Quality

by Saxopi

Rating: teen
Tags: Thriller, Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama
Length: 9981

The Canterlot Secret Service struggles to maintain balance and order on a continent in crisis

A methodical but by-the-books secret agent, an endearing but volatile ex-cop, a withdrawn but inimical war veteran, a cautious but impulsive city detective, a voluptuous but perceptive international actress, a cynical but loyal limo driver. The Secret Service manifests in all forms and trades. They are selected from the most cunning and most unusual types of ponies, for only they could ensure Equestria exists another day.

The many crises on Equestria might look like just another set of conflicts brought on by each nation's wants; power, wealth or resources. But as the Secret Service attempts to compromise with all of them, it begins to look as though each one is an ingredient to a dish that aims to take the strife to a boiling point.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2017-04-11 01:00:01 UTC

I - High Tide

A thousand years ago, two sisters ruled Equestria through peace and harmony. The older sister, Princess Celestia, raised the sun during the day so that her ponies could work and play under its loving warmth. The younger sister, Princess Luna, raised the moon during the night so they may rest and relax. They were no ordinary ponies, but rather alicorns -winged unicorns who harbor the most powerful magic known to ponykind. Their magic said to be so powerful they could move stars and satellites with the wave of a horn.

Under their guiding wings, Equestria prospered. But as time went, Princess Luna grew cold and saw ill in their scheme. Gradually, she felt unappreciated and unloved, watching ponies basking under the touch of Celestia’s glow, while they slept and snored through the bleak shroud of night. One day, in a fit of jealousy and hatred she turned into a pony of malice bent of casting Equestria into eternal darkness - Nightmare Moon. Celestia, unable to reason with her sister, used the Elements of Harmony to banish her to her moon, where she could make it night all she wants for a thousand years and change. Frankly, the story should have ended there, just a tale to tell to the little fillies at bed.  All just make-believe after all.

But, like so many make-beliefs before it, they go the path from legend to religion.

Whether that tool proved to be a benefit or a burden to the ponies of Equestria remains to be seen. In moments of unusual tension or grave peril, faith has kept ponies calm, something to pray to when times are trying. An unusual remedy for an aching soul, but to some extent, it has been observed to be a helpful remedy indeed.

Of course, history shows otherwise. The past is plagued with examples of the opposite, religion versus religion, night against day. To the non-equine foreigner, Equestria was seen as a land of refuge and solace, where friendship thrived. If there was any truth in that, Equestria would cease to exist. In truth, Equestria was built from the blood of earthen hooves, the fractures of winged fighters, and the atrocities of horned devils. From every spoils from each death Equestria grew. Such was the case centuries prior, where a conflict of doctrines would inevitably lead to what we now know as The Schism.

Regardless, technology and society has improved since then, the borders and beliefs that had divided both land and ponies no longer hold sway with is populace like it did centuries before, who fervently learned from their wrongdoings. What conflict ponies saw since the Schism were sparse and isolated, these rare cases of which being the result of territorial dispute or, in one instance, a Germaneigh Emperor, in which after seizing control of an industrial region of Prance, declared war on them for not declaring war back. Or perhaps one such day ten years ago when it rained chocolate milk, the meadows replaced with ugly carpets and entire animals disfigured, their limbs mysteriously switched with each other.

For a time Equestria was indeed the very picture of what foreigners has come to recognize it as, a land of peace and harmony. For the most part these immigrants are more uninformed than ignorant when concerning the state of Equestria. with all respect to the definition, it is indeed a time of peace, but that definition to the Equestrian simply read the absence of war. Ponies have indeed learned from the past, but they have yet to learn from the present.

It is now the Second Thousand since the Unification. There is a growing uneasiness between the nations of Equestria. The borders drawn up from The Schism have resulted in a disparity concerning the distribution of natural resources within the continent, brought up by the sudden demand for induction gems that came with the advent of indirect magic, otherwise known as electricity. To complicate matters, several nations have instigated a race to colonize the once untouched continent of Hosstralia. The situation wasted no time in devolving from civil discourse to ponies of court flinging “we were here first!” remarks to passive aggressive glaring in conference halls to sporadic skirmishes among border guards involving cannon-fired frosted pastries.

Fortunately, Canterlot[1] is not without its military, the fighting force which has served both state and continent from its enemies for well over two millennia. Unfortunately, for a long time this military was archaic on most aspects. As most realize, it has been five hundred years since the last major conflict in Equestria. As a result of this extended lull, Most of Canterlot’s  military is sorely lacking in proper training and equipment, while its former territories in the fringes of gryphon territory and other, less friendly sovereign lands, honed their tactical prowess and their unmatched veterancy.

Which now leads us to the formation of the Secret Service. Canterlot is all to aware that to meet the enemy in an open battlefield is not an option in this day and age, so instead they send it their corps of secret service agents, skilled ponies whose existence and purpose is the most kept secret of Canterlot. Their assignments range from intelligence theft, to deception, to assassination. All things considered, the Secret Service is the first and last military defense Canterlot has.

a beige unicorn winced and felt a prod to her foreleg, the scent of sugar filling the cabin.

“Sofie!” A mocha colored earth pony exclaimed, in between stuffing her mouth with bite-sized cakes. “We're here!”

