The Broken Toy

Chapters

Prologue
Chapter 01
Chapter 02
Chapter 03
Chapter 04
Chapter 05
Chapter 06
Chapter 07
Chapter 08
Chapter 09
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14

Prologue

Author's Note

I thank my friend and co-author, BlaadwinDufo, who accompanied me
on my journey through this dark world. His help was invaluable.

I sincerely thank my dear Nefrit for her support. Without it I would go clinically insane.

I thank our text editor, DrSchmallhausen, who accepted the challenge
to revise this book and tried hard to show us the light of logic.

I thank LegendsOfFost, who wrote poetry for this novel.

I also thank Ololosha, gor1ck, Kaajuss, BadDay and Mickeymonster.

The text of the novel carries an excerpt of the
«Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came» by Robert Browning.

There also are excerpts of the «Alicorn Curse» by ULTRAMARINE.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons is purely intentional.

DarkKnight

Prologue

The end of the 21st century was quite eventful for mankind. Cascades of local conflicts that together could be considered as one world war, economic crises, environmental disasters, mutated viruses, and other blessings of civilized society reaped billions of lives.

It also brought a technological breakthrough in developed countries, where blase citizens, unwilling to leave the cozy nests of their prosperous cities, preferred to close their eyes to everything that happened beyond their technological heavens.

Many believe that one of mankind’s greatest achievements of the era was the invention of synthets. Many names were given to them: “bio robots”, “synthetic organisms”, “artificial beings”, but “synthets” was the catchy commercial sobriquet.

The point remains: humans learned how to create artificial living beings and to shape them with almost no limitations.

At first, it was thought they would work miracles like ending world hunger. Growing artificial quasi-animals, basically living blobs of meat, seemed to be the obvious solution, but the expense of growing them vastly outweighed their nutritional value. Synthesis of proteins turned out to be a much simpler task than synthesis of protein lifeforms and eliminated the need to kill those lifeforms.

Synthetic body parts that could be built to any specification brought a revolution in medicine, but only for those who could pay for them— and pay a lot.

Artificial humans with the DNA of great scientists, artists, warriors, and athletes never became great themselves.

The breeding of extinct and legendary creatures didn’t show any prospects. Synthets were either infertile or produced weak, hopelessly mutated offspring. The great mystery of life still kept its secrets. And so artificial children never became popular.

At some zoos and parks one could meet mammoth, saber-toothed tiger, tyrannosaurus, diplodocus, dragon, or chimera. But all that was already available in Virtuality, and live beasts in cages couldn’t hold a candle to the spectacle of interactive virtual monsters.

But still, business did not perish.

One enterprising lawyer, Mr. Richard Owens, found that, legally, every synthet was exactly what was stated in its technical certificate: “synthetic bio-product”.

Such "product" could mean no more than a piece of meat from a nearby mall, even if it looked like a human and could talk.

The bureaucratic machinery of international law failed to react in time. New business flourished. Philistines, wearied of dreams of Virtuality; businessmen, seeking a pliant workforce; armies, searching for perfect soldiers — everyone appreciated the innovation.

Of course there were protests against the “neo-slavery”. Of course they were ignored. With huge amounts of money at stake, ethical values could be swiftly shifted to the background.

The entertainment industry gained a whole new trend, where EVERYTHING was possible.

Want to hunt some “real monsters”? Make barbeque of dinosaur, dragon, or even human you killed? Grab your gun and have some fun!

Or maybe you want to feel like a Roman patrician and stuff your house with obedient living slaves? Or arrange a gladiator arena with fights to the death? Or train your own dragon to ride?

Do you want the girlfriend of your dreams? Or maybe a boyfriend? Your own character from a movie, a video game, or the pages of the book? Voila! Just describe the appearance and character traits.

Everything is possible. No problems. Just pay.

There could be some hitches with characters played by real persons. Most of the actors or their right-holding successors opposed the possibility of cloning their images. After a series of lawsuits, Mr. Owens’s growing company made concessions and stopped copying real persons. Until the legal problems were solved, anyway. But by then the craze for celebrity doppelgangers had already faded into the past.

It had been a long time since anyone would give a second glance to a dinosaur-drawn carriage riding down the street, driven by an elven coachman. Or to a dragon with a palanquin on its back, flying through the traffic of airmobiles.

There were even restaurants and hotels where all staff was property of the owners.

Soldiers needed no pensions, insurance, or wages anymore, only orders and basic maintenance.

Dwarves and goblins, “aliens” and “superheroes” appeared on the city streets. People tattooed with brand logos. People that had no real parents. People that were not considered humans by the law.

And characters from old TV shows have found flesh and blood... and masters.

Chapter 01

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Chapter 02

The User Manual was creatively entitled:

‘My Little Pony’ © Hasbro.
Sapient Educable Synthet model OBE 01106-18-49
‘Lyra Heartstrings’, unicorn mare, mature.
Behavioral software version EQ 3.4.1

Well, Vic thought, it’s relatively understandable. “Sapient educable” meant the synthet could perceive information from the outside world, store and process it beside the base behavioral program, and talk. “Mature” meant the synthet had already passed its infancy and period of growth.

OBE meant “Owens’ Biosynthetic Engineering”, the company everyone associated with bioengineering itself. The company that had recreated “Hasbro” and many other remnants of the past as IP-holding subdivisions.

The numbers probably meant something too, but Vic, like every end user, ignored them completely.

The “EQ” index in the version of the program meant the pony would consider itself an Equestria-born that came to Earth. Bronies usually bought “Equestrian” ponies: Vic was told it was more interesting and entertaining that way. Somewhere in the User Manual were the approved “explanations” why ponies on Earth have “twins”. Actually, there was a whole chapter containing the standard answers to the common pony questions helped to prevent glitches in synthets’ behavioral software.

At first, when a “Hasbro Synthets” catalogue fell into Victor Stewart’s hands, he decided to buy a character from the “My Little Pony” TV show, which among the others found a second life and a fandom after a century of oblivion.

The timid Fluttershy was Vic’s initial choice, but then he realized almost every other brony owned at least one of the Mane Six. Or even a few ponies of the same type, ignoring “Hasbro’s” warnings about possible behavioral software crashes.

Such a common choice of a pony felt too trivial to Vic.

“Rainbow Dash” had held its position as the best selling model for years, almost since the rebranding day of the show. It seemed everyone who purchased an azure pegasus believed her presence in their house would make them twenty percent cooler. However, more often than not, they requested to replace her standard behavioral program with a submissive and gutless one. No one likes to be mocked by a synthet, and the athletic pegasus was known to possess a headstrong temper and a sharp tongue.

No one seemed to mind that the modifications were turning a lively and active creature into a shadow of herself, eventually making her waste away inside the colorful shell of her degrading body. Of course, nothing should hamper the whims of the customers!

Vic wasn’t ready to switch to the active lifestyle in order not to turn into a “lame nerd” or a “slowpoke” in Rainbow’s eyes. Besides that, his apartment was relatively small, and pegasi require space to fly. That was, by the way, another reason against a Fluttershy, if a rather strained one.

On the other hand, Victor didn’t wish to purchase an unfamiliar pony. Who in Celestia’s name are Scrappy Rag, Fluffle Puff, DoubleWSisters, Erin ‘Sunflower’ Olsen or Blackjack? he thought, turning the pages of the catalogue. While he’d heard the names of Littlepip and Snowdrop, others were completely unfamiliar.

And alicorns were expensive enough to make his hair stand on end. One could buy a decent hovercar with that tot, for crying out loud!

But the marketing move did allow “Hasbro” to kill two birds with one stone: the high prices allowed for improved abilities more similar to the original characters’ and kept the alicorn population limited and exclusive.

A few months had passed since Vic had followed the advice of Steven Aguilar. That day, full of doubt and irony, he found a virtual site with ancient 2D-cartoons, chose the right one… and resurfaced twelve hours later.

He watched the old episodes, and then he watched the new ones. With a rising sense of wonder he found an inexplicable delight in that strange cartoon. Then, as if some puzzle piece slipped in its place and finalized the picture, Victor realized he had discovered a whole new world: bright and full of joy and kindness.

And then there was the fandom and fanfiction. The old recognized creations, borderline classics, silently approved by Hasbro itself, and the new ones, which recently emerged in the Cyberspace of Gigapolis. Beautiful and inspiring, or sad and heartbreaking, or disgusting and gut-wrenching. Once again Victor was astonished by his sympathy with the characters, be it sincere happiness or deep sadness about their destinies.

Naturally, Vic couldn’t read everything. But even what he familiarized himself with was enough to form his opinion about ponies and their relations with humans in the real world. One day Victor understood he could no longer consider himself outside the brony community. And so he made up his mind.

Although Vic adored the yellow pegasus for her calm demeanor and a solitary disposition, soon he came across a more exquisite choice.

Lyra Heartstrings was considered an unsuccessful model. Her behavioral program probably contained some undetected bug. Lyra had an unhealthy adoration towards humans, bordering on worship, which for unknown reasons often led to disappointment. This pony was prone to depression, loss of will to live and – an unthinkable situation for a normal synthet – suicidal tendencies. As a result, Lyras’ owners often asked for refunds or simply abandoned their synthets, some even disposing of them with the most radical of methods.

Hasbro’s top managers declared Lyra’s behavioral program, developed following the fandom’s wishes, an unfixable one. The model was unpopular, unprofitable and barely recouped its costs. Her software had been frozen at its third version, while Mane Six models already operated on their eighth. In the modern Gigapoleis the law of the market was the ultimate law.

With the mint-colored pony in short demand, her name was placed at the end of the catalogue… and she was a third of the price of the top-selling Rainbow Dash or the runner-up Fluttershy. And so, a week after the order was placed, a big brightly colored box with a Hasbro logo appeared at Victor’s apartment.

The package held a special container, where in a state of deep hibernation lay the little pony, dreaming calmly – alive and real. Not a doll or a robot, but flesh and blood, a mercurial mind. And a soul, the existence of which would be rejected by any religion, but so obvious to any brony.

Having removed the packaging and the shockproof casing, Vic spent some time eyeing the container, where, as if in a crystal egg, the pony snuggled. Her sides were slowly rising and falling, her huge eyes were closed, and her muzzle wore an expression of calm serenity. Her mane and tail were braided in tricky knots and held by soft bands so that they didn’t hinder the awakening process. Three tubes led from the transparent breathing mask to the recirculation module.

In such an anabiotic state, with all biological processes slowed down, a synthet could sleep for years.

Do ponies dream of magic lands? Victor thought. I think they do. They probably see their foalhood in Equestria, remember growing up with their friends, and recall their journey to the alien world. As for me, I would never leave Equestria voluntarily. Do ponies miss home, or do they, perhaps, accept their destiny? Maybe they just forget about Equestria eventually? I should probably ask Lyra when she wakes up.

Sometimes awakening is the first step into a nightmare for a pony. The things some… people (including bronies)… enjoy doing to synthets cannot be described otherwise.

Looking at her cute face, her amusingly sticking ears, her smooth mint-green fur and neat miniature horn, Victor pondered what kind of a person could be cruel and heartless enough to harm such creature: put it on a chain, clobber and torture it and… more. And then record everything and upload it to the Net to boot.

Every time a new synthet is awakened, Victor thought, the gods toss a coin in the air, but no one holds their breath to see how it will land. Will a new pony meet a caring and true friend, or will they be welcomed into a living hell?

As it was stated in the User Manual, if a pony was being awakened at home, the whole process should have taken place in a clean bathtub. A liquid oxygen-enriched nutrient inside the special container must be drained and the pony should be carefully washed with a supplied shampoo to remove the chemical smell. The washing process also allows the user to establish a “primary emotional bond” between the synthet and the master. Huh.

Vic carried the heavy container to the bathroom and rechecked the manual. Remote control in the package? Ah yes. Though technically every synthet was supposed to follow verbal commands, in case of emergencies there was a remote control with a built-in diagnostics unit and a short-range tracking device.

Note to self: do not forget to pre-pay the long-range tracking, Vic thought while entering and confirming the activation code.

A straight cut split the surface of the container. Liquid poured down into the bathtub, filling the room with a pungent medicinal smell. Vic waited patiently. No rush, pal. You’re on vacation, and the day is young.

As the container emptied, its transparent shell became mushy, then sagged into a jelly-like puddle and slowly drained following the nutrient. Vic rechecked the manual and removed the breathing mask from the pony’s muzzle.

The pony’s eyelashes fluttered slightly: she was about to wake up. The breathing mask was slowly decomposing into something that resembled a squished jellyfish, and Vic hastily tried to scrape the remains of the mask from the pony’s face. From a light touch of his fingers, the huge yellow eyes opened, and the first thing the little pony saw in her life was a human’s face breaking into a wide happy smile.

She tried to say something, but started coughing up the remains of the nutrient, flowing out of her expanding lungs. Vic wanted to pat her on the back but stopped himself as it was not recommended by the manual.

As soon as Lyra cleared her airways, she reached out with her forelegs and tenaciously caught Vic’s arm. Her hooves felt very soft.

Ah, Vic thought, amazed. Does she have suction cups on her hooves or something?

“Oh, Celestia, a human!” the unicorn wheezed, burying her face in Vic’s arms. “With ha-ands!”

“Do you feel well? Does anything hurt?” he asked as calmly as possible, barely stifling a laugh growing inside.

She stared at the man with those enormous yellow eyes of hers.

"No… Nothing hurts, no” she said, then cleared her throat and smiled sheepishly. “Everything feels funny, though. And my throat is raspy. And for some reason I’m covered in muck.”

Her voice was somewhat husky but sounded exactly like in the TV show. When did people hear her voice for the first time? Victor thought. More than hundred years ago. And she still sounds like a young girl.

“It will pass,” he said softly, trying to release his hand from Lyra’s grip. “I’m going to give you a bath now, then we’ll eat and you’ll certainly feel much better.”

“Ri-ight, I’m dreaming,” the unicorn said and made a failing attempt to rise on her legs. “There’s a living, tangible human that somehow wants to wash me and feed me. Yep, I’m dreaming, right?”

“No, you’re not. Quite the contrary, you woke up!” Vic said and grabbed the pony by her sides, helping her rise.

“That tickles!” Lyra squealed nervously and shook her legs. Her hooves rattled against the bottom of bathtub.

“Actually, I’m a grown-up mare and I can definitely bathe on my own,” she said, “but I’m very tempted to put myself in a human’s hands. It’s like a free visit to the human spa.”

“It will be my pleasure to assist you, Lyra,” Victor said reassuringly and turned on the shower. “Please tell me when the water reaches a comfortable temperature.”

“O-okay. But how do you know my name?”

“That’s a long story. Let’s finish giving you a shower first, and then I’ll tell you. Or, rather, show you.”

“That would be great. But can I ask you at least one question right now?” Lyra asked carefully.

“Of course.”

“Well…” Lyra took a breath. “Then what the hay am I doing in a bathtub covered in goo inside and out?!"

Vic blinked.

“Side effects of the transfer!” he pattered. Yeah, transfer alright, from the store to the buyer.

The mare nodded contentedly and straightened up.

“Good… that’s… good. Both the transfer’s success and the water temperature,” she said, shooting Victor a glance. He moved his hand away from the temperature controller.

What thoughts are passing through that cute head? he asked himself.

“What’s your name?” the unicorn asked.

"Victor Stewart. But you can call me Vic.”

“Deal.”

The supplied “Lyra shampoo” smelled like mint. Vic untied the ribbons around the unicorn’s mane, and wet green strands with white streaks fell on her neck and back.

Hasbro produced a lot of synthet-care products. Synthets are living beings with their own hygiene, nourishment and handling needs, after all. Victor picked up a special brush but could not resist the urge to timidly run his bare hand through the lathery pony fur. Lyra gave him a joyful squint; it seemed she enjoyed the touch.

“Tee-hee, fingers…” she whispered, and her tail suddenly wagged from side to side, spraying water and suds around.

Victor staggered and tried to wipe the lather from his face.

“Whoopsy daisy! That was an accident!” Lyra stuttered, blushing fiercely.

Is her blush visible through the fur, or is fur itself reddening? Vic thought, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, that’s alright", Vic said. He thought about the synthet activation procedure described in the User Manual and asked, “Tell me please, what do you remember about the time before the… transfer?”

The pony thought for a moment, her eyes raised, as if could read the answer from the ceiling.

“Well, I guess I didn’t lose any memories, if that’s your concern,” she said at last. “I was born, grew up and studied in Canterlot. Moved to Ponyville after graduation. There I met Bon Bon and we lived together for a while. My hobby was ancient history and mythology, and my studies led me to the discovery of humanmankind…”

“The correct pronunciation would be mankind,” Victor corrected automatically. “Oh, sorry, please continue.”

"Yes, right, thank you. My studies led me to the discovery of human civilization in Equestria’s past and I asked Princess Celestia to clarify the matter. She told me that humans were extinct in Equestria but they inhabited another world, almost devoid of magic, where their population was enormous and technologies were highly developed.”

“And?”

“And of course I asked the Princess to send me there. She tried to dissuade me at first, but then she agreed on one condition: I was to leave my clone in Equestria. I visited the Mirror Pool and then the Princess sent me here with her magic. I remember water and darkness. I swam through it. And then I woke up in your bathtub.”

The man beamed. He decided it was time to give Lyra the next prescribed message.

“There are many Equestrian ponies living in our world,” he said, “so don't be shocked by that. The Princess sent your clones here before, and many other ponies’ too.”

“Really?” asked Lyra in astonishment. “Wow… Now I see. That’s why there was a well-trodden path to the Mirror Pool! Silly me, I was worried I’d be alone here.”

Hats off to Hasbro, the story with that lake was quite ingenious, Vic thought. And surely there are logical chains and safety protocols implanted into a pony’s mind for such cases that will make it ignore any discrepancies.

“Now close your eyes and I’ll wash your head,” he said aloud, and the mare gently dropped her eyelids.

When he lathered her mane and ears, Lyra smiled. “Could you wash here a bit more? Yes, right there! It feels sooo good!”

“Oh, of course!” Victor replied. Stroking the pony, burying his fingers into her silky mane, scratching her behind her ears, turned out to be a very pleasant experience. It’s like stroking a cat. No, like stroking hundreds of cats, thousands of cats, millions and billions and trillions of cats! Victor thought.

When Victor reached her horn, Lyra suddenly gasped, and for a second a radiant flash of green light filled the bathroom.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, blushing wildly, her eyes squinted. “Don't touch me there!”

The green light around her horn faded and the mare shuffled her hooves nervously.

Damn, I forgot! There is a sensitive spot near the base of the horn! he thought belatedly.

Naturally, all synthets were living creatures with the flaws and needs of all living creatures, even if “Hasbro” had no wish to deal with litigations from customers sexually harassed by technicolor toy ponies.

So, every synthet’s behavioral program contained the so-called “stop-script”. Well, maybe not Princess Molestia’s program, or some other programs, designed for synthets with highly specific purposes, but every standard program issue anyway.

The User Manual stated that any synthet would not willfully develop an attraction to a human beyond the limits of normal friendship.

The manufacturer warned that the owner’s attempts to bypass the stop-script by force could lead to irreparable damage to the synthet’s behavioral program. Sometimes it could lead to escape attempts, or even aggressive behavior towards the owner.

The company also claimed not to be liable for any effects of misusing the product. Because everybody knows well: people have some very kinky hobbies.

“Sorry!” Victor said indistinctly. “I didn't mean to!”

“Um… no problem. That’s okay,” Lyra replied, shifting her hooves. “And could you please make the water a bit cooler when you start washing off the lather?”

“Cool water. Right. Right.” Vic nodded.

***

Once Lyra was bathed and wiped dry with a big towel, she shone brighter than a new pin. She combed her mane and tail, and Vic observed the work of her horn with fascination, while the manebrush flitted and danced in her telekinetic field.

A unicorn’s horn was a biotechnological masterpiece. It could generate a low-power forcefield that passed for telekinesis. It also could emit light and sound, and do some other tricks. Pegasi had antigravs in their wings with feather-like resonators. Alicorns had both, but of better quality. And the ponies were explained that it was impossible to cast powerful spells because of the “low levels of natural magical energies” in the human world.

“Would you like to get dressed?” Vic asked.

“Get dressed?” She spun in front of the mirror girlishly.

“"Yes. I’ve prepared some garments for you,” Vic said. In fact every pony was supplied with a set of necessary things, including clothes. Lyra came with a white tunic, some fancy gown Vic never studied closely and four long white socks with mint-green stripes.

“Why? Are we going somewhere?” the unicorn asked.

“Well, not now. You see, here on Earth only animals wear no clothes, while sapient beings should usually be dressed.”

“Got it!” The little pony beamed. “Whoa, is it okay that I’m all, you know… animalistic right now?”

“Naked? Well… I guess this rule can’t be applied that strictly to ponies. You’re virtually newborn after all,” Vic tried to explain.

“Am I? Oka-a-ay,” the mare drawled, then drove the thought away. “Alright, show me what you’ve got!”

Victor had bought a few sets of pony clothes besides the standard one in case Lyra wanted variety. Of course she’d want diversity. She’s a gal, for Celestia’s sake!

The unicorn opted for a taupe pantsuit and tied a feminine tie, grabbing them with her telekinesis. It seems she likes to be clothed, Vic thought, even if I can’t believe it is comfortable to wear a garment over fur.

“Well, how do I look?” she asked, gazing upwards at the man.

She’s barely waist-high when standing on four legs, Vic thought absently. The average pony height just exceeded two and a half feet. Stallions could usually grow a quarter of a dozen inches taller. And of course alicorns were the tallest: Celestia surpassed the average man’s height without even counting her horn.

“You look splendid.” Vic smiled. “Dressed to kill, or go to a soiree. Actually, you don’t need to wear a jacket at home.”

Lyra blushed slightly. Her small jacket got enveloped in a pale glow and hovered to the back of a chair.

“You promised to tell me how you know me,” she prompted, changing the topic.

“Oh, of course. Let’s go, shall we?” Victor said, heading to the living room. He turned on a 2D-visor, and a huge rectangular screen appeared in midair.

“We’ll watch a couple episodes to give you a basic understanding how humans know about Equestria,” he said. “But first let me show you around.”

Victor gave Lyra a tour of the apartment, and taught her how to use its amenities and appliances, just to avoid haphazard explanations in the future. It took less than half an hour. The unicorn easily compensated the lack of hands with her telekinesis or surprisingly prehensile front hooves.

I’m curious how earth ponies and pegasi would do the trick, Vic thought, watching the remote control for house appliances flitting around, luminescent in a fake magic glow.

When he told Lyra humans never used magic to make their machines work, the unicorn bombarded him with tons of technical questions, the answers to which were either unknown to Vic or could not be explained to Lyra. The curious mare calmed down only when Victor promised to show her a documentary about human technological achievements.

Soon Lyra and Vic settled on a big couch in front of a holographic screen and spent the next couple of hours watching the show.

From a century of oblivion rose Equestria, the Elements of Harmony, and the Princesses. The characters came to life on screen and lived and talked and sang…

Victor left the room a few times to bring more snacks and some lemonade from the kitchen.

Every time he met the look of the golden shimmering eyes, he felt as if a pair of wings was unfolding behind his back. Every word of the little unicorn that was sitting in a perfectly human pose on his couch filled those wings with wind. And she just munched peanuts merrily and slurped lemonade with a straw.

“Look, Vic, I remember that moment! Oh, that’s me again!” she exclaimed upon seeing herself on screen. “Everypony looks so funny, drawn that way!”

A robocourier arrived with a pizza from the Italian restaurant a hundred levels below. The unicorn was fascinated by the looks of the hovering drone, and when Victor explained that the delivery robot was not a magical creature, her excitement reached happy puppy levels.

The setting sun painted windows red and orange.

“We don’t need to watch everything in one go,” Vic said, throwing a look at the dusk.

Here at the top levels of the White City, the sun was not hurried to hide beyond the low horizon. Dirty concrete multi-levelled mazes of transport interchanges, rough brick walls and smoking communications – everything lay far beneath. Here the steel and glass and spires of buildings pierced the skies. Constellations of holograms shined here forever, encircled by coils of invisible roads for hovercars and drones and the green tendrils of high-altitude parks. And only the sun glowed above covering everything in red gold.

Truly a majestic view, the triumph of human creativity and ingenuity, of architecture and engineering, bringing the visions of science fiction to life. The Spires. The future today.

Lyra observed all that unimaginable magnificence with a wide-eyed stare. The White City glistened in the dusk, and Lyra’s eyes shimmered with tears. This was the human world, her cherished dream – now a reality. Right here, right now.

With a corner of his eye Victor saw the rapture in Lyra’s golden eyes.

“Vic,” she whispered, not looking up from the window, “this… this is incredible… How many humans live in here?”

“Here in the European Gigapolis? About one and a half billion now,” he replied. “But if you mean the whole planet, Earth, the number might be somewhere about twelve billion in five cities similar to this one.”

“Twelve… billions…” the pony squeaked, wonderstruck by the number. Indeed, the biggest city she could imagine before was Manehattan with its population of less than one million ponies.

“But why would anyhuman build a city this huge?” she asked after calming down somewhat.

Victor recalled the history class and began the story.

“After the end of the Third W… ahem… Well, when the problem of livelihood of the human population became a burning issue, the Gigapoleis project emerged. The Gigapoleis are giant cities with highly-developed utilities, designed to reduce fares and optimize industry, population density and resources distribution. Mankind couldn’t afford to be wasteful anymore.”

Vic sighed and continued.

“Some… differences between people complicated their natural cooperation. Anyway, the major corporations and the United Nations approved and supported the project. The Global Assembly, the world’s government agency, was formed on the basis of the UN. The corporations committed themselves to bring the megacities to life. As you can see, they even succeeded for once.”

Victor did not bring up the fact that most parts of Gigapoleis were not like the Spires. Not shining castles over a grey sea of concrete and asphalt. He didn’t highlight that only the most well off citizens could afford a life in the White City. And the farther one moved away from its high walls, the gloomier and more dangerous the streets around became. Well, at least the media say so. Not that I’ve been there myself. Not that I want to discuss any of that with Lyra.

And Lyra? Lyra watched the human city with innocent eyes. Nothing could penetrate the unicorn’s awe-struck expression. She saw the new world from its brightest, most beautiful side, and her conviction in the wisdom and grandeur of the human race grew even stronger in her heart.

She wanted to know it, to understand it. She wanted to learn everything. So Vic switched to science channels.

Before her eyes unfolded the views of national parks and ancient history reconstructions, science and culture and the history of Gigapoleis. Every bit of mankind’s pride.

Technological progress seemed to be Lyras favorite topic. Humans didn’t have wings or magic, and required none. They had thermonuclear power, bioengineering and unipolymers – the three pillars upon which the modern world stood. And robotics! And astronautics! And many more!

Nightfall sneaked in and settled. The science programs playlist wasn’t even thirty percent completed when Lyra turned the screen off, handling remote control with ease.

“I’m gonna collapse right now,” she said, and yawned so eagerly her small ears almost touched each other on the back of her head. “Guess that’s enough excitement for one day.”

Victor smiled. Then he looked around. The place reminded him of a battlefield. Cookie wrappers and empty peanut bags, pizza boxes (cheese, paprika and mushrooms) and ubiquitous Coca-Cola bottles were scattered around the floor in a crumpled, torn, battered and scattered mess, like a fallen warhost.

“Indeed, you’re right,” he said, “it’s high time to go to bed. We probably should postpone the cleaning. We can do it tomorrow. I’m on vacation anyway. I’ve no errands to run anytime soon.”

The unicorn yawned again, which he took as an affirmative.

“Vic,” she unexpectedly said, “you haven’t told me anything about yourself.”

“Um, maybe tomorrow? You’re literally falling asleep,” Victor replied.

“Oh, sweet Celestia!” Lyra theatrically raised her foreleg and covered her eyes in a dramatic gesture. “I’m spending the night with a complete stranger, a human to boot! Whatever would I tell Bon Bon! Whatever would ponies think of me?”

Is she really afraid of me? Vic thought frantically. But she’s smiling. And there are these mischievous sparkles in her eyes. That could probably mean she’s joking. Yes. Apparently joking.

“All right,” he said. “Change of plans! Let’s clean this mess together and I’ll tell you about myself a little. How about that?”

“Yay! Nocturnal daily routines!” the unicorn exclaimed and jumped off the couch.

Magical unicorns are convenient for housecleaning, Vic thought as he observed wrappers, crumpled packs and even the smallest crumbs being enveloped in telekinetic radiance and hoverdanced into a trash bag he held. We could activate cleaning drones but those clods always miss something.

“So, will you tell me about yourself or what?” Lyra asked when the trash bag was half-full.

The man slapped his forehead hard. “Oh! Sorry, I just watched you working… Ahem.”

He tried to collect his thoughts. Thoughts frantically escaped. “Well, my name is Victor J. Stewart and I’m a manager. I work… um… in an office in a company you never heard of and probably will never hear about.” Oh, I'm rambling. “I have plenty of money and work for… um… education purposes, I suppose. I’m twenty four. I live here… um… in this apartment in the higher levels of White City of the European Gigapolis. Which is a giant urban complex, a conglomerate of multiple cities of old Europe and you already know it–” And it’s obvious so why am I even telling this I’m rambling again stop rambling Stewart! “Um… And I have parents. Yes. They live in Sidney Arcology. And my great-uncle lives in the Siberian taiga.”

He stopped and took a deep breath. Wonderful response, Stewart. So elegant.

“Do you have a special somehuman?” Lyra asked quickly, then blushed. “Sorry!”

“Somewho man? No! No, I don’t have a girlfriend, a fortiori, a wife,” he replied. “And there’s nothing to be sorry for!”

“Then I’ll ask more,” the mare said. Her voice suddenly became dead serious. “How did I happen specifically upon your bathtub, what is my status here and what will happen next?”

This question brought Victor’s mind back to life. According to the User Manual, questions like this were typical for recently activated synthets. Victor meticulously studied every possible one of them and was ready. I locked the Manual in the safe after reading it, didn’t I?

“Do you remember the company logo at the beginning of every episode? Hasbro?” he asked. When the pony nodded, he continued, “In the past this company produced toys and cartoons… generally speaking. Now it deals with situations like yours. I don’t know any details, but they reached some form of agreement with Princess Celestia. And now the way to Earth is open for Equestrians.”

Victor paused. Lyra peered at him, her head cocked. “You didn’t say in what capacity I’m here,” she said quietly.

This is it, the point of no return. The Manual states, I must make a choice, and our whole relationship depends on my next words, Victor thought. But I’ve made my choice long ago.

“I’ll be honest. Right now you’re my guest. But I hope it’s the beginning of a true friendship,” he said.

A wide smile returned to the pony’s face.

“Thank you!” Lyra said sincerely, then suddenly approached the man, rose on her hind legs, reached up and hugged him. “Here, in an alien world, it means so much to me!”

“Me too, Lyra. Me too,” he whispered. With the pony’s muzzle just below his face, Victor felt the urge to peck her on her funny soft nose. That would be inappropriate! Keep it together, Stewart! he encouraged himself and instead simply embraced the unicorn just below the bottom edge of her mane where he assumed her shoulders were.

They stayed still for a minute. Then Vic coughed awkwardly, released Lyra, grabbed the trash bag and promptly carried it to the utilizer. The mare followed him. She was interested in every bit of human technology and fascinated by the column of the pneumatic utilizer, which sent waste to a recycling station humming softly.

“Where am I sleeping?” Lyra asked when they returned to the room.

“There are two possible options,” Victor said. “Either you can stay here on the couch, or you can have a shakedown on the squab in my cabinet.”

“But if I take your squab where will you sleep?”

“Oh, I’ll sleep in my bed!” Victor smiled. “There is a double bed in my bedroom.”

The pony thought for several seconds.

“Could you remind me, can humans sleep together in their big comfy beds instead of sleeping separately on squabs in cabinets?” she asked. Her voice carried apparent cunning notes that went completely over Vic’s head. The Manual mentioned such questions from synthets as low priority but he was ready to answer them and waited for such possibility.

"Sleeping together is socially appropriate for spouses, special somehu… couples and friends.” He reported eagerly. “It is also acceptable as a desperate act in situations with zero alternatives. It’s awkward to offer you to share my bed the first night after we met, though.”

“Okay, I’ll sleep here on the couch.” Lyra said. “I can watch movies from here. Couches have their advantages!”

“One minute please!” Victor smiled happily, oblivious to the sarcasm, and headed to the closet to get bed linen.

“Um, one more thing", the pony said, timidly shuffling her hooves. “Is it really necessary to wear clothes all the time? Even when sleeping?”

“Ah, the possibilities are wide!” Vic said. “From no clothes at all to a minimal amounts of clothes to full pajamas in case of especially cold nights. I guess the same works for ponies. It’s a question of personal choice I suppose.”

“Okay, got it!” The pony smiled with relief. “Good night then?”

“Have a good night, Lyra.” Victor nodded and headed to the bedroom.

Behind his back he heard the rustle of clothes and soft humming of some song. He heard the words “human beings” and “way they are”.

Victor felt something the bronies at the Club were talking about. Something they connected with ponies in their lives: serenity and joy.

Is this happiness?

Chapter 03

Next morning Vic woke up earlу. With quiet admiration, he watched the sleeping pony snore for some time, then he gave a few commands to the home appliances system and went for a shower. The kitchen came to life, delivery service switched on, manipulators whirred, putting fresh bread in the toaster. Vic didn’t hear any of it. He knew that when he was done showering, his breakfast would be waiting for him with a cup of strong, hot coffee.

Just like always.

The man looked in the mirror and winked to his reflection. What a wishy-washy, generically-handsome human face, he thought. Still even has a touch of baby fat in the cheeks.

There is something different about my face today though. Victor leaned close to a looking-glass and thoroughly examined his reflection. Oh, it’s a smile. Even the eyes are sparkling with joy. Those grey eyes are my father’s legacy, and proud members of the Stewart family don’t do smiley things with their eyes. What an utterly unnatural expression! I know where it comes from. Friendship and happiness, the plague of Equestria. Now I’m infected too!

It felt like a piece of Equestria painted the world with startling, majestic colors. And how dull and uneventful his past life seemed to be, when a mint-colored furball was dreaming peacefully on the couch.

The feeling of water streaking down his body and the pleasant thoughts of spending the whole day in Lyra’s company drove Vic to hum a merry tune, right till he was cut short by the sound of the opening door.

Dressed in a tunic, the pony entered the bathroom, yawning sweetly.

“Lyra?!” Vic exclaimed and tried desperately and unsuccessfully to become invisible.

“Yep, that's me,” the unicorn replied sleepily. Her horn glowed for a second, and water poured into a sink. ”Good m'rning. Do you have a spare toothbrush?”

“Lyra, I’m taking a shower here!” Victor stated with some amount of self-control. The pony remained impassive.

“Mhm? Oh, yes, I can see that.” She scooped some water with her small hooves and splashed it in her face. “You are not bothering me, I don’t need the shower right now. Keep up the good work!”

It’s peculiar how the point of view affects one’s perception of a pony trying to wash her muzzle with her hooves, Victor thought absentmindedly. She would look painfully cute if I weren’t standing naked in a shower cabin. Does it make shower cabins universally bad points of view?

“Lyra, do you remember what I told you about clothes?” he asked, trying to reach a towel.

“Yes, I do. Don’t trot around naked,” the unicorn said, studying Victor with an impish smile. “Well well, who’s clothed now, huh? What an uncouth human! Taking a shower without his jacket on. Tee-hee-hee!”

“It’s impolite to observe someone’s nudity, Lyra…” the man said. The unicorn looked surprised for a moment, then her smile grew wider. The impish sparks in her eyes blazed into a wildfire.

“Oh, boy. Just don’t ask me why,” Victor pleaded.

“But yesterday you watched naked ponies on your screen all day long.” Lyra dealt a final, masterful blow, squinting with delight.

“Oh, boy. Can you just… just leave both the matter and the bathroom for a minute, please?” Victor facepalmed in desperation.

He heard the sound of the door closing and took a deep breath. A small green troll has been unleashed and is ready to bring doom to all bathrooms in the world. It seems the old versions of “EQ” pony software didn’t have the human etiquette installed. And who thought living with a magical unicorn would be an easy job, eh?

Meanwhile, Lyra seemed to be calm and content. She wasn’t too horrified by the mentions of human aggression and wars in Earth history earlier, and she showed no symptoms of software glitches. Of course the popular science kid’s programs she watched provided few details, and Lyra was probably still too happy to be in the world of her dreams. I’ll just have to keep it up for the rest of my life, and everything will be just fine, Vic thought, grabbing a bath towel.

“Vic! Your bed just folded on its own and caught my tail!” came a cry of panic from his bedroom. “Vi-ic! It’s pulling me in now! I think it’s hungry, Vi-i-iic!!! YOU WON’T GET ME THAT EASY, YOU... FURNITURE!!”

Uncertain if he should laugh or groan, Victor dropped the towel, threw a bathrobe on and dashed to the rescue.

* * *

Somehow, Lyra had managed to activate Vic’s automatic bed-folding sequence while sitting on the bed. Her tail was stuck between the folding modules, and Vic had to save the pony from the clutches of the mechanized furniture as the laughing embodiment of chivalry in a white bathrobe.

“Actually, you didn’t need help, Lyra. Everything here is voice-controlled, don’t you remember?” he reminded the unicorn as they finished handling the furniture crisis and went for breakfast.

“Whoopsies, I panicked and forgot. Sorry… Am I a nuisance?” the unicorn stooped with embarrassment.

“What? Of course you aren’t!” the man replied. “Take a seat please. Here, this is your meal. I guess the kitchen made some toast with jam for you.”

Lyra attacked her toast with savage brutality and predatory efficiency. Victor took his sandwiches and coffee. They ate in silence for some time, interrupted only by Lyra’s occasional purrs of delight.

“Whatcha eatin’?” the unicorn suddenly asked. She apparently noticed the difference between their meals.

“Meh, it’s just a sandwich,” Vic answered nonchalantly.

“May I?..” she asked, her voice filled with curiosity. Before Vic could answer, one of his sandwiches glowed green as the mare levitated it to her mouth. She took a bite, chewed with scientific meticulousness and calculation, and swallowed. The man choked.

“Not bad, not bad!” the unicorn nodded approvingly. “You should’ve offered me a sample of human food earlier.”

“That... can’t be good for a pony’s diet,” Vic wheezed.

“Yeah, obviously! If some food is delicious, it just has to be unhealthy.” Lyra giggled.

Oh, she makes that pawky eyes expression again.

“What kind of a terrible poison could be there?” the mare asked as she cheerfully bit into the sandwich again. “Ah, an olive! Noice!”

Uh, “noice” indeed. Vic examined his sandwich, hoping his eyes would refute what his tongue had told him. “Oh, for Derpy’s sake, Lyra, the kitchen put salami in there!”

“Sounds good. What’s salami?” Lyra asked, her mouth full. Vic hesitated for a moment. Yes, do tell an equine what salami is, pal.

“It’s a meat product,” he responded diplomatically.

The mare’s eyes opened wide. Very, very wide. Her pupils shrunk to pinpricks. Oh, boy, here we go. Slowly she stopped chewing.

“Whose meat?” Lyra asked in a tiny, strangled voice.

“Pigs’ probably?” Vic ventured. “Artificial of course. Humans haven’t consumed real meat for a long…”

The stool fell to the floor. Vic’s words were addressed to the unicorn’s tail, as the mare whirled away in unsteady dashes. Moments later the man heard a very distinctive puking sound from the bathroom’s general direction.

Oh, boy, now you’ve done it, you managed to poison the little pony. How do the Grey City dwellers put it? Kick me sideways?

He jumped up from the table, searched for a medikit, activated an emergency medical module, then turned it off. Too early!

Where is that manual? What did it say about pony synthets diet? Vegetables, hay and special Flowery Friendship Pellets® for only 249.99? Pastries with high amounts of sugar?

“Sugar is a pony’s general source of energy, vast amounts could be consumed with no harm to a synthet’s health,” Vic quoted by memory. He realised he was pacing around the kitchen.

She definitely shouldn’t eat meat! Why haven’t the software safety protocols kicked in? Someone ought to have foreseen the possibility of accidents such as this! Were there any food-related safety protocols in version 3 firmware at all?

When Lyra came back he was just about to dial the OBE tech support number. The unicorn slowly stepped into the kitchen, her yellow eyes full of silent reproach. Droplets of water were falling from the wet fur on her face to the floor.

“How are you?” Vic asked with a nervous smile. He was worried sick. Some misplaced thoughts about how funny and cute the dishevelled pony looked were passing through the back of his mind.

“Everything is... fine,” Lyra said expressionlessly. “I just felt sick when I realized I ate some... someone.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” Vic said with relief, then coughed awkwardly. Now you must explain it to her. You should‘ve done it earlier, pal.

“In our world no animal is sapient. Cows, pigs and others, they all are, well, mindless,” he began.

The pony put the stool back in its place and slowly set down to the table, her eyes lowered. A cup of tea floated up and touched her lips.

“Would you eat a mindless human? How would you feel if somepony devoured one in front of you?” she asked in a quiet, monotonous voice and suddenly raised her eyes to face Vic with a piercing glare.

“Humans have produced artificial meat for generations. What I ate has never been even remotely sentient, it was just tissue grown in a vat-tank!” Victor felt embarrassed, as if he did something wrong and had to explain himself, while, objectively, it was uncalled for.

“It is disgusting anyway!” Lyra tried to raise her cracking voice.

“Lyra, please understand, humans are omnivores. We need animal proteins to survive… probably. Well, we definitely can’t get by just on fruit and cupcakes! Ponies associate with griffins in Equestria, and griffins are hunters, aren’t they?” the man argued.

The little pony opened her mouth to say something and stopped.

“Yes...” she whispered.

The mysterious griffin kingdom wasn’t Equestria’s staunchest ally, but as far as Lyra knew, the Princesses were doing a lot to bridge the gap between the two nations. While Lyra had no real knowledge about the culinary preferences of the proud catbirds, she had heard some very believable rumors about their hunts. Still, she never considered griffins savage monsters.

“I was unfair to humans,” she said quietly, then paused and gave Victor a weak smile. “It was hypocritical of me to apply Equestrian morals to Earth. To judge you as if you were a pony. But I just felt so... betrayed. I adore mankind, you know, I probably idolize...”

She failed to finish the sentence and looked into Vic’s eyes helplessly. He let himself relax just a bit. It seems Lyra’s behavioral program copes with stress relatively well and is stable for now, but I shouldn’t expose Lyra to such stressful situations it the future. I knew I must isolate her from some aspects of human life and history for as long as it possible, but I never thought about her possible reactions to a simple meal!

“I understand your feelings. We, humans, aren’t perfect. We eat meat and… ahem… fight sometimes,” Vic admitted. “Do you feel better?”

“Um… Yes, I guess.” Lyra reluctantly reached for a slice of toast. “I was just shocked. I guess I panicked. Neuro-psycho-something-something reaction.”

Well, that settles it for good. Time to change the topic.

“How about some human music after breakfast?” the man asked. “I’d love for you to listen to a couple of tunes.”

The pony quickly swallowed the piece of toast she was munching.

“Sounds tempting!” she replied. “What instrument do you play?”

“None actually. To play the best pieces one would need a band or even a whole orchestra. But I have lots of records.”

“You know how to intrigue a mare.” Lyra smiled.

* * *

In a moment Victor’s apartment was filled with the roar of powerful bass and heavy drum rhythms. Lyra wished to hear the best, after all. What can be better than the undying classics of heavy metal and some modern stuff, that accompanied me on my journeys through Virtuality?

On screen, dark figures flounced about in strobe lights. They were covered in spiked leather and armed with bladed musical instruments. The drum kit shuddered under the mighty hits of a green orc, while a winged person with the head of a bird was striking power chords on the electric guitar with his talons.

Without additional information one couldn’t tell if they were synthets or modified humans: these days any willing and solvent person could rebuild their body almost completely, far beyond recognition.

Modificants quickly met the consequences of their choice to upgrade their bodies; they usually came in the form of revocation of some civil rights and the contemptuous nickname of “genofreak” heard behind the modificants’ backs and from the screens of mass media.

Victor had enjoyed heavy music since he was a teenager. The musical thunder produced by the mercilessly mauled instruments made adrenaline fill his bloodstream and grim thoughts flee from his mind.

But no sooner had the music shook the apartment walls, than Victor noticed Lyra’s mint-green ears droop, and her muzzle take on an expression of sudden searing pain.

Victor lowered the volume and asked, “Are you alright?”

“N-no... It sounds like the music the teenage griffin bands play. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, what with meat and all”, Lyra answered, abashed.

“Too loud? Should I quieten it down?”

“Y-yes, please. It’s so heavy my ears hurt. And do humans have calmer music?”

Victor mentally slapped himself on his forehead. He smiled and said, “Sure! We’ve got a lot of classical pieces, for instance. Like the ones performed by Oct... oh, fiddlesticks whatwashername... Octavia Melody.”

Lyra perked up her ears. “Oh, sounds great!” The unicorn smiled. “I’ve always loved her recitals.”

Victor turned the music center off and said, “You know, we could listen to classical music at home... or we could go to the opera house instead.”

Her yellow eyes lit up. Victor noticed he was on the right track and decided to press on.

“Do you remember that science program about the old Megapolis-Opera in New York? See, the new opera house was built after it here. Let me check what’s on today.”

“Deal!”

“Dress up then. We’re going to the opera!”

Beaming enthusiastically, Lyra pranced away to doll herself up. Meanwhile, Vic ordered the tickets via the CyberNet. It turned out there were some plays staged during the day, and Vic and Lyra could just make it to one.

I guess it’d be too much to ask for her to share my musical tastes. On the other hand, I don’t mind listening to classical music at all from time to time. Not its modern version at least.

Wait a minute, Vic caught himself thinking. This is going to be her, no, our first public appearance together. I wonder if synthets are allowed into Gigapolis Opera at all. Let’s see... Alright, here it is. Oh, shucks, all synthets are required to pay an entry fee in addition to the ticket price.

Not willing to catch side-long glances of the opera patrons, Vic ordered a box just for the two of them.

Victor was about to call Lyra when the pony herself entered the study.

