Lectern’s New and Used Books: Summer Break

Chapters

A new hang-out
Princess Twi finds a way to address Sunset’s homesickness
Question-and-answer time about pony physiology
Sunny Flare clears the air—and her conscience
Sunset doesn’t like The Happy Mare’s Home Journal
Cookie Pusher, a government official, shows up
Starlight Glimmer’s visit
Sci-Twi finds a book that shouldn’t exist

A new hang-out

“‘Lectern’s New and Used Books’,” Sunset Shimmer read aloud from the sturdy wood sign board. It stood proudly on a small front yard landscaped with native plants, transverse to be readable by approaching foot and motor traffic. Brightly painted lettering raised from the rough-carved background suggested the same bygone era as the white two-story bungalow before which it stood. “Well, Twilight, when you said you had a new hang-out in mind, I guess none of us should be surprised it would turn out to be a bookstore!”

“Umm . . .” Twilight Sparkle looked characteristically abashed. “I guess not.”

Rainbow Dash, standing immediately behind her, punched her lightly on the shoulder and laughed. “Well, we’ve come all this way, so we might as well go in, right? Maybe they’ll have books on sports.”

Twilight perked up immediately. “Oh, Mister Lectern has books on everything! And if he doesn’t have it in stock, he can get it. I’ll bet every one of you girls can find something you’ll be interested in.”

“Only one way to find out,” Applejack replied from the tail end of the small crowd strolling up the sidewalk. Her voice, too, held a hint of good-natured laughter. “I sure ain’t turning right around and heading back.”

The neighborhood indeed was a bit out of the way for the Canterlot High students, whose stamping grounds tended to be elsewhere in the metropolitan sprawl and its attendant suburbs. It wasn’t farther away, really—just in an unfamiliar area, which psychologically doubled the apparent distance. Twilight, on the other hand, had gotten to know the place quite well during her time at the nearby Crystal Prep, before her recent transfer.

Some blocks, including the one on which Lectern’s stood, consisted of converted houses or detached business buildings; others were lined with adjoining two-story storefronts. All were well-kept and carefully preserved, even the majority that weren’t certified as historical buildings. In addition to curbside slots, parcels entirely given over to parking lots were scattered throughout the district.

“I for one am pleasantly surprised the parking is free,” observed Rarity as she looked around at the tidy buildings and modest throngs of passersby cheerfully lit by the late-morning sun. “From your description, darling, I expected to see meters everywhere. That’s depressingly common in such, well, lovely surroundings.”

“You mean ritzy,” Dash said bluntly.

“It does seem to be kind of . . . um, upscale, doesn’t it?” Fluttershy murmured.

“I guess you’re right,” Twilight responded, clearly taken aback and glancing around as if seeing the place for the first time. “But most of the people around here don’t seem to be too snobby about it, at least. Mister Lectern sure isn’t.”

“Let’s go find out!” Pinkie Pie all but shouted. “Time’s a-wastin’.”

Shoes and boots thumped on the planks of the wheelchair ramp and the front porch as the seven teens trooped up to a varnished double door set with elliptical stained-glass windows in the upper panels. Twilight’s outstretched arms pushed them open with a self-conscious flourish, and she strode forward almost without breaking stride. An old-fashioned bell jingled welcomingly from the top of the doorjamb.

“Hello and welcome to—my word, it’s Miss Sparkle! I haven’t seen you in weeks.” An elderly fellow of roughly average height and build, in white shirt and charcoal-gray suspenders, stood behind a counter to the left, bushy eyebrows raised in pleased surprise on a mobile, strong-featured face. His brick-red coloring contrasted sharply with a balding halo of snow white hair, though it was hard to tell whether the white was natural or bleached with age. His years hadn’t affected the piercing quality of his leaf-green eyes, at least, as they looked over reading glasses to take in the gaggle entering to stand on the industrial runner just inside the door. “Goodness, my dear. I think this is the first time you’ve brought company with you. Have you finally made some friends?”

A thoroughly embarrassed Twilight cleared her throat and fidgeted. “I, uh, y-yes, Mister Lectern!” A sudden beaming grin lit her face. “Yes, I’ve made some friends, and it’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me. Except maybe finding this place.” The grin turned a little sly, or at least as close as she could come to it.

The old gentleman’s answering laughter was merry, and he rapped the wood countertop with a knuckle. “A point to you, young lady! Now, why don’t you introduce these wonderful friends of yours?”

Obediently Twilight ushered forward each of the other girls in turn, usually by an arm, though Fluttershy required getting behind and pushing. The smiling Lectern nodded and responded in kind to their varied greetings and temperaments. When all six had been presented, Lectern asked, “And how did you all meet the charming Miss Sparkle, may I ask?”

Instantly a flood of excited chatter filled the air, Pinkie actually hopping in place and waving her arms. Their singular audience blinked but listened gamely, and when the last few remarks trailed away, his brow knotted. “I daresay the Friendship Games certainly lived up to their name this time, and I understand now why you’ve been away, Miss Sparkle, but . . . hm. How shall I put this? Your story seems . . . not entirely complete?” He waved a hand, palm up, to include all of them in his question.

He was met this time with a resounding silence, and the girls looked at each other uneasily. After an awkwardly long moment, Sunset finally drew in a breath and answered, “The rest of it is kind of strange, and . . . well, maybe not for public consumption.” Solemn nods of agreement, even from the normally ebullient Pinkie, endorsed her discretion.

An odd mix of curiosity and respect crossed the old gentleman's face. “Ah. I can’t very well ask you to violate any confidences, now can I?” He swept out an arm in a hospitable gesture. “In that case, since we all have gotten acquainted, allow me to welcome you to my little kingdom. I’m sure Miss Sparkle can give you the nickel tour, if you like!”

The newcomers looked around at the shop’s half-lit interior. The counter behind which the proprietor stood looked as if it had started life as a bar. It ran for some distance straight from the wall beside the front door before curving away to a shorter perpendicular length, enclosing a small area for cashiers. Atop it sat a pair of point-of-sale terminals built around digital tablets cradled in pristine white swivel mounts, one on each side of the bend. An enormous antique cash register, hung with a placard reading “TIME MARCHES ON”, stood between its two modern descendants, visually separating the cashier stations. Forming the enclosure’s back wall were floor-to-ceiling enclosed bookshelves and, just within the counter, the access door for the staff. The runner on which they stood paralleled the counter, and where it left off, another sat at right angles to it, following the counter’s other arm. Just outside the bend of the counter, a classical-style fluted support column shored up the ceiling in the midst of an otherwise rather broad unsupported span.

On the other side of the runner by the front door was . . . a sitting room. Charming old wing chairs formed a pair of conversation groups, complete with small round coffee tables. Pole lamps in three corners, though unlit at the moment, promised reading light to seated patrons. One of the groups backed up against the picture window looking out on the oak-shaded front yard, but a generous aisle between them provided access and ended in a plain brick fireplace. Not all the furniture matched, but it was carefully chosen and arranged not to clash; Rarity nodded approvingly. Above it all hung a pair of ceiling fans with lighting fixtures. The fans turned lazily, but most of the lights were off, giving the room a cool, invitingly cozy quality.

On the far wall above the wainscoting hung three large framed maps. To the left of the fireplace was a completely up-to-date city map, its severe utilitarianism balanced on the fireplace’s other side by prints of older hand-drawn maps of the nation and the world. Opposite the picture window stood a switchback staircase, also of wood—stained and lacquered to a satin oak finish like the rest of the shop’s wood furnishings. The wall against which the stairs’ far, and upper, flight abutted bore two more plaques: “We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone” and “Please, no food or drink beyond this point or upstairs”.

Beyond that point were the shop’s raison d’être—rows of open bookshelves crammed to the ceiling with myriad volumes, the aisles they formed lit by recessed ceiling can lights. Twilight stood entranced for a moment, hands clasped under her chin, as she gazed once more upon this bounty of bibliographic delight. The others clumped behind her uncertainly.

“So, uh, are we doing this or what?” Rainbow Dash asked. “I mean, not that I think I’ll find anything, but we shouldn’t just stand around, right?”

Twilight twitched as if she’d been poked. “Huh? Oh, yeah, right.” She blinked and pivoted to glare accusingly. “Hey! I’m sure even you can find something interesting, Dash!”

Lectern, who’d watched the whole calvacade with twinkling amusement, put in, “Tell you what: If one of you can’t find even a single book she wants, I’ll let another one of you get one book free.”

He might as well have set off a starting gun.

“So, Mister Lectern, it’s mighty fortunate you weren’t busy with other folks when we came in,” Applejack commented as she leaned on the counter, arms folded, while he rang up her purchases and the others stood patiently in line behind her. In the event, the storekeeper wasn’t required to make good on his offer of free books—even Dash had a couple of adventure novels from a series Twilight recommended enthusiastically. Sunset chuckled when she saw the covers, but shook her head when the others looked at her inquiringly.

“Not as much as you might think, Miss Applejack,” he replied absently as he tapped the tablet’s screen. “The middle of a weekday usually isn’t very busy. That’s why I’m running the show myself, without any staff, right now. It’s a work day for most folks, and Miss Sparkle aside, this isn’t exactly a hotbed of youth activity.” He looked up suddenly with a smile. “Perhaps you girls will change that.”

“Well, I dunno about anyone else, but the least we can do is come here once in a while with Twi.” Applejack grinned and straightened to tip back her hat, then handed over a sheaf of bills.

The others were checked out quickly and efficiently, and when all was done, everyone stood around for a moment. “So what now?” Pinkie asked bright-eyed. “We hang out?”

“Lunch,” Dash said decisively. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry, darling,” Rarity commented dryly. “But—yes, that does sound good. Twilight, is there any place nearby you can recommend?”

“Oh, sure!” Twilight nodded vigorously. “There are lots of great places to eat around here.”

“Long as they ain’t too expensive, that works for me.” Applejack frowned. “But, hey, if we came all the way over here for a hang-out, shouldn’t we, you know, hang out?”

“Um, we could . . .” When everyone turned to her attentively, Fluttershy hid behind her hair, but continued, “We could get the food to go and come back.” She pointed at the plaques. “It says ‘beyond this point’. That means we should be okay in the front room, right?”

“Good point.” Sunset turned back to the counter. “Hey, Mister Lectern, we’re thinking of getting some lunch and bringing it back here. Is that all right?”

“Certainly, Miss Shimmer! As Miss Sparkle knows, the upholstery is treated with stain and water repellents for just that reason. Of course, I do expect you all to exercise due care.” Lectern's stern expression was undermined just a bit by a lurking twinkle.

“That means you, Pinkie,” Applejack added pointedly. Pinkie affected a put-upon pout but didn’t contest the implicit accusation.

Twilight grinned happily. “In that case—follow me, girls!” As they all turned to file out, she called over her shoulder, “’Bye, Mister Lectern! We should be back in an hour or so.”

“See you then, Miss Sparkle!”

Princess Twi finds a way to address Sunset’s homesickness

Lectern’s New and Used Books was busy on this fine Saturday, as it so often was. Customers and staff, including the old gentleman himself, bustled about the bookstore; rather than cope with all that noise and activity around the front sitting room, the seven friends opted to retreat out to the converted bungalow’s back yard. Rustic wood outdoor furniture stood on a raised patio, paved with terra-cotta tiles, set off a few feet from the two-story house’s back wall. Towering over it were a half-dozen shade trees that shared the rest of the fenced-in space with the tiny one-car garage at the lot’s streetside back corner. Pushing together two of the round tables wasn’t an ideal solution, but it was the only way all of them could sit together and enjoy the breeze rustling through leaves and branches.

“So, Sunset,” Rarity observed shrewdly, “you’ve had that I-have-a-surprise smirk on your face ever since we met up today.”

“No kiddin’,” Applejack broke in. “Ain’t ya kept us in suspense long enough? I think even Rainbow Dash noticed you’ve got somethin’ new in that pack o’ yours.”