Of course, who else could magically make food appear without using magic at all other than her. The unicorn begrudgingly sat upright from an impromptu nap and found herself wondering where the earth pony in front of her once again produced a stash of sweets to devour, considering she ate nearly all their rations hours prior. Before the unicorn could question her compatriot, or her own sanity for that matter, the autochariot banked to its side to prepare for landing.

“Ma’am, The Tide is requesting your clearance code,” the pilot spoke through the on-board radio, the noise of the engine and the sea breeze making normal communication quite a challenge.

“Seahorse override. Message of the day is sharkfin.” the unicorn yawned in between sentences. “And mention that the captain is expecting them.”

“Yes ma'am!” The pilot affirmed, a bit too enthusiastically for his own good. Perhaps he felt humbled to be riding with members of the elite and respected Seahorse Division. After circling the ship once, the bridge clears their flying wagon.

“It's way bigger than I thought,” the earth pony pressed her snout against the glass, marveling at their destination.

“Stop kissing the windows and get ready, Espress,” the lieutenant said.

As the craft turned, the landscape outside the windows shifted away from the endless view of the ocean, until Sofia could see what the earth pony was pointing at. Outside floated the Tide, a massive supercarrier, the largest of the world. Canterlot had no significant naval force decades ago, but as the economy globalized and the nation saw more exports than imports, the need for coastal defense to protect merchant ships crossing vast oceans became apparent. Unfortunately, During the formation of the Royal Coast Guard, funding was restricted, the pocket-tight bureaucrats, in typical apathetic fashion, saw little need of a coast guard at an apparent time of peace. Of course, the real reasons are apparent enough. Stereotypes exist for a reason after all.

During the fleet's inception, the budget allocated for the navy barely allowed for a fleet of three warships, not including a five year retention contact for maintenance and supply.  So with what money they had, the military commissioned one large warship, a carrier in this instance, to conduct their naval operations. This made sure the contact could be extended to a 10 year plan, and also so they had only one warship to maintain instead of three.

Of course, the lawmakers quickly shelled out their savings after the sinking of the Lovecraft and the shipwrights were commissioned to build more, but by all respects this investment worked out great, the Tide continuing its vigilant service past its expected 15 year lifespan, patrolling the coasts of Equestria with impunity, its size enough to dissuade any pirate or foe from a fierce but ultimately quick engagement

“Pretty cool, huh. Ever been aboard it?” Espress asked.

“Only once, during the induction of the captain before the current one. That was three years ago.”

“Oh yeah. Know about the new captain? the Royal Navy sure has a lot of good to say about him. A real charm, I've heard,” The earth pony gossiped.

Nearing the ship, at least the beige unicorn could appreciate what made the Tide a sight to awe. the entire deck was a vast, open, half a kilometer long platform, easily as wide 3 city blocks, not including the towering superstructure that looked as though it had sprouted from within the hull. The banks of the ship were lined with aircraft of varying sizes and uses, granting the ship an ominous silhouette from the decks of other ships.

Because the vessel was built at a time when armaments weren't standardized, the cannons aboard the Tide were shoddy to say the least, and was easily and quickly overshadowed by more powerful guns later developed in its life. What it lacked in firepower it made up for the fact that it could carry a city-leveling amount of ordnance, autochariots and aircraft.

“Heard how?” Sofia asked her talkative partner. The two have only been working together for six months, but in that time she knew more about her than she would like - or care - to know. The earth pony loved to strike up a conversation wherever she could, or Luna forbid talk about her experiences, most of which concerning her tenure as a Manehattan cop.

“Oh, I’m close with someone who got stationed here. We talk a lot. Mostly about how there's much not work to do but plenty of time for anything other than. The captain is some proponent of sorts to alternative methods of disciple and recreation, and has been pretty laid back about the practice aboard the ship.” A captain that allows recreational drugs aboard his ship? Already Sofia felt a flinching disdain for the pony in charge.

“And since there's basically nothing to do other than drills and cleaning, the crew pretty much spends half their day high off their hooves!”

The autochariot slowed gradually as it descended, a sailor aboard the carrier directing the craft to its landing spot with exaggerated hoof signals. “That's terrible.” Sofia deadpanned.

“Exactly the opposite, I'd say. Someone in the military started actually caring about morale instead of keeping their toys shiny and useless,” Espress said. Sofia winced in exasperation each time the craft pulled a hard stop mid-landing. “I dunno about you, but I like how this captain runs his boat. Everypony can enjoy the freedom their ancestors fought for. What's not to find cool about that?”

“That the crew is virtually ineffective in a fight, which to me just indicates that the captain does not give two hairs about the state of his vessel.”

“Bloody genius of you ask me,” The whir of the engine noise echoed against metal as their transport hovered over the deck, the pilot meticulously but pointlessly aligning the chariot inside the designated pad. “But anyway, once we get inside the ship you'll probably see what I mean. Whatever his methods are, they're more of an improvement, and I’m sure I have the entire crew of Equestria's capital ship to back me up on that.”

Sofia could not care less about the opinions of any crew member. They signed up for a job and all the inconveniences that came with it. While bringing to attention poor working conditions or maintenance is one thing, complaining about recreational schedules not to their liking is another, laughable matter.