To say she looked gorgeous would be a massive understatement.

She wore a sequin gown and exquisitely designed Hasbro shoes, a decorative saddle embroidered with golden tracery, and an elegant band to hold her elaborate mane-do. How she managed to do that while Vic was ordering tickets was beyond him. Unicorns and their magic.

“So, how do I look?”, Lyra asked, striking a coquettish pose and fluttering her eyelashes.

Victor caught his jaw dropping and hastily set it back in its place.

“You look impeccable! Just perfect for the walk down the aisle. White becomes you so well.“

The pony lowered her gaze and blushed coyly. “I… am ready then!”

* * *

The hovercar had Lyra completely enraptured. It was a tear-shaped car with two thrusters on the sides, a not-too-old Jaguar S70. They closed the cockpit canopy and started moving, and the panoramic view of the city district had Lyra glued to the window.

The European Gigapolis Opera made a lasting impression on the pony. Like a mountain glistening in the daylight sun, the enormous castle made of glass, ultradense steel and holographic projections rose in the middle of a vast park. Though the interior design of the opera house was done in accordance with the undying classics, the architects really outdid themselves with the exterior. The fluid curves and angles, and the glinting surface of the building gave it the look of a sci-fi spaceship visiting from far far away. And just look at the turrets. I’m sure they have a lot of hidden holographic projectors to light it all up. The twinkling lights dancing on the walls look simply majestic.

Hovercars circled around the parking area, landing only to let the passengers out before taking to the air again. Vic also steered his car to the landing pads and gallantly offered his hand to Lyra. She acknowledged the gesture like a true Canterlot filly and exited the vehicle leaning on Vic’s hand. Her yellow eyes blazed with excitement. It was one thing to watch the colossal structure via the visor, but something completely different to gaze upon it with her very eyes.

Smartly dressed patrons mingled around, forming a loud motley crowd of traditional culture connoisseurs.

Lyra turned her head every which way, nothing escaping her astonished gaze. Victor watched his surroundings as well, albeit for a different reason. He wanted to be the first to catch the disapproving glances of the patrons eyeballing the pony who clopped merrily down the path with him. Luckily, no one seems to pay us any attention.

Vic even noticed a lady in a luxurious dress accompanied by an elf with stereotypical pointy ears, and a richly dressed young man walked arm in arm with a blue-skinned girl, who had tentacles sprouting from the back of her head. Both could very well be modificants, but as far as Vic knew, the movement hadn’t gained a foothold in the White City.

Frankly, I’d feel so relieved now if there were a pony synthet around. An Octavia, at least. Alas, synthets are few and far between here today. And if there are more than the handful I’ve seen, they’re all humanoid, totally indistinguishable from real people.

A stately old porter passed a scanner over Lyra’s head at the entrance. It showed a blue signal and short information about the synthet owner.

“She’s with me”, said Victor.

The porter cast the pony a disapproving glance, but she didn’t flinch. She made a curtsy with her front hooves and said, “Good day to you, sir.”

The porter’s look became surprised for a moment, but then he regained his focus. No one has ever called him ‘sir’? Vic thought.

The old man handed Vic his tickets. Although all the tickets were ordered via the VR, it was traditional for cultural facilities to copy them on paper, or fiber polymer, to be exact. One couldn’t tell the difference between the two, at least not by touch.

“Victor Stuart and...errm.. Lyra Heartstrings? A box for two, sir?”

“Yes, that’ll be us”, Vic said. “Thank you… sir.”

They passed through crowded corridors that would do any palace justice with their golden workmanship, sumptuous draperies, and paintings depicting the scenes of the undying classical works.

To his shame, Vic recognized almost none of them and hoped dearly Lyra wouldn’t ask questions. But she was too excited about the performance that was about to start.

Victor calmed down when they settled down in comfy chairs in their box. No one said anything about a man bringing a mare to the opera, so I guess everything went well.

"It's very beautiful", Lyra said, copying the human sitting pose and looking around. "It looks even grander than the Royal Canterlot Opera! Actually, the whole Royal Canterlot Opera could fit in a corner here."

"Indeed, it was a project of colossal scale!" Vic nodded, feeling a wave of somewhat unmerited pride for mankind's achievements. "This hall was designed to accommodate ten thousand people, without deviating from classical opera halls’ designs."

"It certainly follows some canons," Lyra said. "Reminds me of home. Not Ponyville where I moved, but, you know, Canterlot. Everything is so big, ceremonious, solemn..."

"Yes, I think it's grandiose too!" Victor smiled.

"...It makes me feel so small," she finished.

Victor laughed. He wanted to pat the unicorn on her head but stopped himself. That hairdo is a masterpiece; it would be a crime against fashion to ruin it.

"But you are small!" he said lightly, "A little pony on a brave journey of exploration and discovery of the enormous human world!"

Lyra snickered, raising her hoof to cover her muzzle.

"Are we in a royal box, Vic?" she asked after a short pause. "There are only two of these sumptuous chairs here and they look worthy of a princess. Come on, you can bury an average- sized human in all this silk velvet!"

"Um, no, this is not a royal box, Lyra. I'm afraid, it’s is just a regular VIP box," Victor replied, feeling embarrassed for his poverty.

"Then what, for Luna's sake, does royal box look like?" Lyra gasped.

"Well, there are no royal boxes. Earth hasn’t had royalty for the last century," the man explained. "But there are diamond VIP boxes over there."

Lyra stretched her neck to look at the specified direction and saw a couple dozen richly dressed patrons. They were evidently bored waiting for the performance to begin, looking around or engaging in small talk with their companions. Lyra met eyes with a beautiful lady with an antique fan. Suddenly, an expression of disdain flashed on the woman's perfect face, and something cold and menacing appeared in her eyes under her long eyelashes. A moment later the lady turned away, and fluttered her fan, concealing her face from the unicorn's sight.

Lyra, feeling ill at ease, looked aside. She saw an anthropomorphic mouse in an elegant tuxedo as he entered his diamond VIP box and sat down into a chair. Two mountain-sized guards with square jaws and butch haircuts stepped in behind him. The guards wore sunglasses in the half-dark hall. Are those goggles magical? Lyra guessed. Tuxedos are a bad fit for those guys. I bet something military would suit them much better.

The mouse looked strange. He had smooth round ears, a goofy muzzle… He looked cute but Lyra thought the look in his huge eyes was all but bereft of kindness.

The mouse met the pony’s gaze, but, unlike the lady before, smiled gently and inclined his head courteously, then resumed watching the stage. He seemed to say something, probably addressing his bodyguards, but Lyra didn’t catch it from such a distance.

Lyra was about to ask Victor about him, but, accompanied by a growing wave of applause, the lights dimmed and the opera began.

That day the European Gigapolis Opera put on Aida, an opera immortalized as a classic centuries ago. Naturally, time left its stamp on the performance, but any changes in acting or lyrics would irredeemably knock the opera off the pedestal of classics to the bottomless pit that is widely recognized as avant-garde and contemporary culture. The only things tolerated by the incisive critics were the moderate use of special effects like weather effects, and the use of holographic subtitles sparkling above the unfolding act. Traditionally, the opera was performed in Italian, a language spoken only in the southern districts and subdistricts of the European Gigapolis...

Lyra sat still for a few minutes, then leaned closer to Vic's ear. "Their costumes and whole scene props remind me of Camelia!" she whispered loudly.

Victor strained his memory to recall the camel country from the show. "Been there?" he asked.

"Nah, I'm just educated," she replied. "But such similarities... quite remarkable! Well, it looks more like ancient Camelia. With the zebra tribes and stuff, ya know."

Lyra watched and listened to the ageless story of love and betrayal with deep interest. Vic gave her a few stealthy glances to make sure she liked it, and was delighted to see her fully absorbed by the unfolding act. "This pony likes music" they say. "Let her listen to the music" they say. It seems that statement has more nuance behind it than I anticipated.

The first act ended, lights came up and viewers slowly dispersed to bars, cafeterias and viewing galleries. Without any delay Lyra started to share her impressions with Vic. He listened to her merry twitter with half an ear, deep in thought. That's amazing. She acts so natural, like a real girl from outside the White City would act in these circumstances. Probably. Not that I've met a lot of provincial girls in operas.

"...A-and you are definitely not listening to what I'm saying. You didn't hear a single word, now, did you!" the unicorn exclaimed, offense in her tone.

Victor's face immediately lost its dreamy expression. "Cafeteria!" he announced in frantic attempt to use the environment for his own salvation.

"Masterful rhetoric won't get you out of this one, mister human," Lyra gave the man a sharp glance, then pouted and trotted ahead. "I'm not the one to fall for such... CUPCAKES!!"

With all pique forgotten and all slights forgiven in an instant, the unicorn almost galloped to the brightly lit cafeteria showcases. She greeted the sweet abundance inside with a happy smile.

There were no queues around the counter, thanks to the well organized squad of swift cafeteria employees. Victor told the unicorn she might choose everything she wanted, and that was all the encouragement required for her to fill the order with a long list of candies, cakes and ice-cream flavors. Following all Lyra's whims, Victor bought a heap of sweets and went to a table. He could not help smiling.

The pony applied all her willpower to keep her discreet ladylike appearance, but the moment they set to table, pastry plates started emptying at a terrifying rate.

They say vegetarian synthets use sugar as an energy source to power-up their nervous system and energy-intensive organs, like horns and wings. But look at her, she isn't recharging, she's just got a huge sweet-tooth.

A casual look at a nearby table made Vic start. Some lady, her face contorted with disdain, was telling something to her gentleman companion in an angry whisper. She was pointing in Victor and Lyra's general direction and was giving them a contemptuous look. The man sluggishly waved her off and sipped his whiskey. When Lyra giggled, he slightly distorted and gave the mare a short sideways glance.

Lyra's cheerful chatter stopped. Vic looked at her and met her serious eyes. She wasn't eating and she definitely wasn't smiling. He failed to read her expression. Damn, she's obviously followed my look and noticed that bloody couple.

Someone who could pass for a beautiful young lady at first glance walked by their table. Her slender figure was wrapped in artistically shaped layers of clothes made of something strongly resembling natural fur. Lyra looked at her and choked. The young looking person gave them the cold stare of an evil old witch.

Hello there, you too-rich-to-die rejuvenated one. Vic thought. Their appearances and tastes can sometimes be a tad extreme for someone who never saw a really old rejuvenated person before. Lyra was probably scared. She'll get used to it. Half the people here at the Spires are so old they wouldn't last a bloody day without a swarm of nanomachines. Well, who am I to criticize? My grandpa is what, hundred and fifty or more? Who knows how old our patriarch really is.

At that, their spirits faded. Well, that wasn’t unexpected.

“Do you remember I told you the opera house reminded me of Canterlot?”, the unicorn asked. Victor nodded.

“Guess why I took off.”

Vic gave the patrons at the nearest table a sidelong glance. It didn’t seem anyone was eyeing the couple right now, but the man couldn’t help feeling a piercing gaze at the back of his head. Many people did not have a fondness for synthets, and although such thoughts were not something to bring up in a civilized conversation, the general coldness towards synthets still hung in the air. It was no more than a whisper, or a fleeting look, a cold air breeze...

“Because one cannot be different... be themselves there, I suppose”, the man suggested and sipped some tea. A lonely half-eaten piece of cake lay on the saucer, and a spiral pyramid of ice cream melted slowly near it.

“Mmhm.” The pony nodded, looking in the distance. “Let’s leave.”

“And what about the treats?” Vic said with a stiff smile, looking over the table. “They’ll be thrown away. What a waste of perfectly good pastries.”

The unicorn forced the same smile and then said, “You know what? Let’s leave altogether and take all the shortcakes with us.”

“...And let them be ashamed of themselves!” Victor picked up the unicorn’s tone, feeling like a rebellious teenager being naughty to spite the lame grownups.

During their walk to the hovercar parking lot, Lyra couldn’t stop giggling, levitating a bag of shortcakes with her. The couple pushed and shoved each other merrily as they went, fooling around like children.

Suddenly, Vic realized he couldn’t behave like that with anybody he knew. It was like returning to his carefree childhood, when he could play and fool around just because he felt like it. Looking back, his past loneliness seemed so horrifying he felt a chilly sensation pass through his back.

Lyra’s thoughts were quite similar, but the looks some people were giving her, scared her. Those eyes were full of contempt and even hatred. But the most terrifying were the young faces with old eyes, imbued with such frigidity and ice, their look seemed almost palpable. Or was it just my imagination?

A child’s ghost story about Slender Pony and the shriveled souls from the depths of the Everfree Forest sprang in her mind.

But that night the fears parted before the unbridled merriment and mutual trust, and, who knows, perhaps even the beginning of a true friendship between a human and a pony…

Chapter 04

When they returned to Vic's apartment, Lyra decided to try to have some more fun with technology. While Vic was busy making tea, Lyra dressed back in her tunic, let her mane down and settled comfortably on the couch in the living room.

"Visor, on," the unicorn said, recalling Vic's words about voice-controlled appliances, then added meekly, "please…"

"Select channel," inquired the system's artificial voice, startling the pony.

The unicorn bolted upward. It was strange to talk to thin air. It was just like magic.

"Uhm… some… something… fun?" Lyra replied.

A well-kept lawn resembling a schoolyard appeared on the screen. It looked even more so when a dark-haired boy came into view. He wore jeans, a cap and a T-shirt. As he walked, the camera followed him, and other kids flashed in the background.

The boy cried into an old-fashioned mic clutched in his hand. "This is Ash, and today we're reporting from the White City's own Gamma District School friendlies! Welcome to the ‘Pokémon Arena!’"

He stretched out his words ceremoniously. The spectators broke into resounding applause, and holograms flashed in the background, replacing the school stadium with the illusion of a huge arena.

The young show host continued, "Our first contestants are Thomas Groß and the steady audience favorite, Pikachu!"

The applause roared again, and the camera turned to a scrawny curly-haired boy dressed in a dazzling white shirt and a tie clipped with a lightning bolt pin. A small yellow creature with pointy ears was bouncing impatiently near him, squeaking furiously.

The frame switched back to the host again as he reached out his hand to the other side.

"And their opponents—Harry Carpenter and Ekans, the two-time champions of Gamma District School!"

The view shifted to the other side of the arena. A black boy stood there, a wicked grin on his face. He was dressed in jeans and a hoodie, and held a snake. Barely restrained violence boiled beneath the snake's calm demeanor.

"Let's hear what the contestants have to say!" the host exclaimed. The camera panned to a close-up of the yellow creature's owner.

"Pikachu always wins!" the boy stated confidently. "That's what the show's taught me, and mine's never let me down!"

The picture shifted back to the host. He nodded and gestured to the serpent's owner, the camera following the motion.

"Ekans has already defeated Pikachu," he said. "Not this one, but others. Four of them. Piece of cake."

Lyra smiled. This was something familiar in an alien world. She loved sports, and not just from a spectator's seat. She had participated in the Running of the Leaves and a triathlon or two in Equestria, and was even somewhat skilled in the unicorn martial art, "The Path of Tranquility." Not that she thought of it as a sport; it was not an art of body control, but magical prowess. Alas, she could not pursue it anymore: her telekinesis was pretty weak in this world, hardly fit for combat. Lyra enveloped a cookie from the jar on the table in a magical glow and brought it to her mouth.

It was wildly exciting to watch the top-notch aerobatics of pegasi or the plain but immensely exhausting earth pony races. I wonder which kind of sport the kids with these funny creatures are going to compete in?

As if to reply to her thought, the music roared and the host exclaimed, "Let the battle begi-i-i-in!!!"

The camera zoomed in on the combatants.

Lyra could not believe her eyes. The almost seven feet long snake attacked the tiny yellow creature.

"Pikachu!" the squeaking furball cried time and again.

"Eka-a-a-an-s-s-s!" the snake hissed in reply.

At that, the fighters traded blows. Lyra would bet anything that the little furball was doomed. Worn out by the lashing tail blows, suffering from the bites, it could hardly evade the ceaseless attacks.

The camera switched to the faces of the young owners. Lyra saw their excitement and ardor but not even a hint of sympathy.

Finally, the serpent managed to coil around its little furry opponent. Pikachu was struggling desperately, trying to claw and bite its way out of the deadly grip, but all its attacks didn't even scratch Ekans' thick scales.

But when the serpent was about to deliver the final blow, the yellow creature suddenly lit up with a bright flash of unknown magic. The serpent's angry hiss turned into a painful shriek. With a clap of thunder, a blazing ball of lightning engulfed the tangled fighters.

When the flash subsided, it was the serpent who was vanquished. It lay on the ground convulsing, body twitching with residual discharges, eyes rolled into its head.

Lyra watched in horror as the masters rushed up to their beaten, bloody pets.

What's going on? These poor creatures are in dire need of medical attention, stat! Lyra thought, panic rising inside her.

"Pika… Pika-chuu!" the furball squeaked, getting weaker by the second. "Pi…chu!"

As if not noticing its suffering, the master hugged his pet tightly, staining his white shirt.

"I love you too, Pikachu!" he cried.

"…What are you're watching?" asked Vic, stepping into the room.

A grav tray hovered before him. Vic gestured to the coffee table, and the smart house system guided it there.

Victor cast a look at the visor screen and grimaced.

"Uhm, what nonsense. I mean, it's a kids show, you know."

"I don't understand. Who are these…" Lyra mumbled.

"These are pocket monsters. They are created for the sole purpose of fighting each other in tournaments to earn badges for their masters."

I wonder how absurd that sounded for her, Vic thought.

Lyra's huge eyes stared at him, uncomprehending and grief-stricken.

"But… but why?" the unicorn asked, her voice faltering, as a new fight was unfolding on the screen. "Suppose they are monsters, they're still living beings… why were they created? Look how they suffer! They're screaming in agony! What kind of entertainment is this, watching somebody writhe in pain?"

"Some people enjoy it," Vic grumbled in embarrassment, then hastily added, "I don't."

Lyra took the man's hand into her hooves and looked up at him plaintively. Her ears pinned back affectingly, the unicorn asked, "Does this boy not realize his pet is going to die?"

Vic tried to explain it. "Look, I don't know all the fine points, but here's the gist of it. These monsters, these… pokémons, are bred specifically for the arena. Did you see the orbs those kids were holding?"

Lyra nodded in response. A spark of curiosity shone through her eyes.

"Well, those things are called pokéballs, if I recall correctly. They work as pokémon control modules. Pokémons aren't actually conscious during the fight. At that time they are controlled by their owners. Trust me, Pikachu's going to be fine. It'll be healed in a few minutes after its young master carries it to the school medical block."

"Goodness gracious!" Lyra exclaimed. "And you let children do this? And for what? Badges? Trinkets?"

Vic shrugged and said, "Well, I told you this show was nonsensical."

"This show isn't nonsensical! It's atrocious!"

"Visor, National Geographic," Vic commanded, and the picture of the chirping host was replaced with a majestic mountain landscape. "Unfortunately, there are too many… bad things happening in the world. I'll explain some before long. I just need to prepare. Until then, don't let it go to your head, okay?"

Lyra felt perplexed. She was dying of curiosity to see how many more puzzling facets humankind had yet to show. Her fear was slowly fading. Yes, this is savagery from a pony's standpoint. But, considering the human omnivority, it doesn't seem all that bad. After all, pegasi hold martial arts tournaments in Cloudsdale. Maybe this monster arena is also an integral part of human culture, Lyra thought.

Moreover, the unicorn desperately wanted to trust Vic, the first human she had met in this novel world.

Lyra forced a smile.

"All right. Although I still don't get it why you bother with me…"

Victor scratched Lyra behind her ears. The pony giggled shyly, her eyes half-closed in pleasure. Then, suddenly, she rose on her hind legs right on the couch and folded her front legs around the man.

Her soft muzzle touched his face.

Lyra gave Vic's cheek a friendly nuzzle and noticed him blush. Giggling again, she returned to the couch and said, "Thank you for all your effort. Now, how about some tea?"

Victor nodded and sat down beside her.

As the night slowly took the reins from the sun, the VR system remained unused for the first time in years.

***

That night, Victor was awakened by a rustling sound from the kitchen. He carefully left the bed and put on a bathrobe. His feet bare, he walked through the corridor making no sound.

He gingerly peeked through the doorway, and what he saw almost made him laugh out loud.

He and Lyra had decided that they would go to bed early and spend the next day exploring the city. After the incident at the opera, Victor wanted to show the unicorn something more decent, like the National Natural History Museum, the Geneva spaceport or the cyclopean Galaxy-Plaza entertainment complex.

The pony refused dinner, having stuffed herself full with sweets and pastries… Well, it seems that was her mistake.

Dressed in a tunic and soft socks, the unicorn stood by the fridge, a half-eaten cake froze in her telekinetic grasp. She stared at the parted door, eyes wide open.

"Itf not what you are finkin!" she blurted out, "These… pokébones freaked me out! And besides, you should have knocked! You said it yourself!"

Lyra looked so touchingly cute with a piece of cake near her mouth that Vic couldn't help smiling.

"What?" she said after a few seconds, the cake finished and her nose stained with cream.

Victor glanced once again, and finally cracked.

"You have a real sweet tooth!" he let out. "You've got no idea how… cute you are!"

"Am not!" protested the pony, stomping her hoof. "And besides, pastries go straight to your flanks. And on top of that, it's just one itsy bitsy little cake!"

"You're welcome," Vic reassured her. "Don't worry, I bought it for you anyway."

"Really?"

"Yes really," he nodded. "And as for the fat flank, tomorrow we can go to a gym or a dancing class."

The unicorn chuckled, spraying the cake around.

A small drone carefully crept out from its burrow and started to clean the floor.

"Thank you." She smiled.

"Good night, Lyra," said Victor, about to leave.

"Vic…"

The man stopped mid-turn and gave the pony a puzzled look.

"You're so kind, taking care of me… thank you," she whispered. He could see her blush even through the unlit kitchen.

"Don't mention it," said Victor, his heart melting. "I'm just happy that you came into my life."

Having said that, he went back to bed. He heard the sound of the fridge door opening and some faint words along the lines of "just one more…."

* * *

Victor stretched, woken up by the morning sunshine. His heart was light.

I still can't get used to this feeling of serenity.

The crack of a whip came from the living room, followed by a muffled moan.

Victor sprang to his feet and dashed to the rescue in his pajamas.

Has someone broken into the apartment? Impossible, it's floor 200…ish… but why does it sound like something very wrong is happening?

"You are a bad, bad filly!" boomed a voice from the room, mixing with the sounds of whimpers and lashing blows.

Vic's heart skipped a beat. He threw the door open, ready to rip the one who dared lay their finger on Lyra apart with his own bare hands. She was so happy and carefree just yesterday!

Lyra was alone.

The holoscreen floated close to the ceiling. Victor glanced there and stifled a groan.

Lyra was a pity to behold. She cowered under the blanket she had pulled up to her eyes and whimpered as she watched the scene play out.

On the screen there was a yellow pegasus pony with a pink mane. She was a synthet, of course, but it had little meaning whatsoever. For Lyra it was a scene of utter horror, with a timid Fluttershy, two humans and lots of leather and steel instruments.

Each strike of the whip scourged the yellow coat and made Lyra shiver. She felt like it was her on the receiving end, in the hands of tormentors… her golden eyes, wide with terror, streamed tears down her muzzle.

"Visor, off!" Victor ordered, though he realized it was far too late. There was no going back now.

The screen blinked off and silence fell over the room. The only sound left was Lyra's quiet weeping.

Vic's heart sank. Drunk with happiness, he had absent-mindedly forgotten to turn the visor's parental control on. This was the reckoning.

He came up to the couch and whispered, "Lyra…"

Weeping grew into sobs. The pony curled into a ball with her back turned, and shuddered. The lack of answer was the worst of all.

Vic risked reaching out and touching the unicorn gently, but that blew her fuse.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed, jumping off the couch. "Keep your hands off me!"

Despair crept up his heart. He watched Lyra back away from him and didn't know what to do. What's going to happen now? Is it a behavioral program glitch? Or will Lyra refuse to associate with me? Or anyone at all?

"Lyra…" Vic repeated helplessly, but the pony's hysteria was in full swing.

"This is what you need me for, yeah?!" she cried, pointing to the visor screen. "For this?!"

Lyra didn't have any sleepwear on. She now stood shaking, trying to wrap herself in a blanket in fitful fruitless attempts. Telekinesis failed her: the stubborn cloth wouldn't do the right thing.

"No no no," the man tried to object and made another step forward, "this is not what—"

"Not what I'm thinking?!" the pony cut in and retreated yet another step, backing away to the door. "Don't touch! Stay away from me!"

"Lyra, please, listen…"

"I don't wanna hear it!"

Having screamed that, the unicorn galloped through the open door, dropping the blanket. The clatter of her hooves ended in the bathroom. She slammed the door shut and locked herself inside.

Silence settled in, occasionally pierced by despaired sobs.

This is it. This is when she is going to glitch. How did she even manage to find this? What channel is it? Oh, for the love of… It's bloody "PonyPlay'X," she just searched for "pony play!" Freaking bastards! Damn. Blast it. This is all my fault. Victor's shock was slowly turning into numbness.

He slid down the wall next to the bathroom door. Every sob was like a nail piercing his heart. It would have been a piece of cake to forcefully open the door or override the lock by voice control, but he didn't even consider it. When the sobbing on the other side started to run dry, he decided to speak once again.

"Lyra, allow me to explain…."

After a long pause, she answered, "Vic. You're… not going to do such… things to me. Right?"

"Never," he assured her instantly, "not in a million years."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The lock clicked. Vic got up and opened the door. Lyra was sitting on the floor, a small puddle of tears having formed on the bathroom tiles beside her.

The man knelt before the pony. He wished to hug her, but was afraid to destroy that narrow bridge of trust thrown across the gap between them.

"Tell me this wasn't for real," the pony asked quietly, even though she knew what his answer would be.

"Lyra," Victor replied, squeezing out every word, "now I'm going to acquaint you with the other side of our world… I intended to do it later, but it seems I have to now. Otherwise, you probably would not understand what happened.

"You see, the human nature is such that destruction is an integral part of civilization. What's more, most people don't really care about one another. They only care about themselves, about how to get their pockets full and their base needs sated. And they go to any length to pursue their ends, no matter the cost.

"Also, nowadays there are many creatures living side by side with humans. They are supposed to bring us love and affection, but some of them are victimized by some particularly bad people.

"Many of us try to stand up for them, but the world is still often cruel and unfair…."

They talked for quite a while.

"I didn't want to tell you this so soon, Lyra," repeated Vic, "but there was no choice left for me. Only the truth could repair the damage, so here it is. This is how human society works. I seem to have told you about bronies, whose ranks I've recently joined. You know, the people who like little ponies. Most of them are nice guys. Sometimes they act weird, but the magic of friendship has firmly settled in our hearts. And I implore you to give us a chance. We could visit a brony club tonight. You would meet both people and ponies. You can ask ponies in case you’ve lost faith in us. Deal?"

An uncertain smile grew on Lyra's tear-stained muzzle.

"Okay…" the pony said softly.

Victor let out a sigh of relief.

The pony sniffed and stretched out her front leg. The man smiled and bumped his fist against the outstretched hoof.

* * *

To distract Lyra from her gloomy thoughts, Victor piloted his flyer around the central district of the Spires. Lyra even smiled looking at the majestic buildings which propped up the sky like white needles, their polished facets glittering in the light of the morning sun. Peeking at her in the rear view screen, Vic mentally gave a sigh of relief.

Soon the flyer left the downtown area and headed for a quiet suburb close to the Northern hyperloop line. The number and length of the trains also impressed Lyra, but all of a sudden she forgot all the questions she was going to ask.

A huge cigar-shaped stratoliner floated across the sky, heading to the main airport. Its long shadow slowly crept over the city, covering whole blocks. Lyra could not take her eyes off the gargantuan machine even though she had already seen such things on visor.

"I couldn't imagine they are so… big," she said with a giggle. "Someone's definitely making up for something."

Victor gave an uncertain chuckle. It seemed like all the technological wonders made Lyra forget about the things she had seen recently. At least, he hoped so. He intentionally plotted a course past the main airport, the sea harbor, the industrial area, the power plants, the business district and the central park.

Judging by the gleam in her eyes, she'd left behind her fears, at least for the moment.

Their final destination, however, wasn't the great shining spires of the White City far above; it was the small, hologram-decorated building of the Solaire Club, barely visible from the air.

The club holograms had recently been updated. The new glowing signboard boasted a stylized image of a boat riding the waves. On the boat's deck stood figures of a man and a pony.

The building itself was ordinary, but now Victor could see that the club was designed to resemble Canterlot Castle. Holograms of plasterwork and waterfalls, which Vic hadn't noticed before, completed its fairytale atmosphere. Vic realized he had never entered the club from the front door yet. On the sides of a wide staircase stood statues of rearing alicorns, and the door was decorated with the flag of Equestria.

Lyra met his gaze and smiled shyly. She clearly felt better being in familiar surroundings.

Having descended from the Spires, Vic felt like he'd stepped a century into the past. The streets here were divided into a sidewalk and a roadway; wheeled transport was still very common outside White City. Garbage that hadn't made it to recycling was scattered here and there. The street lights, piercing through the enormous shadow of the White City, were dim… except for the advertising banners.

Victor had already warned his friends he would bring his pony that noon, so that they asked one of the Pinkies to throw a party. He decided not to mention the PonyPlay channel issue for now.

The main hall greeted them with dimmed lights and silence. Vague outlines could be seen in the darkness, and ominous shuffling surrounded them.

Lyra giggled, "This reminds me of that time in Ponyville, when we arranged a…"

"SURPRISE!!!" boomed a chorus of voices.

The lights turned on. The main hall was filled with people and ponies.

Under the "Welcome, Lyra!" banner, in the middle of the hall, bounced… no, not a Pinkie Pie, like Victor was expecting, though all four of the club's pink ponies were there too. The partymeister's crown rested on the head of a white pegasus with purple eyes and a blonde stack of unruly curls.

The blonde pegasus rushed to the newcomers and announced in a loud theatrical whisper, drawing them in with her hooves: "You are thinking 'why isn't a Pinkie organizing the party'! Well, I'll tell ya!

“Once there were so many Pinkies at the club, they ended up bickering which of them should entertain the others. Then a white pony named Surprise—that's me, nice to meet you—joined them, and thought it would be great to make partymeister a rotating position! So everyone can be a partymeister! Just in shifts. And today is Surprise's shift! And that's me! Nice to meet you too!"

Serge Troyanovsky, the chairman of the club, coughed politely to stop the rushing flow of the partymeister's speech and announced, "Let's welcome Victor Stewart, one of our newcomers, who was brave enough to take in Lyra Heartstrings!"

People and ponies in the hall burst into rapturous cheers, applause and stomping.

Lyra turned her head to Victor to ask what he meant by "brave enough," but Surprise flew up to the door, and handed each one a glass of punch to get them started.

"Help yourselves!" she commanded with a wide smile. "We are always glad to make new friends!"

When the greetings were finally over, the party began in earnest, thanks to four Pinkies and one Surprise whirling like a tornado. Victor always felt a little uncomfortable on such occasions; however, he was soon dragged from Lyra by his VR friends.

Vic hadn't been to the club for a while, except for some occasional virtual visits. He didn't want to admit it, but he still held a grudge against Pinkie Pie McGee for her prank. It wasn't that Vic had regrets about anything, no—but the carefree attitude, of how the pink pony played him, hurt the man. What if someone really fell in love with that mischievous lass from the Net? Pinkie would break someone's heart without ever noticing.

Sometimes the pink ponies' carelessness seemed to be just criminal. Especially McGee's. Other Pinkies did not indulge themselves in such thoughtless behavior. Her owner, Timothy McGee, a real piece of work on his own, did nothing about it, silently encouraging her pranks. However, it was considered to be in bad taste to refuse to come to the club in person with your new pony.

Vic looked around. He wanted to see Steven to finally thank him personally for the silver lining to the mediocrity of his existence.

"Glad you finally befriended a real pony," Zelda Miras said, approaching him with a springy step. She stopped next to him and looked at Lyra. Zelda's fingers touched a cloud-shaped medallion with a rainbow lightning bolt on her neck.

"Ah, hello, Zelda," Vic said. "I, ahem, guess my time had come, so to speak. Heh."

How does she manage to startle me every time? he thought. What a gal. So gusty. How can a person be so slender and muscular at the same time? She's more rainbowy and dashy than her pegasus.

"So you made up your mind at last?" she asked, throwing back an unruly strand of blue hair from her forehead.

Vic shrugged. Truth be told, he had no idea why he finally made that purchase after a whole month of doubt. Everyone came to this at their own time, though. Some preferred not to own a real pony at all, limiting themselves to MLP-related content.

"You know Lyras are glitchy, right? So what's your plan?" she asked.

"To be careful," the man said, frowning. He immediately recalled the incident from this morning.

Vic was saved from this unpleasant conversation by another brony, Shannon McStout, accompanied by Big Macintosh. The red stallion chewed on something and seemed to pay little attention to the environment. However, everyone had long been used to him doing so. They knew Mac was just shy and didn't usually talk first.

"Hi, Vic!" said Shannon and shook his hand, "Thanks for bringing Lyra to the club. Lyra Heartstrings Stewart, how cute!"

As far as Victor knew, it was very hard to distinguish twin synthets. The rule of thumb was to add their masters' last names to their full names during registration. Also, bronies did their best not to dress them in the same clothes. The pastel colored horses were aware of this, and swapped their clothes to prank their owners. Pinkie Pies especially loved such pranks, since they accepted the existence of their "other selves" easier than others.

The Mirror Pool was the perfect excuse for doubles. It was hard to question it, at least for those ponies whose behavioral program had the "EQ" index.

"You don't have to use my surname," Victor replied, "There's no other Lyra in the club, right?"

"I remember Cynthia had one," Zelda replied, "but she moved to West Side a long time ago, so that doesn't count. I heard her Lyra's program caught a glitch. Don't know what happened to her."

"Hey, just look how excited the guys are!" Shannon said, a smile on her face.

Victor rejoiced that the conversation had shifted from a slippery topic. Looking at where his friend pointed, he saw the flustered and blushing unicorn surrounded by the club members. They bombarded her with questions.

He overheard strands of conversation: "…like our world?", "would you want to have hands?", "…make a pass at you? Just say the word, and we'll…"

Rainbow Dash dove down from the ceiling, deftly landing on all fours. Judging by her T-shirt and a baseball cap with a university logo, she was definitely Zelda's friend. Besides, it was a rare case for a rainbow-colored pegasus to wear a skirt: usually all Rainbows preferred sportswear that didn't constrain movements.

Zelda smiled and ruffled the pony's already dishevelled mane. "Hey, grab some juice, Dee!"

Dash wriggled out from under the caressing palm and stuck out her tongue. No rainbow pegasus liked the "pony-mushy stuff," though they never got angry about it for real.

"Na-ah," she said. "Today Dash Troyanovsky called me out to a height contest. Tomorrow, in the country. Will you come to witness my awesomeness?"

"You bet!" Zelda said, giving her a brohoof.

They are madly similar, just like twins, Victor thought. Same gestures, striking resemblance in appearance. And their eyes have that gleam when they are together.

Vic smiled. Less than half a year had passed since his following the advice of Steven Aguilar and watching the first episode of the show. It was an instant hook, just like with all those people. Grown-up people, often with families, most of them from White City. What was that special something each brony found in a centuries-old two-dimensional animation? Nobody would attempt to give a conclusive answer. Studies were conducted. Some tried to prove or disprove something… just like in the past.

Meanwhile, bronies just made friends—both with ponies and with each other. Oftentimes, this changed them beyond recognition.

Lyra Heartstrings felt a little shy. She was surrounded by people who seemed to tower above her in such a crowd. Some dropped to their knees to be on the same level with her. They overwhelmed her with questions or tried to introduce themselves. The request to scratch her behind the ears drove the unicorn to blush even more, but before things escalated further, Surprise squeezed into the circle with the "make way for the partymeister!" cry. She deftly slipped between the human legs and found herself next to Lyra.

"I'm snatching this little Lyra out of here, guys!" she declared, then switched to a loud whisper. "We need to talk… you know, mare stuff!"

The crowd chuckled, and it wasn't difficult for the pegasus to lead the unicorn aside to where ponies mingled with one another.

"Phew." Lyra exhaled and looked in Surprise's eyes. "Thanks. I was totally lost in there."

"Ah, don't get angry with them," the pegasus said, winking and shaking her hoof dismissively. Her voice and her movements gave Lyra the impression she was talking to a winged Pinkie Pie rolled in flour. "The guys here are nice and fun! They are just curious and all too cheesy-huggsy when they see a new pony!"

Lyra couldn't even begin to imagine what could possibly unsettle the pink sweet tooth and her pegasus counterpart.

Surprise led Lyra to a group of club ponies. She was surrounded by familiar faces, but everypony introduced themselves anew. They all found their way to the human world the way Lyra did, but nopony cared who was a copy and who wasn't. Lyra felt she didn't care much either.

If an OBE bioengineer happened to be here, they would have a lot to say about emotional modulation and logical nodes of behavioral programs. Sadly there were none, so no one could come up with these nerdy matters, not even the two Twilight Sparkles that sat at a table and played some extremely convoluted logic game. The unicorns were so absorbed in the game they hardly ever found time to make their acquaintance with the new pony. It seemed that the Twilight in a blue and silver dress was winning over the Twilight in a yellow tunic.

"Surprise, is there a Bon-Bon in the club?" Lyra asked all of a sudden.

"Not now, no," the white pegasus replied, hovering two feet above the floor. "Stevie has one, but he took his herd to the sea, so she went with him. They'll return tomorrow."

"How do you mean 'his herd?'" asked the astounded Lyra. As far as she was concerned, a herd was an ancient type of polygamous family.

"Well, yeah, what else would you call lots of ponies living together?" Surprise giggled. "Steve is quite a pony collector."

In her mind, Lyra went back to what she had seen in the morning. One can collect stamps, pebbles maybe… but living ponies? Sentient beings? She couldn't wrap her head around it.

The pegasus noticed the change in Lyra's expression and poked her slightly in the side with a hoof.

"Lyra, you're looking at this the wrong way! Steve and his ponies are like Fluttershy and her little critters. He takes care of them, nurses them, and would never do them harm."

Lyra nodded, although she did not particularly believe it. She had already overheard a snatch of conversation on how Steve "might marry all his fillies eventually."

A soft electronic melody flowed from the DJ booth. Sure enough, having glanced there Lyra spotted Vinyl Scratch dressed in an outfit that seemed to be entirely made of golden sequins.

In fact, even familiar ponies seemed different when dressed. Funny how this attribute became a part of everyday life for everyone who found themselves in the human world. It even helped many ponies bearing identical looks to highlight their individuality.

Little by little, Victor left the partying crowd. He stood leaning against the carved column and silently observing Lyra. She made her acquaintance with so many ponies and people. How does she manage to be so open and friendly to everyone? How can she even remember all those names, while there are no unique cutie-marks to help her? You never were as good at this as she is, pal, and you probably never will, will you?

Meanwhile, the party rolled on. Somebody was dancing on the raised tile dance floor, saturating the background music with stomping and clatter. A sparkling disco ball spun under the high ceiling, and a few pegasi dashed around it. Others simply sat at their tables or at the bar, and enjoyed the abundance of snacks and drinks available in the menu.

The classic berry punch went down a treat with the clubbers. Its familiar taste brought back a lot of Lyra's fond memories of parties in now distant Equestria. There also was cider poured into huge tankards, just like it was at Sweet Apple Acres. The pony pouring it from a huge cask was, of course, Applejack in her signature stetson, now worn askew. She completed her daring look with jeans, a shirt with rolled back sleeves and a bandana around her heck.

Lyra was asked to join at almost every table, but after making some small talk she excused herself from the groups of merry party patrons and moved on. She couldn't shake off a feeling of uneasiness.

Ponies and people here looked happy and serene. They chatted merrily or played "pin the tail on the pony" or Twister, ignoring the anatomical differences. Some guy in a smart suit was busy playing chess with seemingly his own pony incarnation: the earth pony was of the same gray tint as the man's suit. Their similar hairstyles and the old-fashioned glasses on both noses further emphasized their likeness.

The last time Lyra saw Vic, he was talking to a tall blue-haired girl, but then he disappeared from her sight. Lyra was about to start searching for Victor in the crowd, but the partymeister came to the rescue once again. Surprise had just finished organizing another game of Twister which naturally ended in a dogpile and an uproar of laughter.

"Lyra!" Surprise darted at Lyra. "You have to play us something, stat!"

"What's the rush?" Lyra was clearly surprised. She hadn't even brought a musical instrument! For that matter, she didn't even know whether Vic had one.

"Because you should be the one in the spotlight at your party!" Surprise giggled and jumped into the air.

"But I—" She didn't have a chance to finish her phrase as the partymeister attracted everyone's attention in the simplest of ways.

"Hey, folks!" Surprise shouted so loud that every single head turned in her direction, and the Twister players fell to the floor. Again. "Lyra is going to play right now! The lyre-a! No, not herself, the instrument of course, tee-hee!"

The audience burst into applause. Under the stare of nearly a hundred eyes Lyra blushed again, but amiably trotted to the stage, which was already crammed with Vinyl's equipment.

The white unicorn with an electric blue mane and signature glasses covering half of her face waved her front leg at Lyra. In a white glow of magic a low, pony-sized stool levitated to her, a familiar instrument resting on it.

"The previous Lyra left it," Vinyl explained from behind her console, "so have fun. You start, and I'll add some effects. And don't be afraid, everypony's a friend here."

A wave of applause reverberated through the hall once again. Even the restless pegasi took seats wherever they could, and the club plunged into relative silence. Vinyl touched some keys on the console with her telekinesis, and suddenly all the lights focused on the mint-green unicorn. She shuddered nervously at the sight of all the stares looking back at her.

The shimmering copper-colored lyre rose into the air, shrouded in pale radiance.

Lyra closed her eyes and imagined invisible fingers touching the strings. Although she never had fingers, somehow she knew precisely what they felt like.

The strings produced the first quiet sound. A tranquil, soothing motif spread across Solaire. Vinyl touched something on the console once again, and an entire invisible orchestra began to play along with the simple sounds of strings. The melody spread across the hall like a cool wind in the midday heat. Noisy a minute ago, the club turned into an island of silence, washed by the sounds of an ancient motif which Lyra had learned back in Canterlot….

In the dim light, one could see the people and the ponies moving closer to each other. Even the restless Pinkies calmed down and sat on their haunches, smiling and squinting in pleasure. One of the Rainbow Dashes embraced the weeping Fluttershy as a skinny guy with a freckled face stroked her pink mane. The two Twilight Sparkles paused their game and stared at the scene in astonishment. It seemed that there hadn't been a live musical performance in the club for quite a while, not one that masterful at least.

The dance floor also changed its appearance. Blinking to the melody, the flooring now pleased the eye with rolling waves of blue, green and yellow. A guy asked a girl for a dance. Another one asked a mare. A slow dance began.

Then Lyra started to sing. Just the emotions she could no longer contain flowing freely, a serene harmony. Lyra sang and wasn't noticing anything except the strings and the music pouring from them.

That was what she needed so bad. What all the people in the club needed so bad.

Surprise would be proud.

When the melody ended, the audience did not recover right away. Soon, the applauding people and the stomping ponies showed how hungry everyone was for real, impassioned music.

"Lyra, you've got to keep the instrument," Vinyl said from behind her console, "no one can play it like you."

The green unicorn blushed and replied, "N-no, thanks, but… it does belong to Lyra Heartstrings, but not to me. I can't…."

Vinyl smiled and shook her head. She didn't seem to be offended.

"Princess Celestia!" Surprise yelled, darting down from the ceiling.

Lyra flinched and turned her head, almost dropping the instrument.

Indeed, from a service door walked Her. Celestia, the goddess of day and light, the elder princess, the solar mare, and so forth, and so forth…

A fanfare of trumpets boomed from the speakers, and all bowed before the Princess.

Lyra noted that people dropped to one knee and bowed their heads, while ponies fell on their front legs, and she hurried to follow suit.

Looking up, the unicorn was involuntarily lost in adoration of her ruler. The white dress embroidered in gold seemed a bit old-fashioned, but it didn't ruin the general impression. The dress matched the ivory princess splendidly, making Lyra assume that its maker was none other than Rarity. The gold of the regalia casting specks from the lights of the club made the alicorn shine in a rainbow of colors.

"Rise, friends," she said softly. "I heard wonderful music and decided to join the occasion."

People and ponies rose. The Princess did not cause any commotion: apparently, the presence of an august person was a matter of habit for everyone. Their reaction was unlike that of the Canterlot residents who strived to pay their respects at every opportunity.

"Your Highness! You're here!" Lyra exclaimed. Celestia gazed upon her subject.

"Calm down, my little pony." She smiled, and then turned to Victor. "I will talk to her, Vic. It's all right, don't worry."

Lyra grinned.

Princess Celestia is here. Everything is going to be all right. For sure. It just can't be otherwise.

Author's Note

There are a few small messages our team wants to share with you.

Slaaneshi (translator, editor, PR-pony, grammar nazi):
On behalf of our team I want to express our gratitude to our English-speaking editors for their help and their work in unbearable conditions we create for them!
• Icy Shake
• Scootareader
• Clacksphob
• and all the kind souls from Fimfiction and Yay Friendship! Discord servers.
Guys, you are awesome!

V_Korneev (Evil Overlord):
Enjoy the improved quality of the text! So many innocent editors were tormented by us to achieve this result, Earth still shivers from their cries of despair!
Behold the illustration I drew to torture your sense of beauty! Shower me with your adoration! NOTICE ME SENPA... ahem... I'll probably just go sit over there. Quietly. Yes.

SviMik the translator (Svimik, translator):
I liked the version of this chapter Google Translate made.

Dr.Schmallhausen (translator, editor, lore expert):
I don't know who these people are. Please call the police.

Chapter 05

The Princess took Lyra away from the main hall. Walking beside the alicorn, unicorn couldn’t take her sparkling eyes from alicorn, noticing nothing around…

Painted door lead both ponies into big room, though not as big as the main hall. Everything here reminded of home world: furniture, designed for ponies, pillows instead of chairs, lower ceiling, stained glass windows…

A very big and fluffy carpet was occupying the center of the room, beside it were resting a pile of paper and a small computer with a printing device. Obviously, the Princess was busy with something.

