The Broken Toy

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...”