“Hey!” Dash objected.

“Am I wrong?”

“Well, no, but—”

“There ya go!”

Dash muttered under her breath, the words lost in the general snickers and giggles, then spoke up with a irked sigh. “Yeah, fine, go ahead and show us whatever it is that’s got you grinning so much, Sunset.”

“Yeah! I love surprises, and I could hardly wait to see what this one is!” Pinkie Pie bounced on her chair eagerly. Indeed, she had fidgeted more than usual during the trip over. Fluttershy and Twilight Sparkle nodded in agreement, neither of them seeing a need for additional words.

Sunset Shimmer rolled her eyes in a comic display of mock disappointment. “Fine, be that way! Since you twisted my arm so hard, I guess I just have to give in and reveal my deep dark secret.” It was a measure of how far she, and all of them, had come that she was able to make the quip without even a wince.

With one hand she unzipped the bookbag’s main zipper; with a flourish the other reached in and shoveled out three bundles of paper. “Ta-da! Or is that hocus-pocus? I never can keep all those magic words straight.” It was a well-worn joke, but it still raised smiles around the tables, even as the girls leaned forward to peer at the newly revealed items.

“Newspapers?” Twilight fiddled with her glasses and frowned thoughtfully. “But . . .”

“Oh, but these aren’t just any newspapers.” Sunset’s fingers were busy on the ribbons holding the bundles in their compact rolls. One by one she unfolded them and laid them out for the others to see. “These are newspapers from home. This one is Manehattan’s biggest daily, that one is Canterlot’s main daily, and the other one is the Ponyville weekly paper.”

“. . . Oh,” was Twilight’s response in the sudden boggled silence. Six pairs of eyes blinked in bemusement at the papers, then at Sunset.

Taking that as her cue, Sunset waved a hand at the stacks of newsprint and continued, “Princess Twilight’s been rearranging the library in her castle—apparently she’s constantly doing things like that—to make room for a periodicals section, including newspapers from all over the country.” A hand patted the still partly full bag and the magical journal within it. “According to her latest message, she’d been thinking off and on about my homesickness, but hadn’t come up with any useful way to help. It was while she was sending off subscription letters that she had an idea, like a lightning bolt, as she put it.”

“Why not get a few extra subscriptions and send them to you?” Sci-Twi broke in enthusiastically.

“Exactly,” Sunset affirmed, shaking a finger at Twilight. “You two really do think alike.”

The bespectacled girl blushed, but went on, “How does that work, though? I mean, there are some obvious logistical issues involved.”

“Oh, we just set up a time every week when she’d bundle up all the papers and send them through at once.”

“What if you’re late or can’t make it?” Dash asked before Twilight could open her mouth again.

Sunset shrugged. “I just let her know through the journal and set an alternate time. No problem.” She grinned again. “One of the reasons I told you about it today is so I could ask if you girls would be willing to pick them up when I can’t.”

The general agreement was cacophanous but heartfelt. When it trailed away, Rarity commented, “Besides, darling, I think all of us are just terribly curious about where you’re from. It’s one thing for you to describe it, but it’s quite another to hear about current events there, well, from the horse’s mouth, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

Sunset laughed and shook her head. “And that’s why I brought them, so I could show them to you.”

The papers passed back and forth, sparking conversation and expressions of amazement and wonder; even Rarity overcame her aversion to inky smears enough to page through them daintily. The lack of photographs was a puzzlement until Sunset reminded them all of the century-and-a-half gap in technology. “They haven’t figured out yet how to make those little dots—um, half-toning, that’s what it’s called,” she added, peering at Web-search results on her phone. “So they’re still using etchings.”

“Reminds me o’ some o’ Granny Smith’s old clippings in the family scrapbook albums,” Applejack noted.

The depictions of ponies themselves caused Fluttershy to swoon in delighted appreciation, and even Rainbow Dash admitted they were “pretty cute”; the rest fell somewhere between, causing Sunset’s face to heat in mild embarrassment. The stories proved surprisingly mundane for the most part, allowing for the magical elements and a generous helping of what Twilight called “yellow journalism”.

But what stopped everyone in their tracks was an etching on the front page of the Ponyville Express. All six of Sunset’s friends gathered, in some cases having stood and walked around the tables, to stare down at the seven figures posed on the front steps of an imposing crystalline edifice.

“That’s us—I mean, them, isn’t it?” Pinkie finally asked in an unwontedly subdued voice. “Even Spike.”

Sunset sat up to look at the image upside-down. “Looks like it. Girls, meet your alter egos.”

“Wow,” Dash breathed. “Well, that sure explains why some of us get wings when we pony up and others—uh, right.”

Other shocks came from the Canterlot paper, since rarely a day went by without mention of the royal sisters. Sunset regarded the twin etching sadly, earning a supportive side-hug from Pinkie and a respectful quiet from the rest. Eventually Fluttershy broke the melancholy mood with a quiet question. “Sunset, does this article really say something about Prin-Princess Celestia appearing at every Summer Sun Celebration for the last thousand years?”

“Oh yes. She really has, too, as far as I know.”

“But . . . but Principal Celestia is, um, not nearly as old.” The confusion communicated itself to the others as they too realized the oddity.

Sunset shrugged and held up her hands. “I don’t know, Fluttershy. We had the same question about the Sirens, remember?”

Twilight’s brow furrowed in furious thought. “Maybe . . . maybe it has to do with the way the original portal worked. It was only open for short periods, I think you said, Sunset?”

“That was Princess Twilight, but yeah. Three days every thirty moons—not quite two and a half years.”

“And most of the time it didn’t get used. It just sat around, opened, closed, and that was it, right?”

“I think so,” Sunset said slowly.

“Well, what if the portal was synchronized during the time it was open, but if it didn’t get used, it became unsynchronized until the next time it opened? And if it did get used, it stayed synchronized until the next opening?” Twilight beamed with pride over her hypothesis.

Various expressions boiling down to “Huh?” greeted her, causing her grin to sag a little, but Sunset looked at her with wide eyes. “I don’t know, Twilight. Maybe. It would take tricky spell-work, but everything about that portal was tricky spell-work.”

“Ya wanna let the rest of us in on the joke, Sunset?” Applejack asked dryly.

“Magic is a science,” Sunset replied. “I know it may not seem like it is, but trust me. That’s why the whole ponying-up thing was so frustrating before the Friendship Games—it didn’t seem to obey the same laws I’d been learning about since I was knee-high to Princess Celestia.” She shot a quirky grin at Twilight. “I think what Sci-Twi is saying could explain why the portal’s been around for centuries back home, but it seems like it’s been around only a few years, or maybe decades, here.” She waved a hand expansively.

“So, say the portal opens. Boom. For three days, you can take a clock back and forth between the two worlds, and it’ll keep perfect time. Then the portal closes. Bang. Now, since you’ve used the portal, it stays on track in both worlds. When the portal opens again, you can compare a clock and calendar in each world, and they’d show the same amount of time passed.

“But say nopony, or nobody, uses the portal during the time it’s open. In that case, the portal, well, loses track of time in this world. It still opens every thirty moons back home, but what if there’s no gap at all in the time it’s open here? Or it even re-opens during the same three days here? Or something like that?”

“Oooooh,” Pinkie said. “That makes perfect sense!”

“It does?” Fluttershy asked.

“Sure!”

“If you say so.”

Ignoring the byplay, Sunset concluded, “It would explain a lot—if it’s true. I’ll suggest it to Princess Twilight the next time I write her.” She grinned at the princess’s human counterpart. “She’ll be miffed she didn’t think of it first. And I’ve changed my mind: Not staying synchronized wouldn’t be tricky spell-work, it would be slipshod spell-work. But considering how much else the portal does, and does well, I guess it’s not surprising there might be a few bugs in it.”

“Like making sure one is fully clothed when one emerges here,” Rarity said rather pointedly. A long, elegant finger indicated the quite unclothed grouping on the crystal steps. “Very useful feature, that.”

The afternoon was waning and it was time to go. The newspapers had been chewed over thoroughly, even to the point of ribbing Rarity about the advertisements for her opposite number’s boutiques in all three. As they were picking up and preparing to depart, Pinkie Pie suddenly twitched and asked, “But why only three papers? Why not thirty? Or all of them?”

“Pinkie, can you imagine the pile of paper that would show up in front of the school?” Sunset asked in fond exasperation. “How would I read it all? Or even cart it off?”

“Oh,” Pinkie said.

“But Princess Twilight did say she thought about which ones to choose.” Sunset smiled expectantly.

Unsurprisingly, Sci-Twi spoke up. “Manehattan must be a pretty big city, right?”

“Biggest in the country. Major business center, seaport, and rail hub. I think they even have an airship terminal there now.”

“Canterlot’s the capital, obviously, but it looks to me like it’s only medium-size as a city.”

“Yep. It’s old, but it isn’t that big. Really, being the seat of government and a center of fad and fashion is pretty much all it does.”

“And Ponyville’s a small rural town, as well as where your friend Princess Twilight and her friends live.”

“Right again. You’re on a roll.”

“Okay, so she chose one paper from a big city, one paper from a medium town, and one from a small village. And she made sure to include the capital and her hometown while she was at it.”

Sunset laughed as she swung her now-full bookbag to a shoulder. “Bingo!” She paused and looked at the others. “What in the world does that expression mean, anyway?”

Question-and-answer time about pony physiology

Lectern’s New and Used Books had it in stock—or could get it, barring the rarest or costliest of tomes. In this age of digital shopping convenience, the ability to lay hands on an obscure volume immediately, or to obtain one inaccessible through most other channels, sustained the bookstore’s continuing prosperity. Students in particular found it an invaluable source for textbooks of all kinds.

Most of the seven friends already had availed themselves of this useful resource, and now it was Applejack’s turn. As they trooped through the double-leaf front door, she said over her shoulder, “I keep sayin’, ’tain’t no reason y’all had to come with me. I’m just pickin’ up those horse-care books I ordered for Big Mac, that’s all!”

“But it gives us a chance to hang out here,” Twilight Sparkle replied, her tone somewhere between plaintive and teasing.

AJ sighed and flung out her hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. I guess I don’t need to be anywhere in a hurry, come t’think. But at least let me pick ’em up first.”

A chorus of agreement answered as the whole parade fetched up by the retired bar that served as the check-out counter. Lectern himself stood behind it, eyes twinkling, as one of his employees rang up another customer. “Hello, Miss Applejack. Give me a moment and I’ll fetch that order for you. And hello to the rest of you too.”

“Oh! Hey, Sunny!” Twilight waved to the other cashier. “I almost didn’t recognize you out of uniform.”

Sunny Flare, clad in a nondescript but businesslike blouse and skirt, looked up in brief startlement. “Uh—hi, um, Twilight. I’m kind of busy here, sorry.” Her tone was surprised and, somewhat to the onlookers’ amazement, genuinely contrite.

“Right,” Twilight said in chagrin. “It’s good to see you. Sorry to interrupt.”

“No problem.” If Sunny’s response was absent, no one held it against her; she truly was concentrating on her job, and doing it well.

Lectern corroborated this a moment later as he placed a small stack of books on the counter. “You’ll be pleased to know, Miss Sparkle, your friend Miss Flare is one of the better employees I’ve had.” Sunny twitched at her station, plainly resisting an urge to look back.

Twilight beamed. “That’s so good to hear, Mister Lectern. I’m sure she’ll do your store proud.” The others echoed her approval, and Sunny’s face darkened in an unmistakable blush, though her fingers continued moving on the tablet serving as a sales terminal.

Applejack was checked out quickly and efficiently by the old gentleman, whose touch was as deft on the second terminal as his much younger staffer’s. As she handed over the payment, AJ observed, “You seem pretty up on all this newfangled stuff, Mister Lectern. I mean, no offense, but a lot o’ older folks don’t seem to do so well with it.”