“Dear Princess Celestia, today I…” — a brief glance at computer caught some words out of text.

Lyra looked around carefully.

It looked like ponies were back in Equestria, right into Canterlot Castle. A wide bed, cloaked in shadows of opposing wall, a few shelves filled with books and scrolls, a dressing table with a huge mirror. Closed cupboard filled, obviously, with clothing, and a burning fireplace, that setted home comfort atmosphere.

Yet outside of the window were not the pastoral beauties of Central Plains and Ponyville, that were seen from Canterlot Peak, but the lights of a human city.

— Do you want some tea? - asked the Princess, and Lyra nodded negatively

— Thank you, Princess, but it’s not necessary. I’m so grateful, that You would listen me out!..

A hardly noticeable smile appeared on alicorn’s muzzle.

— You want to tell me something, my little pony, - sayed the princess, and it wasn’t a question.

— Of course! - the unicorn couldn’t figure where to start, as she was overwhelmed by emotions. — I... I am so happy to end up in human world, Your Highness, but just this morning...

— If you wish, lie down. It looks like we will have a long talk.

Alicorn circled scattered pillows with her leg, and Lyra lied down onto one of them, feeling a little shy and unconsciously choosing a green one.

Unicorn talked, and Celestia didn’t interrupt. Little pony’s emotions were rushing between complete delight and bone-chilling horror, and she didn’t know what to do with all that... After some time, when Lyra was out of words, it was time for a cup of tea: Overwhelmed by flooding emotions, pony was talking fast and loud, her throat become dry. Alicorn suggested to take a break.

Lyra was sitting on the floor beside the rug, that was replacing the desk. Princess filled the cups with tea, and levitated plate with cake from buffet. Another plate came down in front of Lyra. The unicorn gratefully smiled, and bowed her head.

— Your Highness, — Lyra sayed a little after, — I’m so happy that you listened to me, but… Please, tell me, how did You end up here?

Alicorn smiled, yet her smile was bitter.

— I couldn’t send my little ponies, even ones from the Mirror Pool to a fate, I haven’t experienced myself… — she answered, and added — unfortunately, there is no way back to Equestria. It truly was a wise decision not to go here by myself…

— You too are from the Mirror Pool?! — Lyra nearly choked on tea.

— Your friend is worried about you, Lyra, — the princess changed the topic of conversation, — And taking into account that I heard, you need something more, than explanations.

— Yes! Your Highness, it’s…

— Trust me, my little pony, there is a lot of good people in this world, and the best, that ponies can give back are friendship and love. And throughout both series, ponies gave humans a lot of both.

Lyra closed eyes, and again saw grim casemate, filled with muffled moans and whip strikes.

“You’re bad, bad pony!” — rude voice echoed through memories…

— If ponies gave people so much love and friendship, why some of them treat us like that? — unicorn quietly asked.

The Princess took a deep breath and hesitated, before giving an answer.

— Many people just can’t understand what ponies want to teach them. Or their understanding is twisted. But we can’t turn on them because of that.

— But why? — Unicorn almost started to cry, but held back — Where did this loathing came from?

— That’s just it, Lyra Heartstrings, — There was pain in alicorn’s voice, — Many of the people cloak their love in such an ugly form. Just because they don’t know any other way.

— But if people distort meaning of kindness so much, what can we do?

— We? We can bring love and friendship. As we were doing hundreds of years ago. And if just one of them would change, it would mean our victory.

— But Princess! You haven’t seen that Fluttershy!..

Celestia hugged Lyra with her wing, (and rested her head on top of Lyra’s head).

— I saw a lot, my little pony, — Celestia whispered — Even things I would prefer never to see. But since this evil exists, we can’t pretend that it doesn’t. Besides, you are partly right, and some people just hate anybody, who doesn’t look like them. But it there were no ponies, they would hate someone else. Sadly, this is the part of most people’s nature.

Alicorn felt how unicorn under her wing started to shiver due to coming tears.

— But why won’t You interrupt, Princess? — Lyra asked — There was so much pain, so much fear! It’s like I was there myself, in that dungeon, to be tortured by monsters in the guise of human…

Celestia took a breath, as if unicorn raised a very heavy topic. When Alicorn spoke, her voice was full of feebleness:

— Lyra, I’m princess only within the walls of “The Lighthouse”. Bronies venerate and respect me, but, essentially, they are the hosts here. Everything is different of the club. For the good being of my little ponies, and those, whom we gave the light of friendship, I’ve accepted it. Magic cannot move the Sun and Moon around in this world.

— But what about other ponies? — Lyra asked, — Do they have to suffer because of humans’ vices?

— One can’t just fill the world, sunken in darkness, with light. Unfortunately, “Do everything right” spell doesn’t exist neither in Equestria, nor here.

Lyra didn’t look up. One by one, bitter tears started to shed onto the carpet.

— But Fluttershy… She was in such pain…

— Within the walls of “Ponyplay” much worse things happen. And worst of all, some ponies took an awful example from such people… — Celestia sighed, — But we can stop it only with kindness and love. There is no other way.

— I saw that word - “Ponyplay” on a TV ad… What is it?

— A very, very bad place, Lyra. Ponies and humans gather there too, but… They are different. Do you know, what I mean? That kind behavior is considered normal there.

— Princess, Your magic…

— Is weak here, as your. I think, it because the source of my powers - the Sun, located much, much further. However it’s my hypothesis, and it’s hard to prove.

— But the Sun here is just a little bit smaller, than Equestria’s!

— Oh, Lyra… The Sun here is so big, it is hard to even imagine. It appears small, because it is in an unthinkable distance.

Lyra raised her desperate gaze upon Celestia.

— But what can we do then, Princess Celestia? How can I accept all of this?

— You can take care of your friend, Victor. Then darkness will take a tiny step back, and when Victor will bring the magic of friendship to his family and friends, that tiny step will become wider. Majority of people does not believe in magic of friendship, but it does exist, and it is as powerful as in Equestria. Wonders can happen even here, in this gloomy world of technology.

Lyra let it sink for a few seconds, then closed her eyes and hugged solar alicorn.

— Thank you, your majesty, — she whispered, swallowing tears, — it’s all that was bothering me. It was just eating me from inside. I couldn’t imagine, that humans’ world could be brought before me like that.

Celestia smiled, supporting minty-green unicorn with her wing. In moments like this, she could believe, that she is the one, who others prefer to think about.

***

When Lyra and Celestia left, Victor got nervous.

Alicorn, obviously, was a synth. Bronies from the club chipped in to buy her, gathering money for several years. Also, princess didn’t have “EQ” index, and knew the truth from the beginning. When she’d got settled, she accepted the rules, and started to help ponies and people with advice when needed.

Celestia become the beacon around which gathered those, who lit their fire of friendship, in the darkness of apathy.

By sorting out mail, by helping and supporting, Celestia has become the spiritual leader of people, who called themselves “Brony”, and also become the bearer of Equestria’s spirit for ponies, who came into reality from the lands of wonders.

Victor knew it, but still couldn’t calm down.

— Had you already told her, in what kind of world she came? — Shannon asked Victor.

— So far, mostly the good things, — he answered — But warned her about us eating meat, and that we tended to make war a lot. She reacted kinda calmly.

— “Kinda” ?

— Without tantrums, cries, and jumping out of window.

Maxtaut shaked his head:

— Alright, then. I mean, you shouldn’t throw everything at her at one time…

When doors opened again, Lyra was there. And as Victor’s eyes met with the shining glance of Lyra’s golden eyes, he felt relief.

Pony run towards kneeling Victor and flew into his arms, hugging and nuzzling him.

— I’m so sorry, please, forgive me, — she whispered, ignoring cheering rumble around — For being scared, for not trusting you! You are my friend! The first and the best friend in this world of humans! Please, promise me, that you won’t leave me…

Victor, got rid of a lump in his throat, stroked pony’s silky mane and whispered into twitchy ear:

— I will never let you go. I promise. And forgive us for this cruel world...

Some of present delicately turned away. Some watched, and didn’t hide tears. One of Pinkies, dressed in white and red dress started to cry. Two bronies started comfort her.

Victor hugged slightly trembling Lyra, and warmth of gratitude to Celestia filled his heart. She always managed to deal with “Equestria-borns”, and Lyra wasn’t an exception.

Unicorn felt, how human firmly hugged her to his chest. She closed her eyes and tried not to cry.

— hey-hey-hey! — Surprise spoke — Why there is sadness on the party? Not on my watch!

White pegasus swooped down from somewhere above, and blew three horns at once. Lyra and Victor, almost jumped because of surprise, instantly were given party-hats. Partymaker flew up, and sang to the funky music:

— Why you all have to be sad?
Why are you looking down?
Smile, dance a little,
And laugh for a while!

Burst of applause and laughter were the answer. Lyra smiled, turned to Victor, and met his eyes. He smiled in answer.

— And now - fun! — declared Surprise — No objections!

No one even wanted to…

***

Flyer took them late at night. Lyra, which were taken into every dance and game by Surprise, fell asleep in the flyer’s cabin. Victor was yawning himself, so he’d turned on the autopilot. Last thing he needed, is to smash into one of the Spires. Electronics would take control in that situation, of course, but dealing with air-police would be a pain.

When they came home, Victor took pony to the sofa, and laid her down without taking off her clothing, in order not to bring back morning fears. He put blanket over the unicorn, left the room and started preparing for the night…

Victor had almost fallen asleep, when he heard clatter of hooves, muffled by a rag.

He tried to fall back to sleep, but the soft voice of the unicorn intruded his dreams:

— Vic, are you asleep?

— No, — he answered and turned to the pony. Their faces were on the same level now — Something happened?

Unicorn looked a little embarrassed.

— I… Can I sleep with you today? — she asked, looking away — I… I’m still feeling bad after what I had sawn this morning.

Victor’s heart missed a beat, he moved a bit and got up on his elbow.

— Of course, Lyra, hop on.

When Lyra lied down, Victor noticed, that she changed her clothings to a long and baggy t-shirt, that was covering her down to the tail. Lyra lied with her back toward Victor, but even her presence here was a miracle.

— Hug me, please. — She asked very quietly, and with a smile, Victor put his hand on her flank.

They hadn’t spoken a word, and Victor fell asleep, feeling pony’s heartbeat under his hand and breathing minty mane. Thinking about what a great gesture of trust was her deed.

Lyra didn’t fall asleep right away.

She had came here for several reasons. The first was what she said to Victor, it wasn’t a lie. But there were other reasons that she didn’t mention.

She wanted to test, if human would try to molest her after what he had sayed. And get over herself, get over the fear, that was instilled by human culture.

Minute by minute the time passed. Victor didn’t even try to get under her t-shirt, to forbidden places, though one of them, close to the horn, was just a few centimeters away from his face.

But Victor’s breath soon become deep and calm, and his arm, that was on Lyra’s flank, relaxed and got heavier.

Pony calmed down, her thoughts gradually become ones about safety, and tiredness took over...

***

— ... Victor!!! — Loud voice woke him up as good as cannon fire — What does this mean?!

He jumped up on his bed, sleepily blinking. Beside him, with the same face expression, sat Lyra, obviously woken up by the voice.

At the bedroom doors stood his mother - mrs Sally Stewart dressed in unchanging outfit - jeans and snickers. Her lush hair pulled into a ponytail, sunglasses resting in top of the head - classical image of a housewife... Misleading impression. She was co-owner and commercial director of family business inheritor of which Victor will become.

But only if you would become at least little successful by himself - that was the only condition.

— Dear, what’s happening?! — came father’s voice from the corridor — I’ll be in a second!

Steps came closer, and John Stewart, the head of the family himself, showed up. Muscular, square-built man in his 40s, actually was almost 70 years old, and took a nano-rejuvenate courses. Victor knew firsthand, that his dad was not only a good businessman, but also a hunter and a boxer.

Victor’s childhood was full of hiking and sports training, but his father didn’t make him do it, rather he inspired Victor by his own example. He was a man, that Victor could rely on any time.

— Victor, Sally, is this what I think it is? — mr Stewart looking at his son and a pony.

— No! — Simultaneously said Victor and Lyra.

Victor felt, how he blushes. He knew, that his parents had the keys, but he didn’t expect them to show up today. It’s been 4 years since Stewart Jr. left, to make his own life, but parents were still helping and visiting their son, who, because of being lacking on business grasp, already beared two finance fiascos. Victor decided to apply for a proper job, to prevent third fiasco and gather some experience.

— Mom, Dad, — Victor didn’t come up with something better, than introduction — Meet Lyra Heartstrings. Lyra, say hello to my parents - John and Sally. Mr and Mrs Stewart...

Mom pursed her lips and took an ice-cold look at Lyra.

— Sweetie, I understand, that you are a grown man, and you have needs... But for the sake of all things holy, couldn’t you find yourself a normal woman? I haven’t noticed your odd tastes before!

— Please, don’t talk like I do not exist, — quietly said Lyra, — I am an intelligent creature!

— This plushy even talks... — ruefully said mrs Stewart, but the father stepped in:

— Sally, go to the living room, I will talk to him. Like a man with a man. Ok?

Smile appeared on Sally’s face.

— Dear, you’re the best! — She said and left the room.

— There was nothing between me and Lyra... — Victor started, but father raised a hand and called to silence.

— We don’t judge others tastes, son... And if you like your horsie... — he threw a glance on Lyra — Lyra, right? Then, God bless you, I will accept your choice. And I mean it. You are a smart cookie, and won’t date with just anyone, and the bed is your personal choice. We live in a modern society, and moral decline of it is not fault of synths, but you do understand, that I want to see grandchildren, right? Preferably not foals, and preferably without visiting another rejuvenation. Did you get it?

Victor could only squeeze out:

— I presume, it’s useless to repeat, that we are just friends, right?

He looked at Lyra, who covered her muzzle with blanket and was red as beetroot.

— Of course, son, — elder Stewart smiled, and patted son on his head. — Your dad have lived 4 times longer than you. And, as I’ve said, I won’t interfere with your feeling. Just promise me, that you will think about the other perspective. Ok?

— Okey, — Victor smiled, he expected at least a thunder.

— Thank you, mr Stewart — Lyra said — But we really are just friends. I just got cold during the night.

John smiled looking at pony’s giant golden eyes

— And Victor didn’t show how to use AC?

Lyra got caught and dropped her ears.

Mr Stewart smiled patronizingly.

— Never lie to elders, girl. I’m sure, that you weren’t the one, who initiated the whole progress. But trust me when I say, that I won’t judge neither you, nor Victor. I always taught him, that live is a
sequence of choices. And everyone chooses for himself.

— Sorry — The unicorn peeped

— Think as you wish, but we ended up in the same bed
not for the reason which you and mother think of. — Declared Victor.

He wanted to add something, but mrs Stewart peeked through ajar door.

— I hope, you’ve explained everything to him? — She asked.

— Of course, dear — John answered, and conspiratorially winked to his son, — Could it even be otherwise?

— Then get up, and make yourself presentable, — She demanded — We hadn’t came here for no reason.

When Victor and Lyra have entered living room, parents were drinking coffee. The table was full of sweets, and holovision were muttering something about last stock summaries.

Lyra she put on a tunic, that gave her kind of an ancient appearance. She managed to comb herself, and definitely were trying to make a good impression.

Family sat around the table, and Lyra lay down beside Victor’s armchair.

— Would be presence cause trouble? — Asked pony, glancing from mr Stewart to mrs Stewart.

Before Sally could say anything, John spoke:

— No it wouldn’t. Do you want some coffee?

— Thank you — shyly whispered pony.

Inner struggling showed on mrs Stewart's face. She definitely was annoyed by pony, but didn’t want to make a scene.

Cup, filled by John got cloaked in telekinetic glow, and flew to pony, which were pretending that she is watching H.V.

Victor painted a smile. Mr Stewart sipped from his cup and said:

— Let's get straight to the point, son. Your grandfather wants everyone to gather up a month earlier.To be exact - today.

— Today? — Asked Victor, — Had something urgent happened?

— I’d sent you mail yesterday, — Noted John. — But it looks like you were not in the mood.

— And now we know why, — Added Sally, and forcibly smiled to Lyra — Victor, I hope you won’t bring your... Pony with you, will you?

— I think, my presence on a family meeting would be... Odd — Unicorn raised her voice.

Mr Stewart smiled.

— I’m glad, that we understood each other, — He said — Victor, get yourself ready, you will fly right behind us.

Victor looked at his parents. Why would Grandfather, the Patriarch of a small family clan, decided to call them all to his mansion, located in the middle of Siberia, where he’d lived for the last 50 years?

“It’s october - thought Victor - Brr... I hate snow...”

However, knowing Grandfather, there was no doubt, that the reason was extraordinary.

— Alright. Give me half an hour.

— Our flyer is right beside your, — said mother, standing up — Just don’t mess around.

When parents left, Lura walked up Victor, stood on her hind legs, and leant on his chest with her front legs.

— Victor, Had something happened?

He found strength to smile.

— Aside from the fact, that we were spotted in one bed, and now parents think nonsense?

Light-green hoof lightly bumped his chest, and blush appeared muzzle. In this proximity it was noticeably, that it was fur becoming red.

— You’ve perfectly understood, that I wanted to say! — Giggled unicorn.

— Grandfather is the head of our family — Victor started to explain — and the head of the family’s business. No one knows, how is he, but at least he is 120 years old. There was no Gigapolises, only The Great Building... But whatever. Grandfather never does something for no good reason. And if he wants to gather up whole family, I must go there, and probably be there till late night. Going there and back, and gathering itself... It will take some time.

There was slight annoyance in his voice. He wanted to spend the day with the pony, become friends with her for real. Get rid of that feeling of loneliness, that was building up until his soul was touched by the beautiful world of Equestria...

Lyra dropped down on all 4 and archly looked at Victor.

— If you are going to leave for the whole day, then can I... Go for a walk? — She asked.

Victor got slightly confused by the question. Not that she was in any danger outside. There was many “free” synths with green registration in White City, and in Gigapolis in general, who didn’t have owner and were living for themselves. Besides, damage to someone’s else property probably would cause court trial, and Lyra was registered in White City.

On the other hand, she was so naive, that Victor didn’t want to leave her alone.

“She is not a prisoner” - he cut his train of thought and said to Lyra:

— Alone? Well... Only in White City, so you’ll be out of danger. Or take a taxi, and visit “The Lighthouse”, would it be okay?

— Yes! But.. I’m scared of being lost...

— Don’t worry, — He stroke her mane, and tapped on pony’s occiput — You have... a magical mark here. It says, who are you, where do you live and all that kind of stuff. If you will get lost, just approach a policeman, and ask for directions.

Lyra smiled, and shyly poked floor with her hoof.

— Victor, I’m embarrassed to ask... But could you give some coins?

— Coins?.. Of course, here — He reached his pocket, and pulled out some bills. Money got cloaked with telekinetic glow, floating in air. — Look, there are numbers, that depict, how much each piece of paper worth.

— Thank you... Is this a lot?

— Enough, to have a good day — He smiled, and ruffled pony’s mane, — Also, is not accepted to bargain is this world.

— Why? — Lyra genuinely got surprised. She looked up — It is so natural!

— To be fair, vending machines won’t even accept less. And salespeople do not have any control on cost. Also, there is no bazaars in Spires.

— Alright, then — Said pony, and put money into her pocket. — Then so be it. But it’s confusing.

— Have a good time. Just be cautious, alright?

— Alright, — Pony promised, looking directly into human’s eyes.

— You could also visit “Galaxy-Plaza” — Victor recommended — There definitely will be something, that can interest you. When I was a child, I wished to live in that castle filled with VR, attractions and cafes. And you won’t even need to leave the Spires, where it’s safe.

Lyra didn’t answer, only smile.

Victor didn’t know, that the unicorn already had a plan...

Chapter 06 Author's Note

Illustrated by Ololosha, Soapdealer

Chapter 06

That evening, the hovertaxi landed at an unremarkable house in the southern district of the Grey City, near the skyscrapers-needles of the White City. The high towers shined in dusk like fairy-like torches lighting up streets of lower levels better than any kind of illumination.

“Pony-Play” -- this was the discreet sign hung above a heavy door, between the pillars. A brawny man in jeans and a guard's jacket walked back and forth beside it. His heavy boots made the same heavy sounds with every step.

Lyra paid the taxi driver and walked up to it. She was overtaken by a man and a pony. In the twilight, the unicorn couldn’t discern who it was, but both of them were in a hurry.

When the door opened, music and noise came from inside, the type of music usually appropriate for the wildest fun.

Surely that’s Pinkie Pie, making a party with or without an occasion, thought the unicorn with a smile.

The fact that Victor had not harassed her the previous night, as well as the Princess's words, came into sharp conflict with what she had seen. Lyra decided that she should figure everything out by herself and at the same time arrange for herself another test of courage.

She had imagined dark torture chambers, filled with imprisoned ponies. A black castle, an ominous manor, or a tower of evil wizard… However “Pony-Play” was a common building, with a none-too-catchy holographic sign and a gray facade typical for the area. Windows, glittering with sprays of reflective paint, polished to a mirror-shine, hid what was happening inside, but the club did not stand out on a brightly lit street full of round-the-clock establishments.

The bored guard at the entrance stared, a little surprised at the mint-green pony walking alone into the club. It wasn’t weird by itself -- many synthets liked such pastimes. But this pony reminded him of a schoolgirl from the White City, one that had escaped from educators: strict suit, neat hairstyle, wide-open naive eyes, and no trace of cosmetics on the muzzle…

“Good evening, sir, may I come in?” she asked, her head slightly tilted to one side.

The guard, on whose chest was a badge with the name “Jack”, overcame his surprise and ran a scanner over the pony’s head. It blinked with a blue indicator -- the mark was ok, the pony was neither free nor ownerless.

“Where is your master, filly?” Jack couldn’t resist asking “Inside?”

“No,” the unicorn was slightly embarrassed, “My... friend has no idea where I am.”

The human smiled and jokingly shook his finger.

“You’re a naughty pony if you’re going in such places without asking. If I were him, I’d give you a good beating if I knew where you were going.”

Lyra, whose heart sank after the first of Jack’s words, could barely restrain herself from stepping back.

Vic would never hit me she wanted to reply but said something completely different.

“So...can I come in?”

“Oh, ‘course,” Jack stepped aside “Come on in. Rainbow runs wild today... again. Have fun.”

“Thank you, sir,” sang the unicorn with girlish voice, before she joyfully clattered inside, telekinesis sliding the revolving door.

Jack grinned.

It seemed that this pony didn’t know where she was going…

Quickly passing a small hall, Lyra Heartstrings found herself in the vast room, filled with the uneven light of strobing lamps.

The center was a dais, surrounded by a circular recess, and directly above which was a stage, hanging over the room and its deep pit, like a rock.

The rest of the free space, which was shaped like a horseshoe, was occupied by tables and sofas, separated by low partitions into cozy nooks. Actually, “Pony-Play” seemed much larger than the Solaire Club, and there were clearly more people. And ponies.

But that was not the main difference.

Lyra was a little uncomfortable when she first saw the pony-waitress. A blue unicorn with a white mane, she quickly passed by, carrying a tray of five foaming mugs in the glow of magic. She was dressed in high black socks with embroidered stars and a rather frivolous harness that left little room for the imagination. Her croup was covered by a short skirt, lifting by the tail and hiding only the cutie mark.

Lyra, who swiftly got used to humans’ customs, thought that these ponies were dressed to immodestly. Every intelligent being in this world dressed themselves, after all, but these waitresses barely did.

All the other waitresses were dressed exactly the same, except in different colors that were in harmony with their coat. None of those present gave a damn about this, and the unicorn decided that it was common here.

Something thundered from the side of the stage, and tongues of flame mixed with fireworks soared into the air. A man in a black suit and a top hat on his head appeared on the dais, raised his hands and proclaimed, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, mares and gentlecolts, we have an occasion to listen to our very own celebrity -- Rainbow Dash, the one and only! Welcome!”

The audience burst into applause and tramping, whistling and hooting. A few pegasi flashed through the air, and Lyra noticed that all of the Rainbow Dashes that were present tried to fly away from the stage.

The only? thought the unicorn, That’s interesting, is that really?... The first one? Or just a braggart?

The first chords of the music pounded, but for Lyra it was like dead silence. In the strobing light of the special effects, the mint pony examined the other ponies who were in the club.

At first glance, there were no essential differences from the “Solaire”-- except for the decorations, maybe. Well, the music was more dynamic. Also the pony-waitresses, again.

But Lyra could see what the main difference was.

In that small corner of Equestria, there were happy friends gathered under the wing of the Sun Princess, and the eyes of both ponies and humans glowed with similar joy and fun. Here...

Here Lyra could notice that there were no happy smiles. Malevolent and mocking ones -- yes, no doubt, but nobody seemed to be having actual fun.

Many ponies here were barely dressed, even compared to the almost naked waitresses. Defiant and sometimes pointedly strict outfits of aggressive colors only made the effect stronger.

Some of the ponies did not move - the ones that sat next to people on leashes and chains leading to collars or halters. And it didn’t seem that these attributes of subordination were put on willingly.

Her heart throbbed violently on her ribs at the sight of the ponies, bridled and twisted with black belts. It was in their eyes that most often flashed fear or indifference, and they almost didn’t participate in the reigning fun around. They only glanced at some other ponies, looked at the stage, or one of the screens. And the people sitting nearby, often holding the ends of leashes and bridles in their hands, paid almost no attention to their captives.

Lyra flinched whenever she saw this or met another hunted down look. Obviously, many ponies here were just slaves. And Celestia knows how far people went in such “entertainments”. Quite far, it seemed.

Her imagination thought up bad people, of capturing ponies in slavery where they were waiting for a tragic fate…

“You are a bad, bad filly!” -- again flashed through her head.

At this time Rainbow Dash appeared on the stage, clutching an electric guitar in her front legs. Spreading her wings for balance, she looked around at everyone present. The roar of discordant heavy music, which stun the unaccustomed unicorn, played.

The rainbow pegasus started to sing. At the limit of her vocal cords, even closing her eyes from the tension. The familiar voice sounded with some strange intonations as if something bad and gloomy was settled in the soul of the performer:

— Покажи же мне, как лгать,
Ведь тебе равных не сыскать,
Искусству судьбами играть
Не так-то сложно научить.
Ввернешь одно словцо -
И результат уж налицо,
Ты растворяешься в толпе –
Уже кого-то идут бить...

Lyra was ready to swear that this Rainbow Dash was bursting with wild delight. And if not for her singing being filled with spiteful aggression, maybe the mint unicorn would have found even such music attractive.

At that time Rainbow hit the strings of the roaring guitar and raised her voice, although it seemed it was the limit of possibilities.

Пляши же, гад, пляши,
Жизнь за сущие гроши.
Никто так не узнал,
Почем кому ты их сдавал.

И вот опять ты улизнешь,
Его с дороги уберешь,
Молодец, так держать!
Далеко же ты пойдешь!

There was a pause in the song, allowing the vocalist to catch her breath. But it seemed that Rainbow would fly up from her rapture, closing her eyes and completely surrendering to the roaring music.

“I’m afraid all the tables are taken today,” someone suddenly said beside her, and Lyra almost jumped.

Turning her head, she saw a young black-haired man in a suit with a badge, informing her that the person in front of her is the administrator Harlon.

“Excuse me, what?” asked Lyra, trying to out-shout the music from the speakers and the screams of the audience.

“Today all the tables are occupied,” the man repeated louder with an artificial flattering smile, “Because the Rainbow Dash is having fun and wasting money for three days in a row. I can only offer you a seat at the bar.”

Lyra was uncomfortable with his gaze. Not that he was openly staring or undressing her with his eyes, the unicorn just felt uncomfortable.

“That’s... great, mister... uh... Harlon,” she mumbled and walked carefully to the center of the room. The administrator, holding a hand over the pony's head, redid the guard’s gesture and was surprised by the blue indicator on the bracelet.

Rainbow Dash from the stage joyfully and shouted under the hysterical roar of power tools. She was helped by the stocky man on a drum set and a creature resembling a dragon with human proportions. The strange keyboard instrument, like a mixture of a guitar and a piano, in his clawed paws seemed quite unnatural, although it sported spiked-scaly dragon paraphernalia.

— С этой ложью без конца,
Не открыв лица,
Бей их прямо между глаз!
Бей их прямо между глаз!
И вот ты уходишь прочь,
Говорить не в мочь,
Глаза молнией искрят -
Врагов твоих разят!

Я покидаю их ряды,
Жертв бессмысленной вражды,
Сыграй теперь со мною, друг,
Ведь эта сцена про меня!
Посмотри же впереди -
Это плата за грехи,
А не получишь, что хотел -
Знай, это все из-за меня!

Пляши же, гад, пляши,
Жизнь за сущие гроши.
Никто так не узнал,
Почем кому ты их сдавал.

И вот толпу ты за собою
Ведешь за светлою мечтою.
Молодец, так держать"
Далеко же ты пойдешь!

One of the three bars located in the “Pony-Play” was very close to the recess in the center, which now looked like it was filled with ink darkness.

Passing by the cavern with tables, Lyra threw the resting people and ponies curious glances, trying however, not to make it look too impolite.

Rainbow on the stage, meanwhile, had gone wild, and her voice hoarse with anguish sang the last words of the song.

— С чередою небылиц,

Герой бесчисленных страниц,

Бей их прямо между глаз!
Бей их прямо между глаз!
И вот ты уходишь прочь,
Говорить не в мочь,
Глаза молнией искрят -
Врагов твоих разят!

(http: // — hear Dash sing on the stage in English)

Rainbow stopped singing and gave herself to the music. Now, when it wasn’t possible to either turn it off or down, Lyra suddenly caught herself thinking that she had even begun to like this kind of music. To some degree.

Lyra noticed a thin man in jeans and a sweatshirt kissing Applejack in one of the nooks. The earth pony, having her eyes closed and her hat on the back of her head, hugged the man with her front legs. He, in turn, hugged the pony with his hand, and the second one was feeling around her back, which covered with a plaid shirt. The tail, sticking out of her tight jeans and tied with a red rubber band, was swinging back and forth, not being too chastely.

The unicorn looked away a bit embarrassed, and continued on her way. She felt her muzzle started to redden. Looking closer, Lyra saw a lot of such acts, and others even more vulgar. And ponies. And people. Together and with each other. Or all at once. Kisses and vulgar embrace, hands and hooves, fumbling over bodies. Even ear-biting. Thank Celestia, Lyra hasn’t met any entirely explicit scenes, like that frightening show.

Although some alcoves of the club were tightly closed off by folding partitions, Lyra had no wish to imagine what was beyond them.

It was quite wrong to do in a public place, something which was customary only to happen between the most special friends. It's one thing to affectionately poke a muzzle or hug a friend, or even a peck on the cheek. But a kiss on the lips or to even bite an ear -- it was a little indecent. And, as Lyra realized, among humans, such acts were even stricter.

Then why were the people and ponies behaving like this here?

The unicorn went to the bar, where people and ponies were sitting on high chairs. For the latter, the furniture was too tall and not too comfortable, but Lyra was used to sitting like a human in Equestria, hanging her tail.

The bartender, a stocky man with noble gray in his dark hair, reminded Lyra of an elderly earth pony. The same calm strength, full of dignity, far from wasted over the years.
“What will you have, young filly?” the man asked, setting aside the mug he was wiping with a clean cloth.

“Uh, cider?” Lyra asked with a blush, feeling like a colt who had run away from his parents for a night dance.

The human grinned, and after a couple of seconds a huge glass mug topped with foam stood in front of the pony. The pleasant aroma of sour apples tickled her nostrils. The handle was familiar to ponies, although to Lyra, as a unicorn, it was not too important.

Lyra barely had time to drink a good cider before she was about to talk to someone at the bar, but the music abruptly stopped. The audience burst into applause, stomping, and cheering.

“Rainbow Dash! Rainbow Dash!” chanted several voices.

The blue pegasus threw the guitar away and jumped down in one motion. The light of the floodlights followed, and Lyra heard the voice of the man in black again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, mares and gentleponies! Make your bets! The evil creature of darkness will be put in a fight against the Rainbow Dash! Bane Blade Preston, a bat pony, warrior of the night!”

Lyra shuddered. She had only heard about thestrals, a legendary race of bat ponies. And what does it mean: put in a fight against Rainbow Dash? Were they going to have a competition? Under a roof?

What happened next plunged Lyra into a state of mild shock.

A huge stallion in armor, who got up on the stage, attacked the azure pegasus to the roar of the crowd.

Obeying the gestures of unfamiliar yellow-green winged pony on the turntable, the music struck, as if specifically designed for this moment. The pegasus vaguely reminded Lyra of Vinyl Scratch. It even seemed that she specifically copied DJ Pon-3, and quite successfully, in her eyes.

(http: // — Rainbow Dash, Fighting is magic, arena’s theme)

The unicorn watched with rounded eyes as the night pony chased after Rainbow with a roar, who was repeatedly raining down on him a hail of hoof attacks. The bat pony kept up, and the ponies were exchanging blows with incredible speed and fury.

It just stunned her. Ponies, peaceful creatures of the kind world, fighting on a stage for someone’s entertainment? Of course, pegasi were the descendants of great warriors, and the winged ponies have kept many martial arts which had given birth to breathtaking competitions in strength and agility.

However, the times when one pony really raised a hoof on another had sunk into oblivion thousands of years ago, along with Dark Ages, when Discord was sowing hatred and odium for his joy.

Lyra, looking on the fighting gladiators, thought,Well, those monsters were specially designed for this purpose, though battles for entertainment are savagery in its purest form. But ponies? And Rainbow Dash?!

The fight in the arena was absolutely serious. Hits weren't held back, roars and screams let out by both ponies, were full of genuine pain and wrath. Sometimes red spray swept through the air when hard hoofs hit on their pelts, leaving abrasions and bruises.

"This is for Spitfire, rainbow bitch!" growled the night pony, slamming his hoof into Rainbow's nose.

Red splashed through the air. The pegasus flew off to the very outer rim of the arena. With choked curses, she stood up and spat blood onto the dirty floor.

On the flashing holographic scoreboard was glowing the number of bets. The azure pegasus obviously was on top.

"On the Rainbow Dash!" yelled Pinkie Pie, dressed in a white suit with a shining with million tinsels. The girl next to her, dressed similarly, echoed the pink pony, and both were giving the man with a tall hat more and more money, which joined the yet more as it traveled down the esophagus of some grotesque machine.

“On the Bain Blade!” roared a big man, holding a leash, on the end of which sat a dejected Fluttershy. The mane of the yellow pegasus was braided in a brush (or ponytail, as she would later learn) and her muzzle was hidden behind a leather mask.

The gong sounded and the betting stopped. Rainbow Dash seemed to be waiting for this. Soaring into the air, she dove on the bat pony like a rainbow vortex. He desperately fought back with his hooves and tried to grab the pegasus with his sharp teeth, but she didn’t seem to feel any pain. Having missed a felling blow in the chest and the jaw, Rainbow hobbled the hefty stallion, having clamped down on his membranous wings and front legs.

For a while the stallion snarled and struggled, but Rainbow Dash, under another wave of enthusiastic shouts, tightened her grip. Bain Blade, howling, buried his face in the sand of the arena.

“I’m going to be kind today!!” Rainbow shouted, so that it could be heard by the audience, “I'm not even going to kill you! So live, sucker, and remember my kindness. And that you couldn’t avenge that yellow bitch Spitfire!”

With those words, she jerked up the howling night pegasus and sent him flying towards the wall of the arena with a rakish kick.

The bat pony, whose helmet had been knocked off during the fight, hit his head on the side and crumpled to the floor without any movement. The stands roared, and their cries were drowned out by the indignant cry of Bain Blade’s master, the loud announcement of the winner by the man in the top hat, and the battle cry of Rainbow Dash herself.

The azure pegasus flew up and made a loop under the high ceiling, suddenly landed right beside Lyra Heartstring, who was frozen in horror.

Now the unicorn could take a close look at that Rainbow Dash.

The famous rainbow mane was cut short and stuck out with a short crest. In the ear of the pegasus gleamed the ring of a piercing, and around her eyes was some defiantly bright eyeshadow, miraculously not flowing even after the fight. Dash's skintight outfit consisted of black leather and did not cover her legs. The worst part, however, was that the entirety of her skin was covered with the uneven stripes of healed scars. One of the largest even had broken up the pattern of her cutie mark. A little above each hoof Rainbow wore wide bracelets with spikes. At the sight of the red-smeared sharp pieces of metal, Lyra felt sick. But the pegasus contemptuously sneered again and spit to the side, slamming a hoof on the counter.

“Sam, damn it! How long will this poor filly suffer from thirst?”

The bartender smiled and a glass with ice went along the counter to Dash, and a rectangular bottle of brownish liquid soon did the same.

“Applejack Daniels,” the label said. Above the inscription proudly shone the emblem of Equestria and a stylized apple of "Sweet acres".

The pegasus splashed some liquid into the glass and drained it in one gulp. And one more. And more. Sniffing, Lyra realized with horror that Rainbow Dash was pumping herself up with something much stronger than cider right here and now.

“Ah… Heartstrings,” the pegasus said suddenly, as if she had only now noticed Lyra. “I haven’t seen your mint mug here for a while.”

“I'm here for the first time…” said the confused unicorn, but Dash interrupted:

“I don’t give a shoot. As you can see, there is a lot of me here.” Lyra looked around, and indeed, quite often in the crowd flashed a rainbow mane and blue fur. “But it doesn’t make this sub-rainbows veritable, does it?”

“What’s the party about?” Lyra asked, changing the subject, calling a smile to the face of this strange Rainbow Dash, like when a foal recalls his recent birthday…

“Freedom, Heartsrings,” spoke the azure pony, “Luna-damned freedom! I've been going wild like this for three days. The show must go on, motherfucker!”

The hoof slammed on the counter again, leaving a banknote on it. Lyra spotted that after that performance, nobody had come up to Dash to either congratulate or to express gratitude for such a specific, but exciting, contest.

“Rainbow, why do you fight in the arena?” asked Lyra, “Is it necessary?”

“At first, the owner made me, after I got in. For years it was almost the only place where I could let off steam.”

“Made?” inquired Lyra, wincing at the word, “He didn’t love you?”

“Oh, he did. Every day he loved me. Especially after the arena -- he was excited when I was made into a horse chop…” Rainbow touched a scar that crossed her cutie-mark. “And the marks of his love will stay with me forever.”

Lyra felt like her heart was going to leap out of her chest.

“And you're so calm about it?”

The sky-blue pegasus, with creaking leather clothing, reached out and downed another full glass of booze. Repeating it again and again, she was smiling at something, and Lyra realized that Rainbow Dash, a champion and a sportsmare, the Element of Loyalty, simply got drunk. Purposefully.

A pack of cigarettes was fetched -- Lyra already knew what it was. Deftly taking one, the pegasus sent it in her mouth and lit it with a lighter that was carefully brought by the bartender.

The acrid smoke stung her eyes, and Lyra made a gentle breeze by her telekinesis to ward off the stench. Many people in “Pony-Play” were smokers, but over the fenced tables hung powerful cones of hoods, and the smoke almost did not penetrate into the main hall.

Rainbow Dash released a stream of smoke upwards and said,“I'm in the mood today, Heartstrings. Do you want me to beat up your master?”

The golden eyes stared at the pegasus.

“What for?!”

But Rainbow didn’t hear her anymore. Standing on her unruly hind legs, she leaned on Lyra, who had not managed to dodge, and holding the almost finished bottle in her front leg, proclaimed, “T-today your little Dashie is kind...” The pegasus almost fell but stayed on her hooves. “Eh, tore my ass!.. Well, I won’t even beat you, dump sub-rainbows! O-only in the arena! Vicky, rounds for everyone! On my account! Old Apple Daniels!”

Several people came to the bar to enjoy a free drink. A couple of toasts to the health of the champion were shouted, and someone called her to their table… Rainbow just grimaced and fell back on the chair.

A wad of cash tied with a rubber band flew onto the bar.

Lyra leaned over to ear of the blue flyer and quietly said,“You won’t find friends by pumping up everyone around with alcohol, Rainbow Dash...”

“F-friends?” she asked in a slurred language, “I don’t need f-friends! In this world nor in another! F-friends’ll give you up as soon as you turn. Your loving owner will kick you into the arena, and at night will bandage you to bed and fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk straight for two days! You can trust only in yourself.”

“No, it isn’t so!” retorted Lyra with horror, she finally understood why leather bands had not only spikes but also steel rings.

“It is so,” a wry smile crossed Dash’s muzzle, and the last sip of whiskey was sent into her mouth, this time right from the bottle, “L-look at me. I am what I am because... hic… of my... master… owner, who has brought me the biggest gift in my life. Just the gift of my whole l-life, tore my ass!”

The empty bottle flew to the arena and stuck in the sand. The bartender, with an indifferent expression on his face, sent another one, which was deftly caught by Rainbow.

“What gift?”

The azure pegasus pulled out bottle’s stopper, made a couple of gulps and happily laughed.

“He just died! Died! At last! Oh, how I dreamed of it, you would know!”

She couldn’t get it. Rainbow Dash, joyful, perky, the fastest and the most reckless pegasus in the world, has been celebrating… the death of her… friend for three days in a row? Or master? That’s what she said?

Celebrating someone’s death -- it wasn’t even weird. It was unthinkable.

“But…” started the unicorn, however, Rainbow was immersed in a state where in tipsy fog you get very loose-tongued and your ears seem to be plugged with cotton.

“R-remember, little pony, no… hic!... no one can be trusted, especially people. Especially those, who want… to become” – even in Rainbow’s drunken condition, a bitter irony was heard in her voice -- “ a ‘true friend’! Remember, all that people need from you – show and porn! So, watch your croup, little pony, until it… wasn’t… hic!... until they made it useful!”

Lyra really wanted to get away from this Rainbow. A smell of the tobacco smoke was mixed up with alcohol and unpleasantly irritated her nose. According to the behavior of the azure pegasus, she didn't seem to be herself anymore.

Who did that with her, and why?

Meanwhile, a man sat nearby the two ponies. Rainbow didn't show interest, because she tried to hit a bottleneck of a new bottle in the glass. A few drops of whiskey were already spilled on the counter. Lyra noticed that man who looked at the pegasus, who was barely maintaining a vertical position.

The stranger was wearing jeans and a leather jacket over a t-shirt, which in ‘Pony-Play’, seemed to be about the most common style. On his sleeve there was a silver mark in the form of three apples, obviously depicting Applejack’s cutiemark. The pony herself, however, was not with man.

The man ran his hand over his shaved bald head, which was covered with a cobweb pattern.

“Rainbow Dash Vendar?” he asked, “Is that really you?”

Dash could hardly focus her ruby eyes on the new participant in the conversation and spoke, confused in her own language:

“I-If you call m-me the na-ame of this as-shole again, I'll count your bones! I, fuck, am the on-ly Rainbow Dash, the only… hic!... and unique. And let all the other fakes t-take the names of their… hic!...” the voice of pegasus was filled with endless contempt “owners! What do you need?”

“Listen, Dash, since Alex is gone, you're kinda on your own?...”

A surprised expression appeared on Dash’s muzzle:

“Ah, Franky…. I r-remember ya. Y-you visited us… several times. A lover of rough p-penetrations.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. It seemed you liked it, how about a repeat?”

“Franky… b-bitch… Molestia’s brat,” There was boiling hatred in Rainbow’s voice. The pegasus turned to stunned Lyra. “And w-why do only morons stick to me all the time?..”

The human wasn’t fased by her refusal.

“I’ll give you a cut, baby..., Synthets like you always need money. Moreover, I really like you.”

Rainbow Dash found some strength to stand up on her four hooves. The human stood up too and tried to stroke the pony on her short crest. The pegasus bowed her head with a muffled roar and twisted her ears, dodging the palm.

“Oh, I’ll give you a cut,” she said through her teeth.

Lyra had no time to do, or even to understand, anything. The human suddenly doubled over, gripping his groin where he had been hit by a shod hoof.

Paying no attention to the numb unicorn, Dash spun around and added one more blow to the face of man, who started to fall. A few drops of blood flew into the air, accompanied by a pair of teeth.

“H-how long I have waited for this, dammit..” Rainbow hiss out the words, “B-bitch… I hate… Today is just an unstoppable party, tore my ass.”

With those words, Dash sat back at the table and again reached the bottle. From the hall there was a certain amount of applause and ponies’ approving trampling. Lyra noticed that the trampling came from ponies who wore visible collars or other signs of slavery. Some of them earned a slap or jerk of their leashes from their masters for showing their feelings.

The moaning man was carried away by a burly guard, who quietly gave Rainbow thumbs - up. She didn't pay attention to that.

“Who are synthets, Dash?” asked Lyra, causing a blast of drunken laughter, “What was so funny about what I said?”

Rainbow barely coped with a fit of homeric laughter and replied,“Oh, y-you… cutie, you think you’re from… ha-ha… from this… Questria?”

“Equestria, yes. What do you mean ‘think'? Have you forgotten your home?”

A new burst of laughter shook the azure pegasus.

“Well if it’ll be easier for y-you to believe… I was already born in this w-world. And if I was in your country of fairies, I’ve forgotten about it.”

“What’s the first thing you remember?“ Lyra tried to cheer the pegasus up, but saw a severe look in return.

“Collar.”

The short answer shook her to the core. Well, if you take a very, very flexible morality, you can understand the close relationships between a pony and a man. After all, love doesn’t know species. But putting a collar on a foal?

“I-I have news for ya,” said Rainbow between teeth, and leaned closer to the unicorn, “There is… NO Equestria! All this is a human deception, a game. To be e-entertained! Previously there was only the L-luna damn... cartoon. Now we’re here. Synthets. Toys for humans… hic!”

“I am not a toy!” Lyra replied sharply, “I am alive and remember my home!”

Rainbow burst out again with mocking laughter.

“Oh, I can’t!.. Home, she remembers! You were born at the moment, when… hic!... you saw your master! All, that was before -- it’s an ar-hic!-tificial memory, a sweet lie to make it fun for him to play with you. Naive... hic!...horse...”

