they had a tendency to just... stay away. Even the ones who had once been human.
"Water?" guessed Ross. The old man had learned that ponies usually never asked for anything harder than a Dr. Pepper.
"Cape Cod straight, please," replied the pony in a deep voice. If Chuck had still had his eyes closed he would have figured a human had just spoken. Ponies and newfoals usually had a certain lightness in their voice, annoyingly upbeat, like they were expecting good news later that day.
This one didn't. He'd also ordered a Cape Cod. Ross just grinned and knocked on the counter once, turning to mix the pony his drink.
"Charles Thompson," stated the pony.
Since Chuck was on his third or fourth whiskey sour, the fact that the pony knew his name wasn't quite as surprising as it probably should have been. In fact, in his haze of bitterness and resignation, he could only decide that, shit, it figured.
"Whaddaya want," the man slurred, not looking over to the pony. He had been drinking rather fast, and the stupor he was after was only beginning to show up.
"I heard about your wife," said the stallion. "I'm here to help." Ross leaned across the counter and set the drink on the stool next to the pony for easy access. A straw stuck thoughtfully out over the rim of the tumbler. The pony nodded his thanks and took a long sip, draining half the tumbler in one go.
"There's only one kind of help I want," said Chuck, "and ponies ain't of a mind to give it."
The stallion was unfazed. "I think you'd be surprised. Revenge, right?"
Chuck's eyes widened a bit, and the pony gave a satisfied nod upon seeing it. "The guy who did it got converted. His name is now Rockheart and he's with the Palace Watch in Canterlot." He craned his neck around and nosed through a saddlebag, producing a slip of folded paper in his mouth, which he then proffered to Chuck.
The man plucked the note from the stallion's mouth and read it.
"There's a pony on the inside who can help you, a member of the Sanctum Watch. The days and hours on that note are when he's on shift. Catch him at the uniform office and tell him your name is Helium. He'll give you a disguise."
Chuck grumbled and put the note in his shirt pocket. So he'd have to get converted before he could have it out with this Rockheart guy. "How do you know all this?" he asked.
"I was in the same PER chapter as your wife," said the pony. "I was there when it happened. The guy was Railroad, so it wasn't hard to track him back to the Conversion Bureau his team was working. Right before the Charlotte bureaus closed up, he got his hooves and didn't look back. To be honest, you were harder to find than he was."
Chuck looked down at his drink and ground his teeth. Hatred was beginning to stick to him like old sweat. His wife was killed so this asshole could escort twelve, maybe fifteen extra ponies to Equestria. There was no excuse he could ever accept for that. Joan had only been trying to help; even before she'd converted and joined the PER, she would never have hurt a fly. Killing ponies to stay human? The Railroad was no better than the HLF.
"Oh, two pieces of advice," added the stallion. Chuck looked over again and saw that the tumbler on the stool was now empty, the pony turning to leave. "First, avoid letting a Bureau or the PER ponify you. Going pony that way'll strip your desire for revenge right off. Get your hands on some modified potion, code-named 'Foam,' and use that. Both PER encampments and the remnants of the government keep some stashed away for... emergencies. I think you can figure out who keeps theirs less guarded. Second, you might want to hurry. You're not the only one about to go after this guy."
"The hell does that mean?" asked Chuck.
The pony just shook his head with a small smile and left the bar.
* * *
It was night in Canterlot, and the moon had been sent on its way.
Luna, Princess of Equestria, was in her study examining some of the map revisions which had taken place during her exile when she heard a single, gentle knock on the door. She raised her head just in time to see a leaf of paper scoot through the gap in the bottom.
She stood and slipped away from her desk with silent grace, moving to the door and opening it slowly. She poked her head out into the hall, looking down either end and seeing nopony. There was only the blue-white moonlight coming in through the windows and the paper at her hooves.
She brought herself back into the study and shut the door. The Goddess of the Moon picked up the paper in the soft blue-violet of her magic, brought it up to her eyes, and read what was written there.
The Dawn Court of Canterlot convened every morning in the throne room as the two royal sisters met to change shifts after the raising of the sun. While both princesses were present, callers to court would wait to give the business of the day so that they could receive ruling and guidance. Ponies were quite self-governing, for the most part, so even the "major" issues that required mediation were usually little more than tiffs that had escalated out of hoof.
Every so often, however, came something that demanded true royal attention.
From her spot on the raised dais, Celestia, Princess of Equestria and Goddess of the Sun, warily eyed the three ponies before her. As they had approached, she'd known immediately that these ponies were newfoals, and they had not been legitimately converted. Their eyes were hard-edged, purposeful, and lacking in deference. They were humans' eyes, full of will but without joy to temper it.
Both Dusk and Dawn Court were open to the public, and ponies who fancied themselves as having a hoof on the pulse of the pony nation were always in attendance. Flanking the approach to the throne on either side was a small crowd of nobles, poets, artists, and tourists. Dozens of eyes joined Celestia in watching them closely. They could feel it too.
Chamberlain Red Carpet led them to the halfway point between the massive entry doors and the dais. She stopped, and in a booming voice, the red earth-pony mare announced their presence all the way up to the cavernous, vaulted ceiling.
"Calvin York, major, Third Infantry Division, United States Army."
The crowd burst into hushed murmurs of speculation. Celestia felt a frown tug at the corners of her mouth—that was how he'd requested to be announced?—but she held her neutral expression. Behind her suspended, glowing mane, she cast her eyes over to her younger sister Luna, who was already meeting her gaze with an uncharacteristically nervous expression. Luna still hadn't quite found her footing regarding royal duties, and probably wouldn't fully do so for another decade or two, but, even so, it was rare for her to look positively spooked.
Behind Red Carpet, the three visiting newfoals were walking in a tight wedge formation. The brick-red earth-pony stallion at the front was obviously Major York, and behind him were two slightly younger-looking adult ponies, a dark orange unicorn mare and a pale green pegasus stallion with incredibly large wings.
Celestia got the feeling that none of them had taken on pony names.
"And the other two?" she asked quietly, trying to keep the chill out of her voice.
Red Carpet opened her mouth to reply, but the brick-red stallion, Major York, spoke up first. "On my left is Staff Sergeant Fells," he said, indicating the pegasus, "and on my right is Specialist Cooper."
The tall white mare let the appropriate amount of time pass before she answered. In situations like this, it was a good idea to give out a subtle reminder of who would be controlling the pace of the upcoming conversation.
"Very good," said she, and lowered her head just a little. "You may approach, major."
A sea of heads turned in unison to follow Major York as he walked up to the dais and stopped, looking up into the two sets of beautiful eyes above him. A moment passed, and a muted gasp rippled through the crowd. This pony wasn't bowing!
Celestia found a reserve of much-needed levity within herself. She offered the newfoal a smile—a small one.
"You have the royal ears," she said. "Please speak."
"Your Royal Highnesses, you have in your service one Kyle Webster, pony-name of Rockheart. I believe he is with the Palace Watch?"
Luna stiffened, but remained silent. This did not go unnoticed by either Celestia or York.
"I know him, yes," said Celestia. The Royal Guard was a stressful and outwardly thankless job, and she knew that any given pony who chose to serve did so by declining countless other, more palatable lines of work. She knew and treasured all of her guardsponies for this, and newfoals who had made the choice were no exception. Not even their magically-altered coats and manes were enough to keep her from recognizing the pony underneath, every last one of them. Yes, she knew Rockheart, and to hear his old human name felt... unpleasant somehow. Jarring.
"I am a commissioned officer with the Judge Advocate General's Corps, serving what's left of the United States military. Sergeant Fells and Specialist Cooper are military police detailed to help me take custody of and escort Private First Class Webster back to Earth where he will stand trial by court-martial."
More murmuring from the assembled onlookers. Celestia lifted her head and let her gaze float out over the crowd. The murmurs quickly evaporated. Princess Luna daintily cleared her throat.
"With what is Rockheart being charged?" asked Luna. Celestia smiled inwardly at her sister's refusal to use his human name.
"Private Webster unlawfully left his post at Fort Lewis, traveled east towards the Barrier, joined the Railroad paramilitary organization, then later underwent conversion at one of the Conversion Bureaus in Charlotte. All of these actions demonstrate a lack of intent to return to duty. The United States Army is charging him with desertion under article 85, section A, paragraph three of the Uniform Code of Military Justice."
"Should Rockheart be found guilty, what would his sentence be?" asked Luna.
"Sentencing would be determined at the court-martial," said York. "I'm only here to take custody of Private Webster. Please send a runner for him and we'll leave."
Celestia stood, and Luna followed suit.
"I will not," said the Sun. "Guardspony Rockheart is a loyal servant of the Crown whose conduct has been without cause for suspicion. He is one of three newfoal guardsponies who assisted Princess Luna in composing a message that would speak to the hearts of the human warriors avoiding ponification out of fear of—"
"I don't care if he found a cure for cancer that also whitens teeth and freshens breath, he is wanted by the US government." That elicited plenty of louder gasps and a scant few suppressed giggles from the crowd.
York sighed and reined in the snark a bit. "Look, if you will not agree to Private Webster's extradition, then Equestrian-American relations may suffer. This is an act of goodwill and cooperation, Your Royal Highness... I highly suggest you hand custody of this individual over to us."