“Now, come on!” the mocha-colored pony hopped out of the cabin, the chariot still inches above metal ground, and stuck her landing with a sonorous thud. The chariot dropped down and kissed the ground moments later, and Sofia finally disembarked. “Can't wait to meet the crew!”

“We're here to take an assignment, not make friends with recreational drug enthusiasts. Your mingling will have to wait,” the lieutenant reminded, and by that she meant ‘don't bring it up I swear’.

Which simply reminded her of their assignment. The transmission from dispatch was simple enough, but in keeping with the secrecy seahorses were known to value, the information was striped to the essentials. In this case, they were to board an autochariot parked near Manessanas Dockyard and fly to the Tide, use their seahorse override code, and meet with the captain of the ship. After every mission, personnel from whom assignments are received from are reassigned and rotated. Orders can be taken from just about anypony, from a peachy provincial governor to a part paralegal, part bar hostess from the boulevards of Detrot.

In essence, seahorses are constantly ordered to receive orders. For all their wonder, it escapes the council of the Royal Navy as to why recruiting is at its lowest point.

From the deck, the ship appeared even more titanic. The airstrip stretched out distant enough until anypony at the other end was simply too far, that none could tell the color of their coat if the were even halfway across the ship.

“Well either way, I want to meet up with my friend later, and I know you haven't had that much sleep so I'm sure you don't mind,” Espress said whimsically, trampling about like a school filly who had been taken to a carnival. “Really, this place looks awesome!”

“On that we are in agreement, I suppose.” Very few things faze Sofia, but at that moment she gazed at the boat with a fleeting sense of pride. The naval might of Equestria was undeniable, and the Tide was certainly floating proof of that sentiment. But lacking the luxury of sightseeing, she returned to her solid composure, and to her partner talking aimlessly and loudly beside her.

”Why isn't there anypony around to meet us? You'd think how much free time they spend smoking they still realize we need a guide to take us through the ship,” Espress pointed out.

“Unless they hold flights and drills indoors, that is exactly the reason why there isn't anypony to meet us,” Sofia sighed, stopping to check the watch on her hoof. Thirty past six. “Either way, we can still navigate the ship on our own. The last occasion I was here, I recall an entrance over-”

Before she even heard it, a snapping breeze from the passing of a winged pony cracked close beside them, not strong enough to tip them out of balance, but enough that Sofia instinctively raised a hoof and reached for her shortbore where she would have it holstered. Fortunately for the speeding pegasus, the gun jammed on their last mission and is currently back aboard the chariot awaiting repairs. Almost comically, the pegasus stopped dead in front of the newcomers, wearing a faded green flight deck jumpsuit and a pair of golden cotton-strapped goggles.

“Deepest apologies for the wait. The bridge informed me about your presence just now, sorry to say,” The light blue pegasus said stoically and providing a calm smile, as if he wasn't flying at breakneck speeds just moments before.

“Thank you for making the time, regardless,” The unicorn said calmly, patting off the nonexistent dust from her fatigues.

“Neat trick, Dash!” Espress grinned. “Bet that got you past flight school.”

The pegasus smiled back sheepishly. “Thank you for the comparison, but I can never hope to match her speed and agility. I can honestly say that I am unworthy of such praise.”

It essentially confirms it, the crew of the Tide is a lost cause. Sofia interjected before Espress could start another unwanted dialogue about another unwanted topic.

“Good morning, sergeant…” Sofia trailed. The flyer's rank was obvious enough, but lacking a name tag, his identity remained elusive.

“Oh, how rude of me. Sergeant Messerschmitt, at your service,” He recited, which likely explains the lack of a name tag. “Sergeant Mez, if that proves to be too much of a mouthful.”

Espress stifled a grin. If the pegasus took any sort of offence, he clearly didn't show. Smiling back, he continued. “I serve as the Captain's aide aboard this magnificent ship. You can tell from my patches that I am not an NCO, but oddly enough he insisted I liaise with him on the ship. Truly it was an unexpected honor when he asked me to be his right-hoof pony during his tenure as cap-”

“At ease, sergeant, ” Sofia said tersely, already wishing she was currently armed. Espress stood smiling as if she was just as high as the rest of the crew, finding glee in seeing her superior annoyed to her extremes. Without further interruptions, she resumed, “Could you take us to the captain?”

In contrast to the ship’s wide and spacious deck, the inside was extremely narrow and ridiculously sparse. The claustrophobic interior made the colossal boat appear small in comparison. Within the steel beast housed cramped rooms, tight hallways made tighter by running pipes, ventilation ducts and head-level ceilings. Despite her best efforts, the unicorn managed to hit her horn on a pipe twice, whilst avoiding incoming and passing crew members.

“Hah! you make me glad I'm not a unicorn,” Espress chided.

“Walking inside ship is a chore in itself, but I'm sure you can manage, ma'am!” Mez said, whose male stature made him tall enough that he too needed to duck on as much occasions, but with significantly more success.

“Thank you, sergeant. Now please keep leading. We'd rather not bar the walkways anymore than we need to.”

The pegasus directed the two through three storeys of narrow passages and staircases, the unicorn following diligently while the earth pony poked through every open door. Oddly, none of the occupants complained. Perhaps the crew of the ship had simply gotten use to their constant lack of privacy that it bothered them none.