Lyra felt that the world which was barely beginning to line up, start to crumble again.

It couldn’t be true. It was too monstrous to be.

Golden eyes getting wet and looking into the ruby ones that were clouded by alcohol.

“Welcome t-to the real Luna damn world,” said Rainbow, “Sam, more!”

“I think that’s enough, Dash.” He cautioned, “I don’t mind as a bartender, but you’ve never drank so much.”

“I’ve never LIVED so much, tore my ass!.. Shit!” the hooves slammed against the counter, attracting few third party glances. “Pour, Sam, damn you! Give me the fucking whiskey!”

Lyra, shrinking down, began to back away. She thought that the human world had already shown her all its ugly facets, but if what Rainbow said was true…

The unicorn looked at Sam hopefully, but he shrugged.

“Sooner or later you would have known the truth. Accept it, little pony. Because there's no choice.”

“No!” Lyra nearly shouted, “No, it can’t be! It’s not true! I don’t believe it...!”

In tears, she rushed to the door. The unicorn waited for threats, laughter, even a chase, but the atmosphere of the “Pony-Play” did not change. The music was the same, and from the arena sounded sudden strikes, ringing of metal on metal and shouts of people and ponies making their bets. The air was filled with the smell of smoking potions and alcohol, laughter and other sounds that accompany the daily life of the club…

All of them didn’t care.

The human world didn’t care.

After she escaped the grim place, angry music and a morose chorus sang:

— In the Rainbow Factory, where your fears and horrors come true…

In the Rainbow Factory, where not a single soul gets through…

Lyra ran out of the bar and, without picking her way, ran somewhere, choking back sobs.

Equestria, home, all of her life… It was a lie? A cruel, merciless lie created by humans for... entertainment?

Her foalhood, her happy, carefree life in the magical land, Princess Celestia -- it was all a lie? Magic of friendship and sincere, warm feelings and words? And Victor knew about it? He, after all, couldn’t have not known.…

Her hoofs pounded asphalt, and soon it was followed by a walkway of some kind of square or park.

The unicorn stopped at a lakeside. In the misty haze around the piece of nature towered and glittered with the lights of the large city, huge world that did not want to notice the tiny pony.

“Who am I?!" screamed Lyra desperately, shutting her eyes. Although no one was around, she then repeated quietly, “Who am I...?”

Tears no one saw flowed on her cheeks.

Chapter 07

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 08

Lyra Heartstrings sat on a bench in the public park, watching the day burn out over the city.

The park, as it turned out, was full of life. There were couples and families strolling around, people just walking their pets, or athletes who had decided to get in an evening workout. Some looked back at the mint-green pony sitting on the bench, some didn't.

There happened to be a playground nearby, and as Lyra passed, children ran up to meet her a few times. One boy of about six even had the courage to ask for a ride, and the unicorn couldn't refuse, taking him around the playground to the delighted squeals of all the others.

Of course, the rides continued after that, and Lyra smiled for the first time since she'd left the Pony-Play. Even if humans were mostly cruel and uncaring, children were very different. She thought that after what she had seen via the visor and in Pony Play, she would never want human hands to touch her again, but no. Apparently, good intentions have no trouble chasing away all fears.

But after rolling the fifth child, Lyra felt very exhausted. The children noticed this and, strangely enough, almost immediately stopped asking for a "ride on the magic horse". The boy who rode first gave Lyra a sweet bagel, a girl gave her a natural apple, and the hungry unicorn didn't refuse.

Telekinesis also made the children very excited, and she had to stay a little longer to tell them about the magical land of Equestria, where unicorns, pegasi, and other magical creatures lived. Lyra carefully pushed away the idea that it was all fiction, for fear of crying in front of the children again.

After saying goodbye to the children, Lyra found a lonely bench in the shade of a spreading tree and sat down in her usual pose, which Bon Bon jokingly called "belly up".

Lyra sighed, remembering her marefriend.

I suppose a human child raised in Equestria would never have grown bitter over time, retaining the mental richness... the unicorn thought. Even a dragon can be a kind and helpful friend if he's lived among ponies since childhood, and Spike is an example of that...

But Rainbow Dash's words about Equestria being nothing more than a commercial fiction of some company came back to her. Her heart trembled, and tears filled her eyes again.

Lyra didn't want to believe it, but something inside her told her that everything the evil azure pegasus had said was unseemly, cruel, but true... After all, when she thought about it, the Mirror Pool and traveling between worlds were pretty weak excuses that didn't stand up to deep criticism.

The music that reached the unicorn's ears seemed familiar. Lyra stood up and, circling around a huge monument on a pedestal, saw a gray earth pony playing a sad melody on a cello.[1]

In her memories, Lyra did not know Octavia personally, but she had heard her play some works by well-known artists. At Canterlot's music school, the name of the talented cellist who had risen to fame was often mentioned...

She didn't want to believe that the famous Octavia Melody was just another "living toy" for someone here.

Can an entire life be false? Lyra thought. And can a pony who plays like this be just someone's toy?

Music flowed over the evening park. Lyra noticed the cello case with some cash in it. But the gray pony didn't seem at all interested in what was going on around her. Her eyes were closed and her bow fluttered over the strings, drawing sounds not from the instrument but from her soul. A light breeze ruffled her slightly worn but immaculately ironed dress, and a semicircular medallion hung around her neck, glinting in the evening sun.

Lyra telekinesed a banknote into the case and sat down on a nearby bench. She continued to think about what had piled up over the past day.

The Solaire Club and the Pony-Play seemed to be two different worlds. Opposite sides of the coin, true friendship and its ugly reflection, which made her heart feel ready to burst to look at.

There seemed to be the same ponies in both places, differing only in their clothing, but the difference was much deeper than the appearance. And while everyone in the Solaire looked happy and carefree, in the Pony-Play—

Lyra shuddered as she remembered the looks of fear, despair, and pain. The streams of tears flowing somewhere deep inside, not daring to come out. And then the movements — jerky and abrupt, often fearfully hasty... the movements of the hunted animals. Or deliberately apathetic, lethargic, as if they belonged to victims resigned to the inevitable.

And only Rainbow Dash moved confidently out of the arena, like a... fighter. Or even a predator. Exactly, like a timberwolf.

Lyra's attention was drawn to an activity not typical of a quiet, measured day in the park.

Winding through the passersby, who turned around in surprise, was a pony riding a small scooter. Lyra knew her too: her orange coat, purple mane and vehicle left no doubt who it was.

Scootaloo. One of the Cutie Mark Crusaders, a fidgety pegasus filly who occasionally got the whole of Ponyville in an uproar with her friends.

But now she was clearly trying to hide from two people in coats and hats. Lyra mentally named them Black and Gray, and the first man was clearly ahead in the chase.[2]

The scooter skidded around a bend, right next to the sitting Lyra and Octavia, who had stopped playing and was also staring at the unfolding scene.

The orange filly rolled to the ground along with her vehicle, squealing from the bumps. The man in the black coat rushed forward with a triumphant yell, and the expression on his face, even half hidden by his black glasses and black hat, did not bode well for the little pony.

Lyra jumped up from the bench at the sight, and for the first second had no idea what to do.

Ponies were a peaceful race. And even in wild times, they could hardly suppress their instincts, which urged them to run rather than fight in case of danger. But apparently, at this moment, a stronger instinct overcame the cowardly nature of the little pony.

The instinct to protect the foals from danger. And that little Scoots was in danger, Lyra didn't doubt for a second.

The man looked huge and strong. Lyra had no idea what she could use against him. Suddenly her gaze fell on a suitable object...

The fearsome man was already looming over Scootaloo, who was writhing in pain, when a garbage can crashed down on his head, beeping protestingly with the indicators on its control panel.

“Oversized garbage," said the machine's metallic voice. “Please clear the bin and call the cleaning service. Attention, oversized garbage...”

Scootaloo, as if just waiting for a catch, swiftly rolled to the side, picked herself up, and jumped back onto the small scooter. Lyra noticed that a black suitcase with a silver emblem was strapped to its trunk. The pneumatic motor of the vehicle rattled merrily.

The black man fell to the ground, cursing, and tried to pull the trash can off his head, but his partner was already approaching. He was obviously an older man, and he could not move quickly: his red face and heavy panting showed that the pursuer was wasting his last strength.

Scootaloo turned and met the mint-colored unicorn's eyes.

"Why are you standing still, silly filly?” she yelled. “RUN!”

The wheels spun sharply and the scooter raced down the path. Lyra, with an unaccountable superstitious fear in her heart, ran after it at the fastest gallop she could...

* * *

Detective Tracy, seeing the two small horses rushing away in a cloud of dust, slowed to a walk. Something in his chest throbbed and wheezed, and his heart seemed about to burst.

Yes, you're getting old, Dick, for such marathons, the man mentally complained to himself.

The orange horse had indeed appeared in the White City. She had already managed to steal a pneumatic scooter from a child, and now she was much faster. The hunters had accidentally spotted her, but with a little help, she had escaped their pursuit.

I should have taken a hovercar, the detective continued, as he approached Judge Doom, who was trying to get the robotic litterbug off his head, because wheeled vehicles aren't allowed in park complexes...

“Get it off me!” Doom growled muffled when he heard Dick's footsteps.

“Excuse me, what?” Dick smiled as he looked at the formidable hunter who had been taken for a ride by two colorful horses in the best cartoon tradition.

The absurdity of the situation was offset by its comicality.

“I said GET IT OFF ME! I'm stuck!”

“And the magic word?”

The judge let out a stifled growl and tried again to remove the mumbling droid from his head.

“Damn you to hell!”

"Good word, but not the right one," Dick crossed his arms over his chest. After all, the synthet was getting a little too cocky, forgetting that in a hunting pair, the human was always in charge.

“Please get it off me.”

“Okay, that's better. You can be polite if you want.”

A few seconds later, the robot was removed from the synthet's head and returned to its rightful place. To everyone's relief, the displeased muttering about oversized garbage stopped.

The gray pony hiding behind the monument returned to her instrument and began to play again. The music flowed out into the alleys of the park again, and Dick noted to himself that the horse played much better than many human musicians.

I wonder how she can press the frets without fingers? the detective thought, but then he remembered that these synthets had some clever system of suction cups, or some weak force field generators that created a telekinetic field around their hooves. Or just a grasping fold. Or all of them together.

The judge looked around.

“Did they escape?” he asked.

“Of course they did. The magical horses got away from the professional hunters. If you tell anyone, they'll laugh at you.”

“Why didn't you shoot?” asked the judge grumpily.

“I told you a hundred times. No blasters in White City. This place is full of civilians. Citizens, you understand me? With green cards. Others don't walk around here. The slightest disturbance with gunfire and collateral damage, and the Corporation will be fending off lawsuits for years.”

The synthet let out an angry growl. His own weapon had to be surrendered at the entrance to White City, even the emergency powers of the OBE didn't help. And if it wasn't for Dick's intervention, the judge, a synthet of pseudo-battle modification, would not have been allowed to enter the abode of peace and prosperity at all.

“I already hate that horse," Doom muttered, shaking off his coat, "and the other one that threw the trash can at me.”

Dick shrugged. “It's a cub. A foal, eh? Amazing quickness.”

“Remember, old man, synthets have no childhood. They may look like children, they may grow up like children, but they will never be children. And I suggest you remember that when you order a copy of your child whose original hates you.”

The man's face reflected deeply hidden pain, and the judge only grinned viciously. Of course, he knew about Dick's family problems and was deliberately pressing the sore spot.

The detective stepped away from him to the pony playing the cello and put some money in the case. The gray pony nodded gratefully and a shy smile appeared on its muzzle.

Doom approached and grinned.

“Why are you giving money to this scum?” he asked, running his hand in front of the pony's muzzle. The scanner flashed green — the pony was free and paid her taxes on time.

“She makes her own money, no matter what," Tracy replied. “Besides, she plays pretty nice.”

The pony didn't seem to be listening to them, though she did glance at them from time to time with her huge eyes. The cello continued to fill the alley with a soft melody that made you want to walk in peace and be near someone whose heart beat in unison with yours...

The judge pursed his lips in contempt and twisted the glasses broken by the garbage droid in his hand. Then he cursed in a low voice.

“You know, hating those of your own kind who are simply less fortunate in life is a sign of petty anger at the whole world," Tracy told him.

The judge abruptly turned to him.

“Oh, for crying out loud!” he exclaimed, his hands at his sides. “I'm being taught by someone who has spent his life killing synthets!” Doom bent down to the gray pony's muzzle and hissed, “Hear that, horsey, he just gave you the money he's been paid to kill your kind.”

The cello broke off its song with a sharp note as the bow slipped from the strings.

Octavia retreated a few steps and dropped the instrument. Her eyes glistened with tears... The pony continued to retreat, then suddenly turned and galloped away, leaving both the cello and the case with the donations behind.

"And what was it for?” Dick Tracy asked.

“Because you're a hypocrite," Doom said, and walked off in the direction where the tracks of the pneumatic scooter led.

Tracy put the cello back in its case and left it on the bench before following him. Here, in the White City, one could not fear for the safety of things. Those who lived here did not stoop to thievery — they had enough money in their lives not to think about it.

The detective caught up with the judge and said:

“Killing a deranged orc gladiator and a defenseless horse three feet tall are not the same thing.”

“To me, the same," Doom replied with a chuckle. “You didn't challenge that orc to a duel either, you just shot him with a blaster...”

Octavia Melody, sitting behind a spreading bush, watched the people leaving. When she was sure that both of them were gone, she came out of the bushes and went to her instrument, which one of those strange policemen had carefully put into its case.

It was completely unclear who they were and why they were chasing the little foal. To whom, pray tell, could an innocent pegasus filly do any harm?

* * *

“So you say it was safer to transport the package directly through the Gray City?” asks an older man in a low voice.

Faceless silhouettes sit at the table: holographic fields hide their true outlines.

“Who knew?” replies a very young voice. “Everyone there doesn't give a damn, pardon my French. No snooping feds, and no idiots among the bandits to violate corporate property.”

“I suspect the thief doesn't realize what he’s got in his hands," the third silhouette speaks in the voice of a mature woman accustomed to giving orders. “But we can't take any risks. Especially in light of the courier's report.”

“An orange horse, eh?” comes the young voice again. “With wings? A synthet, apparently. We've already sent two hunters. To be sure, one of them is a synthet himself. One of the pseudo-battle class, a judge. In fact, a trained killer of our products. He has proven himself perfectly.”

The old man speaks slowly, “A key technology stolen... by a horse from a children's show.”

“A pegasus," someone corrects him, "apparently from Hasbro.”

“Nonsense...” says another voice.

“And there was a mouse with her," adds a younger voice, "also a sentient synthet.”

The older man's reply shows an open mockery.

“Well, that explains it! The mighty company has been tricked by a little horse and a mouse. Both from cartoons. Fear, evil corporation!”

“Who would even come up with the idea of transporting the Key unguarded, by an ordinary delivery service?”

“We cannot trust the Cybernet. The data set is too large. Any other way of transporting it would attract attention. You know that. We're not ready to go public yet.”

The woman's voice begins to sound irritated, “Yes, and now it could all go down because some little synthet thief was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Just find the stupid horse and the mouse, eliminate them, and return the Key,” another voice conciliates. “It's not that difficult, is it?”

“According to the latest information, they are in White City.”

“If that's the case, better a media scandal than a data leak.”

“Give the hunters a chance. They are the best.”

“One day,” an older man's voice sums up the discussion. “I give you twenty-four hours to solve the matter. Not a minute more.”

* * *

They finally had to ditch the scooter.

"The coolest, newest, fastest scooter that saved our butts, with the awesome motor powered by compressed air!" Scootaloo lamented. But the air in the cylinder was running out, and there was no way to get a new one.

The two ponies walked down the wide tunnel. From time to time, a subway train rumbled by, its lights blazing, sending up a wave of hot air that made their manes and tails crackle and wiggle uncomfortably.

It smelled of ozone from the maglev's supporting rails in the depths of the Great Hyperloop Line. But from here it was also possible to get to Gray City, away from the world of the bright future, where fugitive synthets could be caught with an unfortunate high probability.

There was no telling what resources the corporation's hunters possessed. But in White City, they might have police, security cameras, surveillance drones... Anyway, Jerry insisted on taking no chances.

The huge tube, containing more than a dozen smaller tunnels, could take them all the way through Gigapolis. To the private, or as it was called, the Green Sector, as well as to the slums and abandoned districts that had been there even since before the transformation of the old cities into the Gigapoleis. Though the maglevs didn't go to the junkyards and wastelands outside the enormous cities. And the intercity highway left the center on high pillars and didn't go down to the sinful earth until neighboring Gigapolis.

Jerry, still perched on Scootaloo's head, was talking to a unicorn in a dark gray suit that had gotten quite dirty.

“Okay, who and what you are, we get it. Why did you follow us, you little mint wonder?”

“I-I thought...” Lyra could only mumble, “that... they were bad people...”

The mouse nodded. “You thought right. But they'll think you're with us now.”

“But I wasn't with you then!”

“Yeah, tell them that," Scootaloo giggled.

“And would they listen?”

The orange pony glanced up and met Jerry's gaze.

“We’ll have to take her with me or she'll get lost," the mouse said with a sigh. “Oh, that's just a punishment... By the way, why did you help us?”

“You said so yourself, they are bad people. There couldn't be any reason to harm a foal. I mean, he was chasing you like a timberwolf chasing its prey!”

Scootaloo sighed. The suitcase on her back felt heavier.

“Wait a minute," Jerry said, tugging at her purple mane.

The ponies stopped. The mouse grabbed some tool from Scootaloo's bag and jumped on top of Lyra, walking along her back.

“Put your head down," he asked. “The first thing a synthet on the run has to do is reset the chip's firmware. Otherwise they'll track you wherever you go. This will hurt a little. Just a mosquito bite.”

The unicorn, her muzzle almost to the ground, grinned.

“That's what Nurse Redheart always says before she sticks a huge syringe in your croup... OUCH!”

“That's all," Jerry said. He put away the tool, which looked like an electric plug crackling with electricity, and got back on Scootaloo. "The main thing now is not to expose yourself to individual scanners. Otherwise, you won't stand out at all. Welcome to freedom.”

“Freedom from what?" asked Lyra as they continued on their way. Another maglev flew over their heads, making their manes and even their fur stand on end. “And by the way, electromagnetic fields are quite harmful, you know that?”

“Of course we do. We'll get to Gray City soon, and from there we can get into the sewers...”

Scootaloo shuddered beneath him.

“Again?” she asked in genuine despair. “We barely cleaned up from last time!”

“It's okay," Jerry scratched her ginger ear reassuringly, "like I always say, better dirty than dead. And there's a nice basin of clean water and suds waiting for you at home.”

“Jerry, what did you do?” Lyra asked, rubbing the back of her head with her hoof. “That hurt.”

“I'll explain later... Let's just say I helped you get rid of your master. Well, let's go.”

“What master?!” exclaimed the unicorn, following Scootaloo.

Jerry thought for a moment.

“Did the human you lived with wave a device in front of you that later turned green?” he asked.

“No," Lyra replied after a moment's thought.

“Then I'm sorry, but you were his property. At least according to human laws.”

So that's what I was, the pony thought, and resentment stirred in her soul, and Victor said I was a guest. And about friendship... But no, I can't think like that. He just wanted to protect me from the realities of this world... He didn't hurt me in any way!

Jerry and Scootaloo came forward.

The mouse thought that here and now he had to make another difficult decision. Because if he left this unicorn alone in the human world, she would inevitably die.

Just by the naivety cruelly embedded in every pony's program, she would go where she shouldn't. Get into the hands of greedy or simply evil and indifferent people... and either become someone else's property — not even a slave, but a toy for entertainment — or simply cease to live.

And even though Jerry knew from experience that they shouldn't trust the people of the Spires, who lived in a comfortable paradise and didn't see the filth around them, did the same apply to ponies?

There was no answer...

* * *

Evening was slowly descending on the Gray City. Streetlights came on, casting crooked shadows of passersby and cars, garbage cans and sparse trees on the concrete walls of houses. Vintage neon signs painted the night with colorful blaze, and storefronts spilled bright rectangles of light onto the asphalt.

At night, the resemblance to the twenty-first century became even stronger. Concrete and brick buildings, primitive electric lighting, the lingering shadows of passersby and the lights of passing cars. The usual nocturnal inhabitants, such as beggars and other sinister figures, appeared as well, watching the small group of synthets intently.

Lyra Heartstrings, walking beside Scootaloo, lifted her muzzle to the sky. How I miss the stars... she thought, ignoring the people around her. So many lights, they outshine even the night sky!

The sounds of the city did not go away anywhere. Muffled chatter and the rustling of tires could still be heard, and occasionally the rumble of something falling or the wail of a police siren broke into the measured noise. Tonight, the steady clatter of hooves joined the street sounds.

They left the Hyperloop line near one of the stations. The ponies and the mouse, who came out with the crowd, received little attention. After all, free synthets were not forbidden to wander wherever they pleased. In fact, they were almost full-fledged members of society. At least in relatively safe districts.

Somewhere on the border of the White City, there were several blocks populated by free synthets of certain species. Elves, for example, or anthropomorphic beasts. The latter, by the way, treated ponies well. But ghetto life was ghetto life, and even free ponies rarely settled among the furries.

“I've never felt so cold in my life," Lyra said as another gust of icy wind chilled her to the bone despite her clothes.

“Just wait till winter comes," Scootaloo said, shivering. “It won't be like this. Thank goodness the undercoat is growing back.”

Lyra nodded. Her newly awakened body was not yet ready for the change of seasons. She remembered leaving Equestria in the summer, and even with all her clothes on, she was freezing in the autumn wind.

“We should go home to the dump," Jerry summed up. “Or at least go underground... But we'd better get to the main sewers. That's another three blocks.”

Lyra sighed. She couldn't believe that the gleaming Spires could have anything to do with this gloomy place.

The people of Gray City hurried home in the twilight of the dying day. Their eyes glanced over the three exhausted synthets walking slowly down the sidewalk to the measured clatter of hooves. But in those glances, Lyra didn't see the contempt or hatred common to the inhabitants of the White City, but rather curiosity, sympathy, and sometimes even doom.

“And why can't we just take a train or a taxi?” asked the unicorn.

“Because we're not on a walk!” Jerry replied. "If you remember, we're being hunted.”

“By the way, I keep forgetting to ask why.”

Scootaloo and Jerry looked at each other.

“Do you see the briefcase?” asked the pegasus, and Lyra nodded. "Since we've had it, we've been chased by the police and most recently by these two.”

“So bring it back!”

“It's not that easy," the mouse muttered. “If we bring it to the police, they'll catch us as fugitive synthets. The chips are inactive, remember? Besides, I'm not sure those two are cops. And they won't leave us alone if we just throw away... this.”

Lyra raised her eyes in despair. “Is there anything else I should know? Like that you owe a debt to Discord? Or that you robbed Princess Celestia?!”

The awkward silence made the unicorn's eyes widen in horror.

“Well, actually... yes," Jerry said. "Something like that, at least.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed the unicorn. “Not Discord!”

“I rather meant Cele... ahem, a large corporation," the mouse added sheepishly. "I think so.”

Lyra stopped, closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and pressed her front leg to her chest. Taking her hoof away, the unicorn exhaled and looked at Jerry and Scootaloo.

“I still don't understand why we can't go to Vic?” she asked. “He won't let us get hurt... His grandfather is some kind of ruler or something. Surely they'll be able to protect us!”

Scootaloo just snorted, letting the unicorn know what she thought of humans in general and Lyra's master particularly.

“Humans tend to make mistakes and jump to conclusions," Jerry said. “And if we go straight to him, who's to say there won't be a couple of old acquaintances waiting for us? Or a police squad? Your master lives in White City, right? He might have another pony, I don't rule it out. It wouldn't be a problem for him to replace a synthet with a new model... Especially since you say his family is very powerful.”

The unicorn didn't answer. The mouse was right, and it was supported by his life experience and indirectly by Lyra's own observations.

“Not long ago, I thought there was nothing worse than timberwolves," she said. “And now we're being hunted by humans, just think, HUMANS who want to kill us!”

Jerry sighed. He had seen the collapse of the ideals of synthets with the "EQ" software before. Every time it was a heartbreaking sight. Sometimes it even ended tragically. But Jerry had never seen or heard of a pony attempting suicide. Hasbro had instilled an amazing vitality into these colorful horses, despite the various hardships that a life as a synthet could bring.

A growl in Scootaloo's stomach snapped the mouse out of his unhappy thoughts.

“I think it's time to think about dinner," he said. “Scoot, there's a vending machine. Get over there.”

Lyra followed where the mouse pointed and saw a display case built into the wall. Inside, on shelves, were boxes of sandwiches and waffles, candy and other treats in brightly colored wrappers.

Scootaloo made her way over to the machine and stood on her hind legs to reach the control panel. Lyra smiled as she watched the little filly lick her lips at the mere sight of the candy shelf.

But the smile instantly vanished from Lyra's face as Jerry pulled the familiar taser plug from the bag and jammed it into the service socket with all his might. Sparks flickered. The display blinked on and off, and the arm inside the case jerked, dropping several boxes down.

“What are you doing?!” Lyra gasped. “You've lost your mind!”

Scootaloo let out a stifled groan and jumped away from the machine as a few passersby turned in their direction.

“Run!” Jerry yelled, and the ponies sprinted down the street.

Nobody was chasing them, but the police had probably already been called and they needed to get away as fast as possible. Lyra tried to say something angrily as they ran, but the mouse just waved her off. Like, it wasn't the time for that.

When the ponies were far enough away and had retraced their steps, Lyra asked anyway, “Jerry, why did you do that?”

“To get some food," the mouse replied.

“Kinda like that, yeah," Scootaloo nodded. "Vending machines start glitching from an electric shock, and usually a few packets fall down before they lock up. It's cool, isn't it? I'd like a sandwich with—”

“Cool?!” Lyra gasped indignantly. “Did you ever think of buying them?”

“Why?” Scootaloo was genuinely surprised.

“What’s the point of spending money on something that you can get for free?” Jerry added.

Lyra stared at the sky, almost hidden by the houses, in utter despair.

“In less than two days, I've become a fugitive... I've run away from home, hit a policeman, and taken part in a robbery! Bon Bon would've had a stroke.”

“You'll do much worse things to get something to eat," the mouse said, rubbing Scootaloo's ear.

“And now, because of you, we're out of dinner," the pegasus snorted.

Lyra shook her head and didn't answer. Jerry fell silent as well.

How could he explain to this pony from White City that the laws were different here? The laws of real life, the laws of the jungle? A jungle of stone, full of danger and cruelty...

The light of the distant lantern picked out two silhouettes in the thickening darkness. The mouse looked around for a way to escape, but in time he realized that the pedestrians were civilians: a mother and apparently a daughter, carrying heavy bags.

“But why did you run?” Lyra spoke again. “No one was chasing us.”

“We were caught cracking a vending machine not too long ago," Jerry replied. “And a decent-looking old man just started beating Scootaloo with his cane. He nearly broke the cartilage in her ear.”

Lyra flinched, catching the pegasus' pathetic look.

“It hurt like Discord," she shuddered. “We barely got away then.”

“Was there no one who would pay attention to such a nightmare?” asked the unicorn.

“There was a girl," the mouse replied. “She stood and watched Scoot's beating with fascination.”

“I'm sorry," Lyra said guiltily, looking into the ginger filly's eyes, "it's just monstrous...”

Scootaloo was about to reply, but stopped herself. Something round hit her leg, distracting her from the conversation. As the pony looked down, she saw an apple rolling out of a bag on the ground with the handle torn off. With a sigh, an elderly woman placed a few more bags on the ground and began to pick up the fallen food.

She was helped by a little girl who was still walking beside her.

The pony's mouth filled with saliva at the thought of the juicy fruit, straight from the hydroponic farm... but the apple was enveloped by Lyra's telekinesis and flew toward the woman, who was oblivious to the synthets.

“Excuse me. You dropped it," the unicorn said.

The woman looked at the fruit floating in the air, then caught the pitiful look of the little orange filly...

“Keep it for your daughter," the woman smiled.

Scootaloo had already opened her mouth to deny the woman's assumption, but it was immediately shut by the apple that flew into it, to Lyra's giggles.

The woman turned to examine the bags. Now that one of them was missing a handle, it was impossible to hold them all at once.

The girl tried to lift the bag of apples, but she could only move it a little.

Suddenly, the bag lit up and flew into the air.

“L-let me help," Lyra offered, her teeth chattering from the cold.

The unicorn paid no attention to Jerry's angry shushing and Scootaloo's protesting moans.

“Thank you," the woman smiled.

The girl, hiding behind her mother, reached out and touched the floating package. It swayed slightly.

“Mom, what's it like?” she asked the woman, but it was Lyra who answered.

“It's magic. All unicorns can do that.”

“Well, freezing magical horses...” the woman said with a smile. “Let's go then.”

Scootaloo took a bite of the apple, chewed her prey, and started to say something, but was stopped by the words, “For one night, I think we'll have an extra blanket and a few plates of dinner...”

* * *

The home of Martha Brickman and her daughter, eleven-year-old Jane, looked nothing like Lyra Heartstrings had imagined.

Unlike the spacious chambers at the top of the shining tower, it was a small apartment in the depths of a real mountain of gray concrete. The district was rather poorly lit, and only the headlights of rare cars picked out the blank walls of the buildings and the gloomy street from the darkness. The only light came from the windows of the apartments.

Lyra suspected something wrong as they walked through a narrow but crowded alley between cyclopean buildings, then through the dimly lit, dirty corridors of a residential module.

But an unpainted steel door led to a tidy, clean hallway, and beyond it to a cozy room. The yellowish light came on with the flick of an old-fashioned switch, bringing out from the darkness the two beds, the table and other furniture, the walls covered with rugs and paintings, and the heavy curtains on the windows.

It all created an atmosphere of quiet, domestic comfort. Really, it was nothing like anything Lyra had seen before. At least in the human world.

An old wooden cabinet, a shabby table with a tablecloth, and a glass-fronted cupboard were things Lyra would have expected to see somewhere in Equestria, not here in the world of technological marvels.

“Wipe your feet and come in," Martha said, setting the bags on the floor. “Jane, put the kettle on.”

The girl kicked off her boots, hung her jacket on a hook, and ran into the kitchen, where the clinking of dishes was heard.

“If you are going to eat with your hands... or feet," Martha added, "then wash them first, please.”

She smiled, but her tone was firm. No one tried to argue, though. The ponies made their way to the bathroom and Jerry jumped on top of the sink.

“Where are the control sensors?” Lyra asked, then said loudly, "Tap on!”

Scootaloo giggled, covering her face with her hoof, and Jerry grinned as he walked to the faucet and silently turned it with both hands.

The water flowed and Lyra felt incredibly silly. After getting used to Victor's automated home, she had completely forgotten that somewhere in the human world things might be different.

The unicorn caught a surprised glance from Jane, who was walking by with plates for everyone.

The pony's muzzle flushed and Scootaloo said, “Now I really believe you're from White City, tee-hee-hee...”

Dinner was porridge with some kind of fruit. Lyra had completely lost her appetite from worry and ate more out of politeness. But Scootaloo and Jerry didn't have to beg.

“Thank you, Martha," Lyra said as she watched Scootaloo munching on the sweet cereal mush.

The growing body demanded its own, and what had been eaten in the morning had long since dissolved without a trace. The recent apple, however, only annoyed the hungry tummy. The first plate was gone in a flash, the refills a little later, and Lyra slid her portion over to Scootaloo. The pegasus smiled gratefully and began to eat more slowly this time.

“You're welcome," the woman smiled, and Lyra thought she reminded her of Little Daisy, the caring nanny who had worked for the Heartstrings during her foalhood in Canterlot. “You helped me too, didn't you?”

“With all due respect," said Jerry, who had already finished his portion, "I don't think helping with a bag is a good enough reason to invite unfamiliar synthets into your home.”

“You're kind... creatures, and my daughter likes you. Nothing else matters.”

Suddenly, a striped cat jumped silently onto the table. Jerry flinched, but more out of surprise.

“Puffy!” Martha and Jane exclaimed in unison, and the woman reached out to pull the animal off the table. “No, you bad kitty!”

“It's all right," Jerry assured them. “Normal cats don't think of me as a mouse.”

The cat flattened her ears and took a step toward Jerry. He stared at it in surprise.

“Are you sure about what you just said?” Lyra asked.

“I was until now!” the mouse muttered, keeping his eyes on the cat.

The unicorn's horn flared, preparing to grab the predator, but Puffy sprang from the spot and sprawled in the air with a swift leap. No one had time to do anything.

Jerry jumped to the side, but the cat didn't seem to notice him and darted into a poorly lit corner of the room.

There was a clatter, then a clang of metal, and a small, blurry shadow dashed toward the vent. Puffy, however, did not chase it, but returned to the table, staggering oddly. Then she sat down and began to quickly wash her face.

“Must be mice," Martha concluded.

“What mice?" asked Jerry.

“Not like you," said Jane. “Just ordinary, real mice... Oh, sorry.”

“I've seen those 'real' mice," Jerry snorted. “Stupid, fidgety... Animals, basically. Who finds anything attractive about them?”

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Jane got up from the table without a word and walked toward the kitchen.

“What's the matter?” Lyra asked, glancing at the girl.

“Mice live in the communications," Martha explained, "and they're usually the only pets the habitat residents can afford. Jane had Minnie the mouse... for almost a year.”

“And then what?" asked Scootaloo between chews.

“And then she died," Jerry replied. “Ordinary mice live a year or two at most.

“I think you should apologize to Jane," Lyra began.

“I'm not offended...!” came the voice of a girl who had heard everything from the kitchen. “It was me who shouldn't have said that only the other mice were real.”

When the apology and the porridge were over, Martha said, “I think we should put the children to bed. And perhaps we need some rest too. I don't know what you're going to do tomorrow, but I have to go to my shift and Jane has school.”

“I'm not a child!” Scootaloo squeaked.

“Aren't you going to ask us anything?” Jerry asked.

Martha laughed.

“Do you really think I'd call you indoors if I wanted to know why you were outside? So come on, mousey, put your little charge to bed...”

Scootaloo fluffed her wings belligerently, but Jerry deftly kicked the ginger hoof on the table and said, “It's even harder sometimes with this mint wonder. So...”

“I'm an adult!” Lyra spoke up. And she was surprised how foalish it sounded.

Just like Scootaloo's.

The orange pegasus had a wry grin on her face.

“You've been here less than a week! And I've been in this world for two years.”

“That doesn't matter now! I have much more life experience, even if it is from Equestria!”

“Uh-huh. It helped us a lot when you tried to ask a policeman for directions. Walking up to a policeman with a broken registration chip is a very mature and prudent thing to do...”

The unicorn blushed and glanced at Martha, who didn't quite understand what the conversation was about, but picked up on the general theme. Victor had advised her to ask the officers for directions, but who knew that wouldn't work now?

“Well, he seemed so kind and helpful...” Lyra said. “How did I know he'd get a nightstick, huh? Besides, now we know for sure that the police are not our friends.”

Scootaloo giggled, and Jerry covered his face with his palm.

“You didn't have to risk your life to prove a point.”

“Hey!" the mint green pony said indignantly. “I’ve tried to do something!”

“Go to bed, all of you," Martha said conciliatingly. “I'll make a mattress for you on the floor. And for you, Jerry, there's a pillow to fit you and a warm shawl as a blanket.”

“Thank you," said the mouse. “Sometimes being small is a good thing.”

Soon, a wide mattress appeared on the floor, large enough for three ponies. Scootaloo fell onto it contentedly, spreading her legs and wings in bliss.

Lyra suddenly felt her back being stroked.

Startled by the unexpected caress, the unicorn turned her head to see Jane. The girl smiled embarrassedly as she continued to stroke the unicorn right over the jacket.

“Thank you," Lyra smiled, "this is such a pleasure.”

“May I brush your mane?” Jane asked boldly.

“Daughter, leave Lyra alone, she's tired!” Martha said sternly.

The girl was even more embarrassed, but the unicorn objected, “It's all right, Martha.” She turned to the girl. “Of course you may.”

“Touchy-filly stuff, be-eh," Scootaloo said from the mattress.

Jerry just grinned. He had long since given up trying to get the little pony to keep her mane in at least somewhat good condition.

The pony took off her jacket and lay down on the mattress with her legs under her. Crouching next to her, Jane went to work. Lyra soon felt the comb touching her mane, which had been disheveled during this crazy day.

Closing her eyes in pleasure, Lyra tried not to listen to the giggles and mocking snorts of Scootaloo, whose mane looked like a tousled mop. As always, though.

Lyra remembered her first day on Earth and sighed. Victor's hands washing her mane with such touching and awkward tenderness... It seemed like a lifetime ago, even though it had only been one day.

Mane combing and grooming were generally activities that gave the ponies pleasure which did not cross the line of what was allowed. At least for the mares.

Lyra didn't know why she had such a fondness for this girl. Or children in general. She drew a parallel to the children in the park, and her heart inexplicably warmed.

I guess I'm just subconsciously trying to find crumbs of love and harmony in this cruel world, the unicorn thought. And children seem to be my last straw.

A close reading of the behavioral software's technical documentation would reveal that Hasbro had simply bet on the show's traditional audience, and the special script had always inclined ponies to befriend children.

But Lyra, of course, couldn't even suppose such a thing. And she wouldn't believe it anyway.

“Thank you, Jane," the unicorn said as the girl finished and showed her the mirror. “It's so beautiful. Too bad it'll be a mess by morning.”

“I'll brush you again," the girl smiled and suddenly kissed the pony on the nose, making Lyra snort in surprise. “Good night.”

“Good night," the unicorn echoed, laying down on the mattress next to Scootaloo.

The little pegasus, stuffed with dinner, had long since fallen asleep without changing her posture. The mattress allowed both ponies to get comfortable on it.

Lyra smiled as Martha turned off the light.

The loud sound of engines and wolf howling came from outside, but it didn't frighten the little pony.

The human world, with all its unsightly aspects, sometimes revealed miracles comparable only to the true magic of friendship.

And that hope, burning in her heart like a candle in a cold room, made her believe that all was not lost. That good people like Martha Brickman would, sooner or later, be in the majority.

And people like Vic, the pony thought, unwilling to imagine her first friend in this unknown world as a slaveholder and a deceiver. And those guys from the Solaire. And those kids from the park...

With these thoughts, Lyra closed her eyes, listening to Scootaloo's measured breathing. The sounds of the night city came muffled through the window, but the pony was too tired for them to keep her from falling into a deep and peaceful dreamless sleep...

[1] Lister to the sad melody: https://youtu.be/HnI6ByoMYHM
[2] The art: https://fc04.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2014/066/e/d/scootaloo_jerry_by_darkknightthestral-d799nsj.jpg

Chapter 09

Victor entered the dark apartment and felt the warmth of affection spilling into his chest. Poor Lyra, she probably hadn't waited and had gone to bed, exhausted after a day of fun. What else would she do but have fun? Maybe I should buy her a communicator. Right tomorrow. Actually, I should have done it first.

Well, the family reunion dragged on. Grandpa's decision to retire came as a surprise to everyone. I wonder who will take care of the business...?

After tidying up, Vic decided to check on the little pony and cautiously peeked into the living room. The couch was empty and it didn't look like anyone was lying on it today. Walking around the apartment, Victor didn't find Lyra in the bedroom or anywhere else.

Still hanging out, I guess, the man thought fondly of the unicorn and sat down at the terminal.

The Solaire was usually closed for the night. Only Princess Celestia, who legally belonged to no one, stayed in the club, and most likely Serge Troyanovsky, who often slept with his ponies in the common bronies’ house.

The hoop of the neurointerface came down on his head, and Vic felt the world explode in a riot of colors and images.

Cyberspace entered human life after the Internet, becoming the next stage of immersion in virtuality. Dreams became more real, information more available.

But, as usual, when the novelty got tiresome, people stopped being surprised by computer miracles.

Waving away the annoying banners, Vic's avatar flew over the virtual Gigapolis. Finally he descended into the building of the Solaire's cybersite.

The main chat room was nearly empty. A few avatars were talking quietly in private, but Vic caught everyone's attention with a marker.

Vic: Hey guys, let Lyra go home, it's past bedtime.

The answer came a while later.

Zelda: Vic, your pony didn't show up today. Did something happen?

Vic: Uh, no... she probably went to Galaxy Plaza and got carried away. Thanks, Zelda. Say hi to everyone tomorrow.

Suddenly, another member entered the chat room. Vic even averted his gaze, for the new avatar shone so brightly with pure white light. No nickname was needed to tell who it was.

Solar Pony: Victor, keep us informed, will you?

Vic: Yes, Your Highness.

Cyberspace shattered into a million pieces like a world made of fragile glass.

Back in reality, the man opened the safe and took out the remote control. Touching the power sensor, Victor felt his heart pound alarmingly in his chest.

Red light. No chip signal...

For a while he stared silently at the remote's screen. It was as if a tornado had ripped through his head, sweeping away all thoughts. What should I do? How do I find Lyra? Call the police?

The thefts of synthets weren't that uncommon. Especially in Gray City, where a four-digit sum seemed astronomical to most people. The problem was always to reset the ID chip. But with the equipment, nothing was impossible, and Victor sincerely hoped that Lyra hadn't poked her curious nose outside of White City. Or at least outside the safe, quiet district where the Solaire was located.

Claws of fear for the defenseless pony, who could easily fall into the clutches of slave traders, gripped his throat.

Calm down, Vic thought, just calm down...

The police accepted his application, but advised him not to get his hopes up. Yes, the mint-green synthet pony would be put on the wanted list, but by the time the investigation was underway, the criminals would have time to repaint her and sell with a reflashed chip somewhere in the depths of the Gray City.

Maybe I should fly around the district in a hovercar and try to find the unicorn with my eyes? But it's night, I won't be able to see anything... However, I think I know someone who wouldn't be indifferent to others' misfortunes...

* * *

A few hours later, two hovercars landed near the Solaire with a slight time difference. One was Victor's silver Lightning, the other was some designer model, stylized like an old city car almost to the last detail. Only instead of wheels, the cones of the antigravs gleamed in a matte glow.

At night, the club's holograms did not light up. The rich decorations and the tower with the fire on top of it disappeared. Without the veil of illusion, the club still looked unusual, but already not like a magical mirage from a fairy tale.

“How symbolic," said Steven Aguilar as he got out of his car.

He slammed the door and walked over to Victor, who was shuffling impatiently from foot to foot.

Not long ago, Vic had called Steven and confusedly told him that Lyra Heartstrings was lost and that the console was flashing red. Without letting the sleepy Steve get a word in edgewise, Vic set up a meeting at the Solaire Club, where the bronies would probably understand and help. Then, without waiting for an answer, he cut off the connection.

Needless to say that a few minutes later, Steven was already in the cabin of his hovercar, on his way to a place that was, to put it mildly, not his favorite.

Vic's handshake was nervous.

“Tell me about this," Steven ordered, "and let's go inside, since we're here.”

Victor was about to speak when Steve's car door slammed again and hooves clattered on the pavement.

With Steven came two ponies. And Vic had seen both of them before. The black Thunderlane and the silver Snowdrop. The pegasus was frowning and nervously rubbing the hilt of his sword with his hoof. I still don't know what he'll draw and hold it with if anything happens, the man thought.

Snowdrop, meanwhile, unmistakably looked straight at him.

“Hi, Vic.”

“Hello, I...”

“We know. Lyra's lost. We're going to help, too.”

They walked through the welcoming doors of the club. Victor had noticed when he'd arrived that the lights were still on in some of the rooms, including the Princess's chambers.

“I'm not sure coming here for help was a good idea, Victor," Steven said suddenly.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty hallway.

“Why?” asked Vic. “This is the place where the bronies gather, isn't it?”

“Yes, Vic, they gather..." Aguilar replied, but as if he meant something completely different.

The main hall wasn't too crowded. No one liked to stay out late, except Serge Troyanovsky. But he hardly slept at all, having modified his body at some point.

Nevertheless, tonight a large number of ponies and humans were up late playing some kind of game.

When Steven and Victor entered, everyone turned in their direction. A panoramic map was unfolding on a huge holoscreen. Apparently, they were playing some timeless step-by-step strategy game by the Sid Meier Company. Victor, however, found such games a little boring.

Now the screen showed a city of white stone, with some primitive infantry under purple banners marching up to it in regular columns. "New Canterlot," read the sign above the city. The control terminal was now at the side of Twilight Sparkle in a blue dress. With a stylus floating in a purple glow, she deftly poked at the control sensors, and the armies closed in on the city.

Victor knew this Twilight. She lived with Serge Troyanovsky and was a genius at all kinds of mind games.

Judging by some man's nervous fidgeting, this "New Canterlot" was obviously his and had little chance of survival.

“Hi, Vic," came several voices at once. “Hi, Steven... You haven't been around lately.”

“Guys," Victor said in a helpless voice. “Help, please... Lyra is missing. There's a red light on the remote.”

“Wow!” Zelda Miras jumped up and her Rainbow took off excitedly, hovering in the air. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“I was at a family meeting and she was out having fun in the city. I told her to go to Galaxy Plaza, but according to their security report, she didn't go there either... I don't know what to do! It seems she was stolen and her mark was overridden...”

The game was immediately halted.

“Holy crap," said Shannon McStout, "how did this happen?”

“I bet the Pony Play scumbags did it," said an unfamiliar chubby guy in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

“And that's because you shouldn't have groped the pony," said Alan Little, a well-known Solaire's moralist, suddenly and coldly.

Vic stared at him dumbfounded. But instead of indignation, there were quiet but approving remarks among the bronies.

“First they get loose and then they're surprised when the ponies run away...”

“Damn cloppers...”

“You knew the software was glitchy, what else did you expect?" someone said in an indifferent tone. "Are we playing or what?”

Vic looked helplessly at Steven, who remained standing a little farther away, looking Olympian calm. Thunderlane and Snowdrop went to talk to the other ponies. Stewart noticed that the black pegasus was talking to Rarity, who was dressed in an elegant blue gown.