"It will be taken under advisement," quipped Celestia, taking a bit of satisfaction from York's resulting expression. Pony or human, it didn't matter—military types were all well-versed in the language of bureaucracy and could translate it instantly.
"Your Royal Highness, I am under orders not to return without Private Webst—"
Celestia's turn to interrupt. "Then allow me to welcome the three of you to Equestria, your new home!" she cheered, and the audience immediately burst out in robust laughter, including Luna, who held a ladylike hoof up to hide her mouth.
York's eyes were now drilling a hole in the two princesses. Celestia sighed as the laughter died down and nodded slowly. "All right, all right. I understand this is important to your superiors, Major York. I will summon whatever newfoal legal counsel I can find and review our records of Rockheart's activities, both as a human and as a pony. We will hold a hearing here at the palace in one week's time to determine whether or not Rockheart will be extradited back to Earth."
"One week ? We already spent yesterday and last night in the palace waiting for this time with you." York looked back over his shoulder at the two enlisted ponies standing with the chamberlain, then back to the princesses. "What are we supposed to do in the meantime?"
Celestia gave a genuine, warm smile, and the three visitors felt a wonderful, tingling shudder run through them. "My advice would be to enjoy Equestria and what she has to offer... or would that be 'Sequestria' for you three?" Another swell of chuckling from the crowd. Celestia's eyes twinkled and she looked over to Luna. "Any thoughts, my sister?"
Luna smiled, but Celestia saw that it was backed with the faintest hint of weakness. "I already have something in mind for each of them," she said. "These poor souls have been converted, but they obviously have not yet had the opportunity to live as ponies. Perhaps that could be remedied."
"I will leave it in your hooves, then," said Celestia with a nod. "Who knows, our guests may find they wish to be done with this whole sordid business and just stay here with the friends they're about to make!"
"Are you saying we're disloyal?" piped up Cooper angrily from her spot next to Red Carpet, who winced.
"Not at all, my little pony!" called out Celestia to her. "Though it couldn't hurt to get a head start here, right? I should hope you consider Equestria your destiny, when all is said and done."
"Yeah, well, there's still quite a bit to be said and done yet," said York.
"On that," said Celestia, "we agree. That will be all on the matter for now."
York turned his back to Celestia—again not bowing—and as he passed Red Carpet, she fell into step next to him, with the two enlisted ponies falling in behind him. The three newfoals exited the throne room, and as two brown-coated earth-ponies of the Palace Watch escorted them to Princess Luna's study, they could hear the chamberlain announcing the next pony who had queued up for an audience.
* * *
Inkwell was Princess Luna's personal assistant, and the hapless young jet-black unicorn was struggling to keep pace with her long-legged employer as she strode fiercely through the palace corridors.
"Those three from Dawn Court—you know the ones I mean—I want them in separate quarters and under Palace-Watch escort at all times while out of their rooms," said the Moon. "No conferring amongst themselves, no leaving the palace grounds, and, most importantly, no snooping about. Keep the cage gilt, of course; see that they are comfortable and want for nothing."
Inkwell was scribbling away furiously with a quill on paper as she walked, both kept aloft with her seafoam-green magic. She flipped her sandy-beige mane out of the way of her small half-moon glasses and let out a breath. It was enough of a feat keeping up with Her Royal Highness when she had her dander up, but keeping up that walking pace combined with the concentration needed for writing magically was a trial!
"They probably won't like that, Your Royal Highness."
Luna snorted and let out a single, bitter laugh. "Not half as much as I dislike having one of our guardsponies dragged back to Earth on human business, I guarantee it!" She stopped suddenly (with Inkwell almost slamming into her backside) to lower her head and take a few sips of water from a chattering bronze fountain set into the wall.
"Besides," she said after finishing, "it shall only be for the remainder of the day. I intend to have those three out in Equestria and getting themselves some much-needed perspective by tomorrow morning."
Inkwell was taking this opportunity to catch her breath and review her notes so far. "Perspective, Your Royal Highness?"
"Verily, my dear assistant. Rare is it that newfoals come to Equestria and then return to Earth. We must see the opportunities in everything, even in unfortunate occasions such as this. Mayhap they shall share tales of their experiences here to their comrades and seed the desire to convert. You know as rumors go."
The Goddess of the Moon trotted over to a large, open-air window in the corridor and put her forehooves on the sill. Stretching her long, graceful neck outside, she called out in her royal Canterlot voice: "Sky Watch, to me!"
The Sky Watch was the pegasus branch of the Royal Guard, and their members bore coats of pure white with armor made out of brass, polished to resemble the luster of gold. It took but seconds for a pegasus guard to streak through the air and hover before her princess, bowing her head low in mid-air.
"Ah, Sunray! Summon two others and ascend forthwith to the observatory balcony, I pray you," ordered Luna.
"As you have commanded, Your Royal Highness," said the guard, who took off like a shot.
Luna resumed her brisk pace again, nobles and guardsponies alike scrambling out of her way as she marched out of the palace proper and into the quieter keep behind the main palace known as the Sanctum. The public record room was housed there, as were the study rooms, the observatory spire, and the personal chambers and studies of the Sun and Moon. As they crossed into the Sanctum, the ponies of the Royal Guard shifted from the brown, steel-clad earth-ponies of the Palace Watch to the dark-gray, silver-clad unicorns of the Sanctum Watch. The locks there were magical, and only the Sanctum Watch and the princesses could lock and unlock secured spaces in the Sanctum.
Luna ascended the observatory spire with Inkwell puffing along in her wake, and at last, blinding sunlight burst forth through the threshold that led onto the balcony. The Sanctum's observatory was the second-highest point in Equestria behind the mountain summit upon which the palace had been built. The huge, ornate telescope was the balcony's main feature, but today it was accompanied by three Sky-Watch pegasi, already standing abreast and at attention for their ruler.
The princess addressed them each in turn. "Sunray, to Sweet Apple Acres, and request they prepare to put up a newfoal earth-pony with lodging and daily duties. Updraft, to The Armoire at Prance Plaza, and tell them to make room for a newfoal in their schedule. Cloudveil, to the magic kindergarten down on Steeple Street, and see that they have a desk ready for a special guest visiting the little ones. Please return their confirmation by nightfall."
"Yes, Your Royal Highness!" cried Sunray with a salute of the hoof. With a whoosh and a few stray white feathers drifting to the balcony floor, the three pegasi sped on their way to their respective assignments.
Princess Luna sat down hard on the floor, looking rather pleased with herself. "There now! That takes care of that." She looked to her assistant. "Inkwell, please reserve three chariots for this evening. Let us get these... future subjects... out of our manes as soon as possible so that we might investigate Rockheart in peace, yes?"
At that, Inkwell smiled.
* * *
Pence Pocket had been a teenaged girl on the streets of Lyon, made homeless by the unrelenting advance of the Barrier east through Europe. She was now a baroness, and Princess Celestia's mare-in-waiting.
In her final days of humanity, she had been desperately trying to beg rides getting her closer and closer to the Bureau in Geneva, which had been the nearest one left at that point for any human still stuck in southeast France. During one of her many, many sweeps of the Barrier's danger zone, Princess Celestia had found her in the empty city, doubled over from hunger. She had wasted no time, teleporting the girl personally to the Geneva Bureau and politely requesting of the humans there if anyone would be willing to defer their conversion to a later time for her sake. The only problem then had been which human would receive the honor of fulfilling her request.
When the girl had been converted and had completed her Bureau education, Celestia had again arrived to personally check on her. The girl prostrated herself before the princess and kissed her hoof unbidden. She asked that she be allowed to serve Her Royal Highness—directly—for the rest of her life. Celestia had agreed, and she asked Pence Pocket for her human name. The young earth-pony mare with the copper coat and the golden mane would not give it. Celestia had smiled, and she never asked again.
The Goddess of the Sun hadn't realized just how much she'd needed a pony to simply confide in and speak plainly with. Sure, there was her younger sister or her personal student, but both of them still saw her only as a princess and goddess first, a friend second, despite uncountable assurances to the contrary from their own lips. It was a subconscious social barrier, one that familiarity itself couldn't break down. It had taken a newfoal, one who had not been raised in the trappings of pony social order, to truly be the presence Celestia needed in her life.
There was no better illustration of this than the fact that Pence Pocket was one of the few ponies who ever got to see Her Royal Highness without her gold regalia on. When Celestia was alone with her, there in her dimly-lit study in the Sanctum, she really could pretend that she was just another pony, letting out all of the frustration, anxiety, anger, and other uncouth emotions she couldn't have on display at court and in the public eye.
"It's the PER, I know it," fumed the most powerful creature in existence as she lay on her side with Pence Pocket running a stiff-bristled brush gently through her glowing mane. Celestia's otherworldly hair hardly needed brushing, but being groomed was as pleasant and relaxing an experience for her as it was for anypony else. "The tainted potion they insist on making is getting captured and used by governments now."
"We never had to worry much about PER where I was," said Pence Pocket. "There wasn't much there for them to do, so they didn't bother." Newfoals all had a strange, endearing accent when speaking Ponese, but there was something about the layered accents of languages like French and Hindi that made it even more pleasant. Inwardly, Celestia was looking forward to hearing the various newfoal accents spread across the generations to come. She'd already noted that some of the Canterlot elite had already taken to imitating newfoal manners of speech that they found particularly pleasing to the ear.