“None taken, my dear. It’s only the simple truth,” Lecter answered with a chuckle. “I make a point of keeping up with the times as best I can. I may not be up on the latest slang, but digital technology is here to stay, and there’s no point pretending otherwise—especially considering my competition these days is a great big warehouse with a great big Web site and great big shipping accounts.”

As soon as the girls were settled on the wing chairs backing up to the sitting room’s picture window, Fluttershy asked, “Horse-care books?”

“Yep,” Applejack said as she placed the stack on one of the small round coffee tables serving the conversation group. “Help yerself! Just treat ’em careful-like; they’re expensive.”

Fluttershy all but dived on the books in her eagerness, to a general chuckle.

“Before anyone asks,” Sunset Shimmer said firmly, “because I know someone will: I wouldn’t be as helpful to AJ and Mac as you might think.”

Twilight nodded and Applejack sat back with an unsurprised expression, but aside from the thoroughly distracted Fluttershy, the others looked confused to varying degrees.

Sunset sighed. “Think about it. If you were there instead of here, how well do you think you could advise the princess—any of the princesses—about primate behavior and physiology?”

“I get it,” Rainbow Dash said. “None of us are doctors or shrinks or anything like that.”

“Well, that too,” Sunset conceded. “But I was thinking more about the differences. How much do you know about monkeys and apes?”

“More than I’d like to,” Rarity commented with distaste. “But I take your meaning. That’s what horses here would be like to you, wouldn’t they?”

“More or less. I like them fine, but they’re not the same at all.”

Twilight leaned forward, scientific curiosity roused. “I’ll bet they’re as different from horses—and ponies—here as we are from apes, right?”

“Probably, but I couldn’t say any better than that, Sci-Twi. Some of the differences are pretty obvious, of course.” Sunset tapped her forehead with a fingertip and mimed a pair of wings. “Every tribe has its own kind of magic, for one thing,” she added in a quieter tone, and the others nodded, even Pinkie Pie restraining her usual enthusiasm in the interests of discretion in a public place.

“Aside from that, I only know a random collection of facts and figures.” Sunset shrugged. “I can handle a little farriery—hoof and shoe care, that is—but no more than one of you might learn about any other kind of personal care.”

“You handled it right well, though,” AJ put in sincerely.

“Thanks.” Sunset smiled at the memory of the task and the conversation that went with it.

“One of the things I really noticed in the newspapers you’ve been showing us,” Twilight mused, “is how the faces are put together. They’re a lot more human than equine in some ways.”

Sunset nodded. “I’ll bet you’re thinking of the big head, eyebrows, and binocular vision, aren’t you?”

Twilight giggled nervously and cleared her throat. “Am I that transparent?”

“Yes,” the others chorused, and she made a face at the lot of them.

“The big head is obvious.” Sunset paused in much the same way their teachers did in class.

Getting into the spirit of it, Pinkie raised a hand and waved it energetically.

“Miss Pie?” Sunset pointed at her with a genial air.

“For the big, big brain, right?” Pinkie held her hands near her head as if it were much larger and puffed up her cheeks.

“Yep! The eyebrows help with facial expressions, for social behavior, though of course the ears are a big clue, too.”

Applejack’s eyes narrowed. “What about that other thing, then? I’m guessin’ that’s eyes on the front of the face, like predators, instead of the sides, like most prey animals.”

“No one’s sure, AJ, but after all the classes I’ve taken at CHS and the documentaries I’ve watched, my guess is binocular vision developed to help with working magic and with fine coordination in general.” Sunset tapped her forehead again. “Can you imagine trying to aim a magical spell without being able to see in front of you properly? And the other tribes would have trouble too, just in different ways.”

Everyone winced; it didn’t take much imagination to visualize the probable results.

“Speaking of coordination, ponies here are stronger, but they don’t seem to have the same fine muscle control, except maybe in the lips, and they definitely aren’t as flexible.”

“Giving up raw strength for precision and range of motion.” Twilight demonstrated by raising an arm and swinging it down in a wide arc.

Dash nodded. “Some of those engravings show pretty amazing poses!”

Sunset laughed. “Even I don’t believe some of them, but they’re no more ridiculous than some of the engravings I’ve seen here in history classes or television shows.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Applejack muttered. Her Granny Smith kept family scrapbooks chock-a-block with ancient clippings of various kinds; undoubtedly plenty were of just the same sort.

Sunset frowned thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, though, I think the magic must let them cheat some, because they seem to be stronger than people here are—especially earth ponies—but they’re still coordinated enough to use tools.”

“Yeah, I wondered about that,” Applejack said. “Thumbs are pretty useful. I know you said unicorns can do that levitation thing, but what about the rest? How did they build a whole country without hands?”

“Geckos,” Twilight broke in.

“Say what now?”

“Those lizards that can run up walls and across ceilings, even glass. It turns out their feet have lots of microscopic bristles that let them stick to all kinds of surfaces using a quantum effect. I guess on the other side of the portal the, uh, ponies can do something like that, maybe magically.” She glanced around instinctively for eavesdroppers, but nobody in sight was paying the girls’ quiet conversation any real attention.

“Huh.” Sunset leaned back and regarded Twilight with raised eyebrows. “That’s as good an explanation as any. We—they just kind of take it for granted. I’m not sure anypo—anyone’s done any kind of in-depth research on it. For that matter, I don’t think the science is there yet.”

“Well . . . you did say the science and technology are behind ours by almost a century and a half, and quantum theory’s less than a century old.”

“There you go.” Sunset waved a hand.

“And I suppose they don’t wear clothes because they can do that . . . that gecko-thing everywhere, not just on the hooves?” Rarity, of course, focused on the concern nearest and dearest to her heart.

“That and all the hair. There are clothes, Rarity, they just aren’t worn for modesty.” For a moment Sunset looked like her old self, evil grin and all. “And of course ponies do sweat, after all.” Her teasing was rewarded by Rarity’s face puckering in a grimace, and she went on, “I found out completely by accident horses here only have one kind of sweat gland, but humans and—according to Princess Twilight’s answer when I wrote her about it—ponies there have two. The second kind is a lot more effective at getting rid of heat.” Some of the looks on her friends’ faces moved her to defend herself with, “Hey, even health ed here doesn’t get into that kind of detail.”

“So that’s why it’s such a big deal when a horse gets in a lather, but it ain’t a problem for us!” Applejack looked enlightened. “Huh. I’ll bet that’s one o’ the things I’ll find in those books I just got.”

“If we could get off that awful subject and go back to something more civilized,” Rarity interjected with an edged tone. “I for one am more interested in why they wear clothing at all, if not for modesty. Looking fabulous certainly is important in its own right, and I suppose there’s winter cold to consider, but what else? Hmm . . . ah, of course, they would use it for social signaling.”

“I’ll bet you’re right—class, wealth, profession, formality, festivity, things like that. And they’d need protection against other things than cold.” Twilight cocked her head thoughtfully. “Not worrying about modesty must be one of the biggest social differences. There must be all kinds of effects.”

“Yeah, but this definitely isn’t the time or place for that discussion.” Sunset’s face by this point reflected her name, and she rubbed a palm against a burning cheek.

“Oh. Good point.” Twilight subsided, belatedly realizing her faux pas.

Fluttershy chose that moment to look up from the book that had absorbed all her attention. “Um, Sunset? How big are they?”

Everyone else exchanged glances. “I can’t believe nobody thought to ask that before!” Dash exclaimed, slapping her forehead.

“Let’s see . . . an adult mare’s around, ah, two and a half feet at the withers, and a stallion’s around three feet—but that’s just an average, and there’s a lot of variation. I’m not as sure about weight, but I know most stallions tend to be quite a bit heavier than most mares.”

“Withers?” Rainbow Dash wrinkled her nose. “That sounds like . . . I’m not sure I wanna say what that sounds like.”

“Careful, Rainbow Dash, your epidermis is showing!” Twilight looked pleased when her feeble joke elicited a momentary look of alarm, quickly followed by a roll of the eyes, from Dash and snickers from everyone else.

Applejack shook her head, still chuckling. “It ain’t much good measuring a ho—an equine’s height to the top of the head, ’cause the head can go up and down quite a bit. Instead, you measure to the top of the shoulder blades. Those are the withers, RD.”

Dash made a rude gesture, inspiring more laughter from half the group and mild indignation from the other half.

“What I noticed was their elegant conformation.” Rarity made sculpting motions with her hands. “Their bodies are so much slimmer and their limbs—well, maybe those aren’t quite as slim as horses’ legs here.”

“You’ve got me there, Rarity.” Sunset shrugged. “I’d chalk it up to what Sci-Twi was saying about giving up strength for coordination and flexibility.”

“Ooh! Ooh! I have an important question!” Pinkie raised her hand again, waving it like a semaphore flag. “Do they eat hay?”

Twilight cringed, but Sunset just sighed. “Sometimes. It’s kind of like cup-of-noodles is here—cheap, easy to get, but kind of bland. Except it’s a little better for a pony than cut-rate noodle cups are for us, at least.”

“From the newspapers, especially the advertisements, I guess ponies there eat all sorts of things,” Fluttershy put in. “Lots of baked goods, soups, salads . . .”

“Oh, cuisine is very important.” Sunset looked a bit wistful. “It’s just as varied as what I’ve seen here. Less meat, of course, but a wider variety of plants, even some you might think are mildly toxic. Our—their digestive systems must be as versatile as human digestion, just in different directions.”

“Wait. Less meat?” Dash’s brow furrowed. “I thought horses didn’t eat meat at all.”

“Mostly,” AJ corrected this misapprehension. “If a horse needs certain vitamins or minerals, it might eat somethin’ like a baby bird. That I do know.”

Fluttershy looked horrified, but Twilight nodded. “Also, brains complex enough for talking, making tools, and building societies need more energy—lots more—and nothing else packs in the calories that meat does.”

“There isn’t a lot, and it usually gets processed pretty heavily—mostly fish and things like that,” Sunset added.

Rarity clapped her hands softly. “Like Worcestershire sauce! That has anchovies in it.”

“Yeah, I think that’s another one of those things that exist in both worlds—with a different name, of course.”

“It is amazing how close the parallels are,” Twilight said. “I really wonder about that.”

“It may have something to do with the portal. Or maybe the portal was able to latch onto this world because it’s so similar.” Sunset looked uncharacteristically uncertain. “But now we’re getting way out of my knowledge, Twi. This is doctorate-level stuff, maybe post-doc.”

“You can get a doctorate in magic?” Rainbow Dash looked dubious.

Twilight leaped to the defense. “Why not? Sunset said it’s a science there, and I’ll bet it’s a lot like a physics degree.”

“Close enough,” Sunset agreed, fighting a giggle. “Ahem. Since this turned into questions-and-answers time, is there anything else anyone else really, really wants to know?”

The other girls looked at each other and shrugged—aside from Fluttershy, who half-raised a hand timidly. “How old are they? I mean, they all have their own homes and most of them seem to have full-time jobs. The Ponyville Express has lots of articles on them, being heroes and all.”

“They’re the same ages you are,” Sunset replied promptly. To exclamations of disbelief, she held out a hand palm-up toward Applejack who, notably, had taken the announcement in stride. “Farm girl? What do you say?”

“I say they live somewhere that schoolin’ like we get ain’t taken hold yet, ’least not all the way through. Most pony folk prob’ly still are farmers and crafters and such, and don’t get more’n a few years in one-room schoolhouses. I did see that article on the new playground in the Ponyville schoolyard.” AJ tipped back her hat and grinned. “Remember all them Mark Twain stories we read in English class, girls? Just like that.”

It was the mention of the period author that did the trick, and the others nodded. Twilight elaborated with, “And I’ll bet the apprenticeship system is still around. It might be on its last legs, though. You can’t educate people fast enough or well enough for an industrialized society that way. It takes years and years . . . and that . . . that’s why we’re stuck in classrooms all day for so long.” The epiphany was as disturbing as it was illuminating for all the girls, even Sunset.