Soon she was clomping her shoe-shod hooves toward the door that led to the stairs to the second floor, hurried but with the dignity of a lady.

Shannon McStout put a hand on Vic's shoulder.

“You can't find the synthet without the mark," he said. “If she was stolen, her chip should have been reflashed right away. Check the Net, there may be an ad for Lyra Heartstrings for sale soon.”

“Eeyup," said Big Macintosh, chewing on a candy straw instead of a real one.

“You filed a police report?” questions were heard. “Posted a missing person's notice?”

“Hey, Vic's here for help!” Zelda was outraged. “Stop giving him excuses!”

Rainbow Dash Miras was not left out either, but she was not addressing the humans.

“Hey, ponies, why don't you say anything? Rar, tell them... where is she, by the way?”

Most of the ponies remained silent, hiding their eyes.

“The chances of finding a single pony in a city like Gigapolis are a tiny fraction of a percent,” said Twilight Sparkle Troyanovsky. “Even if we all started looking right now.”

“Steven, you've always found your ponies!” another Rainbow Dash suddenly exclaimed. Apparently, she was Forman, judging by her colorful pigtails and denim suit that matched her fur.

Steven smiled and shook his head.

“I've never looked for them on purpose," he replied. “Just look around and don't pass by others' sorrow, and you won't have to look for anyone. Especially in Gigapolis.”

“Aren't we going to help?” asked a bright yellow pony with an orange mane, whose name Vic did not know. The girl she was talking to had taken the story of the disappearance rather coolly.

“Hush, Carrot," she said in a low voice, stroking the pony's mane. “You see, the pony ran away from the man who had abused her, and then he came here to ask us to help him find her.”

Victor felt like he'd been doused in cold slop. Not that he'd actually imagined what it felt like, but the sensation evoked just such associations.

He even took a step back, feeling so dirty all of a sudden. Just like... yeah, just like at the family meeting.

“So this is the friendship you're so proud of?!” he exclaimed, looking around at the humans and ponies in amazement.

“It's not for a clopper to judge us," Alan interjected again. "You should have gone to the Pony Play with that attitude.”

Victor looked around again. He hadn't expected such a welcome, where the magic of friendship seemed to reign. There was an "I told you so" look on Steven's face, but he himself remained as calm as his pony. Although Thunderlane did have a frown.

“Shame on you, friends," came a soft voice. "It looks like you want to get rid of Victor so he can search for Lyra alone.”

Accompanied by Rarity, Princess Celestia entered the hall. Everyone present bowed slightly, immediately turning to face the alicorn. Vic noticed that some of the ponies sighed with relief.

“Your Highness, I understand," he said, "everyone has their own problems, I shouldn't have come here.”

“No," the solar pony said firmly, glancing around again. "You cannot do that. This is not the magic of friendship. We have to do everything we can to help Vic. He has just made friends with Lyra, joined our family, and we are turning our backs on him at a time like this? Friendship in joy is not magic. The true test of friendship is in sorrows and trials. And only then do miracles happen.”

The hall fell into a shameful silence.

Finally, Zelda stepped forward.

“Vic, I'll ask my friend from the sports club for help. She's a taxi driver and knows Gigapolis like no one else. She's been all over the Gray City. She'll be at the Solaire tomorrow morning... if she agrees, of course.”

“This is much better, Zelda, thank you," the Princess replied, tilting her head slightly.

Victor felt himself blush under the gaze of the lavender eyes.

“Thank you," he said. “It really does mean a lot to me.”

“You're welcome," Zelda said and looked back at Rainbow, "but that's what friends are for, isn't it?”

Victor glanced around the room. The bronies were careful not to meet his or Princess Celestia's eyes.

“Excuse me, Your Highness," Alan spoke up again, "but we think it's Victor's fault that Lyra ran away from him.”

“She didn't run away! Your Highness, I—”

The alicorn closed her eyes for a moment.

“Alan, you are behaving unworthily," she said. “Lyra may be in real trouble, and you are just making Victor the guilty one? Have you reached a verdict?”

But the champion of morality did not relent.

“Your Highness, ponies never run away unless they have a reason to. And it's always a human's fault. You know, when something happens between a pony and a human, it's always—” he turned to the stunned man, "you hear, Victor, it's always the initiative and invention of the latter. Even if the pony feels sincere feelings in return. Ponies have private lives, don't doubt it. But I, you, or any other human being is not a part of it.”

“When a small target is brought too close to the eye," Steven said in a low voice, "it obscures the world, and one forgets that in the defense of the good, it's not the defense that matters, but the good.”

He said it so quietly that Vic barely heard him. The others either didn't pay attention or didn't hear at all. Only a few colored ears twitched warily.

“I expect you to be at your best, my friends," Princess Celestia said in a stern voice, "and since tomorrow will be a busy day, I'm going to ask everyone to break up for tonight.”

“What time is it?” Twilight suddenly called out in concern.

All eyes immediately turned to the watches or communicators. Quiet, joking curses and laughter could be heard.

“I've missed the last maglev," someone said with a smile. “Serge, can I take a nap in the hall?”

“No problem," the chairman replied, "but it would be better here. Or maybe someone will take you. Guys?”

“I'll drop off the tardies," Zelda Miras spoke up. “I have a hovercar.” She winked at Victor but turned to her pony, "Dee, can you fly your own way?”

“Huh, we'll see who gets home first!” the rainbow-haired pegasus said.

Vic grinned to himself. The Rainbow Dash synthet model was indeed the fastest of all the ponies, though of course she couldn't compete with a hovercar — but only when it was in a speed mode forbidden over the city. So at normal altitudes, Zelda stood a good chance of being left behind by the fast and incredibly maneuverable pegasus.

Everybody made a fuss. They saved the game and started picking up things scattered here and there.

Celestia was the calmest of all.

“Tomorrow I expect everyone who is willing to help Victor," she said sternly, turning back to her chambers, "first thing in the morning. Please don't be late.”

“Your Highness," Victor called, and the alicorn looked at him questioningly. “Thank you.”

The solar pony made no reply. She nodded and strode back to her room, her dress rustling and her golden slippers treading softly on the carpet. How she managed to make so little noise was a true mystery.

“Let's go," Steven said, putting a hand on Vic's shoulder. “You also need to get your strength up before tomorrow.”

By the time they left the club, its lights were already out.

“We've ruined the whole game." Victor forced a smile.

He felt lousy. Somehow it seemed that he and Steven would arrive at an empty club tomorrow. Considering the way the bronies had dealt with his misfortune, it would be naive to expect help.

Well, people never change anywhere. Even if they say otherwise.

“I hate this place," Steven said, as if he had read Vic's thoughts. “People here talk about mutual aid and support and the magic of friendship, but less than half of them actually believe in it. I only come here for the ponies — they sometimes want to interact with others in person.”

“I'm sorry I dragged you out of bed late at night," Victor sighed, "I was hoping to find support here... I didn't realize I'd need Celestia's help for this.”

“Thunderlane and I will look for Lyra from the air," Snowdrop said, "and Rainbow will help us, won't she?”

“Just be careful," Victor said.

“Took that right out of my mouth," Steven smiled, swinging the door of the hovercar open for Snowdrop and Thunderlane. “Don't worry. I'll send the pegasi to patrol the skies and Twilight to the Cybernet. In case someone does post an ad about Lyra Heartstrings for sale. Or if she suddenly... shows up on a list somewhere...”

Victor shuddered inwardly at the horrible speculation about the fate of the kidnapped pony.

“Do you have Twilight Sparkle too?” he asked, not at all what he had in mind.

“She lives at my place," Steve corrected, "but she's not mine, nor are the others. You'd be surprised. But we'll talk about all that later.”

“We're all going to help," Snowdrop said firmly, with the directness of an inspired child, "whatever we can. Online or offline... if we see Lyra, we'll let you know.”

Victor sat down and held out a clenched fist. “Thank you, little one.”

Before he could think that the blind pegasus wouldn't see it, she touched her hoof to his knuckles.

“You're welcome. And I'm not little," Snowdrop pouted jokingly.

Steven looked at the pony and the tensed expression left his face. He smiled and reached out to pat the filly, but she giggled and dodged, running off to the car.

Vic glanced at the black pegasus and remembered something he'd wanted to ask for a long time.

“You promised to tell the story of Thunderlane," he said, "and I keep forgetting to remind you of it.”

“You really think it's the right time for that?” Steven raised his eyebrows in surprise. “When we find Lyra, I'll tell you. But I warn you, it's not a pleasant one.”

“I can tell him myself, Steve," said the black pegasus, who had heard everything perfectly well.

“I hope it's not too personal?” Victor suddenly caught himself and met Thunderlane’s yellow eyes.

“No, not too much," he replied. “To begin with, I was raised by a decent man. Very young, but with iron principles. We grew up together. And our favorite game was him playing the shogun, and me playing his loyal samurai. But we grew up, and what was a game gradually turned into something... more. Sven didn't want to accept the injustice of the world around him, but he didn't believe in the justice of the authorities and decided to go another way.”

“Another way?” Victor asked. “Does it have to do with the law?”

“Not at all. Sven chose the path of a masked vigilante. And I was his faithful assistant. His eyes and ears. A storm from heaven. There were no teenage gangs or drugs in the district where Samurai worked. Because everyone knew he would come and there would be no mercy.”

“I'm sorry, but that seems kind of... childish," Victor said. "You'd be found out in a heartbeat!”

“That's right,” the pegasus continued with a sigh. “It couldn't last long, and one day the thugs of one of the criminal bosses came to our home. As you can imagine, even a very brave teenager with a katana can't do much against blasters... And his parents, simple employees, can't do much either.”

Thunderlane fell silent, and Victor couldn't find it in himself to hurry him up. What had happened that day left no doubt.

“Before your question," the pegasus finally said, his voice taking on the hardness of steel, "I... chickened out and flew away. Looking back, I can still see the red flashes of lasers following me. I guess I was saved by the fact that I'm black. They never hit me in the night sky. I ran as far away as I could. As I wandered the streets, I despised and hated myself for abandoning my friend and mentor. I wanted to commit seppuku, if only to restore the honor of a samurai, but I couldn't find the courage. So I decided to jump off a skyscraper with my flight feathers clipped.”

“Don't tell," Victor asked, his heart bleeding at the look on Thunderlane's face, "you're in too much pain. I'm sorry I insisted...”

“I haven’t finished. So when I flew up some spire, I saw Fluttershy. And a man sharpening a huge knife.”

“He was going to kill her," Victor guessed.

“No," Thunderlane said, "he wanted to eat her.”

A short curse escaped Victor's lips. He had, of course, heard of the cruelty some humans inflicted on sentient synthets, including ponies. But, like everyone else, he often chose to ignore the fact that many humans took a perverse pleasure in cruelty and permissiveness.

“What kind of maniac would want to eat a pony?” he asked rhetorically.

“A human," Thunderlane replied calmly. “But he will not want anything else. Ever.”

Victor looked guiltily at Steven, but Aguilar seemed as calm as ever. But then Stewart had a sudden thought.

“Wait a minute," he said, "I've read that synthets can't raise a hand... or a hoof... on a human. It's one of those behavioral imperatives, like a robot program or something.”

Thunderlane made an uncertain gesture with his hoof.

“I can't explain it. When I saw the pleading look on the helpless Fluttershy's face and the drawn blade, I shattered the glassteel of the window with my hooves. And at the same time, it seemed to me that the clinking of the shards separated my past life from my present one. And I knew of no imperatives. My leg with the sword didn’t waver.”

“Everyone thought Trixie had a block too," Stephen said. “But it proved useless against the strong feeling.”

“If anyone finds out that synthets can overcome the block, the OBE will be in trouble," Victor said.

“Come on," Steve replied, "they'll just chalk it up to a program failure, that's all. They've already had a few lawsuits, especially in the early stages. They will release the synthet with a new version and claim that the problem is fixed. So you can buy it. And the old ones will be recycled under the next upgrade program. It's cheaper than just updating the behavioral software through the chip.”

“It's inhumane, even for a corporation.”

“Concepts like kindness, faith, hope... things that make us better than we are, do not apply to corporations. All they care about is profit. And profit doesn't mix well with forgiveness.”

Snowdrop's voice suddenly joined the conversation, as she had rolled down the hovercar window and could hear everything.

“I don't think you should divide people like that, Steve. Whoever wanted to eat Fluttershy wasn't wearing an expensive suit with a company logo on the lapel.”

“Yes, you're right," Steven said. “My apologies.”

Thunderlane closed his eyes. He recalled that moment. The frightened, pleading, hopeful look in those huge eyes. The helpless yellow body crucified on the table. And the crazed expression on the face of the skinny man who had just finished sharpening a primitive butcher's cleaver and took a step toward his future victim...

Then the pegasus shattered with a single blow the glassteel that was supposed to withstand a shot from a hand-held kinetic weapon. The sword, clutched beneath his hoof, swung from its sheath as if by itself and, before the man had a chance to realize it, cut short both the cleaver's deadly swing and the villain's life.

That was a quick death, the pegasus thought once again. He didn't deserve one like that.

Neither then nor now did Thunderlane feel any remorse. He'd seen a lot of things in the time he and Sven had been policing the district of Gray City. But to see something like this, and in the shining cleanliness of the Spires, was too much for him.

“I couldn't leave her there," the pegasus said slowly. “I've been responsible for the life I saved ever since. I carried her away after setting that bastard's apartment on fire. Then I met Steven. And now, after a while, my life has... made sense again. I think so.”

With these words, the pegasus climbed into the car, indicating that the conversation was over.

“And that's why I call him Ronin," Steve summarized.

Victor, shocked to the core by the samurai pegasus's revelations, remembered Steven's words. “Well... what's up with Trixie?”

Steven shook his head. “Enough stories for today. Try to get some sleep, Vic. We'll all have a busy day tomorrow.”

“So, good night then?”

“Good night.”

Steven shook Vic's hand and sat down at the wheel of the hovercar where the two ponies were waiting patiently.

Vic followed the flying machine with a glance and headed for his silver Lightning. Somehow he wanted to believe that the Princess was right, and miracles did happen...

* * *

“You see, not all people are bad," Lyra said.

“But most people are," Jerry, this time riding a mint unicorn, countered. "Though, admittedly, that Martha was a rare exception.”

The orange pony, munching on an apple, muttered with a full mouth, "Agfee!"

They had given Scootaloo all of their morning porridge, limiting themselves to apples. As Jerry put it, there was no telling when they would be able to eat enough, and the foal's body was just entering the teenage stage and needed energy for intense growth.

“But just think about it," Lyra said, "even in a place as bleak as this, people can still keep the goodness in their hearts. It's as true as a rainbow after rain.”

At these words, Scootaloo choked on her apple and pinned her ears back.

“What's the matter?” Lyra asked.

The little pegasus coughed. "Y'know, I'm not really hungry anymore."

“What's wrong, Scoot?” Lyra's voice sounded alarmed. "Scoot?”

She wanted to ask something else, but Jerry tugged on the unicorn's mane and she stopped.

"Mommy-y-y-y-y!" cries a child of about seven, clutching a hand over a rapidly growing bruise on his cheekbone. “She hit me-e-e-e-e-e...!"

"How many times have I warned you to listen to Nicky?” A huge shadow looms overhead. “Bad pony!"

The ginger filly doesn't answer, but tilts her head stubbornly. Squealy and whiny, Nicky loves to play games, which he always wins. And when he doesn't win, he cries. He also enjoys pulling Scootaloo's tail and wings. This time he even pulled out a feather. Tired of taking it, the pony kicked her young master, giving him a nice bruise on his cheekbone.

And now it seemed that the mother was really pissed off.

Then a ride somewhere through the winter night. The wheeled car stops on a bridge, and Scootaloo has no idea of her fate. Only when rough hands grasp her mane and tail, does it all become clear.

The little pegasus cannot fly yet.

And when she is thrown headlong into the blizzard, into the black water, fear grips her heart with icy claws. A desperate cry can be heard over the river....

The stubby wings cannot hold even a foal's body in the air. The water seems scalding, but is actually ice-cold. Her hooves beat on the water, then she frantically tries to climb out onto the ice floe... Fortunately, she succeeds.

After a while, Scootaloo jumps from one ice floe to another, then gallops down the street. She is galloping just to keep warm. She doesn't know where to run, but it's too cold to stop. What will happen when her strength is gone, the little pony tries not to think.

Suddenly, a bright flash grabs her attention. A holographic rainbow stretches over the street, attracting the attention of passersby... Scootaloo ignores the letters appearing in the colorful glow.

Hope flares with renewed power in her desperate heart. Now she knows what to look for. Or rather, who. After hours of asking and running around the city, she comes across a building where humans and ponies come in. Together.

Scootaloo walks up to a man standing at the entrance, just below the “Pony Play” sign.

“What ya want, li'l one?” the man asks.

“I'm looking for Rainbow Dash," Scootaloo replies, shivering with cold.

“Which one?” is the expected question, but the answer is long prepared.

“The real one, the coolest of all!”

“Okay, li'l filly," the guard relaxes, "she and Alex should be here in about an hour...”

...Scootaloo sits in the lobby, waiting for her idol. Her memory flashes back to Equestria: her school fan club and camping trip, fun and even dangerous adventures.

"Cutie Mark Crusaders — the inter-dimensional travelers, yay...!" echoes the inseparable trio's last adventure in Ponyville...

This is the longest hour of waiting Scootaloo can imagine.

A stocky man with kind eyes and soft hands comes into the hall, bringing with him a warm blanket and a large mug of hot coffee with cream. There's clearly a drop of alcohol in it, and the chill is gone in no time. The man pats Scootaloo's wet mane and leaves almost immediately, but the little pegasus feels a wave of soft affection along with the warmth for a long time.

Scootaloo feels sleepy, but she is overexcited by the anticipation of her idol and can't sleep a wink.

Before long, two walk through the doors of the club: another azure pegasus with a rainbow mane, accompanied by a strong young man speaking into a communicator. Rainbow, her leather garments creaking, walks over to her fan, who is sitting in a chair and gazing at her with rapt eyes. Scootaloo doesn't even notice that Rainbow's usually tousled mane has been trimmed to a short comb and that there's a lot of makeup on her idol's muzzle.

Dash, walking up to Scootaloo, says, "Jackie said you're lookin' for the coolest, most authentic Rainbow Dash ever?"

“Yes, yes, yes!" the little pegasus almost jumps for joy.

A wry, evil grin appears on Dash's face. And an approving one on the face of the man who arrived with the azure pony...

“Well, you found her.”

The young pegasus doesn't know yet that she has made the worst mistake of her life...

“I don't want to talk about it," Scootaloo said, turning away and quickening her pace.

Lyra glanced at Jerry questioningly, but he shook his head again.

“Just give her some time. She'll tell you when she's ready.”

They walked in silence for a while through the chilly morning. The first cars and passersby, hurrying about their business, appeared on the street. The sun, hidden by the towering high-rise buildings, lit up the sky, but didn't even think to show itself.

“Do you think Martha won't be offended when she sees the empty pot?” Jerry asked suddenly. More to break the silence, really.

“Don't worry," Lyra said, "I left her my money.”

The mouse almost fell off her mane at these words.

“You did what?!” he exclaimed.

“I left her all the money.”

Jerry opened and closed his mouth for a few seconds, looking like a beached fish.

“Even Scootaloo couldn't do something that stupid!” he finally squeezed out.

“Hey," the pegasus who had gone ahead looked back, "I can hear everything!”

Lyra remained calm. “Vic told me I could only have a day or two at Galaxy Plaza for that money. Well, it's no big deal...”

This time it was Scootaloo who looked shocked.

“A DAY at Galaxy Plaza? The biggest and most expensive entertainment center in the WHITE City...?”

“...or four months of the good life for guys like us," Jerry continued in a dejected tone. “That's two thousand, no less! Was...”

“It was... just under three," Lyra said, blushing.

She immediately realized that she had made things even worse when she saw Jerry's facepalm and Scootaloo's facehoof at the same time.

“Next time, give me the money!” the ginger pony almost yelled in frustration.

“No, don't give it to her," Jerry said.

“Why?!" the ponies asked in unison.

“Because your eyes glisten at the mere mention of Galaxy Plaza.”

“Stop it, both of you!” Lyra said angrily. “Have you seen how this poor woman lives? She sheltered us, fed us, and gave us a place to sleep, even though she can barely make ends meet! And now you tell me I should be like those who live in this world? Aren't you ashamed?!”

Scoot and Jerry both lowered their eyes.

“I'm sorry, Lyra," Jerry said. “It's not nice to count other people's money, of course... It's just when you spend half your life in need, you start valuing money.”

“I guess we could have spent the night in a hotel with that, couldn't we?” said the unicorn.

“I don't think that's a good idea," the mouse decided after some thought. “Hotels have scanners, our broken chips would be detected right away. But the question of food or other things would be solved for a long time, yes.”

Lyra blushed. “I'm sorry. It was... just a good impulse. I probably should have left something for us, too.”

“Oh, come on," Jerry said, waving his hand, "we'll be fine. Forget it.”

The unicorn glanced around to distract herself.

The districts surrounding the shining splendor of the Spires were left over from the Great Construction. They looked more like the cities of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries than anything else. It was as if nothing had changed here: gray concrete and black asphalt, rough clothes and angular wheeled cars. It didn't look like the magical world of technological wonders Victor had shown her via the visor!

A crumpled scrap of newspaper clung to her hoof, but the unicorn didn't bat an eye. Her attention was drawn to an orange pegasus gazing dreamily upward.

Jerry, following the unicorn's gaze, called out, “Scoot...” She continued to walk with her eyes to the sky. “Scoot!”

Lyra giggled, and the mouse bellowed, “Scootaloo!”

“Oh, what?” the pegasus perked up.

Her mind was fully occupied with what she would spend so much of others’ money on.

“Pick up the drool. I know what you're thinking. A fifty-credit-per-minute flight VR. With full immersion.”

“Well, why no-o-o-ot?" said the little pony capriciously. "Can't I even dream...?”

“Damn the day I gave you that hundred," said the mouse. “I said no!”

Moisture glistened in Scootaloo's eyes.

“I can't believe you're serious," Lyra said in surprise. “You must be familiar with the dire need as well. How can you think of... toys under these circumstances?!”

But a pleading look made the unicorn hesitate.

Lyra Hearstrings, she said to herself, you and your companions have been through a lot, and you still have a lot to go through, but don't forget one thing. No matter how much Scootaloo boasts, she's still a foal!

She thought for a moment, then added, "When we get to Galaxy Plaza, we'll make something up for you, I promise."

Scootaloo beamed, and Jerry muttered something under his breath. Lyra couldn't hear much of it, but she could make out the word "sneaky.”

Chapter 10

In the morning, Martha Brickman found no guests. How they had managed to get out without making any noise was a mystery. Nevertheless, the synthets finished what was left of dinner, washed the dishes, and left a note on the table.

The woman picked up the paper and read the neat lines. She couldn't believe they could have been written with hooves. To the mouse, a pen would have been like a log, which didn't go well with calligraphy.

Martha's thoughts were interrupted by the front door buzzer. Who the hell is out there this early...?

The camera image showed two men in coats and hats standing outside, whom any of the recent guests would have recognized as their pursuers.

“Hello," said the older man in the gray coat, then asked, "May we come in, ma'am?

“Do you have a warrant?” the woman asked, hesitating to open the door.

Doom was about to lose his temper, but the detective held up his hand conciliatorily.

"Ma'am, we're not the police. We're just looking for runaway company products, and we're not going to search the place.”

“Well, you're welcome," Martha sighed and opened the door.

It wasn't that she trusted her new guests right away. But somehow it seemed that if they wanted to come in, they would. Especially the sullen man in black, who was covering his face with his hat brim and raised collar.

“Guess who we're looking for?” he asked, striding into the apartment with wide steps and glaring at the woman with unfriendly red eyes.

“Who are you?” Martha replied with a question. “And could you keep your voice down, please? You'll wake my daughter.”

The man in gray raised his hand and a small holographic screen appeared over the communicator with an ID card bearing the name Dick Tracy.

“OBE Detective Service," he introduced himself. “I'm Detective Tracy, and this is Judge Doom. We're looking for fugitive synthets. And we know they've been here.”

“Fugitive?”

“Yes. Potentially dangerous to others.”

An awkward silence fell.

“Would you like some tea?” Martha asked.

“No, thank you,” Tracy shook his head. “We'll be quick. Are they here?”

“They've gone,” Martha said, “and I don't know where or what time.”

“Tracy!” Doom called from the room. “Look at this!”

“I beg your pardon," the detective said, walking over to his partner.

The judge was standing in the middle of the room, holding the paper Lyra had left behind, written in neat "horn-writing".

Rock grinned nastily.

“Thank you, Martha, for your hospitality and dinner," he read aloud. “I hope you and your daughter are well. Sorry to leave without saying goodbye, but we're really in a hurry. We finished the porridge and took some apples. We'll leave you some money, because you'll probably need it more. Best wishes, Lyra Heartstrings, Scootaloo, Jerry. How darn cute is that!”

Martha looked at the several large bills on the table. Almost three thousand. More than two months' salary of a sales assistant at the Line megamall...

“Do you realize that you have endangered not only your own life, but also your daughter's?” asked the detective.

Martha finally found the strength to answer.

“Listen, both of you. I don't know what those... ponies and the mouse did, but you should be ashamed of yourselves for chasing after ones like them.”

“Oh, really?” the judge asked, crumpling the note in his hand. “And why is that?”

“The synthets' appearance is sometimes disarming," Dick shrugged, "but you have to remember that they're not like that. They've just been created.”

“They look and act like the living and are fully sentient. What is the fundamental difference between them and us?”

“They don't have souls," said Doom.

“Looking at the people who live in this city, I'm not so sure about them either.”

“Ma'am, please understand,” Tracy sighed, “malfunctioning behavioral program...”

“Enough," Martha interrupted, her voice sounded metallic. “Yes, they were here. All three of them. Two horses and a mouse. And, yes, I fed them dinner and let them stay the night. And not because they promised me money. You can take it, by the way. But as you can see, they're gone now, no harm done. So I won't keep you any longer, gentlemen.”

Doom stepped forward to say something, but Dick stopped him with his hand and shook his head. The judge mumbled something indistinct and left the apartment without closing the door.

“Is there anything else you'd like to tell us, ma'am?" asked Tracy. “The Corporation could sue you for aiding fugitive synthets.”

“I don't have a scanner to check if they're fugitives or not," Martha replied. “I just saw hungry, frozen... kids out on the streets of Gray City at night. And now I see why. You'd be better off dealing something real, like a gang of genofreak bikers who ride under my windows every night and howl at the moon. Or a drug den on the fifty-third floor.”

“That's out of our jurisdiction, ma'am.”

“Yes, I understand, but it's your jurisdiction to chase little horses. With blasters, I bet. Very brave. You should bring a platoon of soldiers and a tank, because they're... what did you say? ‘Potentially dangerous to others.’"

Dick sighed. Hand on heart, he didn't like this assignment himself. Hunting monsters that had gone off the rails was one thing, but chasing children’s toys that had come to life and fled in fear from their cruel masters was quite another.

Dick had been dealing with monsters for over thirty years. Dragons, dinosaurs, xenomorphs, orcs, and other semi-combat models without the stop script. And he guessed that if there had been something legitimate in the Corporation's briefcase, the item would simply have been reported missing with the promise of a reward. But the job smelled bad: the order to recover the stolen goods came with an additional clause to eliminate all synthets involved.

And having a judge as a partner was also suggestive.

“Ma'am," Dick said on his way to the exit, "we're just following orders.”

“I was sure you'd say that, Detective. Ask yourself once what orders like that mean to you.”

As the door closed behind the detective, Judge Doom, who had been waiting for his partner, gritted his teeth.

“I hate these moms and their instincts.” He raised his hand, his communicator beeping intermittently. “The signal faded. They dove underground again.”

Dick nodded and headed for the exit. Their car was parked in the yard, and the detective hoped the wheels hadn't been removed yet. But an attempt would mean another charred body, and there was a chance the residents would heed the system's warning.

“They'll come out sooner or later," he finally decided, "and we could use some rest. We'll start the search again tonight with renewed strength.”

“If you say so," said the judge. “You're not thinking about what that cluck told you, are you?”

“Of course not," said Dick Tracy, yawning, "it's just that I haven't slept for forty hours, and if I don't get some rest right away I'm going to collapse.”

The judge made no reply, his evil grin returning to his face.

The gray car screeched its tires and pulled out of the courtyard of the huge residential complex...

* * *

At dawn, the two hovercars landed almost simultaneously in the Solaire's parking lot. Which was completely empty.

I guess I'll only see Zelda in the club now, at best, Victor thought as he got out of his Lightning.

But there really wasn't anyone in the club. At least none of the humans. Princess Celestia said sadly that the bronies had disappointed her very much.

“Zelda was the only one who phoned," the alicorn added embarrassed, as if to justify herself, "and told me to let you know that her friend will be here for you in a minute. She picked up passengers in the next block, so she will be free sooner than she thought.”

“Well, this is the magic of friendship," Steven said, looking around the empty club. "Not a damn thing has changed...”

“Yes, most of the people who go to the club still have a lot to learn," Princess Celestia agreed sadly, "but let's not be angry with them. They are trapped in the stereotypes and traditions of a century of fandom. And some of them... are just afraid. Afraid to face the reality from which they have escaped into the magical world of ponies.”

“I'm not angry," Victor said, "just... surprised. Especially that the ponies didn't come either.”

“We can understand them, Vic," the Princess said, and there was real sorrow in her voice. “They are just little ponies. And if the ugly aspects of life are so frightening to those they used to consider their unbreakable support in this world, what can we say about them themselves?”

“I'm not surprised," Stephen said in a cold tone.

The Princess turned her horned head to him.

“You never did forgive them for what happened to your friend," she said.

“I can't forgive the ease with which one life was cut short and another broken," Steve replied. “Everybody makes mistakes, but some people don't want to learn from them. So they're doomed to repeat them. Who will be next, Your Highness? Victor, just trying to help a pony in trouble? Or how about me?”

“Calm down, my friend," said the Princess. “Do you remember what I always say?”

The man lowered his eyes and sighed. "Yes, Your Highness. Friendship isn't always easy. But it's worth fighting for. Twilight Sparkle's words from the TV show.”

“As long as there is at least one person who doesn't give up or back down, I don't think the bronies have lost," the Princess said confidently. “You know that yourself, Steven.”

But Steve, though outwardly calm, did not relent.

"Your Highness, you're right, but I'll never forget how Peter was 'helped' here. Never.”

“Who?" Victor asked.

“Peter Smith. He... was a friend of mine.”

“Was?” Victor asked again. “What happened to him?”

Steve looked into Victor's eyes and a shadow ran across Celestia's face.

“Love happened to him," he replied quietly, "and the fact that not everyone accepted that love.”

“It was a real tragedy," the Princess added.

“How's that?”

“Remember when Alan said that love is always the initiative of a human?” Steve asked, and Victor nodded. “And you've also heard about the stop script, the Corporation's safety net. Well, there was such love between Peter and his pony that the script was just blown away.”

“But... it can't be...”

Steven sighed. He was looking away now, as if immersed in the past.

“Trixie loved Peter with all her heart and soul," he continued, "and he loved her back. And they were lovers, yes. You thought right. What's more, Peter managed to propose to her like an honest man... well, he made no secret of it.”

Victor shuddered.

“Alan and his kind refused to believe that Peter hadn't made the first decisive move. I didn't particularly believe it either, to be honest. But they'd gone ahead and decided to ‘teach the clopper a lesson.’ It happened in the park. Peter fought bravely, of course, but he couldn't stand up to five men. He fell and hit his temple on a bench. By the time the police and I got there, it was all over. The case was dismissed as an accident. All of them got off with a warning...”

“Gosh," Victor said, "I'm sorry...”

“I picked up Peter's fiancée two days after the funeral," Steven continued. “At his grave. She had been there the whole time, with nothing to eat or drink, and most of all, with no desire to move on. Fortunately, I was able to convince her that the cold corpse of Peter's beloved was not the kind of thing that would have made him happy. She's been with me ever since, trying to start her life over. She's the one who revealed to me that she was the first to express her love. If Peter had told me, I wouldn't have believed it... and neither would anyone else. But he never told me. And she still wears his ring.”

“We keep it a secret where she is now," Celestia added, "just in case. There's enough grief in this pony's life as it is.”

Victor's heart raged with dual feelings. On the one hand, living with a pony was kind of weird. But the way the Solaire's bronies had dealt with two loving hearts was horrifying. Especially in light of the proclaimed ideals of the magic of friendship.

After all, the one who loves only the outer shell gets only that, Vic thought to himself. Whenever I've tried to make a lasting relationship, I've stumbled into duplicity, deceit, and mercantilism. But I doubt a pony would be capable of such a thing. What's more, I myself almost fell in love with Pinkie Pie, who pretended to be a gal online! Now I understand... species identity wasn't the main reason the romance didn't happen... though it was a big one.

“I guess someone came to pick you up," Princess Celestia said, breaking the long silence.

They were talking in the lobby, and through the main window they could clearly see a small wheeled car dart around the corner and slow down, its doors facing the entrance to the club.

“Goodbye, Your Highness," Stephen bowed slightly and Vic followed suit. “Thank you for your help.”

“Good luck, my little bronies," the alicorn smiled sadly.

Victor and Steven walked out of the club and saw the door of the taxi open and a small, slim girl dressed in a denim suit jumped out. Her bright red hair was cut boyishly short.

The girl, who was as tall as Victor's shoulder, almost skipped up to him and held out her hand.

“What's crackin', bacon?” she blurted out with a smile. “Zelda told me someone needed a ride around Gray today, so you won't find a better cab. Especially with me at the wheel! The most awesome cab in Gigapolis, if I weren't Seraphima Van Visser!”

“Steven Aguilar. And this is Victor Stewart.”

“Seraphima?” Victor was slightly dazed by the girl's energy.

She made a vague gesture with her hand.

“Yeah, yeah, my ancestors were pretty humorous.”

“You'd get along with Rainbow Dash," Steven grinned, "or Pinkie Pie.”

“I get along fine with Zelda's pegasus, if that's what you mean," the girl giggled merrily, raising her big brown eyes at the men. "One of you is missing a pony, right?”

“It's me," Victor replied.

“If she's alive, we'll find her.”

“Well, I'll leave you to it," Steven smiled. “Vic, if Twilight finds anything, I'll let you know right away. There's not much hope for the pegasi, but maybe they'll be lucky too. Keep your communicator on.”

“Thank you, Steve.”

Victor shook his friend's hand goodbye, and then Steven got into the hovercar and took off.

Seraphima's car was a flattened trapeze on six wheels. As far as Victor could tell from its angular shape, it was about thirty years old. Still, the engine made a steady, quiet sound, and the body, though showing signs of repair, did not look decrepit at all.

The windows were reinforced with wire, and the bumper had a garish but powerful-looking structure made of pipes.

“What, you've never seen a Gray City car before?” Seraphima asked. “Get in, don't just stand there. Dude, look at you, you're all dolled up!”

Victor was a bit embarrassed. Steven advised him to dress more simply. So he left the universal jumpsuit behind and just put on jeans, a shirt and a chameleon tie that changed color depending on the angle of view. However, these clothes, equipped with a layer of nanoprotection against moisture, wrinkles and even mechanical effects, with climate and humidity controls, were simple only in appearance.

“Maybe we could take my hovercar?” Vic asked, not wanting to push the subject, and opened the door of his car.

“Ayep. And as soon as we get out of it in some back alley, we'll both catch a bullet in the head. Y'know how much a hovercar goes for on the black market? And a working one at that?”

Victor silently got into the car and fastened his seat belt. He'd heard about all sorts of things going on outside the White City, and he wasn't particularly shocked.

In fact, the farther the district was from the center, the dirtier and more dangerous it became. Rumor had it that on the outskirts, near the garbage dumps of the giant multi-ray "star" of Gigapolis, real chaos reigned that had nothing to do with the laws of civilized society. Where the chaos ceased to be at least relatively controllable, the Global Armed Forces regularly arranged purges.

The car drove off and rolled gently on the asphalt, joining the not too dense stream of other wheeled vehicles.

Vic grinned to himself. It was unusual to see the Gray City from the bottom up. And to loop through the streets instead of flying in a straight line...

As Vic thought about it, he raised his hand with the communicator and ordered the hovercar to return home. It could be called from anywhere, and the Solaire, though close to the center, was still in Gray City.

“So who are we looking for?” Seraphima asked, keeping her eyes on the controls.

“A pale green unicorn pony," Victor replied. “Here, take a look.”

He placed the printed image of Lyra Heartstrings on the dashboard. He didn't have time to take pictures, and to be honest, it didn't make much sense, since it was easy to download the unicorn's default portrait from the Net.

“Why do you want this horsey?” the girl grinned. “Are you a pervert?”

Victor could barely keep from snarling. It seemed as if everyone had only one thought in their head.

“She's my friend!” the man said sharply. “A real friend who’s in trouble!”

“If you say so...”

“Do you know where we should start?” Vic asked.

“Hmmm... How about a racetrack?” Seraphima answered with a question, but caught his gaze and smiled, "Just kidding!”

“I've heard that you know Gray City quite well," Vic said, holding back. “How are we supposed to find one little pony in such an anthill?”

Zelda's idea didn't seem so good to him now. Seraphima, with her mocking tone, was annoying with her assumptions and jokes, and she didn't seem like an experienced driver at all. More like a flighty punk lass looking for adventure.

“I assure you, there aren't many pale green unicorns in the entire anthill.” Seraphima grinned. “And as I said, if she's okay, we'll find her. I know a place near here... There are a lot of ponies, so maybe your horsey has been seen there.”

“Lyra. Her name is Lyra.”

The girl turned to the man, still watching the road with half an eye. This time, her voice was very serious.

“Don't take my chatter to heart, Vic. If you're willing to risk your life in Gray City for your pony, then you're really her friend. Nobody does that for a sex toy. Especially when they can afford a new one.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. At least you think of yourself as her friend, and that's what matters.”

“What do you mean, ‘you think’? You said yourself that you know Rainbow Dash Miras. Then would you agree that this is not just another teenage fetish, but something more?”

Seraphima turned back to the road and shook her head.

“Oh, Vic, she may be wonderful, just like the real one, but she's a synthet. She was made that way, and no matter how cool her character is, it's just a behavioral program. You can accept it or not, but the point remains the same. Although it doesn't erase the pleasure of communicating or spending time together.”

“But the same can be said about people," Vic persisted. “All our lives we grow up in a certain circle that imposes its laws and rules on us. Think of it as the same behavioral program. What is ‘good’ and what is ‘bad.’ And once we escape, we start to see the world differently. And it's the same with synthets. They are capable of learning, of making independent decisions; a prime example of this are synthets who work for themselves. So what's the difference then?”

The girl was no longer distracted from the road, but a thoughtful expression appeared on her face.

“You know, Vic, when you think about it like that, it becomes rather unclear where synthets end and humans begin. Even appearance is no longer an indicator these days: you should have seen what the modificants do to their bodies... So should we assume that the difference is only in the biochip with the mark? I daresay there's a difference between upbringing and behavioral programming.”

“Well, if you can't see the difference, then maybe there's no difference at all? If upbringing were so important, we wouldn't have been killing each other for so many centuries. And a behavioral program is nothing more than a set of conventions. Otherwise, there wouldn't be guys hunting down runaway synthets...”

Victor suddenly faltered. Seraphima narrowed her eyes and saw that the man had even turned pale at the terrible assumption.

“And what if...?” he murmured, unable to find the strength to finish.

“I can't say for sure," the girl shook her head. “I know of a club like yours, where guys who like to play with colored ponies gather. If your hor... Lyra, right? — got into trouble, it might be there.”

“The Pony Play?”

“You've heard of it? Yeah, that's it.”

“Then it's not a club like ours.”

“Really? I thought you liked ponies.”

“Not that way...!” The man stopped when he saw Seraphima smile. “Damn, you should at least signal when you stop a serious conversation and start joking!”

The girl laughed wickedly. “Yep, right!” She gave her voice the intonation of an answering machine, "Beep-beep, Seraphima's in banter mode, leave a message after the tone! If you want to hear a bearded anecdote, press one. If you want Seraphima to crack a dirty joke, press two..."

Victor couldn't keep from smiling.

And why did Seraphima remind him so much of Pinkie? The girl with the pink curls that Pinkie Pie McGee pretended to be came to mind.

The same clockwork...

* * *

Princess Celestia turned off the Cybernet monitor with a sigh.

What had happened lay a leaden slab on her heart. After all these years, it was the first time the alicorn thought that the burden of being the spiritual leader of the brony community was more than she could handle.

Yes, she had no real experience of the millennia. But still, her vast knowledge and ability to analyze filled her with hope that she could bring to people's hearts at least some of the things that would make the ponies' lives and her own better.

Was I really wrong? Celestia thought, feeling a lump rise in her throat.

A knock at the door interrupted her somber thoughts.

“Come in," the Princess said in a low voice, although she didn't want to see anyone right now. And even more, she didn't want to hear pathetic excuses.

“Your Highness," Serge Troyanovsky came through the door. “I'm sorry to disturb you, but... could you come down to the hall, please?”

Before the alicorn could answer, the man closed the door.

It took her a few seconds to pull herself together. The Princess had conflicting feelings. On the one hoof, the bronies had come after all. On the other, it was as if they had waited for Victor and Steven to leave on purpose — why? To justify themselves to the Princess? To apologize shamefully without changing anything?

Sometimes, the alicorn thought she was being unforgivably soft as a spiritual leader. Humans were not ponies, and exhortations rarely fell on fertile ground.

The Sun Princess shook her head and sighed. Maybe I need some spiritual support myself, she thought. And even though Celestia had no memories of Equestria, and only pretended to be a character from the cartoon series in front of the ponies, sometimes she was overcome by bouts of unreasonable longing for someone dear, close, and even more than special.

Celestia knew for whom.

Sometimes she missed her sister unbearably. The only creature with whom the Princess could drop all her masks, be herself for a while, or just pour her heart out and cry. With a hoof on her heart, there was no one else Celestia could trust as much.

Of course, the bronies had been saving money to buy Luna, but that was still a long way off. Attempts to contact the Night Princesses, who were already in Gigapolis, had been unsuccessful.

The alicorn sighed once more and headed for the stairs, this time determined to be firm with the people who had called themselves her students for years but had backed out at the right moment. And though she didn't judge them for it, the magic of friendship training program clearly needed to be revised.

It was not crowded downstairs. Only Zelda Miras, Serge Troyanovsky, Shannon McStout and Reiner Stein, Alan Little for some reason, and a few other people came, each with their own ponies.

As Celestia entered the hall, a fanfare blared from the speakers. Everyone bowed, and Serge stepped forward.

“Your Highness," he said. “We know we have earned your disapproval... And deservedly so. Unfortunately, it has taken us some time to realize it, but we—"

The man paused, catching the look in the alicorn's lavender eyes.

“I do not wish to hear excuses," the Princess replied coldly. “Especially not from you, my dear bronies. And it is not disapproval that I feel, but deep disappointment. Is it the magic of friendship to abandon a new friend in distress? Is that what my little ponies, the world of Equestria, and I myself have taught you?”

“Your Highness!” came the voice of Twilight Sparkle Troyanovsky.

The lavender unicorn stepped forward and shook her head, brushing a stray strand of her mane, which was slightly longer than in the TV show, out of her eyes.

“I'm listening to you, my little pony," Celestia said more calmly.

She was ready for Twilight to start defending her brony friends, and she was ready to gently snub the overly good-hearted unicorn.

“I speak for all the ponies in the club," Twilight said firmly, looking the Princess in the eye, "and we ask that we and our friends be allowed to search for Lyra Heartstrings. Right now. Since we're late. But we had a good reason, Your Highness.”

“And what was that?” asked the alicorn.

Another unicorn, the white Twinkleshine, spoke up, “Your Highness, we have deliberated. And decided that our friendship needs... to get tested.”

The Princess raised a slightly penciled eyebrow in surprise.

Twilight, glancing at the people who didn't dare look up, continued, “We ponies decided among ourselves that if our... friends didn't come to Lyra and Victor's rescue, then it meant that someday they might leave us in trouble as well. And that it would be a good incentive for the bronies to come here when someone was in such need of support.”

The alicorn noticed that none of the humans objected. After all, what use were words when deeds spoke for themselves?

And judging by the expressions on their faces, they had already learned the lesson Princess Celestia had just begun to ponder.

The Princess hesitated for a few seconds after taking another look at the ponies and humans.

“Very well then," she said sternly. “We will help search for Lyra this way...”

Chapter 11

The three synthets descended into the sewers not far from Martha's house through a technological hatch.

The stinking dungeons went deeper and deeper down. And admittedly, Lyra was creeped out by the damp walls, the splashing muddy water, and the dim light that picked out shadows from the darkness. It felt like someone was watching them, but the unicorn looked around every minute to convince herself that it was just paranoia.

As they moved away from the central part of Gigapolis, Lyra sometimes felt as if they were falling into a supernatural darkness. There were fewer and fewer working lamps in the tunnel, and the lamps themselves had changed. Instead of light panels, there were ancient LED lights that worked one at a time. After another tunnel junction, the polymer tubes disappeared, revealing concrete walls with thick mold growths.

The deepening darkness was overwhelming. The tunnels grew older, the tubes dirtier and rustier. How long they had been walking like this, Lyra couldn't say. But that it had been hours was certain.

Several times the synthets used the moving belts of the automatic transporters. They carried containers of unknown cargo, which were lowered and raised on elevators that were apparently part of the supply system of Gigapolis.

Then the sewers began again, this time more like old caves filled with stinking sewage. There were no more comfortable elevations at the edges, and at low points they waded knee-deep in muddy sludge.

And the farther they went, the darker and quieter it became. Lyra soon created a magical light with her horn, and the pale green glow made the outlines of the ancient dungeons emerge from the shadows.

“I'm not coming down here with a lantern again," Jerry remarked as the magical light revealed a skull. “I never thought there would be so much nasty stuff in the old tunnels.”