"How do you know that it was tainted potion they took, Celestia?" asked Pence Pocket. It had been established early on that the mare-in-waiting was not to style her as a princess while in private.
"I cannot recall their conversion dreams," she replied. "Also, such newfoals always have a... a look about them. A hardness in their eyes, like an adult who was never hugged as a child." She sighed under the gentle pressure of the brush on her scalp and neck.
"Are they dangerous, do you think?"
Celestia looked over at the granite fireplace. It was far too warm outside for it to be lit, but she found the crackling and popping of a good fire to be quite soothing too. She recalled Luna's haunted expression after the newfoal soldiers were announced.
"I, personally, have no reason to believe so. Still, I feel it would be best to keep Rockheart under guard until the hearing. I am no fool; in most human militaries, the penalty for desertion is death."
Pence Pocket's brush nearly fell from her mouth. "You would not give up a guardspony for death , would you, Celestia?"
The princess turned her neck about and gave the baroness a sad smile. "The charges leveled at Rockheart, if they are legitimate, predate his service with me," she said. "I would want humans to respect my own rule of law if they could visit Equestria, so it is only fair I do the same for them on Earth. It is why I'm having a hearing: to determine if there really are grounds for extradition."
The copper mare thought for a moment. "I suppose we are lucky, in a way," she said. "If Rockheart wasn't with the Royal Guard, they may have just snatched him from his home!"
The sentiment, while meant to buoy Celestia's mood, only set her to wondering if that wasn't already happening out in her realm. She quickly changed the subject; she didn't want to be a goddess again until Dusk Court at the very least.
"Speaking of guardsponies," she said, "has Fulcrum yet pulled his handsome head from his well-sculpted ass and picked up on the hints you've been dropping him?"
Pence Pocket giggled and blushed, dropping the brush from her mouth and jabbing Celestia's barrel gently. "Celestia!" she cried.
The goddess laughed, and every baby foal within a hundred miles laughed spontaneously with her. "I could give him an order, you know. 'Date my mare-in-waiting or get put on bread-and-water rations until you come to your senses!' I bet he'd clean up nice if you got that armor off him and got him into something gentlecoltly. Or if you just wanted to stop at getting the armor off him, I'm sure I could arrange for—"
"Celestia, enough!" squealed Pence Pocket through her giggles. Celestia rolled over to nuzzle her friend and join her in laughter. For those few moments, Equestria only had one princess.
* * *
Specialist Cooper fumed at the doorway leading out of her room, which was currently being blocked by two large, muscular brown guards with unwavering gazes. She hadn't exactly been the tallest person back when she'd been human, but she certainly would have had the size advantage on these two meatheads. You had to have a bit of scrap in you to rate as an MP anyway, but with none of her old resources available here, she felt helpless and hated it.
"Why're we being treated like criminals? Why can't I talk to Sergeant Fells or Major York?"
"We have proper holding cells for criminals here at the palace, and you aren't there," grunted one of the guards. "Ergo, you aren't being treated like criminals."
"You should take this time to prepare for your sequestration, miss," said the other. "If you would like a meal or a walk amongst the palace grounds, it will be granted to you."
Cooper clenched her teeth, and she felt her horn itch again. "Gah, just... just fuckin' leave me alone, all right? That's what I want right now."
The huge guards dipped their heads and took a single step back away from the doorway. "We will be right outside the door," said one, and his tone carried both reassurance and warning. The other guard drew the door closed, and then all was quiet.
Specialist Cooper let out a frustrated sigh, and she felt her ears droop. God. Her body wasn't going to let her forget she was a pony now, was it? The stupid horn on her head itched like crazy every couple of hours and her ears were just all over the place, swerving to listen to every little thing. She'd tried scratching her horn with her hooves, but putting any kind of pressure on the horn elicited a vague uncomfortable feeling deeper in her head, like wiggling a loose tooth.
She sauntered over to the full-length mirror next to the mahogany dresser and looked at herself. She'd been a pony for two weeks and still couldn't get used to looking and feeling like one. She'd just taken the potion, blacked out, and the next thing she knew she was stumbling around on her new stubby legs while medical techs helped to steady her. Her coat was such an ugly orange, too, she'd decided—the color of an old road cone. Her mane was a deep green, so all in all she thought she looked like a walking carrot. Her tail had a mind of its own. And that god-damned itch in her horn!
Cooper frowned at her reflection, who obligingly returned it. She should never have volunteered for this. She wanted her human body back.
* * *
Staff Sergeant Fells was getting tired of all these ponies pointing out how big his wings were.
They seemed envious, or at least alluded to the notion that he should feel grateful, but since he had no frame of reference, he didn't much care. He couldn't even figure out how to use the damn things. They just sort of sat there in place, folded up. He could unfold them, but only with a level of focus that seemed to preclude flying in the first place. As soon as he relaxed the muscles, they just folded right back up anyway, snug against his torso, like how fingers curl when relaxing one's hand.
Flight would be neat, but it was a crutch he didn't have to lean on. Besides, it was unnecessary for the remainder of his stay anyhow. All he had to do was keep his head down and his mouth shut and get back to Earth as soon as possible.
He felt sorry for Webster, in his own way. Poor guy probably thought there was no way he'd be pursued through the Barrier, but there were still battles being fought Earthside, and with battles came spoils. Very interesting spoils, at times.
Fells paced over to the mirror and looked into it with a grim smile. The three longest pinions on his sage-green wings reached back to just past his tail... while folded. The humans back home who didn't want to get converted weren't holding out much hope, at this point, but he had more hope than most.
Improvise, adapt, and overcome, as the jarheads liked to say.
* * *
Major York didn't need to be told twice to stay in his room; he needed time to review the notes on the Webster case. JAG officers were in short supply these days, and he had the suspicion that he would be the prosecuting attorney once they were all back at Lewis.
Celestia didn't like them being there, that much was plain. If he'd had more time, he could have better explained the consequences for refusing to extradite Webster, but if she was going to use red tape to her advantage and hold a hearing, he might be able to paint a better picture for them there. It was probably for the best, he decided. A pony peanut gallery had been there at that morning's court, and he didn't want to scare the public unnecessarily. The dark-coated princess in particular had seemed on edge.
Still, most of the US's political body was gone, and the people who had plugged the power vacuum weren't the soft-bellied, kickback-obsessed civilian family-men Her Royal Highness had gotten used to dealing with in the early days. They were true believers, given neither to bluffing nor to being intimidated. York felt that, while he was here, it fell to him to do all he could to make her see that.
He was loyal to his birth country, sure, but he didn't want to see this get ugly.
Foam. Foam. Chuck was looking for Foam. The brown pony had been very specific about the name, and it stuck in the man's head as he drove north along 485.
The PER headquarters that Joan used to operate out of was in a mall about ten miles north of Charlotte. Chuck had never been there before, so he didn't know what kind of security the place had, but he figured it couldn't be too tight. Charlotte had given up the ghost, and it was no longer the front lines. Only the Railroad and the more zealous HLF crazies would be operating within this area, and neither of them had any cause to be interested in Chuck. Even the PER would be looking to move their personnel and stock further west, so now really was the best time to get in some petty larceny.
It was a nice, breezy day, and Chuck had wanted to bicycle, but the brown pony had told him to hurry, so he'd stolen some dead-or-converted soul's car instead. That's right. The pony had said others were after his quarry too. Just how many people had this Rockheart guy pissed off? Chuck shook his head clear. Didn't matter. He had to get to him first, and that was all there was to it. If he denied someone else their revenge, well, they could take it up with him. Smack him around a bit, even kill him if that's what it took to give them satisfaction.
He'd already decided he didn't care what happened to himself. He'd do Confucious proud and gladly dig two graves, just as long as the one next to his got filled first. The idea of living out the rest of his life without Joan didn't seem all that appealing anyway.
Chuck stopped the car a half-mile from the mall. He knew better than to drive straight up to the food-court entrance and park at the curb. The PER was the PER, after all, and they'd slather him in potion on sight. Hell, the only reason Joan could be convinced not to do it herself was because of Chuck's job as a pharmacy tech. Lots of people, even pony-friendly ones, weren't exactly comfortable getting their medications from a pony, and funny enough it was because of fear of PER infiltration, doling out the perfect drug, the cure-all, the last word in pharmaceuticals. Joan had gotten excited—visibly excited, at times, thanks to her wings—at the idea of pushing potion through Chuck, but he'd been adamantly opposed to that. He was an honest man, and had wanted no part in underhanded tactics like those.
He smirked mirthlessly as he crept towards a PER stronghold to swipe tainted potion in order to pursue his agenda of vengeance. The irony was not lost on him.
The parking lot was open ground, so Chuck stopped in the landscaped shrubbery separating the mall from the highway. He couldn't see any watch posted on the roof or at the doors. No pegasi in the sky, either. Either the PER was even more lax than he'd thought or they'd already moved on. He hoped it was the former. Chuck's inner tactician told him it would be prudent to wait for nightfall, but the pony had said to hurry. It looked clear enough, anyway.