“So that’s why they’re considered adults . . . and we aren’t.” Rainbow Dash looked and sounded a little grim.

“Price o’ progress,” Applejack said briskly. “Without it, there wouldn’t be steam engines an’ railroads—or cel phones an’ satellites.”

“Or modern medicine,” Twilight pointed out soberly, then cleared her throat. “Sunset, you went to that special unicorn school, right?”

“Yep. It has a normal curriculum for foals, just like the one-room schoolhouses AJ mentioned only fancier, but it’s also kind of like what universities here used to be before the modern schools came in.” Sunset tapped her knee with a fingertip. “When I was doing my research after first coming here, one of the things I looked into was history, especially the history of education. It seemed like the thing to do, since the portal comes out in front of a high school. Old-time universities were more about covering complicated subjects most people didn’t need and couldn’t use in day-to-day life—science, law, medicine, and things like that—so there were lots of older professionals and younger prodigies going to them than there are today.”

“And you were one of those prodigies,” Rarity finished.

“Yeah.” Sunset blinked rapidly a few times. “Yeah, I was. And I didn’t know how good I had it, did I?”

“You do now,” Rainbow Dash reminded her bracingly. “And you did something about it.”

“We were all there when you wrote to your old teacher and she wrote back.” Fluttershy leaned forward and squeezed Sunset’s hand. “If she can forgive you, and we can forgive you, you can forgive yourself.”

“Uh . . .” They all jumped at the sound of a new voice and turned to face Sunny Flare, standing in the aisle between the two seating groups and shifting from foot to foot. “I guess this isn’t a good time to talk?”

Sunny Flare clears the air—and her conscience

Lectern’s New and Used Books made a policy of employing students, both high-school and university. Students often were willing—and frequently preferred—to accept part-time hours, which serendipitously spared Lectern’s the added expense of full-time benefits. Lectern did his best to schedule his employees around classes, and generally was a fairly understanding boss, though youngsters who abused that trust received short shrift. On the other hand, those who demonstrated ability and integrity were well-rewarded for their efforts, as Sunny Flare explained to her surprised audience seated in one of the conversation groups gracing the converted bungalow’s front room.

“I asked Mister Lectern to let me cut my shift short so I could talk to you.” The Crystal Prep student grimaced. “He asked for a good reason. I told him we go to different schools, so our paths don’t cross much, and I didn’t know when I might get another chance. I’m not sure he believed me about the last thing, but he said I’d earned a little consideration, so, well, here I am.”

“Don’t that beat all,” Applejack said for all the girls looking up at her.

“Well, if you’re gonna talk, have a seat!” Pinkie Pie bounced to her feet from the end wing chair by the fireplace and waved both hands at it.

“Uh—are you sure?” Sunny’s expression of mixed reluctance and relief would have been funny if she weren’t so earnest.

“Yepperoonie! I’ll just sit on the rug!” Suiting action to words, Pinkie plunked down on the patterned area rug and wrapped her arms around her raised knees.

Sunny edged past her to the vacant chair and sat gingerly before facing seven attentive fellow teens. She cleared her throat, but paused, clearly at a loss how to go on.

Sunset Shimmer leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Sunny, if you’re here to say you’re sorry, don’t worry about it. All of you apologized right after everything happened at the Friendship Games, remember?”

“Well, yeah.” Sunny sighed. “And we meant it. But . . . I’ve been thinking about it a lot since then. I think at least some of the others have been too, but I shouldn’t speak for them.”

“So what’s on your mind, sugar cube?” Applejack’s voice was nothing but encouraging.

“Take your time, darling,” Rarity added. “If you’ve had a lot of thoughts, I’m sure you’ll need more than a moment to share them all.”

The others murmured their own assurances, and Sunny shook her head in bemused wonder. “How do you all do that? I can’t imagine anyone at Crystal Prep being so . . . so . . .”

“Forgiving?” Fluttershy suggested gently. “Willing to let the past go?”

“. . . That’ll do.”

“Corny as it sounds, that’s the magic of friendship, Sunny.” Twilight Sparkle smiled crookedly, fully aware how trite her comment sounded. “Even Mister Lectern seems to understand it pretty well. That’s why he let you go, I’ll bet.”

Rainbow Dash nodded as if a thought had been sparked. “He figured out you had something you needed to get off your chest, and you needed to do it now, before you lost the chance or lost—um—”

“Lost the nerve.” Sunny barked a brief laugh, as surprised by it as anyone else. “All right. I’ll do my best.”

Everyone waited patiently as their visitor got her thoughts in order. “First off, I guess I really should apologize again, even if it’s just to get things started. It’s one thing to say ‘I’m sorry things worked out so badly’ right after they happen.” Sunny looked straight at Twilight, eyes and lips tight. “It’s another thing to say ‘I’m sorry about everything people did to make them work out badly’, after you’ve had a chance to look back on how it all went down the drain—and how much you helped it do that.”

Twilight looked back, nervous but fortified by her friends’ support. “You did a lot to ‘help it do that.’ You and the others. Almost everyone at Crystal Prep.” Her voice was quiet and clinical, but firm.

Sunny’s jaw clenched, but she nodded. “I see that now. And I can see now why it made you a monster, even if it was only for a little while.” Her eyes flicked up to glance at the counter behind which Lectern stood, helping another early-evening customer. “Does—”

“No,” Sunset answered the unspoken question. “We told him about meeting Twilight, but we didn’t tell him about the magic or anything that happened because of it. He knows there has to be more to the story, but he hasn’t pried, and I don’t think he will.”

“He won’t,” Twilight asserted with the certainty of a prophet. “I’ve been coming to the store for years, and I’ve never known him to get nosy.” She grinned suddenly and briefly. “I’m sure he’d love to know, and he might even believe us, but he won’t ask.”

“I guess I’m not as noble, because I’m dying of curiosity about wherever it was those . . . holes, or whatever they were, went to,” Sunny said dryly. “We were all a little too busy for sightseeing, but what I do remember looked like a pretty strange place.”

Sunset regarded her for a long moment. “I’ll tell you what, Sunny: After you’re finished, if I think you’ve earned it, I’ll explain all about it—as much as I can, at least.”

She got a searching look in return. “Why you? Why not Twilight?”

Sunset sat back, crossed her legs, and folded her arms. “Because she’s not from there—but I am.”

Sunny’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened in a comical expression none of the others ever expected to see on her face.

To their credit, nobody laughed. Of course, everyone else being almost as flabbergasted by Sunset’s offer, if for different reasons, probably helped. To a lesser extent, so did the fact Sunny really did seem to be working through a crisis of conscience and, by extension, her classmates were as well.

After a confused minute or so of mingled protests, Sunset slapped her palms on the arms of her chair. “Enough, girls!” she said in a low but stern voice. “It’s my decision, and it’s not like they don’t already know there’s something weird going on. I could argue it’s better to give Sunny the whole story rather than let them all guess and gossip about it.”

Rainbow Dash opened her mouth, then closed it again after looking around at the general agreement she saw on other faces. None of those faces looked happy about it, but the consensus was clear, so she let out a breath and sat back. “Fine.”

Sunset flashed them all, especially Dash, a smile of sincere gratitude, then turned back to a still-stunned Sunny. “Now. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, tell us. It sounds like something we need to hear, and you need to say.”

Once again steeling herself, Sunny turned back to Twilight. After a moment’s indecision, words started pouring out of her in a low, intense undervoice. “We made your life miserable at Crystal Prep because we all blew you off as a weird, spineless little nerd. But—seeing you up there in mid-air . . . it was horrible. At first I could see you were just as afraid as we were of what was happening, and then that glowing ball just swallowed you up. And when it went away, you looked like some kind of demon, and you started blowing holes in things, including the world.

“I didn’t realize it then, but when I had a chance to think about it later, about why you were acting the way you did, I figured out it wasn’t just because you wanted to know how that—that magic worked, it was because you were angry. Mad at everyone and everything for the way they treated you, and you were going to show everyone. If blowing everything up would hurt the people who hurt you, so much the better. Right?”

Twilight’s mouth trembled and tears fell freely from her eyes. “Yes,” she got out in a strangled whisper. “I was mad—in every sense of the word. Not just angry but insane. I hated everyone and I wanted to know everything and . . .” She buried her face in her hands and let out a sob.

The other girls, even Sunny, stirred uneasily, but Sunset held up a hand. She got up and knelt beside Twilight, rubbing the distraught girl’s back gently. “Twi, listen to me—well, all of you, really. Magic is power. Raw, unrestrained power. If you’re not used to it, if you’ve never dealt with it before, it’s overwhelming. It’ll twist your mind—exactly the way too much political power or too many drugs or too much of anything that affects the brain will drive you insane. That can happen even if you are used to magic, but suddenly get a whole bunch more than you normally have.”

She thought for a moment. “Even in this world, I’ve read legends and myths about what happens to people who get hold of some powerful magical artifact. I can tell you those stories are right on the money. It’s one of the reasons I’ve wondered—never mind.” She took a breath. “What’s important right now is that you, Twilight Sparkle, invented one of those powerful magical artifacts. And it did what powerful magical artifacts usually do.”

Lectern’s concerned voice sounded from across the room. “Are you girls all right over there?”

Clearing her throat, Sunset looked up. “Yes sir, we’ll be all right. I guess Sunny told you she had something important to talk about? It’s, well, it’s pretty intense, but we’re working through it.”

“Ah. Well. Would you prefer to, hm, move out to the back patio? It’s more private.”

Twilight straighted up and rubbed her eyes. Without looking back, she called, “Th-that’s okay, Mister Lectern. It just was kind of a shock, that’s all. We’ll be quieter after this, I promise.” She added sotto voce to the group around her, “I bet he’s worried about customers being upset by crying girls in his store.” The flash of wry humor brought strained smiles to the others and eased the mood.

“I’m sure he’s genuinely worried, too, darling,” Rarity noted, her voice equally full of concern.

Twilight nodded and sniffled. “And we shouldn’t be rude guests.” She looked up at Sunny again, eyes watery but level. “That’s just how I felt. And I should apologize too. Sunset was right when she accused me of messing with things I didn’t understand.”

Sunset, returning to her seat, clutched at her hair. “I still shouldn’t have snapped at you, though. I’m sure that didn’t help, and I’ve been trying to get a handle on my temper,” she finished through clenched teeth.

Applejack folded her arms. “Mebbe there’s somethin’ else, Twi. I talked to Dean Cadance when she was arrangin’ the transfer, an’ she told me about that little lab you had in the closet at Crystal Prep. How often did ya scurry into it an’ close the door rather than try to talk with other students?”

“Wow, AJ,” Sunset muttered as she lowered herself back into her chair. “Talk about the element of brutal honesty.” If there still was a note of tension in the laughter that followed, it was balanced by relief.

Twilight sighed and nodded. “I didn’t do a lot to meet people half-way, it’s true, and I’m sorry I didn’t try harder. But it’s . . . difficult when every single time you do try, it goes badly. After a while, I decided not to any more.”

“Positive feedback,” Sunny agreed. “I guess I can’t blame you for deciding not to throw good money after bad, Twilight, but that just means everyone’s got some part in it.”

“Including Principal Cinch,” Dash put in darkly. “It was pretty obvious she knew even less about what was going on with the magic than Sci-Twi did. And then she had the nerve to bully Twilight into doing something really dumb, and to bully you guys into helping her do it.”

Shock rendered Sunny mute for a moment. “Bully . . . us? I—” Her eyes were huge as she continued, “I never thought of it that way before. That’s just what she did, isn’t it?”

“It’s great to be loyal to your school,” Dash stated with absolute certainty. “But not when it gets in the way of doing the right thing. Ms. Cinch knew all of you were willing to do just about anything to win, so she pushed you to help bulldoze Twilight.”