Every room they passed by was a living diorama of every sort of lifestyle imaginable if one were to cram the sum permutation of unicorn, pegasus and earth pony from all genders into a giant metal cocoon. One room had a litter of stallions completely devolved in video game paraphernalia, their walls covered in posters, a console of bygone and retro appearance on a shelf at the back of the cabin. Another room hosted a small group of artists, paintings and brushes lining the shelves in spaces not taken up by pipes. Seeing the apparent lack of regulation, Sofia couldn't help but ask.

“If I may, How is the state of the ship?” She asked. Mez turned to look at the lieutenant with a warranted caution in his expression.

“Well, nothing out of the ordinary, essentially. The ship is sailing smoothly along its patrol route from the Flyami Gulf to the Herring Strait, with the occasional low pressure area slowing the sails of course, but nothing our fine ship or even our fine captain can't attend against.”

Not exactly the answer she was looking for, but luckily Espress pressed her own curiosities, always the conversation fanatic that she was. “Oh, the captain! Can you tell me anything about him?”

“Oh, Captain Arkansas. Lots! For one, he's unbelievably the most welcomed captain among the crew. The crew admire him. That's not to say all the previous captains were unfavorable and did not perform their duties, but he has certainly made the impression of being compassionate not only for the ship but also for the ponies running it.  I personally have plenty to say about him, but not anything the crew won't reiterate if ever you inquire them a similar question.”

“Well, He sure knows how to make a battle hardened ship the most welcoming place in Equestria. We should definitely take a tour, lieutenant. There's bound to be a group of ponies you'll love the company of. I saw a knitting club a storey back. Calm and boring. Your kind of pace,” the sergeant chided at her superior.

“Believe me when I say i’d rather be on my way at this point,” Sofia replied blankly, missing another pipe to the horn by just a fur’s width.

“The ship not to your liking, ma'am?” Mez asked curiously. Rounding another corner, they are slowed by a cackle of juveniles lining up to the bathroom. They made no effort to hide their intentions within the smoke-filled latrine.

“Not so much the ship, but rather the obvious desensitizing of the respected crew.” Her respect, as she should clarify. For a long time now, those stationed on the Tide are mere rookies or academy graduates, where they learn the ropes of military life aboard the seas before being redeployed to other, smaller vessels that see more action. Often these were coalitions formed between Canterlot and any of its neighbors.

“Oh? I don't deny your reasons for such qualms, but I've seen nothing but positive morale and peak efficiency ever since Captain Arkansas took the helm.”

“To my knowledge, a crew subdued with narcotics holds only half that statement true. I doubt that your claim of peak efficiency is far from undebatable.”

“Well, so far, that is how things appear to be, and you have the captain to thank for that,” Mez replied, returning a salute from a fellow sailor passing by. “But you'll be meeting the good stallion soon enough. I'm sure he would love to enlighten you about his doctrine of governing the vessel!”

“Don't worry about what she thinks. Her definition of vacation was learning the Neighponese language after all,” Espress chimed in.

“It was either that or volunteer in the Naval Counseling Office.”

“Psshh… I'm sure if you just asked me to come with you on vacation, you'd actually have fun. Or at least let me take you out more often,”

Sofia kept her gaze straight, more so just to diffuse the conversation than preventing another unwanted pipe encounter. “The fact that you decided to take us skydiving[2], something that we engage in when not on vacation, is reason enough for me to assume I do not find leisure in the things you find relaxing.”

Walking past a dormitory room, they spot a young sailor hastily hiding a smoking implement under his bunk sheets, but his zoned-out expression isn't as easily masked.

“Well, the entire point of taking a vacation is doing something you like. I've tried everything from bowling to clothes shopping with you. I don't think you even liked the shawl you picked out for yourself.”

The duo and their lead climbed down another set of stairs, scooting past incoming sailors, cigar smoke still billowing from their snouts. With contraband running this wild across the ship, it's confounding how the entire crew isn't suffering from a variety of lung diseases.

“So guess what? You sure love your job. Why not do something related to it.”

“I do my job well because if I don't, I would be without a job. Don't confuse efficiency for enjoyment.”

“Fine. Next leave, you're planning our vacation. Any place you wanna go or anything you wanna do, I'm down for it.”

The lieutenant simply rolled her eyes as they neared their destination. Descending another flight of unwieldy steep stairs, they reach the ship's canteen. The space is significantly wider than most rooms of the ship, but still, for anyone who has yet to get used to the constricted environment, it pays to watch one's step.

“Watch your step,” Mez said redundantly.

“Hah, even the food here is intoxicating,” the mocha pony exclaimed, catching a whiff of aromatic pastries trayed on a serving table. Her affinity for sweets is prominent, something Sofia learned early in their partnership. “Can we stop for those?”

“Breakfast will be with you soon enough, ma'am. Over here.” Mez led them to a wider area of the canteen, terminating in a wooden windowless for with a placard that read staff only. Along their way were sailors strutting amok, holding or levitating plates and mugs with a careful grace that can only be acquired from staying in a ship far too long. Nopony seemed too aware of two seahorses passing by. Either they failed to care or are simply still half asleep where they sat.