The approach across the lot to the mall's entrance was nerve-wracking. He was completely without cover, so if he got spotted here, there wasn't much he could do to prevent getting ponified on the spot. As Chuck made a beeline for the nearest wall, he idly wondered what would happen if he did get ponified the wrong way. He'd probably just wind up some blissfully dopey farmhand somewhere, content to weave straw hats and chew on carrots for the rest of his days while his wife's killer got his comeuppance from someone else. Or, at the very worst, Rockheart would simply be left unharmed, left to laugh about how he'd been able to get off scot-free.
Laughing at Chuck, laughing at his wife, laughing forever.
The man took a moment when he reached the wall to flatten himself against it and calm down. He'd worked up his anger again, and that was dangerous. He had to focus right now. There would be time for anger later.
He kept himself pinned to the wall as he scooted along to the nearest entrance, a Kohl's on the south side of the mall. If lookouts did take to the roof, he'd only be spotted if they looked straight down. As for pegasi, well, there wasn't much he could do about pegasi.
Once he'd reached the doors, he peered through the clear glass and saw nobody moving inside. He gently tested the door. It was locked. He flicked his eyes up. The next entrance down was the food court. If anything was open, it'd be that.
Chuck moved along, growing impatient. He stuck to the wall, even when walking through the planters and flowerbeds that buffered the wall from the sidewalk. He arrived at the doors to the food court in short order, just as his heart was starting to pound from the tension.
Checking again with a peek to make sure no PER were immediately on the other side of the glass doors, he tested the handle and found that it was unlocked. Chuck moved into the mall and mantled over the counter of the nearest eatery. Walking through the customer area of the mall was a bad idea until he at least figured out where the PER had concentrated their presence. Besides, the place stank of rotting food.
The man left through the back of the eatery and found himself in the employee corridors that connected to all of the stores' back rooms. The air was stale, and since it lacked the huge skylights of the mall proper, it was only lit by emergency lamps whose light was growing orange and weak from the extended power outage. Chuck headed for the far end of the mall where he could then survey as much of the open area as possible while minimizing the risk of being spotted.
One the way there, however, he caught a snatch of conversation coming through one of the doors that led out to a storefront. Chuck stopped and put his ear to the door, but it was still too muffled. He very carefully turned the knob as far as it would go, pulled the door open a few inches, then slowly returned the knob to its neutral position. He moved to the crack in the door and peered through.
All he could see was the back of a counter, but beyond it in the dimness were racks of clothing that had been picked over by looters. He could hear better, though, and that was what mattered to him.
A female voice, young and fretful: "—got caught up by the HLF. There's no other reason for it to be late."
Another female, this one slightly older-sounding: "It's a human driving and the truck is empty. The HLF'll have no reason to keep him."
"Oh yeah? How many humans do they think should be driving an empty tractor-trailer towards the Barrier?"
"Look, there isn't much we can do from here one way or the other, Sprightly. If worse comes to worst, we'll just have to move west without the potion."
"If we keep waiting here, we're not gonna have much food for a trip."
"Fancy Free is thinking that if we split up into groups of three from here, we could hitch rides with Railroad teams returning from the Barrier. That would get us at least to some Bureaus. There's no way they'd let ponies go hungry. From there we could reconvene at the rendezvous point in Atlanta."
The younger voice giggled quietly. "Could you imagine tagging an entire Railroad team? You could never conceal that much potion in your stuff, but still!"
The older voice chuckled. "If anypony could do it, it'd be Fancy Free." Her voice then lost its mirth. "But seriously, don't try it, Sprightly. They may not be anti-pony like the HLF, but they can get pretty fierce about staying human."
Sprightly sounded bored. "Yeah, yeah, I know."
Chuck knew too.
He waited for the conversation to stop before slinking into the store and craning his neck to look over the counter that was concealing him. The two ponies had walked off, or at the very least weren't within line of sight of the store anymore. He silently moved out to the entrance to the store, getting a glimpse of the mall's open interior. The clopping of a few sets of hooves on the hard floor could be heard. Two were occluded, suggesting they were on the floor below, but another set was clear and quite close. It was probably either Sprightly or the older pony she'd been speaking with.
Chuck leaned out from the store entrance just a little to spot the nearby pony. It was a silvery-blue pegasus mare with a dark navy-blue mane, and she was moving away from him. Good. Chuck risked a sneak out into the main mall area to look over the railing and down at the ground floor.
The PER had pushed several of those annoying mid-mall kiosks out of the way to make room for a massive ammunition-dump of metal mermites stacked in a pyramid and painted an inappropriately festive purple color. One of the mermites had a broad yellow-and-black hazard stripe running around its center and over its top. Bingo. They'd marked the Foam to keep their members from inadvertently taking any out on operations.
Chuck scanned the area surrounding the large stash of potion containers. Ponies of various colors and types were milling around further down the promenade, near the atrium's inactive fountain. The nearest escalators were down by the fountain area, and that place was crawling with ponies. Chuck looked down the mall in the other direction and saw more ponies sitting idle between the next set of escalators and the stash. He realized was actually already as close to the potion as he could get without being spotted.
Well, there was nothing for it, he quickly decided. Chuck sucked in a deep breath, let it out, stood up, put his hands on the railing, and vaulted over to fall to the ground floor, landing on his feet.
Both legs broke immediately, the pain so bad that Chuck's vision blanked out for a moment as his remaining momentum caused him to slam down, coming to rest on his side and dislocating his left shoulder. The noise of the impact echoed through the empty mall, alerting nearly every pony within.
As his eyes struggled to remember how to see, Chuck heard laughter in his mind. Mocking laughter. That one's laughter. His legs alternated between a dull pressure-pain and an intense stabbing-pain in time with his heartbeat. He could only feel the faintest pins-and-needles sensation in his left arm. As light registered with his mind again, color followed, then sharpness. He had landed right next to the mountain of potion, the container of Foam nearly within arm's reach.
As he pulled himself up to a sitting position, he heard a dozen sets of hooves stampeding towards him, accompanied by inarticulate shouts from many adorable voices. His only focus was the hazard-striped mermite, however. The expanding pool of blood under his legs helped him to slide himself the remaining distance to the pile, and he reached up for the Foam mermite, sitting there halfway up the pyramid.
As his hands closed around the handle, something warm and wet hit him on the neck. Chuck pulled down hard on the mermite, sending the pyramid of stacked containers landsliding down over him, blocking even the washed-out sunlight from above.
Chuck felt his grip on consciousness fading, being replaced by a soothing comfort, an unseen mother singing him a lullaby. His legs no longer hurt. This was bad. He had to move fast.
His hand was still on the Foam, so he felt up the side of the container and found the latch, flicking it open with his thumb. He heaved up, throwing the lid back and causing the pile of mermites above him to shift violently. His ears barely registered excited, outraged chatter from all around him, as well as the scrape of containers being moved from his temporary cocoon of safety. He dipped his hand into the Foam and was rewarded with more viscous warmth seeping into his arm. He wasn't done yet, though. It was now a race; their potion had the head start, so he had to give his potion the inside track.
His vision was graying, and his neck was now too relaxed to hold his head up. With his last bits of muscle coordination, Chuck cupped his hand and pulled it out of the container and back to his mouth. He slurped up all of the Foam that he could, the whole handful of it, then licked his hand as clean as he could, getting in a couple of final swallows. He had no idea if it would be enough for the Foam to win out.
His last thought before passing out from sedation was the hope that Joan had been right about the PER not killing anybody.
* * *
"Tia, we have a problem."
Celestia looked up from her stack of decrees to see Luna standing at her doorway. She gave her sister a smile. "You know, Luna, if you came to visit me when we didn't have problems, these announcements might bear a bit more surprise!"
Princess Luna walked in, passing Celestia and heading straight for the window. She nosed past the translucent silk drapes and looked at her own beautiful starlit sky. "The night before those three showed up at court, somepony slipped a note through the door of my study telling me they would be there, who they were after, and that they were improperly converted."
Celestia's eyes widened and she stood up. "Truly? Do you know who wrote it?"
Luna shook her head. "T'was only signed 'a friend.' There was more, however. The note went on to say that there is an improperly-converted spy in the Night Watch assigned to keep tabs on how we handle the Rockheart situation." Her ears drooped. "It even gave his name."
The Goddess of the Sun frowned. "The first part was to give the note credence, then," she said. "Have you already apprehended and questioned this allegèd spy?"
"Apprehended, but not yet questioned," said Luna, almost to herself. "I wanted to wait until you knew before I proceeded further." The Goddess of the Moon turned to face her sister, on the verge of tears. "Tia... I hoof-pick my Night Watch... all of them... this spy—if he is a spy—passed right under my nose and I never suspected anything!"
Celestia came to her sister's side and rested her head cheek-to-cheek with Luna. "We must be careful, Luna," she said quietly. "We cannot know for certain if this 'friend' truly is a double agent or if they mean to manipulate us. He or she had to know we would act on the note once the three... let us call them 'transformed'... ponies confirmed what it said through their actions."
Luna steeled herself a bit. Yes. Transformed. Those three soldiers, they hadn't been converted. They were still humans, just in pony bodies, and who knew how many had come through the Barrier just like them? It had to be dealt with.
Celestia continued. "I have a newfoal expert on human law coming in from Fillydelphia to help with the investigation. With our visitors off on their Equestrian holiday, we can determine if there is a case against our guardspony."
Luna looked up into her big sister's eyes. "And if there is, Tia? Will you give him up then?"