“Mob psychology,” Twilight burst out. She clapped a hand over her mouth and looked over her shoulder at the rest of the store, but only a couple of mildly curious glances met hers, so she smiled sheepishly and turned back.

“She’s yer principal.” Applejack shrugged. “She’s an adult, she’s in charge, an’ I’m guessin’ she’s the one who’s been gettin’ the whole school behind the notion of beatin’ everyone and everything around.”

Fluttershy nodded. “Of course you followed her. Why wouldn’t you? She’s, well, she’s an authority figure.” Everyone stared blankly at her; she blinked and shrank bashfully. “What?”

Sunny put a palm to her face. “No wonder we were so pi—torqued off at her.” She scrubbed at her face with both hands for a moment, then lowered them. “It’s like getting scammed. The first person you’re mad at is yourself, because you fell for it, and that makes you twice as mad at the scammer.” She quirked a slightly malicious smile. “Ms. Cinch has been a lot less visible since then. I think she learned a lesson too, even if it isn’t the same one the rest of us got.”

“That Twilight’s actually pretty awesome when she isn’t being really scary?” Pinkie suggested ingenuously. This time the hilarity was uninhibited, the more so for Pinkie’s blindsiding of everyone—Twilight most of all. It was impossible to take offense at Pinkie’s innocent gusto, especially when it was nothing more than the simple truth. In deference to poor Lectern’s abused hospitality, the girls tried to choke down their slightly hysterical laughter after a few moments, but it took a minute or more for the giggles to die away.

“Ahem. Awesome and scary,” Rarity mused when she’d mastered her voice again. “Indeed you were, Twilight. In fact, in a dark way, you were quite beautiful. Could it be a tiny kernel of vanity is hidden away in the heart of our little bookworm?” Her tone was teasing, but warm and sympathetic. She spared a wink and a smile for Sunset, who had shone with a beauty of her own, but the moment was Twilight’s and both of them knew it.

Twilight blushed hotly and her hands flew up to cover the traffic-signal brightness. She stared mutely at Rarity, then at the rest of them as grins blossomed in the face of her discomfiture; even Fluttershy and Sunny managed small smiles of delight. Finally she gave up and giggled once more, hands over her mouth as she rocked back and forth.

The storm had passed, and eight girls sat companionably together, exchanging a last few apologies, observations, and comments. Lectern had put in a direct appearance, making sure everything was all right and displaying the faintest signs of frayed composure. Everyone took pains to assure him the crisis was resolved and there would be no further dramatics. He departed, not without a glance or two over his shoulder, and they waved—most of them cheerfully, but Sunny with a hint of disquiet.

“Ah’m sure everything’ll be fine, Sunny,” Applejack reassured her. “He’s just a little rattled. It’ll pass.”

“I hope so. This is a pretty good job, and I’d hate to lose it—but if I have to, I should make sure it’s worthwhile.” She eyed Sunset with appraisal and strove for a brisk tone. “So do I make the grade?”

Sunset smiled, just a little, and replied, “In spades.” She sat up, drew in a deep breath, and into the dead silence of her spellbound audience, began, “Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria . . .”

Sunset doesn’t like The Happy Mare’s Home Journal

Lectern’s New and Used Books, as a hang-out, provided a finely balanced mix of privacy in the midst of a public venue, so long as one exercised a modicum of discretion. This was not at all by accident; the proprietor long since had concluded a clean, well-lighted place for quiet conversation as well as for books contributed, indirectly at least, to his bottom line. So the front sitting room and the back patio drew in students and shoppers, readers and chatters, and most of all the group of teens who’d befriended one of his best customers.

Said seven girls sat around two of the redwood tables, pushed together on the terra-cotta tiles of the patio, under shade trees and gray but unthreatening skies. They regarded Sunset Shimmer expectantly as she pulled from her bookbag a parcel wrapped in kraft paper and string. All of them, not just the recipient, had come to enjoy the weekly ritual of perusing newspapers from Manehattan, Canterlot, and Ponyville, sent by Princess Twilight Sparkle to help assuage Sunset’s bouts of homesickness. The engraved illustrations, hoof-set type, and stilted language seemed charmingly quaint to young women growing up in the digital age, and the stories and advertisements were a window on a breathtakingly different, yet strangely familiar, culture and society.

While Sunset unwrapped the latest gift package, Applejack tipped her chair onto its back legs and made idle conversation. “Sure am glad Mister Lectern kept Sunny on. I wouldn’ta wanted to be the cause o’ her gettin’ fired.”

“He’s good people,” Rainbow Dash replied.

Twilight Sparkle—not the princess, of course—nodded. “He’s the best. He might have called her on the carpet for a few words, but that’s all, and after that he’d ‘forget’ about it.”

“Darling, you sound like you’ve worked for him yourself.” Rarity’s expression was inquisitive.

“Well—I did, during the summer after I turned old enough to work, but after that I got so busy with school and all . . .” Twilight shrugged uncomfortably; they all knew where that led. A recent discussion with Sunny Flare in the store’s sitting room, resolving lingering regrets and stricken consciences over the climactic events at the Friendship Games, had inspired both tears and laughter. That disturbance in turn had made Lectern as testy as she’d ever seen him, and Sunny had been a bit apprehensive at the potential consequences. Today, though, they’d seen her shelving books on their way through the store to the back yard and friendly greetings had been exchanged.

A soft, papery slapping sound interrupted the discussion. Everyone turned back to Sunset, who’d been busy laying out the papers. She was staring at an additional publication that had slipped out from between two of the larger stacks of newsprint and fallen onto the table. “Oh, for . . .” she muttered in a pained voice, followed by a palm to the face.

This guaranteed everyone else’s full attention, of course, and six figures bent to peer at the cover. Unlike the glossy full-color magazines they were used to, it bore no image, instead being given over almost entirely to a title banner and table of contents.

“The Happy Mare’s Home Journal,” Pinkie Pie chirped, reading the flamboyantly literal title banner, typeset in a font designed to resemble letters on undulating strips of cloth. “‘Still a bit, still a bargain! Ten bits a year!’” she added, squinting at the date and price information surmounting the banner.

“That sounds a little like . . . the kind of magazines my mother subscribes to,” Fluttershy noted uncertainly.

“It probably is.” Sunset sounded distinctly sour.

“So what is it?” Dash demanded. “And what gives?”

“For once I agree with Rainbow Dash.” Rarity raised her eyebrows. “You don’t seem very happy to see it, whatever it is.”

Sunset heaved a sigh and waved a hand at the inoffensive magazine. “The Happy Mare’s Home Journal is kind of a cross between a homemakers’ digest and a farmers’ almanac. Everypony subscribes to it. Even . . .” She rubbed her forehead. “. . . Even Princess Celestia.”

Applejack reached for it immediately. “Farmers’ almanac, huh? That sounds plenty interesting.”

“And you didn’t answer Dash’s second question,” Twilight pounced.

“It’s everywhere, Sci-Twi.” Sunset made a face. “You can’t turn around without bumping into it—even in outhouses, where ponies read new issues and use old issues for . . . other things.”

Half the group burst out laughing; the other half looked scandalized at first but soon were giggling as well.

“I got thoroughly sick of it. Princess Celestia had stacks of it, and she insisted on reading what seemed like half the articles to me. As far as I know she still reads every article in every issue.”

Without raising her head, Applejack flicked her eyes up to give Sunset a trenchant look. “Ah think this’s more ’bout the princess than it is ’bout the magazine. Ain’t it?”

At first Sunset’s only answer was to hunch down in her chair, but when every one of her friends bent an unwavering stare on her, she finally growled, “Probably. I guess I still haven’t forgiven her completely. And I don’t exactly feel very good about that.”

“You’re working on it, darling,” Rarity assured her in a practical tone. “I don’t think anyone, here or there, expects you to get over everything in a day, or a month, or even a year. What matters is how far you’ve come, not how far you still have to go.”

“An’ it’s better to be honest with yerself, even if it ain’t always what ya want to hear.” Applejack paused and leaned a cheek on a hand. “’Specially then, come to think.”

“Okay, I get it.” Sunset folded her arms on the table and put her chin on her forearms. “I shouldn’t take it out on a poor innocent magazine.”

“Nope!” Pinkie agreed. “It never did anything to you, right?”

“Well, there was that one time. . . .”

Minutes later everyone else was roaring with laughter, or as close to it as they were willing to come. Sunset slouched down in her chair again, glowering at them all. “Easy for you to laugh. You weren’t there when it happened. I just wanted to sink through the floor, and I was blushing hard enough to melt the pavers and do it. At least the article barely mentioned me when it came out.”

“Oh, we have got to get Princess Twi to dig up that issue and send it!” Dash crowed.

“Don’t you dare!” Sunset sat bolt upright. “I mean it, RD! I don’t need something else to live down.”

“Fine, fine.” A cyan hand flapped at her, as reassuringly as its owner was capable of. “I’m just teasing. You’ve got the magic journal anyway.”

“We all have our little—ahem—faux pas to live down, darling, and we’re honored you trust us with yours.” Rarity tapped the tabletop with a manicured fingertip.

A small smile finally crept across Sunset’s face, and the others cheered, if not as loudly as they could have, to see it. She blew out a breath and shrugged. “All right. I guess there’s no way Princess Twi could know how I feel about the Journal, and it is one of the most popular magazines in the country, especially with mares. She probably figured it would be a nice surprise and a good way to cover more than just the news.”

“Does this mean you’ll keep getting it?” Fluttershy asked with unwonted eagerness.

“Yes, I’ll keep getting it.” Sunset sounded resigned, but gave Fluttershy a curious look.

“Some of the articles look really interesting,” Fluttershy explained. She pointed at the issue currently sitting flat on the table more or less in front of Applejack.

AJ cleared her throat and started reading out titles and subtitles, and sometimes author names. Indeed the articles proved a very mixed bag, often with a rather domestic emphasis—particularly cooking—but even Rainbow Dash perked up at one or two of the more exotic or adventurous subjects. Sunset found herself explaining pony holidays, griffins, and myriad other bits of context.

By the time Applejack had finished with the table of contents, all of Sunset’s friends were craning their necks to look over her shoulders and making small noises of interest or enthusiasm. Sunset shook her head with a crooked grin. Whatever she thought of it, The Happy Mare’s Home Journal clearly was a hit with everyone else. There was no way in two worlds she would take that away from them.

Cookie Pusher, a government official, shows up

Lectern’s New and Used Books was abuzz with conversation when seven teenage girls herded in through the double-leaf front door. Startled, they paused and turned to stare in consternation at the front sitting room, filled to overflowing with middle-aged and elderly women, along with a handful of male contemporaries. Then, as one, the high-schoolers pivoted to turn their stares on the store’s proprietor standing behind the retired bar serving as checkout counter.

“That, my dear girls, is the Mystery Readers Club,” Lectern answered the unspoken question. “A telephone call not a half-hour ago informed me their usual meeting space was suddenly unavailable and asked if they could meet here instead. Quite extraordinary—and unprecedented.”

“Ain’t that gonna cut into yer business?” Applejack asked, concerned. “Ah mean, they ain’t as quiet as we try to be, or the usual folks who just sit an’ read or chat.” She looked over her shoulder at the crowd. “An’ there sure is a passel of ’em.”

Indeed, not only was every wing chair that normally populated the room occupied, but additional folding chairs filled every available cranny and beyond. Between the obstacles and the chatter, it would be difficult at best to ring up a customer.

“True. Why, they’re even more disruptive than a certain conversation I recall happening in that very room not long ago.” Lectern chuckled at the embarrassment on the young faces before him. “Relax, girls; Miss Flare told me she was clearing the air after the Friendship Games affair, and she did seem much less tense and stressed afterward. In answer to your question, Miss Applejack, they will pay the same rental fee as they arranged with their usual venue, and of course they likely will do some shopping after the meeting, so I think we’ll weather this unexpected storm.”