“One thing you should know,” the pegasus turned to the seahorses and held up a hoof. “The captain is somewhat of a pony whom one would describe as… exotic. Don't be too alarmed about his method of communication, if it could be avoided.”

“How so?” Espress asked with a muffin in her mouth, managing to procure one in the time it took to speak the sentence.

“Well, ma'am…quite the thing to discuss in a longer timespan…” Mez murred.

Sofia blinked nonchalantly. “Actually, nevermind. We’ll get what we need from him and be on our way before that becomes a problem.”

“...That would perhaps be one thing I actually doubt about him.”

The requirements for installation as a commander in any Equestrian military isn't steep or numerous to say the least, but one of those desired is to be a graduate of the Fort Catalina Military Academy in Furrtugal. The Academy hosts the most stressful and demanding courses of any officer school in Equestria. Even just being a graduate is enough for the Navy to place one such alumni in command of a vessel.

This is mostly because at the time the institution was founded a hundred years ago, the Canterlot-Furrtugal Coalition was embroiled in a conflict with the northern territories of Shilling Isle. This conflict emphasized the importance not only of the physical side of warfare but also the psychological aspects involved, quite literally in this case.

Shilling natives were warrior unicorns - masters of manipulation in both their mind and their environment. Due to the harsh and chilling habitat within the north, their magics are severely hampered, their capabilities dampened by the cold their bodies experience constantly.

Hence to anypony who isn't adaptable to such kind of weather, producing heat by way of magical radiation was an inefficient solution. Instead they dabbed in the practice of arcane-induced meditation, where their thoughts are subject to sensations that appear real to their own senses, but in reality are mere projections born from their own internally casted spells. In the cold, they teach their minds to think they are warm.

This form of manipulation had its uses in the battlefield, particularly planting false tactical information among enemy officers and commanders. This stirred the need for training to counter such magical influences, especially on ponies on positions of leadership.

Cadets of Fort Catalina were subject to psychological stress training to counter or even adapt to this mind magic. After the conflict, which ended in a rather indecisive victory to the coalition, the academy permanently included the training regime in their curriculum. As a result of the extraneous curriculum, officers who leave the Academy are often observed to have slightly skewed and unusual personalities.

Most of these disparities are relatively scant, such as Commander Kaleza of the Ilocos Infantry Regiment, known for her macabre fascination of toasters and for loading bores with hot sauce, which she ‘executes’ ponies with requiring disciplinary action. While others border to the unnerving, volatile and downright dangerous, such as Seahorse Division Commander Blizzard Storm, who single-hoofedly rammed and destroyed a renegade destroyer with a rubber duck life boat.

Granted, The military places these ponies in positions of power not because of their odd quirks but because of their strategic genius, their innate ability to create predictions without the need for enchantments or enhancements, able to make tactical decisions under the heat of battles.

Regardless, in all cases the stress training would have been taxing to the mind, resulting in officers with quirks much more comparable to symptoms of bipolar disorders or schizophrenic tendencies.

While mandatory personality tests at the end of their time in the Academy determine that none of their graduates suffer from such illnesses, this did little to lessen the number of times officers have been forcibly admitted to state asylums by their own soldiers.

Entering the private mass hall was akin to gulping a nice, cold glass of orange juice after sipping tea made from ground turmeric. For one, it was significantly more spacious than a regular quarter, save for the captain sitting at the end of the cherry table. The air felt well ventilated. A door at the back presumably led to the kitchen, which they could tell was the source of the Celestia-sent fragrance.

Along with such aroma was the food already laid out on the table itself; a banquet of toasted panini sandwiches, fresh carrots with melted cheese, sweet pumpkin puree, baked potatoes, the humble cinnamon bun basket, and a pot of brewed coffee to complete the concoction.

“This place just keeps getting better,” Espress sniffed with greed and eagerly stepped forward, only for her superior to hold a hoof against her for restraint.

”The dull and confined limits of life aboard a ship demands that those who have the means must live through it as comfortable as they can,” The unicorn captain said, settling his own mug down and spoke as fluently and haughtily as any other aristocratic magiker from Canterlot.

At the end of the table sat the highly respected captain of the Tide, Captain Arkansas. Lacking the uniform of a naval officer, he instead wore a brown and red colonial garment, familiar with most Equestrians as the attire of the Ironhoof Legion, a well known earth pony unit during The Schism, complete with an appropriate duster hat.

“Captain,” The beige seahorse saluted, magically dragging her partner towards her before she could bite a caramel apple, where she too gave the gesture with more vigor than her usual, no doubt in her mind staying in the Captain's graces meant a slice of breakfast.

“Just in time I hope, Captain,” The pegasus said, lending a quick salute.

“Always are, Mez,” The skipper smiled at his aide, lowering his hooves. “and at ease, my dears, brunch is on me. I didn't have all this made for just me and Mez, you know.”

“Sweet!” No stopping her now. While Espress eagerly obliged, Mez walked over to the side of the table and pulled up a chair, at his place near the captain’s immediate right.