Scootaloo didn't answer. For some reason, she wanted to cuddle up to Lyra and sleep, sleep, sleep — until someone stern and determined woke her up. Like Jerry, for instance.

“These tunnels remind me of the Everfree Forest," Lyra said, "just as dark, scary, and confusing. Why did they even build all this? Did they really need such a maze as a... cesspool?”

“Not only that," said Jerry. “Did you see that old train on wheels? And the cables? Transportation, wires, warehouses, shelters — humans hid it all underground. Even two centuries ago, old cities went down many stories. In anticipation of wars or just for convenience. And then, as humans tend to do, many things were abandoned, forgotten...”

“I can't even believe that the majestic buildings of the Spires and this are the same city. But it's true, isn't it?”

“I never asked myself that question. Was too busy... surviving.”

“And I can't believe we've come this far," Scootaloo said, her legs beginning to ache with fatigue, "and why didn't we stay home?”

Lyra could feel the pegasus's tension, but with a hoof on her heart, she felt a little uneasy herself. This tunnel was just depressing.

“At home, if you remember, we have a simple problem: there's almost nothing to eat. And if we could get by without going to the city, I'd be the first to vote for it. As for the outskirts, synthets better not go there at all. Dangerous, especially for little ones like us.”

“Why?” Lyra asked, but suddenly realized that she didn't want to know the answer.

“We can... get hurt," Jerry said, catching the unicorn's frightened look. “And yes, whatever you’ve imagined, it could very well be true. So we have to use the communications to get to more or less decent districts, where a few synthets at least won't attract too much attention.”

Lyra's ears pressed back. She didn't know why her mane was suddenly ruffled with a sense of animal fear. The scent was unfamiliar to her, a creature of the good world, but her instincts were unmistakable: this smell meant danger.

Blood.

Fresh.

“Damn it," Jerry said in a cold voice. “Get back, all of you.”

“W-wait," the unicorn's voice trembled noticeably. “What if someone's in trouble out there?”

“Right," the mouse nodded, "and unless we want to share that someone's fate, we'd better get the hell out of here.”

Scootaloo, instinctively clinging to Lyra's side, shot a pleading look at the adult pony. That movement seemed to give the unicorn some confidence.

“Wait here. I'll just see if I can help. I'll be right back, I promise.”

“I guess there's no use talking you out of it, is there?” Jerry asked grumpily, his hands at his sides. “You know we're not going to save you.”

But that didn't stop Lyra. Soon all that could be seen in the darkness was the faint light at the tip of her horn, disappearing around the corner.

“This is just punishment," Jerry sighed.

“That's what you said about me," Scootaloo said, wagging her tail.

“You two are punishment for a sane mouse like me!”

The discussion was interrupted by the unicorn's long scream from the darkness.

Before Jerry could say anything, Scootaloo dashed off into the black, her head tilted with determination. The mouse could only curse and clutch the purple strands, praying that Lyra had just seen a rat or something.

The truth turned out to be more prosaic and far more terrifying.

Scootaloo, rounding the corner, braked sharply with an inarticulate squeal, and Jerry had a chance to see what had startled the pony.

Lyra, sitting on her haunches against the wall and bent over, was spewing her stomach contents uncontrollably onto the floor. Scootaloo, her eyes bulging, just stood still, frozen with horror.

On the wall hung a pony. Right above the pool of blood and whatever else they didn't want to look at, crucified with crude nails on a hastily made wooden cross, his head hanging lifelessly. The black and white skin was covered here and there with wounds and burns. The long black mane was piled up in dirty icicles, covering his muzzle. Jerry thought he didn't want to look into the face of the dead.

The pony had no clothes; they were lying beside him in a pool of blood. Jerry caught a glimpse of the letters "L" and "D" embroidered on the torn jacket. His eyes involuntarily slid down the body to the huge gash in the lower abdomen. In the next moment, the mouse himself could barely hold back a vomit.

How such a thing could be done to a living creature, and most importantly, why, the mouse had no idea. Even the inscription on the wall, made with a glowing marker, which said, "A creature that is God-damned, lustful", did not explain anything.

Many in the human world hated synthets for their own poverty, for others' happiness, or simply because synthets looked different. And the ponies, who had gained popularity during the show's revival, were often the victims of this hatred.

“Let's get out of here," Jerry said, tugging on the pegasus's ear to get her away from the heartbreaking spectacle, "before another one of those 'god chosen' zealots decides to come back and check out the screaming in the tech tunnels.”

But it was as if Lyra hadn't heard. She sat with her front legs wrapped around her, rocking back and forth and staring off into space.

Scootaloo, her ears pricked back, looked away. She had seen blood and death in her life, and she had become familiar with pain. But she was still a filly from a fairy tale world, and the unpleasant reality still frightened and shocked her.

“Lyra!” the mouse called loudly.

Two tear-filled eyes looked up at him.

“Why, why...” whispered the unicorn, shuddering with sobs. “Why did they do it...? Humans... Why humans... whom I had idolized for half my life... Why like this?!”

It was the first time she had seen death. Especially such a brutal one. Sure, ponies died in Equestria. But usually it was a quiet passing, surrounded by loving hearts, always ready to support and comfort. Accidents were rare in Equestria, and even rarer when they were fatal.

But reality seemed to be deliberately throwing new trials at Lyra, as if having fun with a new, still so naive and inexperienced toy, testing her strength time after time.

Scootaloo came over and hugged the unicorn, rubbing her nose against Lyra's shoulder.

“Fanatics don't spare anyone," Jerry said grimly, "but fortunately these groups aren't very popular. And they're only on the outskirts, where there are plenty of runaway or abandoned synthets that no one will miss.”

Lyra looked into Jerry's eyes again.

“Yeah, like us," the mouse nodded, but immediately regretted it, for the tears came with renewed force.

For a while, the only sounds in the tunnel were dripping water and spasmodic sobs. Jerry felt Scootaloo shudder beneath them.

“C’mon, girls," the mouse said. “Don't cry. We can't help him, and his agony is over.”

“We should... get him down," Lyra said through her sobs.

“No," said Jerry. “There's no place to bury him, nothing to burn, and the rats on the floor will get to him in no time.”

And you won't have to do the dirty, bloody work, little ponies, he added mentally.

“But we can't leave him like this...”

Jerry sighed.

Hand on heart, he didn't like the idea of leaving a tortured pony hanging crucified as well.

But they had nowhere to put the body: the tunnel was in good condition, with solid walls, and there was really nothing to burn. And the dampness of the place wouldn't allow for a proper fire. Even the idea of throwing the body into the stream was abandoned: it was already a long way to the main sewers, and was it better to drown in the filth than hang on the wall?

However, Jerry persuaded the ponies to go. At his urging, they moved away from the horrible place.

The mouse knew he should say something, but the words didn't come. Judging by the ponies' pinned ears, they felt bad too.

“Lyra, could you make a light again?” Scootaloo asked as another area of darkness appeared before them.

“And reveal another nightmare hidden beneath the city?” the unicorn asked with a sob, but the tip of her horn gave off a pale spark that dispelled the darkness.

“We're almost there," Jerry said.

The voices sounded tense. Everyone realized that their thoughts were with the brutally murdered pony, who surely did not deserve such a death.

Soon a rather large grate was revealed, blocking access to a wide tunnel. One of the bars had again been carefully cut by someone and lay nearby. The resulting hole was wide enough for either one of the ponies.

Jerry frowned, remembering how he and Scootaloo had relaxed after arriving in White City and had a quiet breakfast at the summer café. Then a pebble had hit the back of the mouse's head, and Jerry had turned to see the hunters approaching.

They had escaped at the last moment — ten seconds more and the people would have been too close. It was the scooter they'd stolen from the school parking lot that had saved them. Scootaloo couldn't run from an adult human in the open, and her short wings couldn't lift her into the air. In theory, pegasi synthets were able to fly at that age, but why the orange filly's antigravs weren't working, the mouse didn't know. And neither did Scoot.

By all accounts, it looked like someone was unexpectedly helping them. But who? Life had cruelly taught the little synthet that nothing ever came for free. On the other hand, once you'd entered the mousetrap and heard the click of the cage slamming shut, no one could stop you from eating the cheese.

“Jerry, admit it, you're drawn to places like this,” spoke up the ginger pony.

“Don't talk silly. It's shorter and not many people would dare follow us.”

“Huh. You said something like that before we ran into an alligator.”

Lyra almost stumbled when she heard that. “Are there alligators here?!”

Jerry, pleased even at this change of subject, tried to make his voice sound reassuring.

“No, there aren't. The last time we saw one, it was stuck in the bars, so there's nothing to worry about.”

As if in response, a low growl came from some side passage. Three pairs of eyes stared into the darkness, but of course they could see nothing.

“On the other hand," Jerry continued nonchalantly, "we'd better hurry. Anything could be hanging around here in the dark. Personally, I'll feel a lot better when we're safely back home.

The quickened hoofbeats soon faded in the maze of communication tunnels. If anyone could now observe what was happening, they would have seen that an alligator had indeed emerged from a side tunnel. Quietly treading on his crooked paws, shod in rubber boots, clutching a crumpled saxophone in its front paws. And dressed in rags, adorned for some reason with a bow tie.

Coughing, the lizard looked up.

“Am I imagining I’ve heard some voices?” he recited aloud. “Oh, no, it can't be here in the dark night... No, bad, bad. Poor verses. But what a night it is here, underground...” The words were interrupted by a scale played not too successfully on an old saxophone. “Alone, I'm all alone. Just music is with me...”

The alligator thought he heard someone sigh. He turned his head, but except for the shadows dancing in the dim light of the rare lamps, he saw nothing. Only a hundred-credit bill, rolled up in a tube, fell out of nowhere. A real fortune for someone who spent half his life eating garbage and can't even go outside with an expired registration chip.

And now you can make a down payment on your taxes, clean yourself up — and who knows, maybe even get a job as a musician somewhere? Or even as a security guard, because with his strength and teeth, an alligator might have a lot of prospects in a certain place. Anything to escape the loneliness of the underground.

The requirements are simple: you need a "green" chip status.

Which has now become available for that short period of time in which you can change your life.

The synthet alligator smiled and muttered, “I don't know who you are, kind soul, but thanks a lot, whoever you're in life...”

* * *

A sky-blue synthet pony sits in a chair at the table. It's not a very comfortable position for a quadruped, but she doesn't complain. Suddenly, she accepts the ritual offer of a cigarette, ignoring the joke about a drop of nicotine and a horse.[1]

The pegasus relaxes her wings and takes a delightful puff on the cigarette. A trickle of blue smoke floats up to the ceiling.

“How was I to know he'd overdosed?” she answers the investigator's question. “Am I a doctor or what? Besides, I couldn't help him if I wanted to, for I was just strapped upside down on the couch. I couldn't even see what he was wheezing and gurgling 'cause of the blinders, and the bridles wouldn't let me call for help. That's the position they found me in, half-dead from thirst. If you've read the police report, you know this. And pardon me if I don't choke back tears of sorrow. If you look closely at me, you can easily guess why.”

The investigator glances at the horse named Rainbow Dash. Brought in for questioning about her master's sudden death, she is a suspect because she was in the same room with him at the time. But the synthet has an ironclad alibi. Her master pumped himself with a lethal dose of slax while the pegasus was already securely fixed in a pose that prevented any interference for some time.

The synthet sits at the table and smokes, inexplicably managing to keep the thin stick of cigarette in her hoof. Her appearance is a bit of a mess. Short rainbow mohawk, eye shadow, ear piercings. Wide leather bracelets with spikes and rings on all four legs. Apparently her master had forced them on her before to make it easier to strap her in, and then she got used to them. Light horseshoes on her hind legs that clanked like heels when she was brought to the station. The fur around her neck is a little frayed — a sign of frequent collar wear. A sleeveless leather jacket and similarly styled shorts with a seven-colored ponytail sticking out. Just a neo-punk girl, not a cartoon horse.

But most of all, her body is all scarred from the arena and her master's whips. She's had a rough time, for sure.

“The master was a psychotic pervert," someone says through the ajar door, "but at least he was playing with his horse, not living people.”

The investigator doesn't turn around and addresses the synthet, who clenches her teeth and presses her ears together.

“The deceased's relatives haven't asked for you to be euthanized, but they don't want to take you in either. Do you know what that means? You have to support yourself, or you'll be sent to—”

“I can do without human care," the pony interrupts, stubbing out her cigarette on the metal of the table next to the ashtray. "I'm fed up with it. I officially work at the Pony Play's arena. And I play in a band there. I'll just rent a room there, no big deal.”

“Then you're free to go," the investigator says, and a wicked smile spreads across the horse's face. “Don't leave the district until the investigation is over, and renew your registration.”

“Whatever you say... sir.”

The investigator opens the door for the pony, and she drops down on all four legs and heads for the exit. For some reason, the human expects her to walk on two, but when he looks after the pony, he realizes that it was the clothes and the posture of the pony sitting at the office desk that confused him.

“Don't you dare stare at my crotch!” Rainbow Dash says without turning around.

She steps outside and spreads her wings. She stands there, squinting at the rising sun, and suddenly soars upward, uttering the Comanche battle cry.

A few seconds later, the investigator hears a hoarse yell of joy, “FRE-E-E-EDO-O-OM!!!”

As if echoing the blue pegasus, the sky cracks with the thunder of an approaching storm...

Thunder...

The thunder that invaded her mind was probably the sound of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The image from the recent past was dispelled. Rainbow Dash felt herself lying with her cheek on something hard, apparently in a sitting posture. Her tongue was somewhere outside her mouth, which felt like a branch of the Sahara, stuck to the surface where her head lay.

Her eyelids seemed to be nailed shut, but she had to lift them with a herculean effort to at least look into the face of death that was approaching with such a terrible rumble.

The bar was turned on its side and a faceted glass rolled along it, making that apocalyptic sound. The glass was caught by a man's hand. Rainbow felt a deep sense of gratitude for the owner of those chubby fingers, who was none other than Sam the bartender.

“Geez, you guys are perverts!” Dash heard a young girl's voice.

“I'll talk to the bartender," someone, apparently a young man, answered her, "and you—”

“And I'll wait outside!”

Rainbow's tongue flicked off the bar with a nasty sound. The pegasus tried to lift her head, but the world spun around in an instant, pain shot through her neck and her stomach tried to come out of her mouth to tell its owner everything it thought about the amount of alcohol she had drunk.

“Oh..." the pony groaned hoarsely. “Sam, what was I doin’ last night?”

“Drinking," the man said shortly.

“Dammit... did I do anything?”

“Got drunk!”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah. That's it. Just like always.”

Rainbow relaxed as much as she could in a sitting position, resting her head on the bar. How the pegasus managed not to collapse to the floor in her sleep was a mystery.

Could've moved me to the couch, motherfuckers, Rainbow thought angrily, wincing at the shooting pain in her neck and closing her eyes again.

She felt bad. She always felt bad in the morning now, because every night was the same for Dash. First singing with the band (Where the hell did they go, sons of bitches?!), then fighting in the arena, and afterwards drinking heavily. To the point of blackout.

Horse doses of whiskey, Dash thought with a self-ironic grin.

Thoughts flowed lazily. She didn't want to get up. Instead she wanted to lie down. And the whole damn world to stop spinning.

Nearby, Sam was talking to someone. Rainbow listened, and through the noise in her ears she could make out some words.

“Rainbow Dash was talking to her," the bartender said, then added after a pause, "uh... the one with her face on the bar.”

Drop dead, Sam! Rainbow wished him mentally and raised her eyelids again. Someone had sandpapered them from the inside out.

Sam continued, as if deliberately mocking her, "Just make it brief, because she's... well, you see, anyway. She didn't reach the lethal dose by half a glass last night.”

Rainbow couldn't take it anymore.

“Sam! D-dammit, shut up already...!” She struggled to raise her head and stared at the brown-haired guy waiting patiently behind the counter. “What d'ya want?”

The pony noticed that this man did not look at all like the ones she had seen before. Even the jeans and shirt were different. Everything clean, smooth — just unnatural. The communicator bracelet on his arm was kind of ephemeral, too.

And in general, the guy was all cleaned up.

From his neat haircut to the toes of his shiny shoes. And he was wearing a tie, like a dandy. A glittering one.

At the mere sight of the changing colors, the pegasus felt sick again. She looked away hastily.

“Rainbow Dash," the man called cautiously, "may I ask you a question?”

The voice, soft and pleasant in other circumstances, sank into her head like a drill.

“O-o-o-oh..." Dash moaned, clutching at her temples with her hooves, "bitch... If you say... anything to me about banging right now... I swear to heaven, I'll kill you right here.”

The man seemed embarrassed. His friendly smile faded and a slight blush appeared on his cheeks.

“Uh, actually, I'm looking for a pony..." he muttered, but was interrupted when Rainbow laughed. Actually, she started to, but grabbed her head again with a groan.

“Damn you, bitch..." she said in anguish. “Just look around. There are ponies everywhere!”

“But I'm looking for a special pony...”

The pegasus, anger boiling in her chest, tried unsuccessfully to get her butt off the chair.

“Alright!” Dash growled. “Another one. Now I'm gonna get up, and you'll lie down...”

The man threw up his hands. “No, you don't understand. She's a friend of mine!”

“What?!”

Rainbow tried to get up again, but her legs gave out and she hit her jaw on the counter and landed on the floor.

“Are you okay?” the man asked, and Rainbow felt an attempt to grab her front leg.

She yanked her limb away and growled, “Don't touch me! Don't even think about it, got it? From now on, I ain't gonna let nobody grope me...”

The man withdrew his hand and turned away, apparently deciding he wouldn't have any luck with Rainbow. Dash wouldn't know it, but Victor Stewart had never seen such a brutal hangover.

“So who are you looking for, huh, ‘friend’?” Dash asked, rising to her hooves. The world was shaky, but bearable.

“A pale green pony and a...”

“Think I'm a fool, don't ya?” the pegasus interrupted and moved her wings. They obeyed, but not well. And the flight feathers were in need of care.

When was the last time I showered? Not this week, for sure.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ya need Lyra Hear... Heartstrings? Yesterday, yeah. Get me a drink, then I'll get on.”

After a few minutes, Dash had drunk at least a quart of water and half a glass of something strong Vic had ordered, and was able to communicate clearly. Vic's heart clenched at the thought of the vulnerable, sensitive Lyra finding herself in this place at night.

What the Pony Play regulars had shown her, he could only guess.

Now, in the morning, the place looked like an ordinary bar. Except that there were ponies here with the humans. And that was only the company that had stayed, the others had long since left. Victor glimpsed a sleeping man leaning back on a couch in one of the alcoves. Pinkie Pie, dressed in a sports jumpsuit, was lying with her head in his lap, also dozing.

“So you're the idiot who didn't even tell your toy what she is?” Rainbow asked, crunching on the croutons from the bowl Sam had set out.

She was thirsty again, but the croutons were the only snacks left in the bar after the rough night. So she had to wash them down with the warm mineral water she'd grown tired of.

“Firstly, Lyra is not a toy," Victor objected, "and secondly, what have you told her?”

“You gotta watch your synthet," the pegasus mumbled, then added, "Nothing she wouldn't learn sooner or later.”

Victor, who had already drawn a rough picture of what had happened yesterday, realized that he couldn't get much out of Rainbow, who was gradually turning into a shadow of her former self. However, he made another attempt.

“Do you know where Lyra went?”

“No idea... I didn't keep track. But apparently to jump off the bridge.”

Vic shuddered as he imagined the mint unicorn driven to suicide by cruel words and the monstrous sight of the Pony Play.

“Rainbow, how could you?” he asked. “Why? What did she do to you?”

Dash, already feeling lousy, turned away and rested her head back on the bar.

“I don't give a hoot," she muttered softly, "I don't give a hoot about anyone now... Damn it, leave me alone, all of you...”

Vic sighed and got up from his chair. He looked at Seraphima who was obviously tired of waiting outside.

“Did you find out what you wanted?” the girl asked.

“Lyra was here,” Victor replied, “but she left long ago. So distraught that she might have... done something to herself.”

Seraphima wrapped her arms around her shoulders and spoke, “I can understand her. I'm not comfortable with these horses staring at me.”

“They just have big eyes.”

His eyes fell on the chubby guy with Rainbow Dash sitting on the couch opposite him. The blue pegasus was clearly prone to obesity and was now busy gobbling up refined sugar straight from the sugar bowl. Vic wondered if this pony could fly even with antigravs.

It was probably just a case of Rainbow Dash having a "custom" behavioral program in her head.

“When I walk by, they look like I'm gonna hit them!” Seraphima said.

“It's common here, ma'am," the chubby bartender spoke up.

“Don't you feel sorry for them, Sam?” Victor asked.

The bartender shrugged. “I just work here. Nobody asks my opinion.”

Rainbow, who was doing her best to pretend that what was going on didn't concern her, was annoyed by the chatter. That guy who'd fallen from the moon or White City, that girl. Heck, everything was annoying right now!

Fortunately, the two unusual guests left rather quickly. Could it be that they were really looking for a certain pony and not just bitching?

She must have stolen something from them, Rainbow Dash thought. Ah, screw it... Oh, my head...

“Sa-a-am," the pegasus stretched out loud, "Splash for the suffering pony...”

But instead of the cheerful gurgle of alcohol, the bartender's voice came in reply, “Dash, you've got to sing on stage tonight.”

“Drink?”

“Sing! Will you stop drinking?”

Dash lifted her head and stared at Sam in surprise.

“W-wait, what? Sam, honey, are you worried about my bloody health?”

“I'm worried that if you die of alcohol poisoning, Mr. M will take a loss, and so will I. And you've got a band, Dashie. And a new life of your own.”

Rainbow closed her eyes, fighting another bout of dizziness.

“To hell with Mr. M," she muttered, "to hell with the band... to hell with this life...”

Sam didn't argue any further. Another glass of booze rolled over to Rainbow Dash. The pegasus smiled and gulped down the scalding liquid, but her stomach had its own opinion about the new doses of ethanol...[2]

[1] The image: https://th05.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/f/2014/066/9/3/rainbow_dash_vendar_by_darkknightthestral-d799nsx.jpg
[2] The image: https://24.media.tumblr.com/66b559a0aa97e735c39e95e0908d5db3/tumblr_n211n8D19V1rtc7q9o1_1280.jpg

Chapter 12

As the dim light of late afternoon glimmered ahead, Lyra suppressed the urge to rush outside.

The pipeline led to a lake of dirty water in the middle of a vast junkyard. Mountains of garbage as high as multi-story buildings, stacks of old vehicles and even hovercars, ruins of some ancient buildings looking out at the world with empty eye sockets of windows and display cases broken out in time immemorial.

Somewhere far behind the piles of garbage, the white needles of the Spires pierced the night sky. Shrouded in light, like a gateway to another, prosperous world, alien to the darkness.

“Welcome to our place," said Jerry.

“Do you live here?” asked the unicorn, sniffing. Strangely enough, the junkyard didn't smell of decay at all. Metal and plastic, dust and construction debris, rubber and cinders, but no nauseating smell of rotting organic matter.

“We live wherever we want," Jerry replied, "and old junkyards are the perfect place to stay out of sight. Lots of metal and therefore interference for the scanners. Anything that could rot has rotted and burned long ago, and you can build a real home out of junk if you want.”

“We have one in here," Scootaloo added.

Their house was just a... house. On wheels. Actually, it used to have wheels, but now there were just rusted axles. The broken windows had been repaired with sheets of plastic, and the area around the house had been carefully cleared of debris. On the roof was a large rainwater tank, and beside it was a small box with a tiny door, obviously for Jerry's use only.

“Home sweet home," the mouse smiled as Scootaloo opened the door to the former trailer.

Lyra's attention was caught by movement on one of the piles of junk. A purple orb emerged from the debris and hung in the air, mewing contentedly about something.

“Coffi... Coffi Coffi Coffi Coffi Coffi..." came the murmur.

“Jerry, Scoot, who's that?” asked the unicorn, pointing with her hoof at the strange creature.

The mouse looked back.

“Oh, that's Coffi," he said. “He's lived here for years. Don't be afraid, he's harmless.”

“Shall we invite him for dinner?” asked Lyra. “Since he's your neighbor—”

“No use," said Jerry, "he doesn't understand a thing. He can hardly speak. He's just mumbling his name and looking for something. Come on in, don't just stand there.”

The unicorn looked back at the floating orb. It had chewed on its prey, then went back down to the trash and began burrowing into it.

Lyra shrugged and followed Jerry and Scootaloo into the house.

It was cozy inside. Even though the furnishings were made of rubble and debris, a vivid example of vagabond style, they had a charm of their own.

Jerry nimbly hopped off the pegasus and bounced around the furniture. Some would say "just like in a cartoon.” An antique switch clicked and a diode lit up under the ceiling, casting a pale light on the room. Electricity hummed in the old wires, and the house seemed to come alive.

Two tubs, one large and one small, rumbled, pushed into the middle of the room. Water trickled through the hose into the large one, and Jerry splashed something thick into it, causing a white cap of fluffy lather to swell up. The smell of flowers and soap wafted through the air.

“Scoot, get in the tub," the mouse commanded.

The little pony shifted her hooves and glanced at Lyra.

“I don't feel like it. Let's do it tomorrow, I wanna sleep...”

Jerry ran his hand over his face.

“Oh, it's torture every time... You finally decide what's ‘less cool’ for you, being dirty or washing. Think about what you swam in today.”

Lyra smiled. Foals never change. The whole world around them may be different, but the ginger tomgirl will never love water procedures. Not until she grows up, maybe.

“Let me help," the unicorn said, and received an angry look of two purple eyes.

Traitor! it read in them.

Jerry sighed. The unicorn thought he was relieved.

“Okay," he agreed, "I'm tired of fighting every time... Now I'm going to wash my clothes. And wash myself as well. It's convenient to be small anyway.”

“Thanks, I feel much cleaner already!” Scootaloo said quickly as she started to back away.

Lyra and Jerry looked at her at the same time and said with glee, "Get in the tub!”

“No!" Scootaloo shouted and turned sharply toward the door, clearly preparing to make a run for it.

Lyra gave Jerry a quick glance and the mouse nodded.

Scootaloo just let out a small squeak as she was enveloped by the telekinetic field and lifted up. Her hooves kicked the air and her wings flapped in a futile attempt to escape.

Lyra chuckled, imagining again the ghostly hands that began to gently but persistently undress the ginger pegasus.

The unicorn's smile faded instantly when she saw the scars crossing the orange skin on Scootaloo's back and croup. Almost like that creepy Rainbow Dash from the Pony Play, only smaller. Hanging in the air, Scootaloo tried to cover herself with her wings and tail, but to little avail. Angry tears welled up in the filly's eyes.

Lyra's fun at the foal's whims turned to a bitter understanding of why the pegasus was so reluctant to undress in front of a pony she didn't know.

“How did you get those scars?” Lyra asked.

“Got hit by branches trying to learn to fly," Scootaloo muttered, sinking into a tub of lather.

Lyra didn't believe it. No branches left such smooth marks. Apparently the pegasus had once been severely beaten with rods or whips.

The unicorn was about to ask another question, but suddenly stopped herself. Just out of curiosity, to reopen old mental wounds? She caught Jerry's concerned look and remained silent.

The sewage-scented shorts and T-shirt went into the laundry tub.

“Nice when the adult is bigger than the child, as it should be," Jerry said, smiling at the whole thing. “I'm tired of coaxing that ginger mess every time she needs to be scrubbed of dirt and dust.”

“No! I don't wanna wash!” Scootaloo protested loudly from the lather, but no one listened to her.

The unicorn was just having motherly feelings, washing the filly... Or at least she thought such feelings were motherly. Scootaloo, flapping her wings capriciously, splashed water all around. Lyra felt soaked to the skin, and her once neat and elegant suit had turned into a total Discord's mess.

“Jerry, I'll probably have a wash too," said the unicorn, "I'm wet anyway.”

The mouse, walking on dirty clothes in another tub, replied, “All right. Then give me your clothes as well.”

Lyra giggled and, still using her telekinesis to hold Scootaloo in the tub and wash her, began to pull off her own soaked suit.

Jerry turned away. Although he knew that ponies, like all other furry creatures, were comfortable with nudity, human morality (hypocritical, in his opinion) was taking its toll.

After a while, he was about to ask if he could turn back when a wet lump that had once been Lyra's neat jacket collapsed on his head, covering the mouse from head to toe.

Uh, how childish! Jerry thought angrily as he heard a cheerful laugh muffled by the layers of fabric.

As he climbed out, he saw two ponies giggling contentedly in the tub. The lather covered them both up to their necks. After Lyra's mischievous prank, the protests about washing were magically forgotten.

As always, though. Jerry had lived under the same roof with the ginger pegasus long enough to know that she sometimes protested and misbehaved just out of teenage naughtiness...

After washing away the signs of the dungeons, the three of them ate some instant porridge, tasteless in Lyra's opinion, but it filled their stomachs and made them not feel so hungry.

Scootaloo, dragged out of the tub and wiped clean with an almost clean towel, looked like a ruffled sparrow. She was angry again, this time at being sent to bed as the youngest.

Pouting defiantly, the little filly turned to face the wall and wrapped herself in her blanket. She obviously wanted to feign resentment, but fatigue prevailed, and a few minutes later the pegasus was sniffing quietly, sound asleep.

Lyra and Jerry were sitting at the table as adults... or rather, Lyra was sitting at the table, and the mouse was pacing back and forth in the light of the desk lamp. The unicorn was wrapped in a towel after her bath, and Jerry was wearing a pair of oversized shorts of a garish scarlet color with a small yellow star pattern. He had found them once in a pile of doll clothes and used them ever since as a home outfit for laundry. Just like now.

“Jerry, how did Scootaloo really get those scars?” Lyra asked.

The mouse shook his head.

“Sorry, Lyra, I promised her I wouldn't tell anyone. All I can say is that she's been through things she'd rather not remember. And I can't judge her for that.”

The unicorn sighed. She was dying to know about the past of the ginger pegasus, but to ask any further would be to undermine the trust of the inseparable couple.

“Why did you stab me in the back of the head with a fork in the dungeon?” Lyra asked, deciding to change the subject.

“It's simple. Every synthet has a biochip on the back of their neck—”

“The magical mark!” exclaimed the unicorn, remembering Victor's words.

The mouse hesitated for a moment, then continued, “Um... yeah. So, the mark. It can be used to track you from a distance and find out where you are. And even what you're doing. But those of us on the run disable the chip. The directed electrical charge from a taser turned into a lockpick corrupts the electronic locks and shuts down the synthet's biochip. Now, for general scanners, the mark doesn't give an active signal, making it... ‘green’, so to speak. However, an individual scanner will immediately detect that you're running from humans. This is called ‘overriding the mark’ or ‘deactivating the chip.’ Such damage can be repaired, but you need a computer with a neural interface to do it—”

“So what, I don't have the... mark now?” Lyra asked worriedly.

“Technically, you do. But it's inactive. And it won't work again without the neuroprogrammer...” The mouse caught the pony's uncomprehending gaze and sighed, "Yes, you don't have the mark anymore.”

The unicorn remained silent. She had mixed feelings. On the one hoof, Victor had been unfair by not telling her what the mark meant. On the other one, Vic hadn't done anything reprehensible yet. Didn't have time?

“Wait," the unicorn said suddenly. “Are you saying that Vic can't find me now?”

“Vic is your master?”

“My friend!”

Jerry sighed. “I'm sorry, little pony, but your mark was blue. You said yourself he didn't set you free. That meant you were his property. Even though he treated you well. I suppose he bought you recently?”

“Bought me?!”

“Right. Synthets are living beings, no doubt. But by law, they are things. Or slaves, if you prefer. And the green mark can only be obtained with the permission of their master or the authorities. And it stays green only as long as you pay taxes. And if you don't, it turns yellow, which is grounds for arrest. That's simple.”

Lyra felt the rejection of reality rise again in her chest. Being someone's thing? After words of friendship? Deception like this made her want to cry. No. To weep. To run away and not stop as long as she had the strength.

Jerry gave the unicorn a look of sympathy. She was in doubt now, and the mouse didn't want to be the one to draw the final line under her short happy life.

“Lyra, maybe I'm wrong and your version is right about you," he said aloud, even though he felt sick to his stomach at such a blatant lie. “So keep your head up. I don't actually know it myself.”

“Really?” The pony's drooped ears perked up again.

“Really," the mouse sighed. “It's possible.”

Jerry didn't want to be responsible for the shattered hope of pulling another soul out of black despair. On the other hand, it was even more dangerous to leave her naive.

The mouse couldn't know it, but if an OBE's psychoprogrammer were asked now, he would say that Lyra Heartstrings had narrowly escaped a glitch in her behavioral software.

A fatal glitch that could have resulted in anything.

“That evil Rainbow Dash in the Pony Play, she said that Equestria, my home, my whole life, was just an artificial memory!” Lyra exclaimed, resting her snout on her forelegs. “I simply cannot believe it...”

The mouse, who had flinched at the mention of Rainbow Dash, smiled nervously and abruptly changed the subject.

“Oh, boy! I used to babysit one kid, and now I have two.”

“I'm not a kid!” Lyra pouted, not even noticing the trick in her emotion.

Scootaloo mumbled something in her sleep and twitched her ears.

“Mm-hmm," Jerry nodded, "but you're acting like a naive kid. How long have you been here?”

“Three days!” said the unicorn proudly.

“Why on earth did I get this, huh?” The mouse sighed, covering his face with his hand.

Lyra seemed to be on the verge of despair.

“Jerry, can you at least explain to me how that's possible? I remember my whole life, my friends, my parents, and it's all a lie? If it is, I'm a few days old! I, a full-grown mare! Doesn't Equestria really exist?”

Jerry looked into her yellow eyes. Lyra asked about Equestria with the ghostly hope of a child who has caught his parents putting presents under the Christmas tree instead of Santa Claus.

The mouse sighed and spread his hands helplessly.

“Maybe it's true. Or maybe not. Scootaloo believes that Equestria is a paradise for those just like you. And that if you're a decent and good pony, you'll get there. Not in this life, but in the next. No one can prove or disprove that. So it's a matter of faith. The faith that Scoot and the rest of the... Celestians profess. She's more comfortable with that than, say, I am.”

“You don't believe in Equestria?”

“Ha! I believe in myself and my powers. I believe in that pony curled up against the wall sniffing. I believe that this world is a cruel and dark place, and that things can always get worse. And life beyond existence? I haven't seen that.”

Lyra didn't answer, keeping her gaze on the mouse. He, noticing the unasked question in her golden eyes, suddenly added more quietly, looking away, “But you know... if someone up there," he pointed upwards, "decides that the old mouse is still worthy of taking care of the little ginger furball... I won't be offended, no.”

Lyra smiled. “Little?”

Jerry put his hands at his sides crossly.

“Don't play silly, you know exactly what I meant!”

“Jerry... how old are you?”

Once again the expression of a creature who had seen a lot of things that didn't fit with his cartoon exterior appeared on his face.

“Too old for a mouse, Lyra," he said with a look away. “Until recently I even thought it was too much.”

“What's changed?”

Jerry looked over to where the sleeping Scootaloo was sniffing peacefully, then at Lyra.

“I've managed to get the little one to move on with her life and even enjoy the little things it has to offer. But she gets chills at the slightest mention of the past. So leave the old life behind. It would be better for both of us.”

Lyra opened her mouth to ask another question, but Jerry made a sharp gesture and said, “And before you ask, the answer is no, I don't want to tell a sob story of my life. I'm done with it. Period. After what happened to Tom and the others, and after my mark ceased to exist.”

“What? What do you mean, ceased to exist?”

“I'm invisible to the scanners. That's suspicious, but if they can't see me, there's no reason to look. And it's easy for a little mouse to hide. It's all I've been living on since I escaped.”

Lyra gave Jerry a pitiful look. “Gosh, now I'm dying of curiosity... You started to tell me, so don't keep it to yourself!”

Jerry covered his eyes again with his hand in a gesture of feigned despair. “Oh, and why'd you come down on me like this...? Tom is the cat from the same cartoon as me. We were a birthday present to a child, as they often do with synthets. So he accidentally destroyed my mark. And then he tortured Tom to no end.”

The unicorn's eyes bulged even wider, and Jerry wondered once again how they fit in a pony's skull.

“What do you mean, 'tortured'?” Lyra asked in shock, and Jerry's face showed real pain for a moment. He looked away.

“I... don't want to talk about it," he mumbled. “Just consider that I'd lost someone I could truly call a friend, despite our differences. He chased me around the show more out of sporting interest, and our mutual banter and pranks were probably a sign of true friendship. Tom would never eat me, I'm sure. Although he threatened to on more than one occasion. But that boy... he ruined everything.”

Lyra, remembering the polite and kind child from the park, tapped the table lightly with her hoof. “No! That's impossible! Not the kids—”

The mouse looked up at the unicorn bitterly.

“Lyra, kids are different too," he said.

“They cannot be bad!”

“Right. There are bad adults who let their kids do terrible things without explaining that it's bad.”

“But how could a kid even think of such a thing?” Lyra's voice rang with tears. The last straw of faith that the human world wasn't rotten to the core stretched and creaked. “Have you ever seen anyone like you?”

“Not many," he replied reluctantly. “You see, Tom and I have a problem... survivability. In our 150-year-old original cartoon," he said with a bitter irony in his voice, "each of us has been hit on the head with an anvil, or on the tail with an axe, or shot with a bullet... And the number of times we've planted explosives on each other is too many to count. You know, it doesn't work in real life. But a lot of kids try. I mean, if we're all right after that in the cartoon, why shouldn't it work in real life too?”

Tears ran down Lyra's cheeks. Such cruelty is brought up in people since their childhood... But why do they show such things to children? Just for the money? And then how to live with realizing who you raised by your creation?

She suddenly remembered an episode of a horrible show about pokémons viciously fighting over silly patches for their owners.

“Now I understand where some people get so much evil in them, why their love looks like an ugly parody...!” said Lyra. “That's the root of the evil! The lack of love and friendship in childhood, the identification of fun and cruelty!”

“Love looks like a parody?” asked the mouse. “Ah, I think I get it. Have you experienced your master's ‘love’ for yourself?”

Lyra, who was thinking about something, perked up.

“For myself...? What? No! Vic is a true friend, he never hit on me! Even when I... provoked him. Just to make sure—”

The unicorn suddenly blushed, unable to find the right words. Judging by the sarcastic look on Jerry's face, he misunderstood her.

“So you're not from the Pony Play?” he clarified.

“No... I went there without asking. Just to have a look—”

“And how'd you like it?” The mouse's voice was ironic again.

“I've seen the ponies. Y’know, they have such a look in their eyes—”

“Either scared or indifferent. Right?”

“Yes, but how d’you know?”

“Firstly, I've been to the Pony Play, and secondly, most synthets are divided into those who are being broken and those who have been broken.”

Lyra wouldn't give up. “But you and Scoot aren't among them, are you?”

“No, we're not.”

“But how then?”

“We have each other and that allows us not to break... both of us. On our own we would've given up long ago, but now she has me and I have her. I'm smaller, but I'm an adult and I have to take care of her now. And she's a kid who needs someone to confide in. And I'm glad she didn't shut down in her grief, but found the strength to open her heart again.”

“But there's no one like you in the Pony Play—”

“Of course. How can there be affection when the ponies are raped and beaten all the time? Forced to fight each other, often to the death?”

“I saw a man there kissing Applejack. On the lips, quite explicitly. And she didn't seem to mind, rather the opposite.”

“And that is the third type... The ones who accept the imposed rules and morals. The ones who enjoy it. And that psychotic Rainbow Dash who fights in the arena is one of them, though she'd never admit it, even to herself.”

Looking at Lyra, who was trembling nervously, Jerry thought that maybe sometimes cynicism should be tempered. That kind of attitude helps you accept the world as it is, but only when you're alone. But others could easily get hurt that way.

Lyra suddenly flashed her eyes and said in a harsh voice, “But it shouldn't be like this! We must fix it! Try to make a difference. Why isn't anybody doing anything?”

Jerry shrugged.

“Because it's comfortable for humans. And the sooner you realize that, the easier it will be for you to live in this world.”

“And you?”

“And what about me? I've been hit on the head too many times to understand the simple truth that I should only care about myself. I guess I'll die a fool..." The mouse looked at the unicorn. "Anyway, it's time for us to follow Scoot's example and go to bed. We've got another day tomorrow.”

Lyra lay down next to Scootaloo, covered herself with a second blanket, and fell asleep almost immediately. She was obviously exhausted from the day's experiences. Jerry nestled into a sliding box of paper clips on the desk, where he had made a bed like the one he had seen in the cartoons.

Scootaloo, as if sensing the other pony nearby, moved over to snuggle, and the unicorn hugged her, not waking up either.

Jerry lay gazing out of the window with the remaining glass, where the night's gloom was slightly broken by the stars and the distant lights of Gigapolis. For a moment he glanced over at the two ponies, entwined in a touching tangle of orange and green, and smiled into the darkness.

“Kids..." he hummed to himself and closed his eyes. “My little ponies...”

* * *

“Any other ideas where Lyra might have ended up?” Victor asked as they got back into the car.

“We gotta check out a few places and ask around. I don't usually do this, ya see. But I know where and who to ask. And what they'll charge for it.” Seraphima started the engine. “By the way," she added, "while we're on the subject, could you pay the meter? I know it was Zelda's request, and I'm willing to help, but you do realize that I'm at work—”

“Oh, no problem," Vic smiled and reached into his pocket, "I brought some cash on purpose.”

He pulled out a wad of bills. Seraphima looked at them, then back at Victor.

“There's a lot more than the meter," she said.

“Tell your bosses you've been hired for the day," the man replied, "as a driver and guide. Actually, that's not far from the truth.”

Seraphima grinned. “Y'know, with that money you could buy yourself a new pony.”

“I don't need a new one!” Victor replied sharply and put the money in the girl's hand. “I need Lyra! She's my friend and I don't need another one.”

He turned away and leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest. Seraphima could feel how much he was getting sick of the constant (surely constant!) teasing and stupid advice about his pony...

The Tau Transport Loop was at a standstill. Once in the flow, the wheeled vehicles could not get anywhere, and the traffic jam stretched for many miles. As reported online, two trucks collided on the road, and up to six of twelve lanes were blocked.

Vic was annoyed by the gridlock. Seraphima explained that such "traffic jams" were an ancient and almost traditional phenomenon for cities of the past. Yes, the roads of Gigapolis are hundreds of miles of excellent roadbed, with convenient crossings and junctions. Road services run like clockwork thanks to automation, and the data network allows traffic to be organized to deliver goods and passengers at minimal cost. Downtime in transportation is always a loss, and that is bad for business. And business is what runs modern civilization.

“...but sometimes things make mistakes," Seraphima finished her speech. “So the only thing we can do is be patient and wait until we can get to tha-a-at junction.”

Victor looked where she was pointing and saw the exit from the highway. It was relatively close, but the car was moving a dozen feet per minute and the trip would take a couple of hours.

“Yeah, I never thought it was still possible," the man said. “You don't even think about that when you're flying a hovercar.”

Seraphima snorted. “Hovercars, yes... I've always wanted one, but there's nowhere to put it in Gray City, and I can't afford to live in White City. In fact, I can't even afford a hovercar.”

“Take a loan,” Victor advised, but the girl just laughed.

“A loan! Who'd give me that much? Besides, I'd need another one to recharge the antigravs.”

“I wonder.” Victor decided to change the subject. “What if someone gets sick in this ‘traffic jam?’ Or just wants to... go to the toilet, for example?”

Seraphima giggled again.

“The emergency services might come," she replied, "and as for the second one... You don't want to know the answer.”

“In an hour or two, I really will!” Vic laughed a little strained. "Tell me, where does this fork lead to?”

“To Ruinberg, actually. But don't worry, we'll pass it quickly. It's better than an eight-hour wait.”

“Wait, how long?!”

A thin hand tapped on the screen of the navigation panel. Vic noticed that Seraphima cut her nails and did not paint them. All the other girls he knew tried to grow at least a little and decorate their nails with something, but Seraphima neglected it for some reason.

“Look here. See, here's the route, and here we are. The whole road is marked in red, so it's a traffic jam. The next exit is about twenty miles away. So at this rate, we're gonna be stuck here for eight hours, unless the owners of the wrecked trucks deign to salvage their loads. So I don't think it's such a bad idea to turn off at Ruinberg.”

“How far is it from where we were going?”

“Not very far in a straight line. If it's through the streets... as luck would have it. Don't be afraid.”

“What kind of district is Ruinberg?” Victor asked. "And why should I be afraid?"

An impish gleam flickered in the girl’s brown eyes.

“You'll see, a man from the White City,” said she in a changed voice. “I don't want to spoil your impression...”

The traffic jam kept the car on the highway for another hour. Victor and Seraphima amused themselves by telling stories from their own lives, and both were surprised to realize that they still lived in completely different worlds.

What was commonplace and natural to Victor was science fiction to Seraphima. Robots, hovercars, artificial intelligence and virtuality — all these were the wonders of future technology to a resident of the Gray City, almost more so than to a synthet pony from the magical world.

Victor marveled at the fact that Gray City was, in many places, actually patched and repaired buildings a century old, if not more. Most amazingly, the people of Gray City lived much as they had in the century their districts were built, getting by on the "technological scraps" of White City.

Fuel cells and microreactors might well be neighbors with internal combustion engines, nanofibers with ordinary coarse cloth, and food synthesized from natural samples with chemical poison full of preservatives and flavor additives. Examples abounded, but all of these things also took their toll on the inhabitants.

And some of Seraphima's stories were ones Victor simply didn't believe. At least not until the car went down the road junction into the area numbered three hundred and two, better known to the natives as Ruinberg.

It looked as if the car had descended from a congested highway into some twentieth-century backwater.

Dilapidated brick and concrete buildings stared out into the street with dirty windows or empty openings. Windows with bars or even boarded up were common. Garbage piled along the roadsides, carried by the wind.

If Victor were asked to describe the district in one word, it would be "rundown.” Old cars, old buildings, rusty and sparking utilities. And it’s right next to the traffic loop! By the way, Vic thought, despite the traffic jam, almost no one dares to get off the highway here.

Seraphima drove the car slowly along the neglected road, cursing every pothole under the wheels.