He smiled as expressions turned to relief. “You’re welcome to adjourn out to the back patio. What with the dragons guarding the cave mouth, interruptions are even less likely than usual, though the one fellow on shift right now is back there handling some chores.” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “I suspect their presence is the reason he volunteered so willingly to be as far away as possible, especially since he’s the unfortunate soul who answered the phone before forwarding the call to me.”

Snickers were hastily muffled, and with nodded farewells to their host, the girls tiptoed past the club just beginning to come to order for their meeting.

Minutes later they were pulling together two of the wood outdoor tables on the tiled patio, still shaking their heads and laughing over the odd happenings in the store. A distant clatter and thump interrupted, making them start; footsteps and a trundling noise followed, heralding the approach of the staffer Lectern had mentioned. After a moment a fairly muscular young man appeared, rolling a handcart stacked with boxes before him, on the concrete walkway from the back gate on the far side of the small one-car garage.

With the ease of long practice he manhandled the truck around the walkway’s corner and headed toward the ramp leading to the elevated patio. He looked up and spared a moment, and a hand, to wave. “Afternoon,” he called amiably. The fellow was older than the high-school or university students Lectern normally employed, but not by much, and was painfully nondescript in coloration, with short hair, a white button-down shirt, and khaki slacks. “Gonna be here long?”

“Probably for a while—maybe the rest of the afternoon,” Twilight Sparkle replied for the group. “We have some studying to do.”

“Not to mention all the goss—ah, conversation to catch up on,” Rarity added.

“Well, have a good time,” was the last reply before the employee deftly scooted the truck through the bungalow’s back door and closed it behind him.

The girls settled into the chairs rearranged around their chosen tables and unpacked their books and other paraphernalia of study. By now they’d arrived at a routine for their group study sessions, and even Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash were relatively quiet as they began their work. Time enough for talk afterward, and it was the carrot to motivate their efforts.

After a bare quarter-hour they raised their heads and looked at each other, brows furrowed, when the back-yard gate thumped and rattled unexpectedly. The store clerk hadn’t passed through since leaving them to their studies, and they knew the gate was locked when not in use precisely to prevent such incursions. They turned to face the walkway where it appeared from behind the garage. Applejack, Dash, and Sunset Shimmer all stood, looking concerned.

The intruder swung into sight with a confident tread; thirtyish and lean, informally dressed in a polo shirt and chinos, with crisp dark hair over a stone-gray complexion. His eyes were hidden behind dark round glacier glasses, but from his upward glance toward the raised patio and its occupants, it was clear where his destination was. He looked harmless enough, but none of the girls took that at face value. Twilight and Fluttershy shrank behind the tables. Pinkie Pie and Rarity fidgeted, uncertain whether to follow their friends who’d stood or those who’d taken cover.

“That’s far enough, Mister,” AJ called. “Y’ain’t s’posed to come in through the back; Mister Lectern don’t like it.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, Ms. Applejack, but I’m afraid I must. I came expressly to speak with you and your friends, after all.” His voice was a pleasant baritone, calm and poised. The fact he knew even one of their names when none of them had set eyes on him before was enough to send a spike of anxiety through the whole group. Rarity and Pinkie made up their minds and stood as well. Fluttershy and Twilight clutched hands. The rest fell into more guarded positions.

“Who are you?” Dash rasped in mingled menace and apprehension.

“My name is Cookie Pusher, but you can call me Cook.” After a beat, during which Cook began walking up the ramp, he added, “On second thought, please call me Cook.”

“Fine, Mister . . . Cook.” Applejack drummed her fingers on the table beside her. “But that don’t really answer Dash’s question, now does it?”

By now Cook faced them from a few feet away; the small emblem on his polo shirt resolved itself into a silver tray with a trio of oversized chocolate-chip cookies on it. He made no move to edge closer, but simply stood comfortably, feet slightly apart and hands clasped behind his back. “I am a foreign service officer—an FSO, if one is addicted to three-letter abbreviations.” He smiled slightly at the baffled looks exchanged among the girls and amended, “More commonly known as a diplomat.”

Applejack put one hand on her hip and tipped back her hat with the other. “Now why in the world is a diplomat comin’ to see us?”

“Not us, AJ.” Sunset’s voice was thin. “Me.”

Cook nodded. “I’m here to speak with all of you, but Ms. Shimmer is the reason I was sent, both personally and as a representative. I see you are every bit as perceptive as I was told.” He took a breath. “Please, all of you, be seated. None of you are in any trouble of any kind with anyone at any level, I assure you. That’s part of why a diplomat was sent, rather than someone from a military, law-enforcement, or intelligence organization, though I’m sure my contact report will circulate through all those agencies.”

“What about me?” Sunset asked, her voice quavering slightly despite her best efforts. Her fists clenched; the others stood their ground, wary and uncertain.

After a moment, Cook lowered his dark glasses. The pale eyes underneath gave her a direct look. “Technically you’re an illegal alien. You have no passport, no visa, and no diplomatic immunity. Arguably you have committed fraud and a number of other crimes in this country, both felonies and misdemeanors, not to mention a minor reign of terror among your fellow students at the school you currently attend. If I understand correctly, you may have committed treason in your own country.”

Sunset bit her lip hard, and her friends protested loudly. Cook held up both hands, sunglasses still dangling from one of them. “I did say technically. You will not be charged or deported. Those were considered, but only as part of the process to resolve the difficulties and irregularities of the situation, which includes our discussion here today. I can’t speak to the possible treason charge, though I’m given to understand your ruler—and mentor, I believe—almost certainly has no intention of laying that charge. Even if she did, hypothetically speaking, there’s no extradition treaty in place, so we would be free to refuse any request to return you.”

“How . . .” By now Sunset was reduced to a near-whisper, and her friends moved protectively closer.

“I don’t know how all the information was generated. One, I have no need to know; two, even if I did, the list probably goes on long enough to bore even Ms. Sparkle.” His smile this time was slightly broader as Twilight stared at him, obviously deciding whether she could get away with glaring. “What I can tell you is the resources available to piece together even tiny fragments are rather staggering, such as satellite photos of clouds gathering much too quickly to be natural and strangely shaped rainbows at night—weather and environmental satellites, by the way, not spy satellites if that’s what you’re thinking. The briefing material I received was, well, as complete as one can expect in this business.” From his tone, he long since had resigned himself to low expectations in that regard.

He sighed and gestured to the chairs. “Now, please, can we all sit down and discuss this as mature individuals? I know you’re capable of that—even you, Ms. Pie—when you put your minds to it.”

Slowly, reluctantly, they sat. Cook pulled a chair from one of the other tables and swung it around in front of him, then straddled it backward and laid his forearms across the seat back. “My job is to gather more information and, as much as I can, to push along the process of regularizing matters. As part of it, I interviewed Principal Celestia and Vice-Principal Luna earlier today. They told me everything about your backgrounds they were able to—yours too, Ms. Shimmer. They even allowed me to peruse your files.”

General indignation greeted this announcement, but Cook waved a hand again. “Hold yo—on there. I should add they did so as part of a passionate defense of your characters. They made very certain I understood how completely you’re turning your life around, Ms. Shimmer, and how all of you have stepped up to deal with threats not only to your school or this city but possibly this world, and even Ms. Shimmer’s world. They have on file their own testimonial letters and similar letters from two of the princesses in her homeland, which is how I can be fairly sure no charges will be filed there either.”

He gave Sunset a humorous look. “They even have transfer forms from your old school to your new one, backdated of course. I’m sure they only thought of it as going through the motions, but believe it or not, it actually helps. Paperwork always warms the cockles of a bureaucrat’s heart.”

Pinkie cocked her head. “But aren’t you a bureaucrat too?”

Without missing a beat, a deadpan Cook shot back, “Of course. That’s how I know.”

Despite themselves, all the girls burst out laughing. “Okay, Mister Cook,” Applejack allowed after her chortles had subsided. “I guess you’re all right. But I gotta ask: Y’all seem awfully cool about the notion of a magical portal to a world o’ talkin’ ponies, not to mention griffins and everythin’ else.” Her “y’all” and expansive gesture took in not just Cook but the masses of government functionaries throughout the country.

Cook shrugged. “You might be surprised. Government agencies, even at the highest level, conduct quite a few role-playing simulations—though they prefer to use the term ‘exercises’; it’s more dignified—about all kinds of possibilities. Most are fairly ordinary, or at least plausible, like the recent one exploring how to respond to a meteor strike offshore generating tsunamis and other natural disasters, with only a few hours’ warning. But there’ve been others based on wilder ideas, including a military scenario based on the notion of magic suddenly leaking into the world.”

There were gasps, to which he responded, “No, it had nothing to do with our current situation. It was years ago, well before Ms. Shimmer appeared on the scene. From my reading of it, they set up a bunch of different variations depending on how the magic was supposed to work and where it came from, but none of the variants looked like what we’re seeing now. Anyway, the idea behind the weirder concepts is to keep everyone mentally flexible and able to handle anything a crazy world throws at them. It doesn’t always work, but it’s the best method anyone’s come up with.”

His smile this time was warmer. “Besides, a lot of people read science fiction and fantasy these days, even in the government.” He spread his hands invitingly. “So then, Ms. Shimmer: Tell me a story that doesn’t belong in Lectern’s fantasy section.”

Cook proved an exemplary audience, listening closely without interrupting and scribbling shorthand notes on a small spiral-bound pad pulled from his shirt pocket, as Sunset spun out her history since emerging from the portal, sparing nothing, though her voice roughened as she struggled through the more difficult passages. The others chimed in with their own perspectives at various points, and eventually Twilight took up her part of the tale, her voice shaky at first. More than an hour passed before they all wound down and looked at him in silence.

Only then did he begin asking follow-up questions, incisive and probing, though his tone and wording were respectful and sympathetic. He matched his approach to the personalities before him—blunt and direct to Applejack and Dash, quiet and coaxing to Fluttershy and Twilight, polite and gallant to Rarity and Sunset, and astonishingly casual and teasing with Pinkie. By the end, he seemed satisfied he had a complete picture of events.

“And now it’s your turn,” he remarked encouragingly. “Obviously I can’t provide answers on classified matters, but I’d say you’ve earned your chance to gather your own intelligence. In fact, given your role as magical defenders, I’d say you need to gather intelligence.”

The girls looked surprised but gratified, and spent a few moments in thought. Predictably, Pinkie was first to stick up her hand and wave it energetically. Cook nodded to her.

“So you aren’t going to kidnap us and put us in a laboratory and dissect us or put radio trackers in our—”

“Pinkie!” the others cried out.

Cook cracked up, laughing uninhibitedly and doubling over. His polished, mature reserve dissolved for the first time, giving them a glimpse of the youth it had covered. When he could catch his breath, he straightened and answered, “S-somebody’s been watching too many bad B-movie thrillers. No, for heaven’s sake, nobody ever even mentioned that! Who do you think we are?” He paused. “Look, six of you are citizens of this nation, and the seventh is a foreign national and a subject of the crown, not to mention having personal ties to both the most senior and most junior royals in that nation. I’ll grant the government and its employees aren’t perfect, but most of us wouldn’t countenance treating any of our citizens that way—and doing so to a foreigner is a guaranteed diplomatic incident if not an act of war! No. Just . . . no. Next question.”

Sunset half-raised her hand and got a similar go-ahead; she asked simply, “The sirens?”

“Not my department, so I don’t know. My best guess is they’re getting their own case officer, who’ll get a support staff, but I couldn’t say which agency that’ll be from. Law enforcement or social services seem most likely, though. They need it, especially now that they probably are more helpless and powerless than they’ve ever been in their lives—at least, I’d bet they feel that way. I may be asked to send an inquiry through you about returning them, but I can’t say for sure. Without their magic, they may be better off here, especially since they might suffer pretty severe culture shock if they went back, based on your speculation about the portal’s possible time slippage.” At the askance looks he got, he continued, “They seem to have adapted to modern technology just fine. I’m thinking more about the changes to the world they came from. It’s got to look radically different now from what they remember. Who’s next?”