"If there is," said Celestia, looking somewhere far away, "then we can only hope their time in Equestria has softened their hearts and opened them up to mercy."
Luna cast her eyes to the floor. "I see," she said. "What about Rockheart in the meantime?"
"I had considered adjusting his duty or placing him under protection," said Celestia, "but, if there are spies about, we couldn't know if we were delivering him straight into the wrong hooves. For now, it would be best that he remains amongst longtime friends and comrades and that he is not aware of all of this mess. I dislike keeping him in the dark, but we cannot make it too obvious that we are reacting to the note."
"We have one advantage, however," said Luna quietly. Celestia's ears perked in her direction.
Luna looked up with a slim smile. "It has been over a thousand years since I last had to interrogate a pony, so there is no way any human spy could know what to expect."
"I'll be there too," said Celestia quickly.
Luna feigned shock. "Why, sister! You still think me capable of harming anypony? He could be innocent, after all!"
"Of course," said Celestia with a small smile of her own. "I just want to see how the master does it."
* * *
Rockheart flopped down on his barracks bed. The brown earth-pony groaned softly and let his eyes roll back in his head.
"Rough night?" asked his buddy Jinx Breaker with a grin from the bed next to him. Like Rockheart—and all of the other ponies of the Palace Watch—Jinx Breaker had the uniform brown coat and dark-brown mane. To the lay observer it was extremely difficult to tell one guardspony apart from another, as the armor was very carefully designed to conceal cutie marks when worn.
"Cherry Pie... tiramisu... peach wine... no money left," grunted the earth-pony.
Jinx snickered. "No money left? So were you naming the dishes you had tonight, or the mares ?" he joked.
Rockheart scowled at him. "Ha ha," he deadpanned. He would have thrown his pillow at his friend if he thought he'd get it back. "Cherry Pie's the only one for me. Once I get in next month's salary, I'm gonna get an anklet and pop the question, I think."
"Boooo!" intoned Jinx. "Man, if you get hitched, then that means you'll have to move out of the barracks and I won't have anypony to torment!"
"That's right, Jinx, it's aaallllll about you ," said Rockheart, trying to hide his smile.
"Darn tootin'."
Rockheart couldn't help but chuckle. Jinx Breaker didn't have it in him to say "damn straight;" he'd told Rockheart when they first met that he was from Appleloosa, and folk out that way minded their Ps and Qs even more than the snobs in Canterlot did.
The young stallion closed his eyes and pictured Cherry Pie, sitting there outside the confectionery place he had just come from—a place that had just been a wee bit too expensive for his guardspony pay. A dollop of cream fell onto her hoof, and she gave him a sultry look as she licked it off...
"Hey, I hear Sergeant Wheatgrass is gonna be away for two weeks to train new recruits!" piped up Jinx.
Suddenly, in Rockheart's mind's eye, the pretty red mare who worked as a candy-striper at the hospital turned into the burly, square-jawed brown stallion who berated him daily for not policing that mane. Even worse, he was still licking cream off of his hoof with the same come-hither gaze that Cherry Pie had had. The hapless guardspony grunted. He couldn't escape the gruff taskmaster of the south wing, even in his fantasies. Of course, his friend hadn't been much help either.
"Ugh. How do you do that, Jinx?" he asked with a sigh.
"It's my special talent, bro!" Jinx snickered, holding a hoof up to his mouth to hide his yawn before laying back down again. "And here I thought newfoals would be tough to mess with."
Rockheart was too tired to banter further. He let out one last, long sigh and closed his eyes.
* * *
"Well howdy, major! I'm Applejack! Welcome t'Sweet Apple Acres!"
York almost lost a foreleg in the hoofshake that followed. He cast a furtive look over his shoulder and mourned the passing of the royal chariot as it disappeared into the night sky. He looked back at his hostess.
Applejack was an orange earth-pony with a blond mane and a notched-brim hat that looked much like the Stetson style from back on Earth. She even had strange small marks of color on her face's coat that approximated the look of freckles. She was wearing possibly the friendliest-looking expression he'd ever seen.
"Thanks, for, uh... for having me," he managed to get out before Applejack mercifully released his hoof.
"Now I know there's some kinda big important-type business that yer bosses back on Earth've put y'all up to, but the princesses have put it t'me and mine t'make sure you get a snootful of good honest Equestrian livin' while yer here, and I'll be bucked if'n that ain't exactly what I'm gonna do!"
This mare certainly was enthusiastic about having a guest. York summoned his best diplomacy. "Er, well, that's quite nice of you, Miss Applejack, but I'd really just be fine if I could focus on what I have comi—"
"First things first, though: we'll get some grub in yer belly and then getcha settled in. We can suss out the chores tomorrow!"
Major York blinked. "Wait... chores?"
* * *
Staff Sergeant Fells gazed up at the quaint wooden sign swinging in the cool nighttime Canterlot breeze. "The Armoire" was a rather unassuming name, and, sure enough, the picture accompanying it, pyrographed right into the sign itself, was a rather ornate wardrobe. The wardrobe had one of its doors slightly open, a painstakingly-rendered sock just barely peeking out.
Sheer was the older pegasus mare standing next to him, a proud smile on her beige face. "It's all thanks to you folks coming from Earth that I got the idea for this place," she said.
"The idea for a clothes store?" asked Fells incredulously. It was hard to tell himself that the clothing he'd seen dozens of ponies wearing during his two days here was purely a development from the worlds colliding.
Sheer's titter turned into a giggle, then a laugh, then a guffaw. "Oh, stars! Her Royal Highness didn't tell you?" She shook her red mane, streaked with silver, to and fro in amusement. "This is a dressclub!"
Fells looked from the sign to her. "A what now, th—oh, shit! One of those ?"
His pegasus hostess grinned and nodded. "Mm hmm. One of those."
He thought back to the dressclub that had popped up in Lakewood, right outside of Fort Lewis. It was called "Lost Luggage" and its theme was ponies going through suitcases on-stage and dressing themselves in whatever they found there. To humans, the concept was incomprehensible and silly, but to anyone visiting the place, there was definitely something else to the vibe. There was nothing overtly sexual happening, but it was obvious that ponies got some kind of weird erotic charge from watching other ponies dress. The performers would move in suggestive ways and give seductive looks. Humans were welcome, but it only took a few minutes for most to get creeped out, leave, and never return. Fells had been no exception.
He let out a breath. "Are you expecting me to... you know..."
Sheer shrugged with her wings. "Well, I certainly can't force you to go on stage, but..." she eyed his wings with a hungry look. "Hoo boy, it's plain as day why Her Royal Highness sent you here."
"You're just putting me up," he said flatly. "That's it."
"If you say so," she said. Then she got an evil glint in her eye. "The room and board isn't free, though, and dressing is good money... just putting that out there."
Fells bit his lower lip.
"You got somewhere else lined up to stay tonight, big boy?"
He recalled his mission, and his resolution to keep his head down and just get home.
* * *
"More tea, Helen?"
Specialist Cooper looked away from the window to shake her head. "Oh, uh... n-no thanks."
Lesson Learned was the kindly middle-aged unicorn who had greeted her. Her house was across the street from the Sharing Smiles Magic Kindergarten, and that was where Cooper had been looking for the past several minutes as her half-empty cup of tea cooled on the table next to her.
There was something about the royal-blue schoolteacher that made Cooper feel very much at ease. When she had asked for her first name, she'd given it without even stopping to think. She had a warm smile and a patient way about her, which Cooper figured was pretty much a necessity for a kindergarten teacher.
"You're nervous, I can tell," said the teacher. "You're afraid the foals will think it's funny that a grown-up unicorn is learning magic alongside them."
To be honest, Cooper hadn't been worried about that—she doubted she could use magic at all—but now that it had been mentioned, she decided to add it to her list. For conversation's sake, she said "Kind of."
"Well, I must say I'm rather disappointed with the Bureaus, letting unicorn newfoals go without even giving them some basic magic lessons!" Lesson levitated the teapot in a pale-yellow glow of magic and poured herself a fresh cup of tea.
"Mine was, well... kind of a rush job," said Cooper, not entirely untruthfully.
Lesson held a hoof up to her mouth, setting the teapot down gently. The glow disappeared. "Oh dear! So it was an emergency conversion! How horrible for you!" She reached out and patted Cooper's neck. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Helen. Some of the quickest studies I've ever seen in magic have been newfoals like you! I think you'll be surprised at what you can do with just a little bit of tutelage! In fact, that school right there was built with donations from a newfoal unicorn just like you! I believe that back on Earth she was a queen or something, and had vast amounts of wealth. Sharing Smiles certainly picked out the right name for herself; you should too, before long, Helen."
The younger mare offered up a smile she didn't feel. "I'm... thinking it'll just come to me. You know, like in a moment of inspiration. That's what I'm waiting on."
Lesson Learned waggled a hoof at her. "Don't wait too long, though, sweetie! You're young, and you should get on with your new life as a pony! It's an unfathomable shame that your world is going away, and all the loss that it must be bringing, but clinging to the past will prevent you from moving towards the future. When it comes to us unicorns, there's no better way to do that than with a bit of magic practice."
Cooper hemmed and hawed in her own thoughts. It couldn't hurt, she figured, and she had to pass the time some way while Rockheart got his Equestrian dose of due process. She thought of something else, then looked back over her shoulder at Lesson Learned.