“Thank you for fetching them, sergeant,” The captain spoke an earthly but smooth Equestrian, that despite his old appearance he sounded younger than the average bloke on his crew. An already blatant indication that this stallion was from the higher echelons of Canterlot society where they are trained in their diction and public speaking from foalhood. His accent doesn't seem out of the ordinary, an easily recognizable Manehattan boom to his voice. “And to my guests, welcome to the Tide.”

“Lieutenant Sofia. Sergeant Espress. 12th Seahorse Division.” The commanding officer recited. “awaiting orders, captain”

“Well then while we wait, how's about you sit down breakfast!” The skipper said happily, levitating a slice of cheesecake on a saucer in front of her. “One of Chef Sorvetes’ delicious specialties. She's a magician without the horn, I tell you!”

“Thank you Captain, but we're merely here for our deployment. We’ll be out of your mane shortly,” she said frankly, earning her a mouthful grin from her subordinate.

“Damn that, you frolic in my mane all you want!” The captain exclaimed in a rich, posh Britame accent.

“Excuse me?”

The skipper swooned up beside Sofia, leaning his back towards her. “Please do, I don't mind. In fact, I relish it! We’ll have so much fun,”

“I must…decline?” She inches backward, seeing all too clear now what Mez meant about that captain’s exotic personality.

“Hmm. Very well. Either way, so glad to have new ponies at this table. All the other officers are busy boots as always,” The brown-coated unicorn said as he returned to his seat, still maintaining the constant shift in accent. His features didn't entirely reflect his wild social flair, but his blue mane shimmered against the scant light diffusing through the curtains of the portholes.

“Perhaps they are simply more used to the stale salt biscuits than your beloved chef's masterpieces, captain,” Mez commented, joining Espress in munching as much of every dish on the table.

“Well, that's their loss,” Espress took into the captain's unusual but so far amiable atmosphere almost instantaneously, while Sofia wasted no time finding distaste in his over-polite manners. Already she could see why the crew seemed to like him so much. He was a stallion of excess, of luxuries and lovers - which is associated and often times expected from a carefree aristocrat of the capital, but not so much a desirable, or even appropriate, trait for a ship captain.

“Indeed, indeed. I must confess some of my cohorts aboard do not find my tastes appealing, but I'm glad you're enjoying otherwise,”

“Captain,” Espress gulped down her mug in one swig, eliciting a rather unladylike belch. Then again, none would really regard her as one to begin with. “I can honestly say that I would have loved to be a part of your crew.”

Captain Arkansas smiled and chuckled at the mocha pony, gravitating to her easy going demeanor with much enthusiasm.

“Very good! It's all too easy to be sucked into the mundane of life in the middle of the ocean, but I'm glad ponies like you still find ways to spice it up just a little.”

“Some ponies just take their job way too seriously. You know, like Sofie here,” Espress snarked, pointing a hoof at her superior.

“That is because this work is meant to be taken seriously.”

“Right, but I bet all else in between, like, this breakfast for instance, you take less seriously I hope?” Causing Arkansas clasped his hooves, smiling attentively. Sofia stared at the skipper for a respectable moment. The grin on his mug reminded her that of a mediocre social entertainer’s, condusive to being struck off his face with a hoof.

“Breakfast is essential, hence it may be taken seriously,” she said plainly, pouring herself a mug of brew to back her statement.

“Seriously?” Espress said. This lieutenant just can't take a break.

The captain leaned against his regal chair, cushioned and lined with royal blue cloth and golden trims. “Actually lieutenant, I wonder what your opinion is on the ship. The officers who no doubt share your thoughts don't seem to want to sit down about it, but since you are here, sitting down, I'm all ears.”

She would rather just shoot the captain for their orders and be done with it, but either way she mused on his request. Seemed like a decent time as any to voice concerns, even if those concerns were from somepony who wasn't even a crewmember. The problems she saw were that obvious, for certain.

“While I can't speak for your officers, having only been aboard for a sum total of twelve hours, I can comment that the policies aboard ship are somewhat…” She sipped, her mind digging for an alternative to the term batshit wanton. “...damaged.”

Captain Arkansas grinned, swirling a baked potato stick in his cocoa mug. His accent returned to the Manehattan silk they heard the first time. “Hah! I know all too well what you mean. Well, I shouldn't have to mention that the Commodore of the Royal Navy had similar sentiments, but frankly, I didn't care!”

“That your crew is constantly strung up their hinds and are virtually useless?” Sofia said coldly, Espress sinking below a wall of food. “The contraband aboard is unregulated and the workload is far too economical. Captain, with all due respect, I sincerely hope you realize what you're doing is detrimental not only to the health of the crew but also the effectiveness of is your ship.”

“Ah, quite the opposite’ my dear,” The captain stood up casually, porting a smoking pipe on his muzzle, and walked along the table, pouring melted cheese on the end of the pipe. Sofia glazed at him, unsure whether to rush him to a hospital or save everyone the trouble.

“Ya ain't gon’ believe it, but the crew and ship were already in boat-sinking conditions when I took over this boat, and I reckon they had it worst way back when,” The sudden accent switch to an Apploosan tongue was surprising, but at this point not alarming.

“Lots of captains don't get love from their crew. Nope, not one slice of the pie. If we told 'em apples grew on trees, they'd want to check for themselves. No love at all, an’ fer good reason, as much as ah hate t’ admit.”