But the locals didn't seem to care about their surroundings. Everywhere was the hustle and bustle of everyday life. If only the appalling poverty weren't so obvious.

Vic watched wide-eyed as two women stretched string between neighboring windows and began hanging laundry, as if there were no such thing as a dryer. Grimy children were playing in the sandbox, and in addition to the sand, the game involved a lot of trash lying around. A relatively decently dressed man with a briefcase stood near a guy in leather and jeans, talking excitedly about something...

A bunch of guys on motorcycles or trucks firing antique pistols or rifles in all directions would fit right in here, Victor thought. Instead, a blue-and-white police car stood at the corner, flashing its lights.

Two policemen from that car were standing nearby, whacking a long-unshaven man in tattered and dirty clothes with their batons. Not far away lay a battered guitar and its case, from which a ragged boy was shoveling money.

The policemen here, too, did not look like the calm, polite officers in neatly pressed uniforms who kept order in the White City. The uniforms had been replaced by light armor. From under their thick-framed helmets came harsh curses.

“What are they doing?” Victor wondered.

“Most likely this tramp just didn't have time to hide," Seraphima said, squinting her eyes. “He was trying to make a few coins, but was caught by the patrol.”

“No way!”

“Welcome to earth, celestial.”

“Stop right here!”

As soon as Victor said that, Seraphima sped up. The picture of violence disappeared around the corner.

“What are you doing?!”

“Listen to me,” the girl said in a serious voice. "We will not stop at Ruinberg, understand? And we — especially you — will not go out here unless absolutely necessary. It's very dangerous, and even more so if you provoke the police, who are tight with the gangs here. That vagrant probably didn't pay the neighborhood watchman, so he tipped off the cops that it was okay to pick someone up. For a stick, as they call it.”

“But there's a law!” Victor was outraged, though he knew in his heart how childish his outrage now seemed.

“According to the law, the police were within their rights. An unlicensed street performer? Arrest. Attempt to escape or run away thwarted. All legal. The vagrant goes to a cell, then possibly to a social service agency where they can find something for him to do. The fact that he's been treated harshly is of no concern to anyone, especially the police.”

“But I could—”

“You couldn't," Seraphima interrupted. “Just ‘cause you've got a green card doesn't make you safe. And there's nothing you can do about it. And if you go to jail for disobeying police, your Lyra stands little chance of coming home.”

Victor faltered.

It was wrong. Of course, the residents of the White City were well aware that life outside of the central districts, away from high walls and strict guards, was not so comfortable. But in a society that had been peddling the ideals of consumerism for centuries, who had ever cared about other people's problems?

If you have no money, it's your own fault. This is a truism that people have absorbed with their mother's milk for almost three hundred years.

And those who thought otherwise were consigned to the dustbin of history.

“I can't believe," Victor finally said, "that Lyra ran off somewhere here... Why?”

“Maybe she wanted to see the real world?”

“Anything could happen to her in here!”

“Just like any other living being. Let's hope that she has met, if not a friend, then at least someone who could take care of her.”

The man sighed. “She doesn't know our world at all..." he said quietly, feeling that he was about to give in to his feelings in front of the girl. “This part of it, at least.”

Victor was pulled out of his thoughts by a signal from the communicator. Steven Aguilar, a line lit up in the air.

The man touched the activation sensor and felt his heart overflow with joy and hope.

Lyra is found. Now Steven will tell me where to pick her up and everything will be fine. Just like before. Safe and sound.

“Yes, Steve?” Vic said as a hologram of a familiar face flashed over the communicator. “Please tell me you found Lyra—”

“Twilight found,” Aguilar replied, “two whole matching mentions. The first was that she was spotted by a police patrol in the Pyramids district. A synthet pony matching Lyra Heartstrings' description with a broken chip.”

“Is she okay?”

“She escaped from the patrol with another pony. From the description, Scootaloo.”

It was confusing. Victor couldn't even imagine what the ginger pegasus had to do with all of this. But if they were together, then obviously something made them do it, some circumstances... It might be a clue, but there was no Scootaloo in the Solaire.

“There is a second mention of Lyra, and not far from Pyramids either," Stephen said, "but I warn you, it's not easy to accept. Unfortunately, they don't give any information about the synthets of the place, so you'll have to go there and find out firsthand.”

“Why not easy?” Victor asked.

“Because it's a brothel. Named ‘Flight of Fantasy.’ Specializing in non-human synthets. So there are a dozen and a half ponies there, including Lyra Heartstrings—”

Vic covered his eyes and leaned back helplessly in his seat.

This was a disaster.

Lyra, that trusting and naive creature, must have fallen into the clutches of the slave traders. And without a second thought, they had sent the pony to the vilest, most horrible place imaginable.

What a bunch of skinners! thought the man in despair, feeling his eyes prickle with unwanted tears.

“We're not far away," Seraphima interrupted. “Thank you, Steven.”

“Not at all yet. If there's any more news, I'll give you a call. Victor, hold on. At least Lyra's alive. She could still be okay in such a short time.”

The screen went blank and Seraphima's taxi picked up speed...

In Pyramids, four huge residential complexes, lived about a million people. And, of course, they all had their own needs. So it was natural that shopping malls and entertainment centers, transport hubs, schools and kindergartens, hospitals and other amenities of civilization were built nearby at affordable and not so affordable prices.

Pyramids was rightfully considered a middle-class district, and for someone like Seraphima, almost as much of an unattainable dream as the White City. Nevertheless, the shabby, fortified car passed through security without a problem. The license of the company where Van Visser worked as a taxi driver was in order, and the car had all the right papers.

Victor relaxed a bit when he found himself in more or less familiar surroundings. Yes, wheeled vehicles and dull colors prevailed here as well, but there were robots and even synthets hurrying about their business. Or maybe even loitering.

By the way, for some reason no one paid much attention to the synthets here. Victor was surprised to notice a pizzeria called Michelangelo's, where behind the counter stood a green turtle of gigantic proportions, more typical of a human, wearing a white apron and a chef's hat.

But judging by the crowded room, this Michelangelo was cooking perfectly. And the fact that he was a turtle did not bother anyone.

“We won't drive up to the place itself," Seraphima said and parked the car. “Get out here.”

“Why not?”

“There's probably a paid parking lot. And here, at the mall, it's not only free, but also under surveillance.”

“That makes sense," said Vic.

“Wait for me for a few minutes," Seraphima asked, getting out of the car and turning on the security system. “Over there, on the corner. Okay?”

“No problem," the man replied.

Seraphima smiled and ducked into a diner.

Victor followed her with a glance, but then he heard someone else talking.

“...but your IQ is almost three hundred! And you work as a pizza delivery boy?”

Vic turned that way and saw a boy of about eleven, dressed in jeans and a garish crimson T-shirt. He was wearing a jacket with a picture of the owner of Michelangelo's smiling and giving a thumbs-up. The boy was putting a stack of pizza boxes on his scooter. The oversized football helmet had slipped down over his eyes, and the kid put it back on with a sigh.

The boy's companion was a blue anthropomorphic hedgehog, about four feet tall, wearing a blue courier suit. A synthet, obviously. Big-eyed and cartoonish, also a character from the show. Right now, though, he had a big bag slung over his shoulder.

“I'm even lucky. Does it surprise you that in this world, a synthet with my kind of mind works on the sidelines, and a man who can't even wipe himself, figuratively speaking, holds a leading position in a megacorporation?” the boy answered with a question and smiled happily.

The hedgehog spread his white-gloved hands.

“You're right, Kin. This is a human world... And you know, sometimes I miss my native Mobius.”

“At least you have faith in your own better world," the boy replied, sitting down on the scooter, "and all we have to do is try to change this one.

“But what can we do?”

“What can we do? Be better. Otherwise, no amount of technological wizardry can save us. Powerful computers are busy generating joy in the Cybernet, which was supposed to give the world freedom of information. The space program has become a way for telecommunications companies to make money. Robots serve the rich and make other robots. The benefits are for a select few, for the rest of us it's survival. You know all this, my friend.”

Victor was surprised at how mature the boy's speech sounded. Maybe he is much older than he looks. Which was understandable. Ash, the permanent host of the Pokémon Arena show, as well as his numerous copies, is simply not programmed to grow up. For example, the current Ash is in his forties. He looks about the same as he did when he was eleven.

“So long, Sonic," said Kin. “Gotta go or the pizza'll get cold and Mikey'll rip my head off.”

“Good luck, Skipper," the hedgehog said as he shook his friend's hand goodbye. "See you Saturday?”

“As usual.”

The scooter took off smoothly and disappeared into the traffic. The blue hedgehog was also quickly lost in the crowd.

“Here I am," Seraphima emerged from the crowd, clutching her backpack. “How about a little snack on the way?”

Victor was about to object, but his stomach made a distinctive rumbling sound, as if the flavors of several nearby snack shops had just reached his brain.

They walked down the street, munching into some thick bread rolls filled with baked ground meat, vegetables, onions, and ketchup.

And she's got a great idea, Vic thought. Sitting in a café when Lyra probably needs help right now is just criminally careless. And so two things to do at once.

“Sometimes I eat like this all day," Seraphima said, as if reading the man's thoughts, "’cause I don't have time. Back and forth all over the city, and the dispatcher keeps piling up orders...”

The Flight of Fantasy building was lit in red. Traditional, though a bit flashy even for the commercial district of the Gray City.

“You don't have to come in if you don't want to," Victor said, looking at Seraphima.

“No way!” she snorted. “You'll be in trouble in no time. And anyway, let me do the talking.”

Victor was about to object, but stopped himself. His experience of visiting such places was limited to cyberspace, and also, one could say, in the White City. But virtual.

“Well... all right," he agreed.

Inside, the visitors were greeted by the manager. Apparently a human, though he bowed respectfully with a claim to retro-elitism.

Seraphima suddenly snuggled up to Victor and cooed in a perfectly honeyed voice, “My buddy and I are fans of old TV shows and we'd like to have fun with someone special.”

“Of course, no problem,” smiled the manager, “now I'll bring our catalog. Or would you like to see one live? I apologize, many synthets are asleep. You know, it's daytime... But it's no problem to wake them up.”

“Not yet," Seraphima said, "don't wake anyone up too early. If it's both of us, is it okay?”

“Oh, don't worry. The fee for a group session is quite small," the attendant bowed again. “Please wait here on the couch.”

When they were left alone, Victor asked, “What are you up to?”

“We want to talk to your pony, right? Let 'em think we're gonna book a threesome and then buy out the synthet we'd like. Simple as that.”

“But they'll think we're perverts!”

Seraphima threw up her hands.

“And what do you call people who go to places like this? Vic, sometimes you act like a kid! And remember, there's no perversion in Gigapolis that couldn't become fashionable and a source of profit—”

“No perversion at all?”

“Imagine that. I've heard of a place where they burn synthets alive for fun.”

Victor shuddered. “Ponies?” he asked.

“Why ponies? Any synthets, mostly indistinguishable from humans. Usually no older than fourteen, biologically—”

Further argument was interrupted by the appearance of the manager, who brought a tablet with downloaded files of the proposed live goods.

Vic immediately fixed his eyes on the screen and went to the "Cartoon Characters" category.

After a brief search, he finally found "Lyra Heartstrings, the unicorn" under the "My Little Ponies" subcategory and clicked on it without a second thought.

“This one," he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

“And it'll be two of us," Seraphima added, "but I like to watch.”

“The orders have already been given," the attendant smiled, touching a few sensors on his bracelet. "May I see your card...?”

They were led down a pleasantly furnished corridor. The place was a mottled shade of scarlet, with mirages of holograms floating in the air. It was a wealthy brothel by Gray City standards, as it could afford a professional designer and holographic projectors. What's more, it was already costly to maintain an entire staff of synthets.

The room, most of which was taken up by a huge bed, greeted them with the soft plucking of strings and dimmed light. On the table was an incense stick on a stand, smoking faintly and spreading the sweet scent of herbs...

Victor's heart trembled.

The unicorn was lying on the bed, a lyre floating in the glow of telekinesis, strummed by ghostly hands.

“I apologize," she said in a familiar voice that made Victor's heart race, "I got a little carried away. Would you like a change of scenery?”

The instrument fell silent and was placed on the bedside table.

“No, thank you," Victor said hoarsely, taking an uncertain step towards the bed.

“Do you need help?” Seraphima asked, but the man shook his head.

He came closer and the pony looked up. Her heart bled at the sight of her familiar mint-green face buried under a layer of colorful makeup. Lipstick, eyeliner, some sort of coat gloss...

The unicorn was wearing a sheer nightgown and see-through dark lace lingerie. And of course, the eternal fetish of pony lovers — high socks. Not from the standard Hasbro set, but in the same color as the lingerie and almost sheer as well.

“Lyra? Is that really you?” Victor asked.

“I'm Lyra, yes," the unicorn nodded. “And what's your name?”

The man sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. We made a mistake, a bitter thought pierced him.

“My name is Victor. And this is Seraphima. You are... I guess you're another Lyra.”

The pony smiled. “I'll be whatever kind of Lyra you want. Would you like a background pony in a hoodie? Or a fearless Agent Heartstrings? Give me a few minutes and I'll change. I know how to act in character. You won't even know the difference.”

“Vic, she could have been brainwashed," Seraphima said, sitting down in the chair. “Lyra, do you remember how you got here?”

The pony, who had seen much stranger visitors, turned to the girl and shrugged.

“Just like most others," she said. “We were bought and told what to do. It wasn't easy at first, but then we got used to it.”

“And no one tried to escape?” asked Vic.

The pony rose and lay down so she could see both people at once.

“There were some fools, but they always got caught.”

“And you didn't?”

“Why? I'm well-fed and entertained here." The pony flirtatiously batted her eyelashes. "It's not a bad job, I'm in demand. I guess people like it when I get so excited about hands and fingers. Would you like something before we start? What do you prefer, a stimulant or something to brighten the feelings?”

Victor suddenly remembered how Lyra had twitched her tail at the touch of his hands on her back the first day in the bathroom. He felt embarrassed that he had wanted to wash her with his hands instead of a brush.

“No, thank you," the man said in a low voice, "but we were really looking for a particular Lyra Heartstrings.”

“I don't see how I can be any worse," the unicorn said. “And by the way, I wasn't brainwashed. I can show you my passport if you want.”

“Can you just tell me the version of your software?” Seraphima asked.

Victor winced, but the pony didn't take offense.

“Standard, 2.1.1,” she replied. “I don't believe in a magical pony land, if that's what you mean. But I can play it if you want — I've seen the cartoon. I'm eight actual and twenty-six biological years old. The chip is blue, physical just last week. All the paperwork's with the manager, no complaints... You're from the inspectorate, aren't you?”

“More likely from the charity fund,” Seraphima said before Victor could answer. “Well, you've cracked us.”

The unicorn chuckled contentedly.

“Enthusiastic young men and women trying to change the world, how touching! But thank you. I'm flattered, really.”

“Don't you wish you could change the world?” Victor asked.

Lyra smiled. Just like the missing one, making the man's heart clench again.

“Why?” she asked. “It's really not bad here. And I even like you humans. And I'm sure about tomorrow... Why change it? Freedom? What would I do with it in this world? I don't believe in Equestria, and what am I outside these walls? A talking pygmy horse of exotic colors? Thank you very much, I'll make do...”

Victor stood up abruptly and walked towards the door. He didn't want to spend another minute in this place. The walls themselves seemed to stare at him, and the patterns on the wallpaper seemed to mock his feelings and ideals.

“Hey, don't worry so much," the pony spoke again. “It's okay, really. I wish you luck finding your Lyra... and you know, I'm a little jealous of her. What kind of man would run around brothels for me, looking for—”

“We'll go," Seraphima said, getting up as well, "thank you.”

“For what?” The pony was surprised, then suddenly added, "Wait.”

The unicorn got two questioning looks.

“You've already paid for an hour," she said. “It's even a pity that you're just leaving like that...”

Victor sighed. “We don't need—” he started, but the pony interrupted him.

“I already realized that. But I..." she lowered her eyes, "I could be reprimanded if the customers left early.”

Victor didn't like how that sounded. Seraphima noticed that the unicorn was seriously afraid of the consequences and she didn't want to frame the pony just for the sake of forty minutes.

“Maybe you've heard of a unicorn like you?” the girl asked.

Lyra shook her head.

“Unfortunately, I can't help you with information either, since I hardly ever leave the building. Unless they let me go to a bar or something for fun. But I like you guys...”

“Can you play that tune again?” Victor asked suddenly, looking around. "Lyra... my Lyra, I mean, she played beautifully too.”

The pony smiled and nodded. Her horn glowed, and the matte-glittering lyre flew back into the air, surrounded by a kinetic field. Ghostly hands touched the strings, and a soft, peaceful melody filled the room.[1]

Victor sat down beside Seraphima. Their hands found each other involuntarily.

Lyra Heartstrings was playing with her eyes closed. The melody was different from what Victor had heard in the Solaire. Behind the gentle strumming of the strings was not the excitement of an explorer who had recently discovered a brave new world, but the sadness of life's experiences. The music seemed to inspire hope for something more, something deeper, something that was about to take shape and appear in all its glory... But no, at the last moment the image slipped away, but it kept calling, beckoning, and would not give up...

Victor, listening to the music, glanced at the pony's face. He saw the mask of a satisfied and contented slave fall away, giving way to the truth.

He glanced over to Seraphima and saw that she had understood as well.

This Lyra was obviously twisting her heart. After all, what sane being would be content to serve as a sex toy for those who came and paid money for their lust? She'd probably had clients who made her sick or hurt her...

And the few pleasures she got from customers and owners were not enough to heal all the wounds of her soul. Besides, she hardly had any friends here in the establishment. Only comrades in misery, similarly downtrodden prisoners.

And not knowing any other life, she was certainly afraid of what might change the order of things, not too pleasant, but the usual one. And time and again she convinced herself that she was happy.

After leaving the place, Vic and Seraphima walked silently to the car. Each of them had their own thoughts.

Victor left the pony Steven's phone number with the words, "If you change your mind, call there. They'll be able to help."

It was all he could do, though he was sickened by what he had seen and by his own powerlessness to change anything.

[1] The image: https://fc04.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2014/066/1/2/lyra_rest12small_by_gor1ck-d799k4x.jpg

Chapter 13

After returning from the restroom she had barely had time to run to, Rainbow Dash felt a lot better, even though she had spent about ten minutes hugging the toilet while spilling her guts. Ten minutes that seemed like hours.

Too bad about the croutons. And a glass of whiskey, too. But not the mineral water.

Sam had gone out, apparently to pick up a couple more crates of booze from the storeroom.

Dash went back to the bar and looked at the empty bottle. Her stomach did a protesting somersault.

“Aw, jeez... dammit," the pegasus muttered to herself. “Half my life I've dreamed of freedom... And now I have no idea what to do with it.”

It was as if she heard the calm voice of Alex Vendar in her mind. Her master. The man who had taken it upon himself to raise her as soon as Dash could understand human language.

“After watching the show and becoming a brony, I've admired you, Rainbow Dash. Admired to the very depth of my soul. But what did I see? You deserve much, much more than to be overshadowed by Twilight Sparkle's achievements, than to be just a one-time champion and ‘one of the Mane Six.’ To be the best at anything, you lacked toughness. Both in the show and here, where I see spineless, pale semblances of the real you. And then I realized that it was my duty to make you who you truly deserve to be, to temper your spirit and body like a blade. And then, only then, when your loyalty is matched by an unbreakable will and a steely hardness, will you come closer to the ideal you strive for with all your soul, without even realizing it.”

Rainbow closed her eyes, sinking into her memories. In the last few days she had gone through her life again and again and for the first time she asked herself what she wanted for herself. There was no answer. Alex had always told Rainbow what to do and where to go. And for a long time, the little pony had never questioned why.

Just the way it had been.

Of course, he had been teaching her. Rainbow hadn't known it then, and didn't care now, but Alex had drilled the school program into her. However, the pegasus didn't shirk much. Besides, her master didn't limit her choice of hobbies in her spare time, and Dash learned to play the electric guitar and to sing well.

But the main, or rather the most memorable, training was martial arts, in which Vendar was a great master.

He trained the pegasus filly himself. Little Rainbow quickly lost count of how often she fell to the tatami floor, crying in pain. But Alex was tough with her, and after a short break, everything was repeated until the move was mastered.

But Rainbow still remembered the development of her strength, agility, and flexibility with a shudder. And now, sitting at the bar, it was as if she was reliving the aching pain caused by the tremendous strain. When the seventh round was over and the whole world seemed to shrink to the size of flaming bundles of muscles... But when they seemed about to knot or tear, the blow of the stick forced her to make at least one more move...

And the minutes of peace and rest were all the more precious. Alex himself healed the bruises and grazes of the little pegasus, gave her a massage, and even allowed her to break out of the strict regime of the day from time to time. At such moments, Rainbow was ready to kiss the man who had made her suffer so much. And at the next training session, she would give it her all, without any prodding or beating. Just to earn the meager praise that filled her heart with pride.

A wicked grin appeared on Rainbow's face. What a naive and enthusiastic pony she had been back then! She had taken all the hay Vendar had stuffed in her ears at face value... She had been growing up, trying her best just not to see the cold glint of her master's gray eyes that stabbed at her every time she screwed up.

But even though Rainbow wanted to kill Alex Vendar with her own hooves for every moment of pain, she had to admit that the training had done her good. Dash's body had progressed at an incredible rate, harmoniously and evenly. The pegasus was glowing with health and energy, the envy of all.

Soon, Alex paid Spitfire Hancock to develop her flying skills. And the grateful Rainbow became the best student for five years. So said the fiery pegasus herself, who had long worked for Mr. M and never been lower than third in the Pony Play Gladiator League standings.

For her sixteenth birthday, Alex took Rainbow to the club. The Pony Play became a kaleidoscope of new experiences for young Rainbow Dash Vendar. Socializing with other ponies and humans. Meeting Bob and Dracus, who happily accepted the azure pegasus into a band called Pink Dragon, at first just as a second guitarist. But when snooty Scootaloo Weiss and Sweetie Belle Potter decided to form their own duo, Rainbow replaced them both.

It was a real outlet. Hoof on heart — even now, thinking about her feelings, Rainbow had no idea how to describe them.

Friends? Not to mention close. Dracus couldn't be counted on — he would get drunk or stoned or just forget about them. Or crack a joke that made her want to kick him, and then laugh. And Bob had tried to hit on her when she was drunk, and she had barely fought him off. It was the first time she had ever thought that was why Scootaloo and Sweetie had left.

Partners? Maybe, but none of the members of Pink Dragon profited from the music. Rock classics, new compositions and joint performances united the energetic rainbow-haired pegasus, a lonely biker and a genofreak dragonid who generally rarely came out of a drug or alcohol haze.

By the way, it was Dracus who first gave Rainbow a taste of alcohol. As he said, "A shot for the greatest, the most awesome Rainbow Dash ever."

The pegasus shivered as she remembered the whipping Alex had given her. When his charge had come home smelling of whiskey, it had been the first time she had ever seen her master lose his temper. After that, it had been impossible to sit for two days on the mercilessly whipped rump. Dracus walked for a week with a broken face — Alex was not limited to Rainbow alone. It was after this offense that Rainbow first experienced the whip and received her first scars, the symbols of her shame.

She wanted another drink. But her stomach had a mind of its own, and the mere sight of the bottle made Rainbow dizzy, and a sour and disgusting taste filled her mouth.

“Darn it," she said aloud, "I wanna get drunk. And I can't... Life sucks... Ah, whatever.”

She looked down the hall. There was no one to listen to her: it was still early for evening customers, and daytime ones were vanishingly few. Waitresses Dash had ignored all her life scurried between tables, and a drone buzzed in the arena, leveling and compacting the sandy surface.

The arena...

Dash smiled, almost kindly. In her first bout, the rainbow-haired pegasus, the dark horse of the tournament, had beaten the junior favorite to a pulp. Then, after striking the adult Diamond Tiara with a spectacular final blow, she raised her bloody face with a swollen eye to the stands and saw Alex Vendar smiling at her. And she smiled back.

That day, Rainbow truly believed in her master's words with all her soul. In what she still lacked in toughness. Trials. And her greatest fear was not the fear of pain and punishment that would inevitably accompany carelessness and laziness, but the fear of disappointing Alex, who had put so much time and effort into raising her, Rainbow.

That day, her master had let her eat an entire jar of jam, let her lie in bed half the day before, and taken her to a real spa. Dash had never known such relaxation in her life, and in the evening, she gathered her courage, flew up, and kissed Alex on the cheek. He didn't say anything back, just gave her the same smile she had seen in the arena... Oh, the former Dash had been willing to do a lot to see that smile again.

The pegasus sighed. There was still a picture hanging in the dressing room: an enthusiastically jumping Rainbow Dash Vendar with the Arena Junior Cup in her hooves, and a smiling Alex beside her.

There were fewer training sessions, but each one was now worth two. And Rainbow had to squeal again when the bamboo stick hit, pushing her to a new, unseen level.

It was as if all her previous successes had been forgotten. Dash felt like an immature loser again, getting a well-deserved whack on the rump with the stick.

Alex explained that he was preparing Rainbow for the championship league of the Pony Play Arena, and the pegasus accepted with grim determination.

But her first bout under the new conditions ended in a crushing defeat for Rainbow. And the pain of bumps and bruises was nothing compared to what the pegasus felt as she looked into the eyes of Alex Vendar, who looked down from the stands with anger and disappointment...

The man drags the battered Rainbow home and throws her unceremoniously to the floor. She doesn't make a sound, even though her whole body aches. She knows she's about to be taught a lesson. A lesson in mistakes and punishment to consolidate the material.

“You screwed up, Dash," Alex says in an impassive voice.

“My opponent was a griffon!" the pegasus tries to object. “Twice as heavy as me!”

“There is no victory in defeating the weak. Until you realize that, you'll be a loser whose bloody snot no one cares about. And it's not pity that awaits losers, it's punishment.”

“Deservedly so," Rainbow agrees.

She quickly takes off her sweat-soaked and dusty clothes and sits with her back to her master, waiting for another whipping.

“I'm ready.”

“No.”

Dash crunches her broken nose and looks around in surprise. Alex is forgiving? That doesn't sound like him.

“You've grown up, Rainbow," the master says, shaking his head and looking somehow... new, "and you've gotten too strong for this. I think it's time. Let's go!”

In the backyard, Alex hands Rainbow the pole and fights her seriously for the first time. The pegasus realizes in the first minute that everything before was just a game. And this time, Alex doesn't stop even after she falls.[1]

Soon, the battered Dash is curled up on the sand of the training ground, shaking with stifled sobs. The man is standing over her, pressing his foot down on her face.

“You still lack toughness," Alex says. "And anger.”

“It's too... much pain..." the pegasus wheezes.

“Pain and pleasure are the same thing.” The man's voice remains impassive. “It's time for you to accept it. Turn it into a cold rage that will take you to the next level and finally unleash your full potential.”

He carries her to another room where there is a low bed where Alex used to massage the pegasus, kneading the stretched and overworked muscles. There is no strength to resist, and Dash doesn't even notice that Alex isn't going to clean her up like he used to. Instead, he fastens special restraints to her legs, which until recently had never been used...

Rainbow Dash is no foal. And it's not hard for her to guess her master's intentions. Of course, because of her age, she sometimes had strange thoughts and even dreams in which Alex Vendar played the role of a stallion. But that was different.

And in general, this was not at all how the rainbow pegasus had imagined her first time.

She likes Soarin Piscek, and Rainbow imagines a fight or a race, after which the heated ponies go to the shower... together. And in the morning they fall asleep in bed, completely exhausted from each other...

But reality is more prosaic.

She immediately loses her determination and enthusiasm, finding strength only to whisper faintly, “Alex, don't! Just not that—”

“Wrong answer," he said in his usual voice, wrapping her rainbow tail around his hand.

Rainbow Dash Vendar has seen a lot in the Pony Play. And heard from other ponies, too. But what joy overflowed her heart when she told the lethargic, broken sub-Rainbows that Alex Vendar, though strict beyond measure, never let loose. And as she caught the envious glances of the other rainbow pegasi, she swelled with pride that her master and teacher was not like that.

Rhythmically shuddering at the man's movements and thinking about it, Rainbow bites her bloody lips and squeezes her eyes shut, trying hard to hold back the tears. But it doesn't take long before she can't stand it anymore.

Pain, shame, and frustration melt into a feeling that Dash still cannot define. The tears begin to flow.

Pain is something she's long gotten used to. But THIS is too much.

“Please..." the pegasus says through her sobs, forgetting her pride. "Stop... Please!”

“These tears must be replaced with tears of joy," the man says, as if he did not hear her, and strokes her cutie mark in the form of a cloud with a lightning bolt, "and nothing else.”

There is no calm in his voice. The fiend is only angered by the pain and pleas of his helpless victim. Then the rainbow pegasus begins to scream and flail. To the point of hoarseness and skin torn by the bonds. Screaming insults and threats in desperation.

And even when the finale comes, Dash feels no relief.

After all, there is no need to be Twilight Sparkle to guess that this is only the first time of many...

“Almost there," the master sums up in a husky voice. “But it's still not...”

When Rainbow wakes up after being raped, she crawls out of bed and hides in a closet, sitting with her legs wrapped around her for the rest of the night, refusing to believe this happened to her. The whole world seems to have split into before and after. And whatever she had thought of Alex Vendar before, she now saw a different side of her master that had nothing to do with the image she had formed of him.[2]

Rainbow Dash snapped out of her reverie, grabbed the unfinished bottle, and threw it against the wall of the bar. Shards of dark glass and splashes of smelly eighty-proof alcohol flew in every direction.

“Alex!” shouted the pegasus. “Even from beyond the grave you laugh at my pain, you bastard! B-bitch! I hate ya!”

Sam, who had returned, glanced disapprovingly at the stain, which one of the waitresses rushed to clean up. She seemed to be Sunset Shimmer Two, now glancing cautiously at Dash. Yes, that was right, Two: she had an earring with a blue stone in it.

“No one... no one's gonna make fun of me anymore," the bartender heard Rainbow mutter as she paced towards the exit.

“Where are you going, Rainbow?” Sam asked, but stopped short when the pegasus looked back at him, her eyes squinting the color of pure ruby. "Dracus called and said they'd be here in two hours to rehearse.”

“Just wanna kick one little brat," the pegasus snarled, "so she'll never get up again.”

Sam sighed and shook his head. “She ran away, remember?” he asked. “Someone helped her. Almost a year ago. You're drunk like a skunk, Rainbow Dash!”

The pegasus ignored the human's comment.

“I'll find her," she growled, spreading her wings, "and she'll wish she'd never gotten out of her incubator. I'm gonna set up such a rainbow factory that the little turd will be begging for death as a favor!”

“Dash, she's just a foal—”

“That scum dared to tell me to my face that I'm not the real Rainbow Dash!” the azure pegasus shouted as she grew increasingly furious. “In the arena, I kill for less! For less!”

Sam felt uneasy at the tone in which it was said.

The door slammed, and soon the sound of flapping wings and a distant scream came from the street, “I'll find ya! Ya hear me, little one?! Find ya!”

The bartender sighed and looked over at the waitress who was cowering under the nearest table in fear. There was real terror in her aquamarine eyes. Rainbow Dash Vendar was not stingy with her slaps for the servants no one thought to stand up for.

“I know what you mean," Sam said, wiping a glass. “Rainbow's been a mess since Alex died. Go take a break. It looks like Pink Dragon's show tonight will have to be canceled...”

The red-haired unicorn squeaked gratefully and quickly retreated.

From that day on, Rainbow finds herself on a couch with bindings for the slightest offense. And very soon she learns what a man, driven by lust and impunity, can do to a helpless pony.

Even the massage after the exercises becomes different. At least now the touch of her master's strong, skilled hands brings her nothing but disgust instead of relaxation and pleasure.

Then Alex says that overcoming all this, merging pain and pleasure, is a new height that Dash should strive for. But she can't find the strength to get over herself and accept it. Even though she tries to force herself to enjoy it, she only feels frustration and anger.

And this powerlessness to reach the desired height gradually grows into an ever-increasing cruelty that spills out into the arena. And soon, facing that griffon again, Dash Vendar enjoys snapping the bird's neck, even though the referee's siren signals the end of the fight.

For it is this griffon that Rainbow now blames for changing her life so drastically. And she takes her revenge. Brutally and mercilessly.

The relationship with Soarin Piscek is broken, as Rainbow now just twitches at the touch of others. And when the stallion, seeing his marefriend's depression, tries to hug her, she hits him with her hoof as hard as she can. When Rainbow comes to her senses, Soarin leaves and never shows up at the Pony Play again. Neither does his master.

Even her appearance has changed. The black leather replaces the athletic uniform, for the grips slip over it, and the heavy spikes and rivets serve as additional weapons and protection. The long mane is easy to grasp, and Dash cuts the rainbow strands into a short comb. Scars have long covered her azure pelt, but now Rainbow is proud of them, though she tries to hide fresh ones under makeup...

Several more gladiators are killed by the hooves of the azure pegasus. Dash is particularly cruel to her doppelgangers. Some are foolish enough to joke about how her master is now having fun with her. Others attempt to challenge her. Thirds just live simpler, happier lives, and those are the ones Rainbow really hates. Soon everyone learns that if another rainbow pegasus is pitted against Dash Vendar, it will be a verdict for her, for almost no one can match the new favorite in strength and skill, and even less in cruelty.

But most of all, Rainbow Dash hates her image from the show. Happy and carefree, living in innocence and happiness among loving hearts and enthusiastic admirers.

The image that inspired Alex Vendar. It drives the pegasus into a state of impotent frenzy. Oh, sometimes she just dreamed of reaching the fictional pony land! How she would love to kill her original with her own hooves!

But Alex was relentless. And the champion of the arena, the lead singer of Pink Dragon and simply the coolest Rainbow Dash of the Pony Play, at home again and again becomes a helpless victim, despite resistance, pleading, or silent patience.

It's as if all of Rainbow's accomplishments remain there, outside the doors of the Pony Play. And though Alex still cares for the azure pegasus, in her heart, admiration for her master gives way to real hatred. For the pain and humiliation. For the vile touches and the ruthless, silent taunts of failure and pleas for mercy.

And at the same time, Alex manages to dilute it all with new admonitions and advice that she damn well has to follow. These interludes become the best treatment and relaxing rest, but after them the torment only comes with new force.

Her master does not condescend to explain his actions, despite the inquiries of the bewildered pegasus. He just smiles with the corner of his lips, as if deliberately mocking her, and continues to speak of a new stage that she must overcome on her own and finally complete her training.

A few hours later, Rainbow Dash summed up her speech while standing in an unlit room, “Anyway, I'm outta here.”

“Really?” stretched a corny voice from a high chair hidden in the shadows. "And where will you go?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“No, you cannot," Rainbow's companion said firmly. “I see a flighty lass who has lost her master and doesn't know what to do. But the problem is, except for stage antics and fighting, she can do nothing.”

“I can sing and play guitar!”

“...which is what you do in my club. So, are you going to sell your body or get into real fights that end in the death of one of the participants? You don't stand a chance against an orc or a xenomorph... let alone a trained human. No matter how hard Mr. Vendar tried, may he rest in peace.”

Rainbow took a step forward, but was stopped by a warning hiss from the darkness.

“Listen to me, you friggin' rat, I’m the one who decides how to live my life,” the pegasus snarled through her teeth. “And I can find a job that doesn't involve violence and selling my ass.”

“A rat, huh?” The owner of the voice chuckled. “All right, then. But mark my words: a week from now, when you fail to find a job, you will come crawling back here and fawn over me, just like you fawned over your human. Just to please me so I'll give you your job back. Or rather, the job of Spitfire, whose blood is on you... Shame on you for killing your mentor.”

“That's it, I'll kill ya now..." the rainbow pegasus growled, but suddenly she felt the sharp sting at the end of a flexible tail poking into her chest, and the hiss turned from warning to threatening.

Out of the darkness came the voice again, “And what are you going to do? Drill me with your big eyes? Or try to hit me? Even assuming you manage to... it would be a pitiful sight. Because you cannot do anything else. You are just a punching bag. So if you want to go, you may go. But you will be back. Your kind are always back.”

“As soon as I'm done with my business, I'll be back for you, and your ugly mutt won't stop me," the pegasus said through gritted teeth.

“Looking forward to our next meeting.”

As the door closed behind Dash, a white-gloved hand stroked the monster lying beside the chair.

“Rat...” the voice said. “Why does everyone find that offensive, I wonder? Their survival skills are to be envied.”

The monster hissed in agreement. It could not speak, but the intelligence of such creatures was often underestimated, which was a fatal mistake.

“You know," the owner of the white glove continued, stroking his pet, "I admire Mr. Vendar. He created a perfect fighter. A little incomplete, though, but I think we'll figure something out, won't we?”

Another hiss came from the darkness.

Rainbow Dash left the office. A nasty, carefree giggle was still ringing in her ears.

She looked back at the two thugs guarding the doors. They had overheard the conversation and were just smiling stupidly.

“Buck you all!” Rainbow snarled and took off.

The sweet, cold dish of revenge awaited her.

* * *

Seraphima traveled to a few other places where she thought they might know something. But unfortunately, either the right people, human or not, weren't there, or they didn't know about the mint-green unicorn synthet that had disappeared a few days ago.

Victor barely participated in the conversation, deep in his own thoughts.

By the time they left another bar, the sun had already set. The sky was still bright, but they could not see the sun itself because of the towering buildings. It was noticeably colder, and a chilly wind blew through his thin shirt.

Seraphima decided to try cheering him up.

“Vic, listen, you need to rest. And most importantly, keep your chin up—”

Her voice trailed off. Her companion did not listen to her, wandering far away where the little horse was at his side. Happy and carefree, blessed with the benefits of the White City and, what's more, living a much happier life than millions of people.

Seraphima thought that a pony like that probably never went hungry, never worked eighteen hours a day, and never wondered if her home would be safe when she returned.

“Maybe Lyra is still—" Victor started but Seraphima cut him off with a raise of her voice.

“Hey! I'm not dragging you through the back alleys of Gray City just 'cause I've got nothing better to do! And not 'cause Zelda asked me to help. And not even 'cause of the money you've given me. The little pony's in a jam, and she's waiting for her knight in shining armor to rescue her. So come on, don't snivel!”

Victor looked at the girl with surprised eyes, and God only knew what thoughts were going through his head.

“What if that was her in the brothel after all?” the man asked suddenly. “And her life is just an artificial memory...”

So that's what you've been thinking all along, Seraphima thought.

But aloud she said, “Forget it, it's not worth the risk. Rewriting the behavioral program and generating artificial memories is not just brainwashing. It costs more than the synthet itself, and a lot more. No amount of reselling stolen goods will pay for it.”

Seraphima didn't know for sure if what she said was true, but she hoped with all her might that it was. However, there were reasons for it. Victor wanted to say something else, but the girl managed to be the first again.

“And don't listen to any rainbow alcoholics, it's more expensive for you. What I've heard from the other Lyra makes me think that she's much stronger than she looks. And she's certainly not gonna kill herself over some drunken babble. Come on, get in the car, we gotta get you home.”

“What time is it?” Vic asked suddenly. “The White City checkpoints close at nine.”

Seraphima glanced at her wrist communicator.

“Damn, it's seven now. It's two or two and a half hours to the center, we might not make it. Maybe you call your hovercar?”

Victor thought for a moment, then smiled guiltily. “Outgoing automatic flights after six at night are forbidden. The hovercar just won't leave the hangar.”

“But why?”

“There are several reasons... or causes, depending on how you look at it. Heavy hovercars, airships, and stratoliners begin transporting cargo in the evening. In busy traffic, the autopilots of low-priority vehicles may fail, and telemetry arrives late. And a delay of a second or two can be disastrous.”

“Why didn't you earlier—" Seraphima started, then waved her hand. "Ah, forget it. Get in the car.”

“Shall we go to the hotel?” Vic asked.

“Oh, c'mon. Just to me,” Seraphima snorted. She caught his surprised look and added, “If you're not squeamish, of course.”

“I'm not that—“ The man was embarrassed, but noticed her smile. “Ah, to hell with your jokes! No, I won't be squeamish.”

Seraphima's smile widened. “Of course, I can't promise you the comforts you're used to. Just a simple den in the Gray.”

“I'll get over it somehow,” Victor replied, getting into the car after the girl. “I've even slept in a tent. When I was a kid, my father often took me camping.”

Seraphima started the engine and giggled. “I can imagine. With air conditioning, nanocoating, and a drone guard.”

Victor took no offense. “There was no drone.”

As the car drove away, it was filled with genuine two-voiced laughter...

The apartment Seraphima had taken Victor to was hidden in the bowels of a residential area near Bismarck Avenue.

As they drove, Victor asked who Bismarck was, but Seraphima didn't know. Probably, they both decided, he owned some kind of big business — a car dealership, for example. Seraphima assumed that, remembering the brand of the outdated Opel Bismarck crossover.

Behind the metal door was a narrow hallway that connected a fairly spacious room with a bathroom and kitchen. Victor tried not to show it as he breathed a sigh of relief. Admittedly, he had expected much worse. Like a place to sleep in a hostel.

“I got this place from my parents," Seraphima read his mind. "Come in and make yourself at home.”

She turned on the light and soon the dishes were clattering in the kitchen.

Victor, entering the room, noticed that there was more space than necessary. The bed, which could have been a double, was by the window, which was dirty from the outside. A cabinet with a TV set, the two-dimensional screen of which was built right into the case, leaned modestly against the wall. There was a pile of clothes in the corner and a worn carpet on the floor. Actually, the interior was limited to that, leaving a lot of space in the room.

Accustomed to almost sterile surfaces, Victor didn't immediately realize that the amazing mixture of smells was just dust, old carpet, and a little bit of machine oil. And then there was the elusive, delicate scent of a woman's dwelling.

Seraphima prepared some sublimated food for dinner, but Victor was not picky, though he felt he was chewing something quite different from what the food appeared to be at first glance. But something that could be imagined to look like vegetable soup somehow banished the astringent feeling of hunger.

“Lie down on the bed,” Seraphima, having finished her portion, said in an unapologetic tone

“And you?”

“And I'll sleep on the floor.”

Victor looked into her brown eyes and spoke, “Seraphima, that's not right. It turns out I came not only to visit, but to get you off bed.”

“I always sleep on the floor,” she answered. “It's better on the hard floor as you have a sedentary job. So don't be a buzzkill and lie down. If you want to take a shower or something, you've seen where. I hope you can handle the taps.”

“Don't think I'm helpless," Victor took offense. “In the White City, we haven't forgotten what hands are for.”

Seraphima only smiled.

Some time later, as she lay in the darkness, she heard the man from the White City stirring on the bed. He froze for a few minutes, but soon he started again.

“It's past your bedtime," Seraphima said, fed up with the rustling. “Aren't you tired?”

“I can't fall asleep," was the answer.

“We'll have to drive halfway across the city tomorrow, Vic.”

The answer didn't come right away. “We? But I only paid you for one day.”

“You paid me more than I'll ever make in a day. So come on, give it a rest.”

“You don't have to—”

Victor did not finish because he heard a small sigh from the floor where the girl lay on a thin mattress. There was a rustling of the blanket, then the bed rocked. Victor could make out a slender silhouette in the darkness against the slightly brighter window.

A silhouette that gracefully shed its T-shirt.

Victor lifted himself up on his elbows but was stopped by a thin hand.

“You need to relax, boy.”

Without waiting for an answer, she gave him a passionate kiss on the lips, then deftly moved under the covers.

“I can't do this," Victor said hoarsely when there was a brief pause between kisses.

Hand on heart, his experience in this area was limited to the Virtuality. Yes, there was the full immersive effect, but Victor, like so many other young men from White City, had nothing to compare it to.

The company gave a guarantee and no one questioned it. And it was simpler than a real relationship.

Seraphima didn't reply, but her hands and tongue seemed to have a life of their own.

Victor, riddled with nervous shivers, did not dare to protest. Nor, to be honest, did he feel like it.

Seraphima's body was smooth and firm, unlike the delicate models from cyberspace. As flexible as a lizard, the girl was skillful and passionate. Victor noted to himself that she had very little in common with the refined caresses of virtual harlots.

And it was wonderful.

Much later, as he fell asleep holding the tired Seraphima in his arms, Victor thought about filing a complaint against the developers of virtual dreams.

Their programs did not give any comparison with a real girl, despite the praised "immersive effect"...

* * *

The morning over the dump was accompanied only by the rare cries of birds trying to find a nesting place among the mountains of garbage. Fortunately, most of them were circling over the fresher areas where there was still relatively edible organic matter. But it was where Jerry would not have gone for all the treasures in the world.

And not just because of the danger of being pecked by a vulture.

He grimaced, remembering how he had nearly suffocated once, wading through mountains of rotting slop, and how he'd had to shave off all his hair to get rid of the vermin. Good thing he hadn't gotten sick or inhaled too much of the decaying products.

He had stayed away from active dumps ever since, even if his stomach was churning with hunger.

Above the desk Jerry sat at when he woke up early was a holographic screen with columns of lines running rapidly down it.

The briefcase, opened with an electronic lockpick, revealed itself to be packed from top to bottom with blocks of oddly configured information media, apparently assembled into a single cluster. The input-output loop, despite its extravagant appearance, fit into a standard socket — but only for backward compatibility, it seemed.

The mouse now watched the master sector decoding character by character, his mood darkening with each byte.

What caught his attention was how abruptly Scootaloo sat up on the mattress, eyes wide with fear.

“What's the matter?” Jerry asked. “Bad dream?”

The pegasus swallowed nervously and replied, “I feel like someone just passed by my grave.”

Jerry sighed. “Scoot, you read too many comics at bedtime.”

Lyra moved too, awakened by Scootaloo's fiddling and voices.

“Good morning, girls," Jerry added. “I've warmed up some water, so wash up.”

His voice was grim. When the ponies came to the table, Jerry pointed to the screen and said, “We have a problem. A very big problem.”

“What is it?” Scootaloo asked. “We can't sell this, can we?”