"Miss, uh... Lesson Learned? I have a question."
The mare's face brightened. "Of course, young lady! How can I help you?"
"Ever since I came to Equestria, my horn has had this kind of... like, every so often, it just—"
"Itches?"
Cooper nodded. Lesson smiled knowingly.
"I know just the thing, Helen." She patted the cushion next to her. "It's something unicorn baby foals get, and apparently newfoals get it too. Come over here and sit down next to me, I'll teach you how to get rid of it."
Mossy Oak poked his head out of the mall security office and looked over to the pale pink unicorn mare waiting just outside.
"Fancy Free, he's coming to."
Fancy Free had timed the intruder's length of unconsciousness at fourteen minutes fifty-two seconds, almost textbook for a proper conversion. Still, he had been after the Foam, and had ingested enough to give her some doubt. If he was still human upstairs, they would have a problem.
Rows of dead monitors lined one wall, looming over the metal folding table that the intruder was strapped down to. A dozen ponies were surrounding him in case his struggles got too violent once he regained self-awareness. Mossy Oak stepped aside once clear of the doorway to let Fancy Free approach the newfoal.
He was a deep forest-green earth-pony now, and his mane was a lustrous ochre. He groaned as he opened bleary eyes, his neck working on instinct to move his head from side to side, shaking the post-conversion funk from his head. She watched his large eyes very closely, waiting to see the spark, the little twinkle of recognition that he was no longer human. She had seen it dozens of times before, by that point.
It came as he first tried to move his legs, and found them bound. His movements slowed, his eyes widened, and he took a deep breath. There it was.
"I'm sorry about this," said Fancy Free, catching his attention as she spoke, "but you were after something you shouldn't have been. If you wanted to be converted, all you had to do was—"
"No, I'm sorry!" yelped the pony before her. "I... I had heard that the PER had a potion that could let me keep my human instincts, and..." He lowered his head, his eyes leaving hers to study the table surface. "I wanted... I wanted revenge on the pony who killed her. She was PER like you all... Raleigh chapter." He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly, a look of agony on his face. "I was so angry..."
Fancy Free arched an eyebrow and shared a glance with the assembled ponies. "This one here... did somepony tag him before he got to the Foam?"
A unicorn stallion took a step forward and nodded. "I did, Fancy. Got him right in the neck, I saw it."
"And the Foam?"
"There were some traces on his hand and the rest of it had spilled out onto the floor. We recovered as much as we could."
The green earth-pony was visibly shaking in his restraints. "I still remember it... fantasizing about what I would do, what I would say to him... but I saw her face—her face—in my mind, and she said there is forgiveness in turn for those who forgive. I felt so small, and the hatred just... it just melted from me. It was like coming in from the cold and eating a big bowl of soup." He had a dreamy, blissful smile on his face.
Fancy Free regarded him for a moment. "If we let you go, what will you do?"
"I'm going to go to Equestria!" he cried. "Joan... no, Merrymaker ... is still dead; there's nothing left for me here. I won't be able to move past it while I stay on Earth. I have to start over. But it feels possible now; it didn't before. I couldn't see it." He smiled sadly.
The pink unicorn sighed and walked over to the green earth-pony. She nuzzled him on the cheek. "Welcome to the herd," she said.
The stallion's name was Chuck, she learned, while some of her ponies put together a saddlebag of provisions for the newfoal to take with him into Equestria. He'd said he didn't know what his pony name should be yet, but that he'd be giving it a good long think while he walked to the Barrier. Fancy Free warned him to stay off of the major roads, as ponies were kill-on-sight to the HLF hardcore that dared to operate so close to the Barrier. Still, it wasn't far, a six-mile walk at most. Odds were that Chuck wouldn't see another soul between leaving the stronghold and arriving in Equestria.
Chuck turned back one last time to wave across the parking lot at Fancy Free and the other ponies who had gathered to send him off. He was grinning fit to burst, and as he turned to start heading east, his grin turned into a smile of contentment. Joan had always talked about her own conversion dream, and how wonderful it had been, the personal messages the princesses had given just for her, and the elation and true understanding she'd felt as soon as she'd woken up.
Thank goodness for that, thought Chuck. He'd sold a conversion, and he'd sold it hard. The ponies back in the mall were probably circle-jerking over it already.
Heh. Morons.
The Barrier was always there, shifting and shimmering between pink and orange, glowing with warmth, beckoning one and all to come into its embrace. About halfway to it, Chuck felt a twinge of guilt for having misled the ponies. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but it was unmistakable. He'd lied. That had been mean of him! Unfriendly, even.
Then it passed. It had been there only a moment, but it had definitely been there.
* * *
A golden dawn broke over Sweet Apple Acres, and Major York was awakened by an honest-to-goodness rooster crowing.
Getting out of bed was still something the newly-minted pony had trouble with. It wasn't as easy as it had been as a human. Instead of sitting up and swinging his legs out, he had to scoot to the edge of the bedside and sort of fall over onto his hooves. He didn't even know if it was the right way to do it, or if there was a right way documented somewhere, but it got the job done.
The thud of his hooves on the bare floorboards of the farmhouse's second story probably did the job of announcing he was awake, so he stumbled over to the window and pulled a curtain back with his mouth. York rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a foreleg, smacked his lips (damn but his morning-breath was bad as a pony), and looked out over the farmlands.
There in the low orange sunlight, the morning dew glittered as though the night sky had fallen to earth while he'd slept, coming to rest on all the blades of grass and stalks of wheat. A thin veil of haze floated over the fields, a leftover telltale of warm crops cooling in the night air. His uncle had owned cornfields in Nebraska, and the sight of Sweet Apple Acres made him recall dormant memories of waking up to mornings just like these when he'd visited his uncle as a kid.
And the air! He remembered that there was nothing like the smell of morning air coming off of crops. He brought his forelegs up onto the windowsill and pushed the window open, nearly falling backwards in the effort but managing to come back down on all fours. A cool, humid breeze floated into the room, puffing up the curtains and caressing his mane. Major York took a deep lungful of it and closed his eyes. Amazing. It was just like what he remembered, even here.
"Good morning, sunshine!" cried Applejack from behind him. York startled, slamming the window shut and spinning around. The mare giggled and scuffed a hoof along the floor.
"Why, major, y'all ain't embarrassed about anythin', are ya? It's okay ta like it here, y'know, I won't take offense, I promise." She gave him a wink and turned around. "Wash up yer face 'n hooves 'n come on down for breakfast. Granny Smith went a little overboard when she learned we had a guest stayin', so I hope yer hungry!" With a flick of her blond tail, she disappeared from the doorway and into the hall. York let out a breath—why had he felt embarrassed?—and walked out of his room, down the hall, and into the bathroom, very careful to take his saddlebags with him.
For all the similarities pony buildings had with human designs, pony washrooms were decidedly alien. Sinks were broad and shallow, the spigot angled out of the way to better manipulate the knobs with the less-dextrous hooves. Toilets were just something you stood over, similar to the squatter toilets popular in Asia, but with a flusher positioned to be stepped on by a hoof. York had had to make do with human facilities for two weeks before arriving here, and he found this much easier to use.
After getting his face and hooves soaped and rinsed, he headed downstairs. At the bottom was Applejack, who gave him another friendly smile before inhaling and bellowing out "Apple Bloom! Rouse yerself! Our guest got down here before you did!"
A girl's voice yelled back from upstairs: "I'm comin', I'm comin', hang on!"
Applejack rolled her eyes and jerked her chin at the door to the kitchen. "Go on in there and set, major. We'll be in soon enough." Her eyes flicked back upstairs. "I think."
York nodded and walked into the kitchen, leaving Applejack to wrangle the young voice that had called from upstairs. The dining area was little more than a large nook attached to the kitchen, with a decent-sized table. Sitting on cushions at the table were a large, muscular red stallion and an elderly green mare with a white mane done up in a bun. The table itself was struggling to hold up an impressive spread of breakfast foods, nearly all of which incorporated apples in some way. Tarts, strudels, jelly, sauce, juice... about the only thing that didn't seem to have apples in it were the flapjacks and the toast.
"Good morning," said York quietly. "Major Calvin York, United States Army."
The old mare stood, and York almost swore her joints audibly creaked. "Well good morning, friend! I'm Granny Smith! The big quiet one over there's named Big Macintosh." The big fellow just nodded once, regarding York with lidded, aloof eyes. "Come on, now, sit!" continued Granny Smith. "Let's get you fed."
York sat down next to Big Macintosh, and gave a smile. "Thank you, Granny Smith," he said. He'd learned in briefings that, like humans, ponies were fond of giving nicknames, but only when the two ponies were familiar. It felt a little awkward to say both parts of a pony's name—kind of like calling a human by their first and last name all the time—but he was in Rome, and he figured he could tough it out for a week.
A set of four hooves rattled down the stairs and burst into the kitchen, carrying with them a pale yellow filly with a bright red mane and huge, adorable eyes. Those eyes came to rest on York, and they lit up. In the next instant, she was seated next to him, looking up at him with amazement and wonder. York offered a weak smile.
"Uh, hello there," he said.