“Military officers don't have the greatest track record when it comes to favorability. What they teach us in the academy is barely applicable to the real world, where we interact mostly with our crew -regular ponies from all walks of life who simple want to serve for their country - and they expect us to treat them like engine fuel, expendables existing only to turn the cogs of the war machine.” The captain walked over to a window and pulled away the curtain, the golden touch of the sun spilling across the room. Before turning back around he returned the pipe back into his inner coat pocket.

“The academy taught us to be fierce, unforgiving and harsh, not only to our enemies but also to our subordinates. Hence, most resort to techniques of governing that involve fear, orange juice and toothpaste, and would not hesitate to discharge or, Celestia forbid, execute any pony not in their line.”

Mez interrupted. “Erm, well, while there has never been a recorded case of military execution on insubordinates of the army for the past century, I can attest that some method of punishment conducted by officers were indeed seen as heinous.”

“Yarr, not I!” The skipper continued, taking on the persona of a pirate. “As a pony with nary a military background to speak of prior to enlistin’ in the Navy, I can say that I'm much more connected to the common folk that compose the bulk of our proud navy.”

“Too right,” Espress coined in.

“I can't speak fer other officers meself, dear lieutenant, but lemme just tell you, that I sleep well at night knowing me crew ain't plottin’ some ill-conceived 'bring yer inappropriate opinions to work’ day on me own deck,”

“Treat ye boys and girls like yer own children, and you'll live through your last battle. If you barf out yer dinner, you'll be eating it as breakfast the next day. My experience confirms that that's as good as any bargain, savvy?”

“So wait, the Commodore isn't going to relieve you for all this?” Espress asked.

“By the three tribes’ flag, no. Can you imagine the scrutiny the Navy would get for discharging the captain of the Tide with the compelling argument of ‘he was making the crew like him too much’. Like I said, I value my crew just as much as I value my own fur, and if that means maintaining a subdued environment, then I won't have to visit the canteen with an armed escort,” the captain leaned back into his chair, casually munching on a cinnamon bun floating just above his muzzle. “Besides, I simply love the smell of spiced opiates in the morning.”

“That was a natural routine back then, if you could believe that,” Mez added.

For a short while the cabin feel silent, the only sounds present were Espress’ mouth, the sparkle of the captain’s magic as he snatched more food from the table, and the faraway hum of a drill siren.

The lieutenant digested his words carefully, or what words she could understand. Not her fault exactly, since his shifting accent made him slightly intelligible. Was morale in the Navy really lackluster? Perhaps that would explain the low recruitment count, or that In two years, two Equestrian vessels defected, killing both captains in both occurrences.

Still, in her opinion, this was far from the most productive solution. The difficulty with problems where the two extremes of a given situation were the easiest to scrutinize and remedy was that none bothered to analyze the middle ground - finding a balance between student discipline and officer conduct. In the past, the crew of the Tide were stretched to their limits with demanding hours and an acceptable margin of error for conducting protocol so thin, an atom out of place would get the entire crew reprimanded. Now, the captain, given his excessively pandering ways, will one day find his own patience and resources slurped to the last drop as well. It was not enough to hindsightlessly solve one side of the problem and hope the other half sorts itself out.

Sofia sipped her mug, surprised to see it near empty. “May we take our orders now, captain?”

The skipper groaned as he stretched out of his plush seat, licking bits of sugar coated pastry from his muzzle. “Unfortunately, yes. But don't cry about it! You'll be relieved to know the packet came with auxiliary support for your mission.”

What he meant by that Sofia was about to question, before he teleported away just as he finished his sentence.

“The captain is confusing certainly, but from his ramblings one could possibly surmise that he is quite intelligent as well, if he were on track with his train of thought long enough to form coherent paragraphs,” Mez said, freely voicing his opinions of his captain in his absence.

“Nevertheless, he leaves much to be desired,” Sofia replied. To her, for the most part. Espress on the other hoof, appeared content as ever with his grand hospitality, demolishing another mountain of blueberry muffins in one sitting.

The room lit like a struck match, the skipper teleporting back in the private mess hall. This time his attire appeared to be that of green jungle camo associated with drill instructors.

“Ladies! At attention!” Captain Arkansas exclaimed in a rough booming tone, and instinctively both seahorses stood behind their former seats.

“I said ladies!” He turned to Mez and yelled, clearly catching him surprised by his tail as well. The captain sounded nothing like his normal - or what passes for normal - self. Instead he beared such extreme authoritarianism that anyone in his vicinity was practically obliged to do as he says. “Get your hooves on the ground, you piss-drinking pansy! Afraid to get your hooficure ruined?”

That got him up instantly, bearing the same wide-eyed confusion as the two actual mares in the room.

“Listen up, you junkies.” The skipper produced a dossier, its contents appeared to have been haphazardly plopped within. Only his magic was keeping the paper from sliding off. “Less than a day ago, a number of enchanted prototypes and scrolls for a warship system was stolen from the Baltimare Shipbuilding Company. It's currently among the cargo of a freighter in Horseshoe Dockyard.”

Clearing a space on the far end of the table, he spread out several photographs of blueprints, all depicting contraptions of varying intricacies that, as far as anypony was aware, none of the inhabitants of the cabin knew the function of.