“That's not the point. We can't even decipher it. There's a mind-boggling amount of data in the case, and at first glance it looks like it's corrupted, but I think it's just masked by a high-digit asymmetric crypto algorithm.”

“Crypto... asy... What?!" said Scootaloo, confused. "You're a fool yourself!”

“Anyway. The only thing I could read was the master sector. To comply with read-write protocols, it had a standard cipher, and it's been compromised for six months. As usual, Discord is in the details," Jerry said with a wry grin, and continued, "Besides the initialization commands, there were only a few directory headers, but their names and metadata alone tell us we're in deep trouble.”

“What's up? What could be in there?”

“You know that synthets can't reproduce naturally. Well, according to the descriptions, there's an encoded formula for a mutagen that solves the problem for both the recipient and his descendants. The mutagen is common to all synthets. At the time of recording, five doses had been synthesized.”

The ponies glanced at each other. Scootaloo wrinkled her nose.

“I thought it would be more fun," the ginger pony snorted, sticking out her tongue, "and here it is... formulas-shmormulas. It was so worth running around the city all day for this. We should have dropped it.”

Lyra laughed as she patted the little pony's mane. “It's freedom, Jerry! For everyone who... what did you say? Can't reproduce? Well, now they can!”

Jerry looked into the unicorn's eyes. “It's a sentence,” he spoke grimly. “On anyone who has even learned of its existence. Synthets who can live independently outside Gigapoleis, in no man's land, are a threat to human society. It all makes sense now. The persistence of the police and the corporate hunters. I wouldn't be surprised if someone else is involved.”

“What's the big deal?” Scootaloo asked.

“This is only the first part, the so-called Key of Life. It is part of another project, global in scope. It's called Overlord. Unfortunately, the sector ended at a structure marker with metadata — but I'd hazard a guess that all those crazy petabytes of information are related to it. And something tells me it's the reason we're being hunted.”

“Isn't that what Prophet was talking about?” Scootaloo asked, looking at the columns of numbers and strings of unintelligible symbols. "Wow, nothing's clear.”

“Who is this Prophet?” Lyra asked.

“Prophet...” Jerry thought for a moment. “You know, it's very long to explain. No one knows who he is or if he even exists.”

“I don't understand.”

“On the Cybernet,” Scootaloo explained, “in print, and on the walls of Gray City, there are sometimes... posters and articles. Prophet writes about a place where synthets can hide from humans. There's never a signature, and everyone calls the author Prophet—”

“Not exactly," Jerry interrupted. "Prophet is always very vague. But they all agree on one thing: there is a place somewhere where it doesn't matter whether you are a synthet or not. Where everyone is happy, without exception. Like in this Equestria of yours.”

Lyra smiled. “So there's still someone who wants to change this world, isn't there?”

“You could say that... But how to get to this unknown land of prosperity, no one knows. Prophet doesn't give any instructions. It sounds like—” The mouse paused and said in a chant, "And as the door is opened, you will step into a land where you'll be equal to the others. You'll leave your sorrows and your woes beyond the threshold. Just take a step and pay the price it costs... And so on. No details. But it's clear enough that you can't just go in there.”

“We should ask for advice," Scootaloo summed up. “From him.”

She emphasized the last word. Jerry jumped up.

"’We should’ — you mean 'it would be a good idea'?” he asked.

“No," she shook her head, "a categorical necessity...”

“Who are you talking about?” Lyra asked. “You said no one has seen Prophet, right?”

“We are talking about a huge, old, and very smart creature,” the mouse replied. He paused and added, "Sometimes I think he's too smart...”

“He's smarter than all three of us put together," Scootaloo added.

“Why is that?” Lyra asked indignantly.

“Probably because he's been alive for over a hundred years," Jerry explained, and glanced at Lyra. “He really has.”

There was a pause. The silence was broken by a low rumbling in the unicorn's stomach.

Scootaloo giggled and looked at Lyra's confused face.

“We'll eat when we get back," Jerry said. “We don't have much food this time.”

Lyra tried not to make her sigh sound too loud. As it happened, the unicorn had never, in her old or new life, had to give up food to save money. Much less starve. Equestria was a prosperous and well-fed land, and at home Victor always had sweets and fresh food on hand.
But there was no choice here, and soon the three of them left the cozy house on wheels

[1] The image: https://fc09.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2014/066/b/1/dash_amp_alex_by_darkknightthestral-d799nq6.png
[2] The image: https://th05.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/i/2013/229/7/8/heartbroken_rainbow_by_mickeymonster-d6ikeoo.png

Chapter 14

No matter how loudly ecologists wail, the planet calmly accepts the marks of human activity. Over time. Plastics, metals, and chemicals all come out of the ground and back in again, sooner or later. The oldest parts of the dump looked more like salt marshes or just rocky wastelands full of construction debris and scrap metal. Here and there, hulks of buildings, structures, and machinery of truly cyclopean proportions were still standing.

Lyra gazed with awe and fear combined at the wheel with the buckets. Each of them could have held a herd of ponies, and next to the wheel lay a twisted boom that had once seemed an integral part of it. Now this defeated titan was a mountain of rusted metal, lying motionless among the rubble... how many years? Ten? Fifty? A hundred?

And what was the purpose of such a monstrous machine? In Lyra's opinion, this thing could easily dig an entire riverbed. But what it would do that for was unclear.

“There must be a whole layer of human history buried here," the unicorn said aloud.

“Yeah," Jerry snorted sarcastically. “Tell me what's in your trash and I'll tell you what you are. Human — you're a swine, I say.”

Lyra almost stumbled, and Scootaloo giggled.

“Jerry!” the unicorn exclaimed indignantly.

“Look for yourself," the mouse, half-lying on the pegasus' back, circled the area with his hand. “Everything you see here served two purposes. First, to extract money. Second, to kill. Both at a monstrous cost to the planet and the producing countries. And in general, it's typical of humans to throw away things that could last for centuries.”

“Are you saying, like, that car over there could still run?”

Jerry turned to see the rusty hulk of a car with the remains of its wheels.

“That's not what I mean," he said. “Dumps are often filled with things that have been thrown away because something better has come along. Or worse, but more fashionable. Sadly, that's also true of the likes of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“A company that releases a new model of synthet usually replaces obsolete models at a reduced price, or sometimes for free. And the old ones—”

“...are sent to the Rainbow Factory!” Scootaloo put in.

“And nothing to do with silly pony scares!” Jerry interrupted. “They're being recycled. Considering that the personal memory only has to be rewritten into a new body, not re-generated, the benefit to the manufacturers is still enormous.”

Lyra wanted to ask what the old Nightmare Night stories had to do with it, but she met the mouse's gaze and hesitated.

At the thought that hundreds and thousands of ponies could be sent to their deaths just because some "new model" was released, a lump formed in her throat and her heart clenched with real pain.

She didn't want to say if Jerry had witnessed such a thing. And the guesses were not comforting at all.

But Lyra didn't want to give up.

“Humans have built great cities, Gigapoleis," she said. "That fact alone—"

“...proves nothing," the mouse interrupted. “The project has not fulfilled its purpose. And the Black Gigapolis is a prime example of how things can go wrong very quickly.”

“What is the Black Gigapolis?” asked the curious unicorn immediately.

Jerry's gaze grew so heavy that it looked like it could be used to make rails for a maglev train.

“The Black, or officially African, Gigapolis is a war-torn city where everyone is out for themselves. Authorities against juntas, fanatics against cannibals, gangs against gangs, and everyone against everyone. And yet it's fair out there — it's either kill or be killed.”

“Can't humans in their wisdom settle this question?” Lyra exclaimed.

At the word "wisdom," Scootaloo just snorted contemptuously, and Jerry snubbed, "And 'humans in their wisdom' are in no hurry to restore order there. The mega-troopers need combat experience, the obsolete weapons need to be sold to someone. Nothing personal, just business.”

“Did you see it yourself?” Lyra asked, squinting in disbelief.

“Do I look like a kamikaze going into the Black Gigapolis?” the mouse replied with a question. “I just knew a synthet who was there.”

“I bet it was a chatty rodent," Scootaloo interjected.

Jerry patted her neck and said, “It was a mega-trooper lying in the hospital. Little guys like us wouldn't last a minute in there. I went into the infirmary to steal something, and he caught me and listened to what I was babbling about until morning. Then he let me go, I gotta hand it to him. Could have crushed me with two fingers, though.”

Lyra pressed her lips together, thinking about the fact that Victor hadn't told her any of this. Had he not had time, or had he deliberately withheld it? And if the latter, why? As she had found out in the Pony Play, humans weren't usually known for their sensitivity. And finally, Victor told her in broad terms about the unsightliness of the human world.

“If there is a war, what do they pay for weapons, armor, equipment and so on?” Lyra asked, trying to mentally map the relationship between the war-ravaged city and the rest of the world. “I doubt they have much money, considering what they do...”

Jerry sighed. “The Black Gigapolis is a supplier of raw materials, including recycled materials from landfills. Very cheap. Because it's slave labor. Africa is still relatively rich in underground resources. Among other things, the war itself is an entertainment for ordinary people in other, more prosperous cities. Bets, donations to favorites—”

“I don't want to hear about it anymore!” Lyra said sharply, shaking her head on her way.

“We've arrived," said Scootaloo, to whom this was no longer news.

The pegasus stopped beside an imposing concrete bunker and tapped her hoof on the iron hatch. The fortification had been there for a long time, perhaps since some ancient war. The cracked walls were covered with a layer of dirt and moss, and the structure itself was embedded in the ground up to the embrasure, covered with a network of cracks.

The entire ancient structure was littered with shattered metalwork. Apparently, the power tower that had stood nearby had fallen a long time ago, and no one had bothered to lift it up and repair it.

Lyra was about to ask whom they had come to see when a head and a long, lithe body emerged from the pillbox's embrasure.

The unicorn had never thought snakes could be so huge. The triangular head with bright yellow eyes hung in front of the pony while the body crawled further out, filling the perimeter of the circular "courtyard.”

Lyra felt the fear of a small animal facing a hungry predator stir in her heart. All the pony's instincts howled, urging her to run, and Lyra felt her mane try to stand on end.

But when the initial shock passed, Lyra discovered that intelligence glowed in his yellow eyes, and a cyber-access headset was mounted on his head.

The thirty-foot boa constrictor was a synthet, not just a monster from the depths of the cinder jungle. Besides, she thought, if the boa attacked, none of the three of them would be able to escape fast enough. But Scootaloo and Jerry, though they looked a little nervous, were clearly not expecting any aggression from the monstrous snake.

“Good hunting, Kaa," Scootaloo and Jerry greeted the boa, while Lyra could only bow politely.

“Little ones-s," the serpent hissed with the slight smile of an old man unexpectedly visited by his young grandchildren. “What are you here for?”

“Well, we wanted to know how you were doing—" the mouse began from afar, but the boa constrictor was not to be fooled.

“Jerry, s-someday your cunning will get you into trouble. You never jus-s-st drop in on old Kaa. You only come when you run into a problem you cannot s-solve on your own.

“We came to wish you a Merry Christmas!” Scootaloo protested with a belligerent flap of her wings.

“I apprec-ciate it, don't doubt it.” Jerry wanted to say something, but the serpent continued, “There is-s no need to ex-s-splain. I realiz-s-se that my appearanc-ce caus-ses-s fear and trembling in you little s-synthets-s. And I am not angry with you. S-so, what can old Kaa do for you?”

“We... uh... found something," Scootaloo said, sliding the briefcase over to the boa constrictor. "And we want you to take a look at it.”

The snake nodded and picked up the handle of the case with his tail, then crawled leisurely back into his burrow.

“What's he gonna do?” Lyra asked.

“He's got a terminal and an illegal shunt into the Cybernet," Jerry explained. "Powerful computers that can break through file security.”

“Why does he need all this?”

“He writes scandalous articles and posts them online.”

“But where does he get them? What does he even do?”

The mouse shrugged and began to tell, “As far as I know, he's just a brilliant analyst. He exposes the money grubbers, the dirty games of government and corporations. Like ‘Wall Street's New Pyramid, Open for Lunch’ or ‘I Am a Python, But This Much Even I Would Never Dare Swallow.’ Everyone knows that if ConstrEEctor goes online — expect high-profile dismissals and investigations. In general, Kaa is a scandalous gonzo journalist who is outlawed but continues to publish... At the same time, he remains a calm philosopher, which doesn't fit his online image at all.”

Jerry stammered, and the ginger pony spoke up, “You forgot to say that he's helping the fugitive synthets.”

“Yeah, that too. He helped me and Scootaloo when we first got here. He also crashes websites from time to time. Like the ones that broadcast bloody entertainment with synthets.”

Lyra sighed. It wasn't even the cruelty and injustice of this world that struck her. Not the rampant vices and the monstrous scale of social catastrophe.

Lyra Heartstrings' greatest protest was the indifference of those around her. And the fact that a foal had to put up with it. To put up with it, to survive, and to take it all for granted.

The wait dragged on.

Scootaloo was sitting there, scribbling something in the dust with her hoof. Jerry was stretching his legs, pacing back and forth.

A chilly breeze blew through the junkyard, and the unicorn's empty stomach rumbled again.

“We're not going in?” Lyra asked.

“Why should we?” Scootaloo replied with a question.

“We came to visit, the least Kaa could do is offer us a cup of tea... with a muffin.” A wicked gust of wind sent a chill through her jacket and shirt, and the unicorn added, "Or at least invite us into the house!”

“Are you sure you want to go into the lair of a giant snake?” Jerry asked. “Personally, I'm not comfortable with it, no matter what. Besides... some guys who visit Kaa don't really come back. There's no need to tempt fate.”

“He's helping you!”

“Yes, he is. But we don't know his motivation. And that's scary. Mark my words, he will come out and he won't say anything straight.”

As if hearing these words, the serpent reappeared from the embrasure. Lyra and the others waited patiently as the huge body filled the courtyard once again. The boa placed the briefcase in front of the ponies.

“The ans-swer is-s no longer hidden,” he hissed.

“What is it?” asked the mouse. “We can't even fully decipher the metadata. Can you at least help with that?”

“The ans-swer without ques-stion. The Key. I cannot open the res-st.”

Jerry sighed sadly, but Scootaloo decided to take the bull by the horns. “Kaa, where do we find Prophet?” she asked.

The mouse nudged the pegasus' leg warningly, but the serpent wasn't surprised.

“Everyone is-s looking for Prophet,” he said. “What did you little ones-s need him for?”

“We're looking for a safe place, and they say he can provide one for all the fugitive synthets,” replied Jerry.

“You know that Prophet s-speaks-s to no one and leads-s no one. And I am no exc-ception in this-s matter.”

The serpent's voice was calm and deep. Lyra thought that if he wanted to, he could easily hypnotize a reasonable prey...

“We have something to offer him!” Scootaloo asked defiantly.

But the serpent was adamant. “You cannot buy happiness-s, little pony. Es-spe-s-cially not from Prophet—”

“You saw it yourself!” The pegasus didn't give up. “We have... we have... the Key!”

“The Key is-s nothing without the lock," said the serpent.

He even closed his eyes, doing his best to look like a creature distracted by nonsense. But the slight smile that gave the serpent's face a somewhat mischievous look was still there.

“But we need Prophet!” Jerry exclaimed. “He's the one who spoke of the price. Or at least show us the way, O Kaa...”

He said the last part with a kind of doom in his voice. As if the old snake knew more than he was saying.

“If you have taken the Key, you have taken the way of Prophet," Kaa said finally, "and if you do not get it right, you will peris-sh. And if you backs-slide, you will peris-sh even more. But if you go to the end, you will find the ultimate—”

“Hey, what about freedom of choice?” Jerry objected.

“The choic-ce has-s been made. Your choic-ce is-s the Key.”

“But what do we do with the Key, Kaa?” Lyra asked, finally pulling herself together.

“What you do with every key... Find the lock.”

“Thank you, O Kaa," Jerry bowed jokingly, "you've been very helpful!”

Kaa's eyes turned from yellow to orange, and fear crept back into Lyra's soul.

Scootaloo gave the mouse a pitiful look, but he was already off the point. “I was going to say that we're grateful, and we should be on our way to... lunch. Yes, lunch! Thank you, and see you later!”[1]

The boa constrictor glanced at the hastily departing synthets. He had known the little filly and the mouse couple for a long time. This was the first time he had seen the pale green unicorn.

He knew that Jerry had managed to access the headers. A few months ago, an exploit had suddenly appeared on the Net to attack — unthinkable! — a standard disk encryption algorithm, and Kaa had done a lot to spread the word. Of course, after such a scandal, everyone had to hastily switch to other encryption methods — each in their own way. However, the ability to break the root sector's defenses remained: the vulnerable cipher was written into the standard of the data exchange protocol, and it was still unknown when a replacement would be ready.

Kaa was more than certain that this tiny snippet of half-crazed machine code had long been known to the corporants, and that the vulnerability itself had been deliberately inserted into the crypto algorithm.

Apart from the headers, it was impossible to analyze the rest of the array — even with the illegal quota available at the largest quantum computing complex on the planet, it would take years... And at the same time, it was obvious that immediate decryption and publication was the only chance to save Jerry and Scootaloo. The only arrangement that would make killing them uneconomical.

That was why he had sent them out to find the access codes.

He couldn't find a rational explanation for it — but his professional reporter's instincts clearly indicated that the mint unicorn would eventually manage to lead them in the right direction. Moreover, from what he had seen in the headers, it was clear that the success of the operation would cause very painful damage to those who had continued to create sentient beings to live in torment for so many years. And yet, the question of whether the publication would be the gateway to Heaven or open Pandora's Box remained open...

Admittedly, the copy protection was excellent: there was simply nowhere to rewrite so much data. But Kaa realized that the little ones needed backup like air. Having stuffed all available drives with chunks of the array, as well as storage space in the cloud, he was already contacting hacker teams from the hidden segments of the Cybernet...

The boa constrictor moved toward the burrow, but hesitated, turning as if into nothingness.

“And why did you s-stay? Your ques-stions-s have already been ans-swered for thos-se you keep. Look for the res-st of the ans-swers-s in your own heart.”

With these words, he ducked into the old bunker that had been his home for decades. Ever since a young boa constrictor, unwilling to wait for disposal after upgrading his model, had been looking for a place to bow his head.

Who would have thought that a dirty hole full of tasty rats in an abandoned fortress would soon become a real home? And that mastering a simple computer tablet found among the garbage would start a powerful cyber center with an antenna made from a jumble of old girders?

The serpent has seen a lot in his life. Gigapolis has grown before his eyes. Abandoned, war-torn territories soon became a landfill, safely burying the legacy of the past, forming its own biosphere and a special society of outcasts.

A lifetime had passed since then. A generation of people had changed, and more than one. And one could not even believe that now, because of a small accident in the world, something... could change.

And of course, Kaa knew very well that careless youth can sometimes move mountains where wisdom and experience fail...

Once Kaa's concrete bunker was out of sight, Jerry exhaled. “I hate that snake sometimes! Not only does he talk in riddles, but he looks at me like I'm his lunch.”

“Actually, snakes eat mice,” remarked Scootaloo, kicking a rusted tin can with her hoof.

“Shut up, Scoot!”

But the ginger pegasus' voice only grew more snide. “Yeah, it sucks being at the bottom of the food chain—”

“I thought we agreed not to bring that up?!”

Lyra suddenly felt funny. “Only best friends can tease each other like that!” she said cheerfully.

“Are you all in cahoots today?!” the mouse said, tugging at a lilac strand of the uncombed mane.

Scootaloo's voice made it clear that she was laughing too. “I think someone's pouting... like a mouse in a maze!”

“All right, that's enough!” Jerry was outraged and sat on the pegasus' back with his arms crossed over his chest. “You're going to cook your own lunch!”

“Cutie Mark Crusaders the Cuisinarts, yay!” Lyra interjected.

Scootaloo, however, made a sad, pleading face, turned to the mouse, and said in a plaintive voice, “That's a low blow, honey...”

The mouse looked into the little pony's moist eyes and sighed. “Okay, okay. I can't get angry when you look at me like that. But this is the last time, you know that!”

“He's already said that four times," Scootaloo told Lyra in a conspiratorial whisper.

“I heard it all!” the mouse said, then added, without addressing anyone in particular. "Just a kindergarten... with ponies.”

The ponies' laughter echoed over the dump, scaring away a flock of small creatures. Lyra felt a warm cheerfulness that diminished fear and hunger. And even the cold wind...[2]

Another gust made the unicorn shiver. No, laughing alone would probably not keep her warm...

Suddenly, Jerry jumped off Scootaloo's back.

“Go ahead, girls," he said. “And keep talking.”

With that, he slipped behind a pile of garbage before the ponies could ask a single question.

“Let's go," Lyra called out, "but you first, because I don't remember the way.”

Hiding behind one of the many piles of petrified rubble, Jerry picked up a rusty iron pin and tossed it in the air to try it out.

Someone was following them. For quite a while already.

And if in the city he could go unnoticed, here...

I'm in my element here, Jerry thought as he watched a figure about his height creep along the cinder ridge. Gotcha!

Jerry could have sworn that the spy had not noticed anything until the last moment.

But the one reacted immediately. The slender figure ducked to let the ambushed mouse pass and gave him a swift kick.

Jerry, who hit the old brick, instantly regained his balance and attacked again, swinging his improvised weapon.

The slim figure of the spy, dressed in a black jumpsuit, dodged again. Jerry made out round ears sticking out of a helmet with a universal visor, and a thin tail at the back.

A synthet mouse. It was unclear which one it was, though, but that didn't matter now.

The iron pin whistled through the air again, but the spy dodged time after time. Finally, he jumped aside and threw up his arms. There was a click, and Jerry turned sharply to see the ribbed barrel of a blaster aimed at him. A tiny one, just the right size for his hand.

But the beam, almost invisible in daylight, did not cut off the mouse's life, only his weapon.

With a curse, he let go of the instantly red-hot iron.

“Jerry?” asked a soft voice, muffled by the helmet.

The mouse opened his mouth to retort angrily, but stopped short.

The spy raised his free hand and pressed something under his chin. The helmet clicked open and flew to the ground, revealing a cascade of almost human hair falling to the shoulders.

Jerry mentally groaned as he stared at the sight.

“I suspected someone was following us from the beginning," he said, "but I had no idea it would be you, Gadget.”

The little mouse, former cartoon character and idol of several generations at once, brushed a stray strand of hair from her pretty face and lowered her weapon. Huge blue eyes, reminiscent of ponies, stared at Jerry.

“That's me," said Gadget Hackwrench. “And is that you?”

“What a circus," Jerry said irritably. “Me, you... Gadget Connors?”

“Yes. Jerry Fitzgerald?”

“Yup. Only now I'm just Mouse.”

Overwhelmed by long-forgotten feelings, the mouse looked away and didn't see the shadow of concern running across Gadget's face.

“Why Mouse?” she asked.

“I can't take the name of the man who killed Tom, okay?” Jerry replied sharply, meeting her eyes again. “What are you doing here? Why did you... follow us?”

“I came to help.”

“When I really needed your help, you didn’t came! And now you're bringing up the old mouse?”

“I saw you the other day. I wasn't quite sure that you were you until now.”

“Oh, yeah, right. I'm actually a white mouse in disguise, obsessed with taking over the world!”

“Don't you dare say that about Brain, he was trying to help! You know exactly what I mean!”

“He really did! Especially—”

“He and Tom didn't always get along, right, but Brain never wished him—”

Jerry stopped her with a sharp gesture. “Okay. Never mind. No need to rehash old times, it's been so many years—”

There was a pause. For a moment, Jerry was pulled back into the past, so long ago that it now seemed like someone else's life.

He sighed and said, “And you haven't changed at all.”

It wasn't true. The years had taken their toll: the figure, while retaining its athletic firmness, had lost its girlish slenderness, and there were barely visible wrinkles at the corners of the eyes under the fur.

Gadget smiled and tilted her head to the side. "But you, on the other hand, have changed. What happened, Jerry?”

“The escape from the Fitzgerald house happened, and then the years of life on the streets.”

“In all that time, you couldn't forget?”

“Neither forget nor forgive.”

“And all those years—”

The mouse shot an angry glance at his companion. “Almost. A year ago, Scootaloo came into my life.”

“Just showed up? You treat her like a daughter.”

Jerry couldn't know it, but Gadget was comparing her life to his. Drawing parallels and remembering how their hearts had once been scattered all over Gigapolis. Two little mice in a colossal city.

“Come on, I'll tell you on the way," Jerry said nonchalantly, and without looking back, he headed in the direction the ponies had gone a few minutes before.

It didn't even occur to them to cover their tracks...

In the trailer, the mice were greeted with surprised looks from the ponies.

Jerry said in a tired voice, “Girls, this is Gadget. Gadget, these are the girls—”

“Hello," the introduced spy smiled modestly. “I know your names, I've heard them before. Nice to meet you.”

Scootaloo was the first to come to her senses. “And you, I see you don't waste any time. Right, Jerry?”

“Come on, Scoot. We go way back. Gadget was our secret protector. She was the one who helped us in the city. She didn't tell me why, though.”

“Could she be a... spy?” asked the pegasus, narrowing her eyes.

The mice looked at each other.

“Actually, yes, I am a spy," Gadget replied with a smile, still not putting her helmet back on. “You say that like it's a bad thing, Scootaloo.”

“Yeah?" she went on. “Why would anyone want to spy on us, huh?”

The mouse tilted her head to the side. “Who told you I was following you? I was originally following the OBE courier.”

All eyes immediately turned to the black briefcase.

“Wanna take it?” Jerry asked.

“Are you kidding?” Gadget replied with a question. “How? Have you tried lifting the briefcase, Jerry? Scootaloo carried it all the way, remember?”

“Then what good are you on this mission?” the ginger pony kept pushing.

“My job was to watch. Gather information. They screwed up my size, though. They thought it would be limited to a microdisk, and I could have easily taken it away... On the other hand, if I'd been bigger, they would have noticed me. By the way, can I look at that?”

Jerry glanced over at the pony and spread his hands.

“I don't see why not," he said. “I guess you don't work for the corporation, or you wouldn't be talking, you would just shoot a beam in the back of everyone's head.”

Lyra flinched at that.

“It was enough for me to let the hunters capture you in the White City,” replied Gadget, crossing her arms over her chest. “I had to do the exact opposite — prevent the briefcase from reaching its destination.”

“And you're telling us that so calmly?” asked Lyra, who was also suspicious. “Why?”

“Because spies don't leave witnesses," Scootaloo muttered. “And as soon as—”

“Enough!” Jerry said sharply. “If it were anyone else, Scoot, I'd accept your argument. But as old-fashioned as I am, I would never hurt Gadget. At least not in memory of what happened. And you, Gadget, would never obey an order that went against your world view. You've always been like that...”

He looked into his old friend's eyes and she did not look away.

“Thank you," she said quietly, bringing a smile to Lyra's muzzle.

The unicorn didn't say it out loud, but that straightforward look and the mouse's trust instilled confidence in her heart as well.

“There's information on how synthets can make other little synthets without the biofactories," Jerry said, making Lyra blush. “And other data. Lots of it.”

“I heard your conversation this morning, but I'm interested in something... different.”

"’Overlord’?” Lyra and Jerry asked in unison.

“Yes.”

The unicorn's stomach rumbled again to Scootaloo's unapologetic giggles.

“How about this," Jerry suggested with a smile. “While Gadget takes a look, I'll take care of lunch. Lyra, come help me. And you, Scootaloo—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know," the pegasus waved him off, "I'll pack up and see if everything's okay in the neighborhood...”

About an hour later, the ponies were happily devouring the water-filled vermicelli, topped with a flavorful gravy.

“Jerry, how can you make such yummy stuff out of ordinary noodles?” Lyra asked, munching on the mouse's lunch.

“Pasta, my dear, that's the proper name for it," the satisfied chef proclaimed. “Jerry's pasta! In a sauce... er... a ‘what's-in-a-bag’ sauce!”

“Thank you so much!” Lyra said as a nice hot heaviness formed in her stomach.

Scootaloo, who had once again devoured a full three plates, hiccupped contentedly from the floor where she lay upside down with a bloated tummy. In fact, Lyra had noticed that Scootaloo ate her fill every chance she got. Sensibly, come to think of it. Living on the streets, you never knew when your next meal would be.

Lyra chuckled, but stopped when her eyes fell on the plates meant for Gadget and the mouse himself. He took a yellow lump and carefully crumbled it into an unappetizing mass, the nature of which was left to guess.

“Jerry, why didn't you eat the... pasta with us?” asked the unicorn.

He grinned. “Aside from the fact that it was eaten by two hungry ponies...? Just kidding, Lyra, don't make those eyes! Don't worry.”

“Are you and Gadget really going to eat this?”

“We are mice. Our kind creators gave us stomachs that can digest some pretty weird stuff... And the damn cheese is built into our metabolism. It's not that easy to get!”

“You still haven't answered why you don't want to eat properly.”

“You need to listen more carefully. We can safely eat something that will melt the sensitive ponies' tummies. And it'll be good for us. Rest now, and Gadget and I will eat.”

“Do you know there is a tracking device here?” Gadget, who was sitting on the table and doing something with the briefcase, spoke up.

Jerry, who had tasted his lunch, choked.

“What?!" the ponies exclaimed as the mouse cleared his throat.

“The device that shows the briefcase's location," Gadget explained. "It uses some of the power from the interface to boost the signal... Looks like Kaa turned it off, but it definitely managed to transmit our location.”

“So that's how they kept finding us!” Scootaloo exclaimed, jumping to her hooves. “In the White City, and ever since—”

“Wait a minute,” Lyra said. “Then why didn't they come here?”

“I told you there was a lot of metal around here," Jerry said. “Besides, we've been underground for a long time, and that might have made it harder for them to find us.”

“Then we have to leave now," Gadget summed up, "because they'll be here any minute.”

Jerry glanced longingly at the plate where a century-old army ration, sprinkled with cheese, was being ground up. But finally he decided.

“Lyra," he said, "could you help Scoot pack up the rest of the stuff while Gadget and I eat? I really don't want to run around on an empty stomach again...”

The unicorn smiled and nodded.

Her heart was certainly troubled. But her conscience would not allow her to insist on an urgent escape now that the ponies had eaten and the mice had not.

What will happen to this cozy little house that has sheltered us for a day? she thought. I wish such a wonderful place would not be damaged...

As Jerry and Gadget hurriedly finished their portions, Scootaloo threw everything she thought she needed to take into the middle of the house.

Some things Lyra rejected immediately: dishes, books, a pillow, a pile of some clothes... It seemed that the pegasus intended to go on an expedition somewhere in the wilderness and set up an independent settlement there.

But, as the unicorn noted, it would be easier to find wheels for the trailer and pull it on their own.

“Tools, some water, a change of clothes and the briefcase!” Jerry spoke, swallowing another spoonful of unappetizing mess. “Nothing else!”

“We've been collecting these comics for almost a year!” Scootaloo exclaimed, nearly crying over the stack of old magazines. “I can't give them up!”

“They're not worth your life, Scoot!” objected the mouse. “Just like all the other junk!”

“It's a miracle no missiles or attack drones have targeted the briefcase signal yet," said Gadget.

“Apparently the OBE doesn't want the briefcase damaged," Jerry said. “Or they just don't want too much attention right now. Given what's in there and how much, they won't send it over the Cybernet or through transportation companies.”

“Maybe," Gadget's voice was worried. "But let's not tempt fate...”

Jerry, however, looked back longingly at the trailer that had been home to the small family of abandoned synthets for almost a year.

He was back on Scootaloo's head. Gadget was sitting comfortably on Lyra Heartstrings, who was carrying most of the bags. Jerry turned away from the dark silhouette of the motor home.

Once again, as it had been so long ago, the road ahead was unclear...

* * *

Victor awoke to find himself feeling incredibly rested.

Seraphima wasn't beside him, but there was the sound of water and gurgling mumbling coming from the shower. Whether she was trying to brush her teeth and sing at the same time, or just the sound was distorted that way.

Vic did not deny himself the pleasure of lying down some more. The bed showed signs of what had happened during the night: crumpled sheets, a pillow lying on the floor, and a mattress pushed to the side.

His gaze fell on the bedside table, and Victor frowned thoughtfully as he saw the banknotes lying under Seraphima's watch...

“Why did you give back the money?” Victor asked as the towel-wrapped girl returned from the shower.

“Just because,” she gave a short answer and without any hesitation started to change her clothes.

Victor thought he should turn away now, but he didn't want to. Seraphima's movements were full of grace, and it occurred to him that she could probably dance amazingly well...

The light revealed that Seraphima had a firm, slender body. Almost boyish, especially considering her short haircut and facial features in general. But it was surprisingly beautiful.

“Why didn't you take it all?” Vic asked in a different way, distracted from his thoughts.

“Think of yourself as my favourite, handsome.” The look of brown eyes shot to the man.

“Seraphima, this is not serious—”

The girl, already covering herself with denim armor again, didn't answer right away. “Well, okay, okay. You're a good guy, there's something about you that can't be sold or bought. Even in this time.”

Victor grinned. “My grandfather would have liked you.”

Surprised, he noticed something like embarrassment on her face.

“Hey, we don't know each other well enough for you to introduce me to your relatives!”

“Aha, so the bed is no reason?” asked the man, his soul thirsting for revenge for all the teasing.

Seraphima, however, was not offended at all. She leaned forward, bringing her face closer to his, and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then she said, “Vic, I don't know how you have it up there, but in the Gray City, a bed is not even a reason to get acquainted.”

Victor looked away, offended in his best feelings by the girl's cynicism.

But she poked him sensitively in the shoulder and added, “I'll tell you something, boy from the White City. I grew up on the streets. My father died before I was nine, unable to pay for medical treatment. And when I turned thirteen, my mother popped some pills and went on a date with God, if there is one. I'm no brainer, and I did what I did, and I'm not just gonna stand by and watch you stubbornly try to get yourself killed. And then your horsey won't stand a chance. So come on, pull yourself together and clean up while I make some sandwiches for breakfast and to go.”

Victor started to reach for his clothes, but Seraphima suddenly threw another pile on his lap.

“Put this on," she advised, "'cause you're attracting a lot of attention in Gray City with your nanowear.”

“What's this?”

“Some of my ex-boyfriend's stuff. He was about your size, so it should fit.”

“Okay," Victor said and slipped into a pair of worn gray jeans, a shirt and a sturdy, heavy jacket. Everything was made of rough fabric, but it looked solid and almost new.

“Now you look like a real man!” The girl jokingly poked Victor in the shoulder again.

“Seraphima," he called, and her brown eyes stared at him questioningly. “And yet, tell me, why did you...? Well, at night...?”

“Why not? You needed to come to your senses. And you also kept me awake with your fussing.”

With that, she left for the kitchen, humming something under her breath.

So what happened didn't mean anything to you? Victor wanted to ask, but he dared not, and then Seraphima had already gone out of the room.

From the kitchen came the noise of dishes and unintelligible chanting. Apparently, Seraphima's mood had been elevated since the morning, and Victor arrogantly assumed that it was due to the night. It was just that the girl probably considered expressing her feelings a weakness and tried to hide them behind the mask of a reckless tomboy.

So he didn't shout across the apartment to find out what was going on. He really didn't want to destroy the fragile feeling of peaceful warmth that had settled in his heart.

And to sort out his own feelings now, when Lyra was in desperate need of help, would just be criminally careless.

Pinkie Pie style, the man thought with grim humor and got up from the bed. Lyra, Lyra... Just hang in there, little one. We're on our way...

The morning greeted them with an overcast sky that was about to rain. Yes, humans had learned to partially control the weather, but they hadn't gotten much further than creating artificial hurricanes and tornadoes. No rains for agriculture, no cloud dispersal over resort areas: the first thing to be done was to create weapons. And then the research somehow stalled.

However, any resident of the Spires could take a hovercar in bad weather and soon find himself many miles away from home, enjoying the generous sunshine somewhere in Hawaii. The poorer ones could escape Gigapolis by stratoliner or maglev. But most residents spent their entire lives in the city, often never leaving their neighborhood.

By the time Seraphima and Victor had left the house, the air was damp, heralding inclement weather, but the streets were still dry. Only the tops of the high-rise buildings were hidden in the haze. Passersby, like yesterday, like a year ago, like fifty years ago, hurried about their business, shutting themselves off for the duration of the walk in their own world of thoughts and sometimes music from the player.

Vic noticed the pensive look on the girl's face.

“Anything wrong?” he asked.

“What...? Uh, no, everything's fine. I have an idea who to ask about Lyra, but I don't know how... smart it would be. But if he does, he'll find her.”

“Two whole 'buts,’" Vic said thoughtfully, "can you elaborate on that?”

“Y'know, before we go to him, we'd have to try everything else.”

“Just tell me straight. Who is he?”

Seraphima ruffled her short red hair nervously.

“There is a dude who runs a lot of the synthet stuff," she said. “If he doesn't know by now, he can find your Lyra in twenty-four hours.”

“Why didn't we go to him right away?” Victor wondered.

“Because it's very dangerous to be in debt to someone like him.”

“Is he a mobster?”

“Oh, no. His activities are completely legal. No drugs, no crime... At least he's never been suspected. But just so you know, he owns most of the synthet fleshpots in Gray City. Specifically, the Pony Play and the Flight of Fantasy.”

“And even the Solaire?!”

“Not that I know of. And what's the profit margin on your club? Collecting fees from Pinkie's parties? But it's a good thing he's not interested in that place.”

“You're right.” Victor sighed. “We'll only go to him as a last resort.”

The wheeled taxi merged into the stream of cars, hurrying like the passersby to go about their business. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, heralding a coming storm...

* * *

The door of the former trailer opened, and the shadows of two men in hats and coats fell on the floor.

“Well, it's pretty cozy in here," said Dick Tracy as he stepped inside.

It was obvious the occupants had been here recently, from the scattered belongings, the unwashed dinner plates, even the light that had confused the detectives outside.

“Parasites," the judge said, waving the scanner from side to side. “I don't get it. Last time the signal came from here, but there's no one around.”

“I guess they found the tracker and left," Tracy concluded. “You know, they must have lived here for a long time.”

He picked up a thin book of old superhero comics from the floor. Their synthet doppelgangers were still sometimes seen even on the streets of Gigapolis. However, the superhero series had been a failure, even more so than the anime characters.

In both cases, the synthets were very different from what was on the screen.

Creating someone with dangerous superpowers was neither technically nor legally possible. In the case of anime, there was also the problem of unnatural facial proportions, which might look cute on screen or in holograms, but looked ugly and frightening in real life.

Several multimedia companies in the Asian Gigapolis went bankrupt after investing money in a project with animated characters of their own products. The situation was more or less remedied by releasing a series of human synthets with the characters' traits and personalities — but overall it didn't help much.

The expected hype was missing. As it happened, synthets of this type fell victim to the psychological phenomenon of the "uncanny valley": despite their resemblance to humans, they evoked mostly negative emotions, ranging from fear to utter disgust. Humanoid androids were rarely created for the same reason.

However, the demand never completely died down. And the idea of neko-slaves and the like was still one of the most popular.

As usual, those who bet on the baser instincts of the common man won.

“We'll have to call a cleanup crew to the dump," the judge said.

He reached out and suddenly snatched the comic book out of Dick Tracy's hands, crumpling the magazine with ease.

“We don't have time for this," the detective replied. “They're obviously not here, so let's go.”

Wrapping themselves in coats against the chilly wind, the detectives stepped outside. Doom muttered something about "burning this hole down," but did nothing.

“Coffi!” came from above. “Coffi Coffi Coffi!”

Dick looked up and saw a purple orb with eyes crawling out of a pile of trash. The creature's mouth was open in a smile of sparse but sharp teeth, and its huge eyes stared straight at the detective.

Doom reacted instantly.

A blaster sprang from a holster concealed beneath his coat, and a red beam shot through the creature.

With an inarticulate wheeze, the orb deflated and collapsed into a pile of rubble. The smell of burning flesh and ammonia wafted through the air.

Dick turned to the judge, who twirled his pistol on his finger before holstering it.

“Bull's-eye," the synthet grinned.

“And for what?" Dick asked.

“No big deal, just a garbage pest," Doom shrugged.

“He was no threat to us.”

“If you ask me, he could have attacked us. I don't get it, Tracy, are you going to moralize at the end of your tour of duty? I'm willing to believe you have a thing for little horses for kids in your old age, but this? Just look at this piece of shit!”

“He didn't touch us or even get in our way.”

The judge covered his eyes with his palm. “Tracy, you've lost the last of your mind... The signal stopped here. They must have discovered the tracker while they were at home. Any idea where to find them now?”

“We can sweep the area. After all, they couldn't have gone far. Maybe someone saw them... And by the way, it might be the one you killed.”

“I'm sick of you!” Doom snapped. “Pokémon can't talk, okay?!”

“Don't raise your voice at me. The important thing is that he can understand speech and nod. The rest doesn't matter. Besides, it'll be harder for us to find an informer now.”

With that, the detectives made their way to the jumble of old structures.

As they passed an old caponier with an overgrown hatch, the judge suddenly raised his hand in a military gesture and urged them to stop.

Dick listened, but heard nothing but the howling of the wind amid the heaps of old cars and ruined buildings. They seemed to have entered the outskirts of a former residential area where the line of an unknown front had once been drawn. In particular, the number of caponiers that had gone into the ground was too large for an ordinary city.

Doom darted sideways somewhere where an old chimney lay like a collapsed tower. Dick followed the synthet, also drawing his pistol. Unlike the judge, he had no intention of shooting anyone.

Inside the chimney it was dark and empty.

“And here are our informers!” Doom shouted cheerfully.

Tracy was distracted from staring at the cold and dark crypt, covered with layers of soot, and rushed to the voice.

The judge appeared a short distance away, behind a pile of plastic and cardboard. He was holding two creatures at gunpoint, a young girl and a boy of about thirteen. Both could have been mistaken for humans if it weren't for the cat ears and tails.

Neko-slaves. One of the most popular synthet types in Asian Gigapolis and actively exported all over the world. A crutch for a failed anime series, but even more popular than ponies. A lot of people fall for the cat ears and other animal features, thinking it's cute.

However, it usually does not save the synthets from a hard fate. The same living toys, but usually not for children, but for adults. With all that entails.

“They'll tell us everything!” the judge promised bloodthirstily as he shot a laser beam into the wall of the makeshift hut.

The synthets, already shrunken with terror, huddled together and closed their eyes.

“Now," Doom said, fiddling with his blaster. “I know there were fugitive synthets here. Two hollow-eyed horses and a mouse with them. Where did they go?”

“Nya?” asked the girl, trying to shield the trembling boy. “Nya-a-a?”

The judge's face twisted into a grimace of fury. He raised his blaster, but Tracy's hand was on the barrel.

“Doom," the detective said, "if you kill one more innocent synthet, I'll take action.”

The judge sighed, calming down, and looked at the man the way one looks at relatives who have fallen into senility. He ran his hand over the heads of the trembling synthets and showed the scanner to the detective. “Yellow marker.”

“That means 'detain and filter,’ not 'kill on the spot,’” Dick said. “Or do we have nothing better to do than have you hunting in a garbage dump? Should I file a report that you're unfit for duty and transfer you to the cleanup crew? Then you'll get your fill of dump hunting.”

The judge shrugged, feigning an indifferent expression, but the detective could see that the synthet was just boiling with rage.

“They're going to be recycled anyway, and I'm just speeding up the process. After they tell me what they know. And what they don't know.”

“You're just an evil monster!” Dick exclaimed, unable to take it anymore.

The red eyes stared back at the man.

“Yes," the synthet said, "and unlike you, Tracy, I'm not ashamed of it.”

“How many synthets have you killed instead of detaining?” the detective asked.

“I haven't counted.”

“Nya?”

The two detectives turned in sync to see the younger of the synthets walk up to them and tug on the detective's sleeve.

“Damn it," the judge cursed, "if he meows one more time, I'll shoot him for sure.”

“Don't you dare," the detective said, looking more closely at the boy. “Is there something you want to tell us?”

The boy nodded. Obviously, both he and the girl were from the series that had no normal speech system. Meowing and purring to imitate cats was all they got. Some apparently found it cute, but Dick found it disgusting. To have a full mind without normal speech was a mockery.

But these two seemed to have found a way out.

The boy took the board hanging from his chest, picked some soot off the wall, and quickly wrote something on it with his finger.

"We've seen a pony," the inscription read.

The judge grinned nastily, but before he could say or do anything, the boy flipped the board over and finished, "Let the red-eyed one go."

“What if I cut off your legs with the beam?” Doom asked, and the boy's cat ears flattened in fear.

“He won't," Dick objected quickly, then turned to the boy. “What's the matter with him?”

The boy sobbed. His ears drooped, and his dirty finger ran over the board again.

"He killed Coffi," the writing said, and the blue eyes glared at the men with reproach and fear.

Dick cursed to himself. The dump was by no means a deserted place; everyone knew each other here. Even the outcast synthets.

The detective turned to the judge. “Get out for now. We can settle this in a normal way, so why make threats? Your escapade with that balloon didn't go unnoticed.”

“Better straight to threats than half an hour of persuasion," Doom muttered and headed for the exit. “I'll be waiting.”

The boy, meanwhile, smiled and drew an arrow on the board. He placed it on the ground and took a step back.

Tracy checked the direction and realized that the synthets went back towards the city. That narrowed the search area a bit, but that was all.

“Thanks, kid," the detective nodded. “Don't be afraid of me.”

“Nya," the boy replied.

The detective turned to leave, but returned. Two pairs of green eyes stared fearfully at the approaching man. When Tracy reached into the waistband of his coat, the boy covered the girl with himself, and there was real horror in his eyes.

Naturally, he expected the man to pull out a weapon now.

But Tracy only smiled soothingly and, putting a hundred credit bill in front of the astonished synthets, went out without saying another word.

His soul felt heavy. The resemblance between the girl and her daughter, left behind somewhere in the past, was simply heartbreaking.
Now, at least, they could leave the dump if they wanted to.

[1] The image: https://fc01.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2014/066/8/3/wisdom_kaa_by_darkknightthestral-d799nqu.jpg
[2] The image: https://fc09.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2014/066/2/4/only_best_friends_by_darkknightthestral-d799nt7.jpg