"Apple Bloom, it's rude to stare! Say hi to the feller," said Applejack as she strode in after her. Applejack took the cushion across the table from York and gave the filly a glare.
"Howdy!" piped the filly. "I'm Apple Bloom, Applejack's mah sister and Big Mac's mah brother, and boy am I glad yer here! I tell you what, it's soooo great havin' new ponies around to talk to, 'cause it gets so borin' here on the farm when it's just—"
Breakfast went on like that, with Apple Bloom talking away and York politely getting in answers where he could (though Apple Bloom didn't really seem too concerned with actually getting her questions answered). It would have been annoying, but York quickly saw that there was a persistent, enveloping innocence to the filly that he couldn't get over.
He also ate more than he wanted. Granny Smith had called him "skinny" and admonished him for leaving so much uneaten. York pushed himself, but it still wasn't enough to appease Granny Smith, who was all but tossing tarts after him as Applejack dragged him to safety outside the farmhouse.
Once clear of the old mare's culinary assaults, the cowpony leaned to one side to look at Major York's saddlebag. She wrinkled her nose. "Yeesh! I can smell paperwork from a mile away! Don't suit me none, and frankly I cain't suss how anypony can stand t'be around it. Not my business, though, I reckon, but jes' so we're clear, y'all didn't hafta bring any work witcha; we got plenny of that t'go around right here!"
York blinked. He remembered the night before "Work. Like... farm work."
Applejack reared up and whinnied out a laugh. "It's a farm, I said there's work, so you do the fancy mathematics!"
"I'm... not really sure how much use I would be..."
She sidled up to York and threw a foreleg around his neck. "Nonsense, yer an earth-pony! A setta four legs and a good strong back is all y'need."
He stifled a grumble. "No, that isn't really what I—"
Applejack's eyes widened in realization "Ohh, I getcha! Not all humans do their own farmin', that's right. T'ain't as bad as y'all might think, major, don't you fret none! Why I wouldn't be surprised if you got your cutie mark after five minutes on the plow!"
"The plow?"
"Eeeyup," said Big Mac, coming behind them from the farmhouse. "Plowin' in the mornin', buckin' in the afternoon. That's fer you. Buckin' in the mornin' and plowin' in the afternoon fer me."
"Enough jaw-jackin', though," said Applejack, "let's getcha tacked up!"
Major York insisted on keeping his saddlebags, even while hooked up to the plow. Applejack found that rather odd, but she chalked it up to some leftover human idiosyncrasy that she had no hope of understanding.
The brick-red stallion stood there at the far end of flat brown field, the soil on the surface shriveled and sun-baked. The plowing tack was secured at his shoulders and hips, compressing his torso firmly, the considerable weight of the plow masterfully distributed across his body. He anticipated the briefing that would come. Shouldn't be hard, he reasoned. Walk in a straight line to the end, lift the blades free, turn around, and do it again.
"Tell me, major," asked Applejack, "what makes you happy?"
York hadn't been expecting that. He turned to look at her, taking his focus off of the field. "Huh?"
Applejack returned the look with a warm smile. "Pleasure. Contentment. Joyful feelin's. What makes yer heart go all mooshy an' wanna sing out?"
Major York looked away for several moments before speaking. "I'm not a pony because I want to be," he said. "I'm not even a pony because I don't want to die. I'm a pony because becoming one let me continue to pursue the one thing I have left in my life that that Barrier hasn't taken away from me yet."
He looked at the parched soil under his hooves and idly picked at it with a hoof. "In and out. But it's never that simple, is it? Two weeks ago I was prosecuting HLF members trying to raid arms rooms on Lewis, and now I'm a little colorful horse who's hooked up to a plow on a farm in a different world . Your Celestia must be busting a gut at all of this, isn't she? Set up some circus hoops for the stupid humans to jump through, if they want this guy so bad. Let 'em stew. Yeah?"
Applejack's ears drooped under her hat. "So... what I'm hearin' here is... ain't much makes ya happy?"
"How would you feel if something was swallowing up Equestria and you had to leave it forever? How would you feel if everything you'd worked hard for was taken away? How would you feel if you watched everyone around you just give up and take the easy way out, clean slate, no responsibility, no consequences? Would you feel happy?"
The major lifted his head. "I'm not here because I like plowing fields, Applejack, or because I like checking my dignity at the door and accepting royally-mandated retreats. I'm a professional. Duty is the one thing I have left, and it's the only reason I'm here. I'm going to hold onto it until Earth is completely gone, and when it's gone, I won't have any regrets."
He saw Applejack's distraught frown and tried to lighten the mood with a weak smile. "This is a nice place, Equestria. It's beautiful and tranquil and everyone I've met has been genuinely nice to me. But we haven't earned it. I want to earn it."
Applejack pursed her lips. "Get plowin', there, major," she said. "We'll walk 'n talk. Burnin' daylight."
York kicked the lever on the plow with his hind leg, dropping the blades into the dry soil. He took a step forward, and the plow protested, staying in place. He gritted his teeth and lurched, and the plow grudgingly began to inch forward. York grunted. This was going to be torturous.
The orange mare walked alongside him at his snail's pace. She shook her head slowly. "Ya cain't," she said plainly.
"Beg pardon?"
"Ya cain't earn this place, major. Ya think us ponies did? It was a gift to us just like it's a gift to you now. A gift from them , the Sun and the Moon. Cain't nopony flesh and blood earn a place like Equestria, an' they don't have to."
York blinked. "Why not?" The straps of the tack were digging into his shoulders and back. It wasn't quite painful, but he definitely felt rooted. The sliding and scraping noise of the plow behind him was weirdly soothing.
Applejack reared up and whinnied. "Well, shucks, because it's just their way, major! Philosophers stopped barkin' up that tree a long time ago. They'd ask Their Royal Highnesses 'Why're we here? Whadda y'all want from us?' and Their Royal Highnesses'd just smile and ask if they wanted any tea. Humans seem to got this immovable sense of honor and justice and 'earnin'' everything and feelin' guilty for acceptin' help, like it's a weakness. Pony-folk just cain't cotton to it."
York snorted with effort, and the horselike sound coming from his own body startled him a little. The plow was still moving. "Maybe we humans don't like the idea of you ponies lording Equestria over us, like it's a favor to be repaid. You couldn't do that if we had to earn our place as opposed to you just giving it to us."
Applejack looked ahead and smiled. "There you go again, major, with that 'earn' nonsense. So just how many ponies've you seen gloatin' about this whole worlds-collidin' fiasco? Holdin' it over yer heads, tauntin' ya, makin' ya feel low fer decidin' to come join us?"
Major York said nothing.
"Egg-zactly," said Applejack. "Things ain't gotta be complicated all the time, major! Maybe this 'gift' really is a gift! Maybe ponies're just happy to see that they could help by openin' their homes 'n their hearts 'n their world to a whole other species what fell on hard times. I know it's made me happy, boy howdy. Speakin' of happy, now stop."
York looked up and realized he'd reached the end of the field. It had gone by faster than he thought! He looked back over his shoulder and saw a straight line of tilled soil behind him. The dirt was still dry and pale, but it had been turned.
"You just done plowed a whole row on the south field without a single happy thought in your heart," she said. "Fer an earth-pony, that's sayin' a lot, and I'm the last pony who'd fib to ya 'bout that."
The stallion raised the blades clear of the soil and turned the plow around with Applejack's help. "Now I wantcha to find somethin' in your heart, in your memories that makes ya happy."
"Thanks, but I'm not really here to get therapy, Appl—"
She shook her head emphatically. "This ain't nunna that fancy-prancy therapy hooey! There's a reason for it, I promise!"
"What?"
Applejack patted his back with a hoof. "Jes' trust me, major. I saw ya at the window. I know you got some happiness in there somewhere."
York arched an eyebrow, but he closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. In his mind, he went to his wedding day. He'd lost Glenna and Robbie to a boating accident two years ago—just before the Barrier had first appeared—and the stab of sadness was still there to greet him. His wedding day, however... that had been perfect. The sunlight coming into the church had made Glenna's veil glow like white gold. Her look as he gave his vows was one of pure adoration and love. The five years they had spent together had been absolute joy. Robbie would have been seven now. York thought about how much he'd like it there in Equestria; he'd been even more of an outdoorsman than his dad. He pictured Robbie playing with Apple Bloom, running with her through the market streets of the town he'd flown over last night. He pictured Glenna still there with him, living on, asking the princesses why they had helped humanity, then getting only a secretive smile and an offer of tea in return.
He felt as though it should make him sad, but it didn't. It felt good and hopeful.
York felt his hooves sink into the bare soil beneath them. He felt the grit through his hooves, the individual small rocks and the thirsty dust and the shriveled ribbons of clay. He was sinking, though, definitely... if only a little. The earth was happy for him; some tickle in the back of his mind was speaking its language and translating. It was giving him a little hug.
He opened his eyes to see Applejack's beaming face. "Have a gander, major," she said quietly.
York looked down and saw that the soil had darkened beneath him, spreading out a few feet in all directions, and his hooves had sunk an inch or two into its now-rich, yielding surface.
"If you soften your heart, the earth softens with ya," said Applejack. "Farmin' ain't toil for an earth-pony with a glad heart." She rested a hoof on his neck. "Try plowin' now. Hold onto the happiness."