Twilight brought up a hand just enough to wiggle the fingers. “I have to ask. What’s next? Will we be seeing more of you?”

“Next I go and write a very long report. And to think I fondly imagined, after graduating from university, I was done with homework.” He sighed. “After that, any number of things might happen, but most of them won’t involve you girls directly. Yes, I’ll be in touch, though we may not meet in person very often—more because we’re all very busy people than for any other reason. In fact . . .” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small metal clamshell case, from which he extracted a sheaf of very official-looking business cards that he handed out to all of them. “As for another possible meaning of your ambiguously worded question, you might hear from or meet some of my superiors, but only if something urgent or unusually important happens. I’m the case officer, so most of the time everything should go through me, both ways, to prevent confusion if nothing else. Anyone else?”

Applejack leaned forward, not bothering with niceties. “Mebbe y’all ain’t gonna haul us off or nothin’, but yer just gonna let things go? Yer not doin’ nothin’ else? I mean, we’re right grateful an’ all, but . . .” She trailed off and held her hands out to the sides in a shrug.

“What do you propose we do?” Cook asked rhetorically. “Announce the existence of the portal to the world?” Everyone winced, including him. “No. Keep it secret but close the school and the neighborhood around it, disrupting the city for no apparent reason?” Another wince. “No. In a lot of ways, our hands are tied. Besides, it’s the only contact you have—especially you, Ms. Shimmer—with her home. For that matter, it’s the only contact we have. What if something happens to you? Who else do we get in touch with but them in the event of a magical emergency? What if they need to get in touch with us for some reason? After all, the portal goes both ways, and I can think of all kinds of problems our world might generate for them, accidentally or, worse, on purpose.”

He shook his head. “For now, all we can do is go on as we have, with you girls acting as our first line of defense. Yes, it’s strange and awkward, and a lot of people are having sleepless nights over it for a lot of reasons, including worry over seven young women being in the line of fire as well as more practical considerations. But in the short term, at least, it’s the only workable solution. Next?”

Dash spoke up. “So what if we hadn’t beat Sunset and Sci-Twi here and made friends with them?”

Cook’s expression turned cool and grim. “Then all of you would be talking to someone else, probably several someone-elses, and it wouldn’t be a very pleasant conversation. The less said about that the better. Next.”

Rarity rubbed her chin with a fingertip. “Why you, Mister Cook?”

“Because I am a sophisticated and debonair man of the world, just the sort to charm a group of lovely young ladies,” he replied promptly with a straight face, but grinned when they responded with snickers and rude expressions. “I’m closer to your age than most career diplomats, I was available for the assignment, and I think the powers that be figured I have the right personality and, well, flexibility of mind for the job.”

He turned to Fluttershy and asked quietly, “Do you have a question, Ms. Fluttershy? You’re the only one who hasn’t asked yet.”

Fluttershy shook her head mutely, and he spared her a kind smile. “All right, then.” He sat back and held out his arms in another affable gesture. “The floor is open.”

The questions took up most of another hour.

At last a chime and a buzz sounded from Cook’s general vicinity. He slid a smartphone out of a pocket and glanced down at it, then up again. “I must be off; other business awaits—but I have two more things to say before I go.” He stood and swept them all with a sharp-eyed look. “Remember in the months and years ahead you have friends and champions in unlikely places. And last but not least, I hope someday I have a daughter who grows up to be as fine a young woman as all of you are—including you, Sunset Shimmer.”

Sunset’s eyes were misty and she raised a trembling hand to her mouth, unable to speak.

“And with that, I must bid you all adieu, adieu, fair maidens, adieu.” With grace and aplomb Cook clicked his heels and bowed, making the archaic obeisance look perfectly natural, then turned on his heel and strode back down the ramp.

Seven girls sat still and silent until they heard the rattle and thump of the back gate closing. Then, still without a word, they huddled for a mass embrace that broke up only when the well-muscled young man reappeared through the back door. “Oh gosh, I forgot to lock the back gate! I’ll go take care of that now. Excuse me.”

Starlight Glimmer’s visit

The Rainbooms put on a mini-concert

Lectern’s New and Used Books was a venue for shopping and quiet conversation, as Lectern himself reminded the seven girls before him. “A concert would be rather, hm, antithetical to that,” he added with cautious politeness as he swept a hand through his thinning white hair. “Though it does seem in character for such a rambunctious crowd, I must say.”

“But it would be awesome!” Rainbow Dash burst out, waving her arms in an excess of enthusiasm. “The whole city’s getting behind the music festival! You wouldn’t want to miss out on that, would you, Mister Lectern?”

“I have plenty of books on music, Miss Dash, and not every business needs to be directly involved in a festival. Besides, how do you propose to make it work?”

Twilight Sparkle leaned forward around her boisterous friend. “The back patio would make a decent stage. It’s not big, but we wouldn’t need a lot of equipment for such a small performance. The audience can sit on picnic blankets in the yard.”

Bushy white eyebrows rose. “Et tu, Miss Sparkle?”

Twilight blushed and looked down at the countertop. “Um . . . well . . .”

“All right, for the sake of argument, let’s look at the idea. What about a permit?” Lectern put his hands, fingers laced, on the retired bar serving as check-out counter.

“We’ll get one,” Sunset Shimmer replied. “If we need to, we’ll bring it here and go over it with you.”

“Access. The backyard has only one gate. Even if the garage was cleared out and the side door opened, that surely isn’t enough to meet requirements.”

Applejack tipped her hat back and looked thoughtful. “Take out part o’ the fence an’ turn it into a big double-leaf gate.”

“And who would pay for it, Miss Applejack?”

“Tell ya what: You pay fer any replacement materials an’ we’ll provide the labor. We, uh, got a lotta carpentry practice up at Camp Everfree, an’ we got real good at reusing stuff. Plus, I got some temporary fencin’ in the barn if we end up needin’ it.”

Lectern looked around at the rest of the girls. “Are you all on board with this, girls?”

Nods and various exclamations of agreement assured him that, indeed, all of them were. He pondered for a few moments, inspiring more than one of the Rainbooms to hold their breath. “One last question: Why here?”

Dash mumbled something inaudible. Applejack sighed and amplified, “’Twasn’t until a week ago Dash even made up her mind about it, and then it was too late. Every place else is booked solid.” She shot a sidelong scowl at the procrastinator. “We told her this was gonna happen.”

“Hey, I had a lot of other things on my mind! We all did.”

“That much, alas, is true,” Rarity conceded ruefully. “It’s been a very . . . busy summer.”

The old man took a deep breath. “All right. If you girls do all the legwork—and other work—we’ll give it a try.”

Three months might seem like plenty of time to make ready—but between a new school year and magical shenanigans, not to mention all the other activities of busy lives, the Rainbooms found themselves squeezing in frantic preparations whenever they could, and the time flew by. They did catch some breaks along with the inevitable pitfalls; anticipating broad interest, the city provided stacks of permits and other applications to schools, social centers, and just about anywhere else people congregated, as well as access to on-line versions of the forms. Sunset was able to make good on her promise to handle the paperwork, with occasional reference to Lectern for permissions, signatures, and other niceties.

After much debate, they registered for the amateur tier rather than the more stringent—and more closely scrutinized—professional tier. That didn’t preclude selling tickets, but it did place a sharp limit on pricing and required designation of a charity or other deserving recipient of the proceeds. Rainbow Dash nominated the school’s athletic program, but Fluttershy lobbied surprisingly hard for the animal shelter. Both were worthy, and neither could get a consensus, so that was tabled for later consideration. Instead they opted for the vaguely worded boilerplate statement, since the program book had to go to press well in advance.

Posters went up. Advertisements appeared in the school newspaper and a handful of other outlets within their modest means, including the official program book sponsored by the city. Word of mouth worked its way through every crowd they could reach. Negotiations with a few local businesses, among them the Sweet Shoppe and Lectern’s itself, provided for refinements like drinks, snacks, and blankets printed with the businesses’ names or logos. Life became a mad whirl of schoolwork, practice when they could fend off other bands for time in one of the school’s music rooms, and increasingly urgent arrangements to make sure the big day itself would go as smoothly as they could manage.

With little more than a week to go, all seven were gathered in Lectern’s front room, paperwork covering the small round coffee tables serving the wing chairs in which they sat. “Okay, so we’ll start work on the fence tomorrow.” Sci-Twi checked off an item, her voice and manner distant. “That just leaves . . . um, who’s getting the money from our ticket sales. We still haven’t decided that.”

Immediately Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy resumed their debate. Applejack waved her arms for quiet. “Now hold on there. Ya both made yer cases. I wanna know if anyone else’s come up with somethin’ in the mean time.” She looked around at the others. “Girls?”

Sunset leaned forward and, in an unusually hesitant tone, responded, “I think . . . I might have a suggestion.”

Rarity crossed her legs and shot Sunset a piercing look. “Can we assume it has something to do with why you and Twilight have been terribly distracted all day, darling?”

Pinkie Pie interjected, “And why you mysteeeeriously disappeared this morning?”

“Can’t fool you girls.” Sunset nodded. “Yeah, it does. Twilight and I got yanked out of classes to go off-campus. We, um, we were taken over to the hospital to meet a patient.” She bit her lip. The others looked startled and increasingly curious.

Fluttershy said with characteristic concern, “Oh dear. Who was it?”

Sunset rubbed her upper arms and looked down. “Adagio. Adagio Dazzle. Aria and Sonata were there too. They’d been in her room all night, sleeping on the visitor chairs.”

Curiosity turned to outrage. “Why were you visiting them?” Dash’s demand cut through the general mutterings.

Fluttershy glared at her and put in, “I think a more important question is why they were at the hospital.” She turned back. “What happened, Sunset?”

Sunset’s stark description of the dressings around Adagio’s wrists—and the reason for them—shocked and horrified everyone, and she pulled a wry smile. “Yeah. Now you know why we were so upset.”

Twilight put down her clipboard and pen. “Look, girls. They’re . . . they’re all in really bad shape, but it still took all three of us—Sunset, the social worker, and me—to talk them into getting the help they need, even after everything that happened.”

“But that help’s gonna be expensive,” Sunset put in. “Remember what Cook told us about everything to do with the portal getting classified? That includes the Dazzlings. Any psychiatrist who sits down with them needs a security clearance, and there isn’t anyone qualified at social services who has one. So they have to go to someone else.”

“And that someone else ain’t cheap,” Applejack surmised with a rub of fingertips against thumb. “Makes sense. An’ you two wanna help pay fer it.”

Rainbow Dash was moving beyond irritation to anger. “Why should we do that after what they did to the school—and tried to do to us?”

Wearily, Sunset answered, “Because we helped put them in that position, Dash. Adagio asked us the same question: Why? Why help them?”

“I told them everyone deserves a second chance,” Twilight said stoutly. “Sunset told them it’s the right thing to do, and it is.”

Sunset looked around at the others, expression challenging. There was no doubt she was dead serious about her proposal. Twilight looked more nervous, but backed her up.

The rest looked at each other with varying emotions. Dash still radiated scorn. Applejack and Rarity looked troubled. Fluttershy was the picture of worry. Pinkie, looking a little sad, seemed convinced.

It took half an hour to persuade the holdouts to go along with the idea, partly because Sunset suggested an additional wrinkle that surprised even Twilight.

“Who thought it was a good idea to hold a music festival so late in the year?” Dash asked rhetorically, blowing out the words with a plume of steamy breath into the cold late-autumn evening air. All seven of them moved around on the patio-cum-stage, setting up for the imminent mini-concert. Her friends responded almost reflexively. “Beats me.” “Good question.” “Not a clue.” “Maybe someone on the city council?” “Someone who likes the cold!” “Um . . .”