He moved forward, keeping his departed family in his mind. Now it was like moving the plow through warm butter. Aside from the compression of the tack, he hardly felt the tug of the blades at all. He just walked forward, letting the sun warm his face and the fresh morning smells fill his nose, and in an instant, another row was plowed.
"Whew-ee!" cried Applejack, galloping up next to him. "You took off like a dog that just got skunked! You tryin' ta prove somethin', newfoal?"
York laughed before he even realized he might. "Sorry, I just kind of zoned out there."
She nodded, knowing the feeling. "Don't be ashamed none; happens to me too," she said. "But there ain't no rushin' needed neither. We like to take things slow here, Major Calvin York of the Yoo-nited States Army. Workin' the soil, plantin' the crops, makin' food spring up... slow is better. The earth likes it slow. There's plenny a' time, and more'n you might think. Always will be."
York nodded, kicked up the plow, and turned around for the next row. He could feel his saddlebags rubbing against his barrel, strapped in place by the tack, reminding him of his ultimate purpose.
Celestia's cool look when he'd first entered her court flashed across his mind. She knew what he was and what had transpired to make him, and she hadn't liked it. Luna was the one who had sent him here, to be among ponies loyal to the Crown. They were nice, these Apples, but he couldn't let his guard down. Keeping his saddlebags with him had definitely been the right choice.
* * *
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with Their Royal Highnesses on such short notice," Inkwell said to Gavel as she led him to the Sanctum. She lowered her voice to a whisper to prevent eavesdropping as they moved through the sunlit marble corridors. "As if this whole Rockheart business wasn't bad enough, now there's suspicion of spies in Princess Luna's elite regiment!"
The gray earth-pony followed her with a smart step, but inwardly his stomach was doing turns. He wasn't sure if he would be able to give Their Royal Highnesses the support needed to deal with an inter-world affair such as this. It seemed too big, too sweeping. Besides, even as a human, it had been six years since he'd last given legal counsel. He'd always felt that he'd been better on the floor of the Senate than on the floor of a courtroom. Still, Their Royal Highnesses had been everything that the Equestrians working at the Bureau said they'd be and more. If there was even a chance that his skills and experience would be of use to the Crown, then he would answer.
Pence Pocket was pacing and fretting outside of the guarded door where the suspected spy was being held. When she saw Inkwell and the newfoal approaching, she sighed with relief and rushed up to them, throwing her forelegs around Gavel in an unexpected hug.
"Gavel, welcome, and thank harmony you're here!" she sighed. "They're waiting inside."
"We will see to your wife and son's comfort, while here," said Inkwell. "Do not worry."
The older earth-pony blinked as Pence Pocket withdrew from the hug. "Th-thank you," he stammered out to both of them. The two Sanctum guards nodded once to him, and the guard on the right opened the door with his magic. Gavel stepped into the interrogation room, leaving Inkwell and Pence Pocket to fret over their benefactors together.
The "interrogation room" was actually just one of the quiet rooms used by students and researchers for studying the books and scrolls of the Sanctum library. As Gavel entered, he was surprised to find that the suspect was still in the magically-altered appearance of the Night Watch. Princess Luna's personal guard detail was chosen on an individual basis for their dedication, cunning, and discretion. They were afforded a more fearsome appearance than their counterparts, with yellow cat's eyes, bat-like wings, and tufted ears. Together, it gave a predatorial edge to their looks. Their actual duties under Her Royal Highness's command were a well-kept secret, even from the other branches of the Royal Guard. To accept a billet with the Night Watch was to willingly swear to serve via the unknown.
Luna turned to make eye contact with Gavel, but Celestia stayed focused on the suspect. The Night-Watch pony was not bound in any way, though the presence of both the Sun and the Moon in the room made quite inadvisable any attempts to escape or be hostile.
"Gavel," said Luna. "Now that you are here, we may proceed with questioning." She turned to the slate-gray guard, who eyed Gavel with those eerie, discomforting eyes.
"Carbide Tip, you are being held under suspicion of espionage," said Celestia firmly. Gavel noted that she was careful to keep anger or judgment out of her voice. Innocent until proven guilty. "We are going to ask you a few questions, and I recommend you answer them truthfully. Luna and I will know, quite easily, if you are lying."
"Suits me fine," said Carbide Tip in a gravelly voice. His manner was oily, self-assured, unrepentant. He certainly didn't seem concerned with coming across as innocent. "I've got nothing to hide." He cocked his head a little. "Am I lying there ?"
They both ignored the remark. "Are you a newfoal?" asked Luna.
"I am," said Carbide Tip, smiling at her.
"What was your human name and where were you ponified?"
"Peter McRae, Fort Huachuca, Arizona."
Celestia frowned. "He speaks the truth, but the nearest Conversion Bureau is in Tucson."
Luna leaned in towards the guard. "Are you then saying that you were illegally ponified?"
Carbide Tip shrugged. "Illegal by whose standards? Your laws don't reach into Earth, much as you might want them to. But no, I didn't go to any Conversion Bureau, if that's what you mean."
Gavel took a step forward, and the slitted pupils shot over to him again. "Fort Huachuca is a military installation," he told the princesses. "Carbide Tip—"
"You ," said the guard, "call me Peter. I can smell a former human from a mile away."
He cleared his throat. "Peter... are you currently serving under the remnant command of the United States military?"
Carbide Tip's mouth split into a grin. "No." He looked to Celestia expectantly.
Celestia nodded. "I see. Who, then? Who are you working for?"
His grin only widened. "Special Activities Division, Ground Branch, Group Noble," he said. He flicked his eyes to Gavel and was rewarded with the sight of his fellow newfoal's eyes widening and ears drooping.
Gavel swallowed and walked closer to Celestia. "Did he just tell the truth?" he whispered.
Celestia looked down at her counsel's face, and the sight of it made her uneasy. "Yes," she said slowly.
Gavel stormed up to Carbide Tip so quickly and forcefully that Luna thought for a moment she would have to hold him back. Being an earth-pony, Gavel was slightly taller than the other newfoal, and he tried his best to loom menacingly over him.
"What is your mission here, Peter?" he shouted into his face. "What are you meant to be doing?"
The Night-Watch pony's tufted ears instinctively went back against his skull. "My orders were to join the Night Watch, monitor how you handle the dispute over Rockheart, and await further instructions," he said with a smirk. "Go on, Your Royal Highness, tell him I'm right."
Celestia's brow knit. "That's it?"
He shrugged again. "That's it."
Gavel turned and looked between the two princesses. "I need to talk to both of you outside, right now."
Carbide Tip began to chuckle.
On the other side of the door, out in the hallway, Gavel pulled the two goddesses to the far side of the corridor, away from Inkwell, Pence Pocket, and the door guards. The two mares tried to get in close, but a sad shake of the head from Luna told them to stay out of earshot.
The two tall alicorns dipped their heads low so that Gavel could whisper to them.
The former Senator swallowed once before speaking. "Special Activities Division. Ground Branch . Holy shit, this is bad." He bit his bottom lip.
Luna's voice was gentle. "Gavel, sir?"
He snapped out of it. "That guy is CIA ."
"I've heard of it before," said Celestia. "It is the United States's spy agency, correct?"
"The CIA is more than just spies," said Gavel. "Ground Branch is something... special. There are... or there were , rather... many different elite military units that the US had: Army Delta Force, Marine Force Recon, Navy SEALs, Air Force Pararescue... all trained to operate in conditions and do things that would give an Equestrian pony nightmares. Ground Branch recruits from units like those. The hardest of the hardcore. The CIA's private troops."
"I do not like the sound of that," said Luna. Gavel managed a wispy, bitter chuckle.
"There's only a little bit left that I think he can tell us," he said.
The two princesses followed him back into the interrogation room. Gavel fixed the spy with the hardest gaze he could muster, and received only a cool indifference in return.
"You said you're operating in a group named 'Noble.' What is your callsign?" he demanded. "How many of you are there operating in Equestria?"
"Callsign 'Argon,' and as for how many are here, I have no fuckin' clue." He smiled. "For all I know, I could be the only one." His yellow eyes twinkled as he looked to Princess Luna. "I doubt it, though, seeing as you're here talking to me. You have your elements, we have ours."
Gavel took a step back from Carbide Tip. The outed spy sucked on a tooth.
"So," he asked with a casual interest, "when's my execution?"
They left him there in the room. Gavel let out a shaky breath. Inkwell and Pence Pocket grew anxious as soon as they saw how whatever they'd learned had affected the newfoal.
"A Ground-Branch team in Equestria," he breathed. "Jesus Christ." Celestia and Luna stood there silently. They still didn't understand all that well, but the newfoal before them, once a member of the United States government, was visibly shaken. That was enough for the gist of it.
Luna growled and spun to face her assistant.
"Inkwell! Have the royal archivist pull the Conversion Bureau records for all newfoals serving in the Royal Guard. Assemble a team of native Equestrian ponies who have worked at Conversion Bureaus in the past to review the records for inconsistencies. We have to know how many potentially 'transformed' humans we're dealing with here."
Gavel looked to the princesses, worry creasing his face. "Your Royal Highnesses," he said, "you two raise the sun and the moon. You've lived longer than anything else that breathes, and your power is beyond mortal comprehension. I know all of this. So, in light of that, please believe me when I say that you can not handle these guys."