Sunny Flare and Lemon Zest stood at the gap in the fence, having volunteered to take tickets. They’d come a long way from the standoffish, grimly competitive air they’d affected at the Friendship Games, and Zest especially seemed “jazzed”, as she put it, to be involved in the festival, even if at one remove. They grinned and joked with the mostly young crowd who’d come to support classmates or simply to try out an unfamiliar group.

Everyone looked up and blinked when Sunny suddenly appeared at the edge of the patio-stage and called softly for Sunset. The latter hopped over cables and around obstacles with alacrity for a whispered conference. Afterward Sunny nodded and trotted off to the sidewalk, vanishing around the front of the garage. A minute later, a small group all but tiptoed along the back fence from the walkway running beside the far side of the garage to the original gate. Sunset carefully took no overt notice, but turned and crouched as if to fiddle with her amp, then murmured, “Girls? They’re here, sitting near the back fence. Don’t look! If you absolutely have to, make it casual.”

When they did glance over their audience of three or four dozen, they noticed the individuals in question. Three of the figures were anonymous in hoodies and jeans. Clearly acting as their chaperone was an imposingly tall middle-aged woman with buzz-cut hair and a piratical eyepatch partially covering the scars spilling across the left side of her face. Her tough, raffish look was reinforced by an old bomber jacket, BDU pants, and black tactical boots, but an abrupt smile at the trio with her, apparently in response to a mumbled comment, lit up her face astonishingly. There was something odd about her right hand, too, but from fifteen feet away in the dim lighting, especially with the temporary stage lights in their eyes, it was hard to tell what.

They had to leave off their examination, though. It was show time.

Most of the hour-long set wasn’t new; there simply hadn’t been time for much songwriting, and the last-minute decisions regarding the Dazzlings tossed their original playlist into a cocked hat. Instead, a hasty tally of songs they knew by heart—both their own and covers—had been thrown together, ruthlessly excluding the numbers with which they’d competed in the Battle of the Bands.

“Everyone ready for a big night?” Dash shouted into the microphone. To the answering cheers, she yelled, “Then let’s have one!”

Pinkie led off the count, and the seven girls burst into song.

“This is our big night

We’re getting ready

And we’re doing it up right . . .”

It was a light, cheerful start. They followed up with more of the same—“Perfect Day for Fun” and “Time to Come Together”, along with a couple of bubbly pop tunes they’d picked up, alternating between their own and others’ work. The small group at the back sat stiff and wooden, even trembling slightly. Their companion’s attention was more on them than on the performance and seemed tinged with concern.

“Life Is a Runway” and “Rainbow Rocks”, paired with other songs of fashion and fancy, finished the opening. From there the Rainbooms moved to less frothy material, carrying the crowd along as the message changed. “I can see mosta y’all are here with friends to enjoy the music,” a beaming Applejack observed. “Yer friends are one o’ the most important parts o’ yer life. There was a time we forgot that, and bein’ reminded of it was a real adventure, I can tell you!”

They swung into “Better Than Ever” and on to “A Friend for Life”, again interspersed with covers. “Friendship Through the Ages” became something of a skit, Sunset moving around the stage, grinning like a fool and dancing a few impromptu steps beside each of her friends in turn. More covers sandwiched “Shine Like Rainbows” and “Hope Shines Eternal”.

By this time they needed a real break, hot and sweaty despite the cold and breath steaming like locomotives. With virtually no separation from their audience—the patio being only a foot above the ground and the nearest spectators sitting literally at its edge—they didn’t bother to douse the lights or leave the stage. Instead they simply sat or leaned, mopped their brows and grabbed bottles of soda or water, and chatted with the people who’d come to see them. The group in the back didn’t come forward, but they seemed more relaxed.

When the Rainbooms reassembled, retuning their instruments, Twilight came forward. “Friends are there to help you up after you fall,” she told the listeners quietly. “But it’s just as important to be willing to get back up and keep trying, even when you aren’t sure of yourself or anything else except the friends you can count on. We all learned that, and we want you all to remember it too.”

Pinkie once again started the count, and “The Legend of Everfree” rang out. Twilight raised her arms, waving encouragement to the crowd, and began clapping in rhythm. By the first chorus she had them shouting “hey!” along with the band, and by the end of the song nearly everyone in the yard was singing along. Even the hoodied trio were clapping.

“Legend You Were Meant to Be” and “Right There in Front of Me” continued the alternation with other heartening songs of inspiration. Then it was Sunset’s turn to step up. “When I first came to Canterlot High, I was . . . not a good person. I did some pretty terrible things, and it took getting knocked flat on my back to see how terrible they were. What I’ve learned is that, if you’re willing to do your best to make up for what you’ve done, you can make friends of people who used to be your enemies.” She took a deep breath, tapped her boot and counted, then bounded into “My Past Is Not Today”. If it wasn’t as polished a performance as some of the others, it was heartfelt. Her friends kept pace with the ease of long familiarity, and at the finale she flung both arms in the air.

When she caught her breath again, they segued into an old standby extolling how wonderful the world was. After it too trailed away, Dash waited a beat before saying in an unwontedly serious tone, “I’m sure you’re all wondering where the money from your tickets will go.” She took a breath. “A while back we had a run-in with some people. What they wanted to do was wrong, and we had to stop them. After we did, they took off. We high-fived each other and that was it.” She looked over at Sunset.

“We didn’t know what happened to them after that. We didn’t even think to check.” Sunset shook her head. “But we found out earlier this month their lives ended up in a really bad place, and it was partly our fault. The only good thing about it was, the hole they were in showed them how badly they needed help, and now they’re going to get it. It’ll be expensive, though, so the ticket money’s going to help pay for that help.”

The small group at the back of the crowd showed all the signs of shock, hands raised to half-hidden mouths. The woman with them wore a slight smile of approval. Everyone else applauded, though not without a certain quizzical air. It was to the latter Twilight spoke. “That’s all we can say, because we want to protect their privacy. We know it’s not a lot, but it’s the least we can do, and every little bit helps.”

Sunset struck a chord on her guitar. “It’s been crazy getting ready for the festival, so we didn’t have time to write any new material—except for our last song tonight. Fluttershy and I call it ‘Work in Progress’, and it’s for those folks who’re getting the money, and the help, they need.”

Sci-Twi finds a book that shouldn’t exist

Lectern’s New and Used Books was quieter a half-hour before closing than it had been earlier on a busy Friday evening. The seven girls had spent a few after-school hours with homework and take-out dinner in the front sitting room, chatting and sharing notes. Now most of them were dispersed into the rest of the neighborhood for some last-minute shopping as a reward for keeping their noses to the proverbial grindstone, leaving only the most bookish of the group to do their celebratory shopping in Lectern’s itself.

Sunset Shimmer and Twilight Sparkle idly perused the same section of used books on the upper floor, looking for some entertaining fiction that wouldn’t break the budget if it didn’t turn out to be their cups of tea. This late, the shelves were in some disarray, littered with occasional out-of-place strays and untidy piles. Twilight’s penchant for neatness made her hands twitch, but for the most part she resisted the urge to do the staff’s job for them, as more than one of her friends had chided her about in just those words. Sunset was less moved to reshelve books, but did grumble under her breath at the way the mess complicated browsing. She was doing so again when Twilight’s voice, in a frightened hush, spoke up.

“S-Sunset? What did you say the name of your country is?”

“Equestria. Why?” Sunset turned around to see her disturbingly pale companion staring at a book held in both hands as if it were one of Fluttershy’s more obnoxious animal charges about to try biting and scratching. “Uh—what’s wrong?”

Without a word Twilight turned and presented the book, and Sunset caught her breath. In an elegantly thin flowing chancery was the title Tales From Equestria, under which the subtitle proclaimed the book to be “STORIES FOR THE YOUNG AND THE YOUNG AT HEART”. Yet it was the cover artwork, more than the title, that made her freeze in sudden heartstopping shock. Brilliant slanted shapes, plainly intended as bright sunlight spilling through a tall mullioned window, framed a glorious rendition of a curly-rayed sun, textured to suggest a paved floor, right down to the gold metal strips framing each block of colored stone.

“What . . .” she croaked after a moment. One hand reached out, claw-like, and Twilight surrendered the book more than willingly. Sunset turned it over and looked at the back cover. Similar, but less intense, shapes slanted the other way, highlighting a fanciful crescent moon set in a different flooring, with the usual back-cover squib reversed out of the dark-shadowed area at the top of the image.

It took clearing her throat twice before she was able to read aloud, “‘Once upon a time in the magical land of Equestria . . .’ With these words the world was introduced to . . . blah blah blah . . . a host of writers and artists . . . blah blah blah . . . children’s television program . . .”

“I’ve never heard of that television series,” Twilight said nervously, “but it sounds exactly like—”

“—Like where I came from, yeah. And those sure do look like the Chamber of the Sun and the Chamber of the Moon in Canterlot Palace. I’ve walked on those floors.” Sunset stared at the book in consternation. “But . . . the way this reads doesn’t sound like any kind of official adaptation.”

“I looked at the preface and some of the pages at random. It’s . . . it’s fan fiction. Of a television show that doesn’t exist. About a world almost nobody knows about.” Twilight swallowed. “With us—or at least the pony versions of us—in it.”

Sunset blinked and flipped through the book rapidly to confirm Twilight’s chain of logic. She stared at the page for a long moment, then let the softcover fall shut again. “Okay, let’s go downstairs and find out what’s going on. This is pretty elaborate for a practical joke. Even Pinkie couldn’t create a whole book like this—and I know I’ve never mentioned the Chambers to anyone.”

The college student behind the counter frowned down at the mysterious book lying there innocently, back cover up. “Huh. That’s weird. The copyright date doesn’t make any sense, and there’s no ISBN or bar code.”

Both customers leaned over to look down. “ISBN?” Sunset asked blankly.

“International Standard Book Number,” the other two chorused. The older student shrugged at Twilight, who continued, “Every book published in the last, um, thirty years or so has one. Well, more accurately every book that’s supposed to go into the retail market gets one. If a new book doesn’t have an ISBN, no distributor or bookstore will touch it. I remember reading in a newsletter about a graphic novel published by a small press, run by somebody who normally worked with comic books. They never worked with books before and didn’t bother to get an ISBN for it, so it never got into distribution and flopped horribly.”

The cashier, who’d spent the time during Twilight’s lecture tapping on the check-out tablet’s screen, looked up again. “There’s no record of this in the inventory system. I—huh. I’m gonna have to call Mister Lectern on this one. It doesn’t even have a price tag.”

Twilight opened her mouth to demur, but Sunset overrode her. “Go ahead. It looks interesting, so I’ll take it.” She ignored Twilight’s stare that said more eloquently than words, Are you crazy?

Lectern, summoned via intercom, appeared shortly and took over the other check-out tablet. After being briefed by his employee, he quickly verified no listing for the book appeared anywhere in the store’s database—or indeed in any public bibliographic database. “Well.” He turned and favored the girls with a wry smile. “Not to worry. Once in a while something slips through the cracks, despite everyone’s best efforts. Though I confess the lack of a price tag, or any listing anywhere, is rather puzzling. How about . . .” After a moment’s thought he named a rather nominal price, which Sunset paid promptly. Lectern handled the rest of the sale himself and saw off the girls with a cheery farewell.

Once out on the sidewalk Twilight leaned in and hissed, “What were you thinking, Sunset? That book—”

Sunset pitched the book into one of the sturdy trash barrels spotted at intervals along the street. It rattled against the receptacle’s anti-tamper roof before vanishing into the pitch-black depths of the canister, invisible and all but unreachable. “That book from who-knows-where is something we will never, ever mention to anybody. Or anypony. Especially our friends who are in it. Right?”

Twilight blinked and looked at the trash can, then back at Sunset. “Right,” she agreed firmly.