“Your mission is to locate these prototypes aboard the ship and disenchant them. Apparently they're trade secrets, so even when it's in the hooves of potential competitors, the company won't tell us anything, so all we have to go with are images of these supposed prototypes.”

“What's that? Why is this a matter for the seahorse division to handle?” The captain asked rhetorically. “These aren't just bridge cupholders, ya twats. This is equipment commissioned by the Royal Navy itself. Real important. Experimental. Really, I don't have to spell it out for ya. Get me?”

“Yes, captain,” Sofia and Mez replied, Espress still wiping the crumbs off her muzzle.

“Unfortunately, these clever thieves have somehow marked this theft as a purchase from the Government of Britame. As long as they possess their  ledger, reacquiring them is essentially stealing them back, and we can't have those drunks asking us why their government property is missing. Destroying them is your last resort.”

“Any questions?”

Espress raised a hoof. “Yes, sir. Hopefully this isn't a surprise to you but some unicorns aren't really good at dusting [3] stuff. Sofie can turn an entire ship invisible, but I doubt she could teach a quill to do math.”

Sofia rolled her eyes at her partner and sighed. “She is correct, unfortunately. Our expertise is in infiltration, not arcane anatomy, and learning the specific spells used could take weeks to replicate and reverse properly.”

“Then it seems that the only valid options are to steal back the items in question or decommission them permanently,” Mez added.

“I vote wrecking them. It’s crewed by a bunch of Brits after all. None would be the wiser if they find broken cargo aboard,” Mez winced slightly at Espress’ blatant stereotyping, but kept silent.

“Ah, and this shall be where your auxiliary support comes in,” The skipper turned around and raised a hoof over his ear, seemingly talking to a non-existent pony in front of him. A moment later he turned back to them.

“Put on your party hats! You have a new team member for this mission,”

From the kitchen doors emerged a green-eyed unicorn mare who appeared to be in her early twenties, a pair of reading glasses saddled expertly on her muzzle. The pony carried a simple leather saddlebag, with only a patch of the Royal Navy on its front door decoration.

“Uhmm. Good morning,” The newcomer flashed a quick smile but bowed her head sheepishly afterwards, as if she had just been scolded for spilling her milk.

“Come now, miss Mayfix, You have ponies that want to meet you!” He exclaimed, which was far from the truth, frankly. The skipper led her from the doorway to the table where the rest of the party stood, eyeing the pink unicorn with an amount of uncertainty. The pony looked nothing like a soldier, or practically anypony who belonged in the military for that matter. Her stout build and her current attire of a red and brown office suit did nothing but to make her look even less so.

“Yes, sir,” She said shyly, tiptoeing beside the skipper.

“Lieutenant, Espress, Miss Mayfix is a duster from the Baltimare Shipbuilding Company and she is to accompany you in this mission. You main objective will be guide her from hostilities and help her locate your secondary objective so that she may properly diffuse the prototypes and erase the contents of the scrolls.”

Sofia had previously established that the captain was quite possibly dysfunctional. This has driven her conclusion further to a point where he was, in fact, clinically insane.

“Sir, apologies, but seahorse operations strictly prohibit civilian involvement,” Sofia reminded, however unsurprising it might be if the captain forgot. “Surely we can compromise with a Seahorse operative that is the least bit knowledgeable with dusting equipment.”

“Sorry to butt in, but the specific mechanisms and spells used by the Baltimare Shipbuilding Company are trade secrets,” The seemingly reserved accountant spoke up almost assertively, eliciting a raised brow from Sofia. Then again, given the number of surprises that have happened already, it fazed her little. “Even a student of Twilight can’t figure out the inner workings of the spells within the allotted timeframe.”

“Quite right,” The skipper returned to his cultured, maritime Britame officer accent. “I am aware that you know how little the margin of error for Seahorse missions are. In this case, only a company duster can carry out the deed. You leave that to her, and you can focus on your more important task of keeping her alive.”

Sofia glared at the captain, then to Mayfix, before looking back to him. Was there a specific reason as to why the captain was insisting of the accountant's involvement? “This can't possible be sanctioned by command, captain.”

“Don't ya be questioning my decisions made by somepony else,” the skipper replied. “‘Ave a look at the dossier yerself. Those things are hard to fake. Ah should know - I've tried. Not really.”

It was true. Dossiers are simple cardboard folders and one of the few most protected and highly enchanted objects in the military. They are the single most reliable and effective method of sending and receiving information secretly, away from even the most prying of hooves. The first few folders enchanted by Heaven herself were still in use.

Sofia, however, didn't bother double-checking. They were indeed impossible to falsify. She inhaled silently and set her suspicions aside for now, “Sorry, captain. That won't be necessary.”

“Very good, do you accept the conditions of the mission?”

“Yes, captain...”

“Great, because Mez is coming along as well!”

‘This captain...’

She sighed. “I take that is also appended into the dossier...”

“Aye, imagine that. I know Mez can't.”

Sofia took a deep breath. Express appeared disinterested by the developments. The walls aren’t splattered with blood yet. All good signs, allowing the skipper to continue, “This mission strictly recommends no casualties. Mez will be your diplomat and is there to make sure that the crew cooperates if you are ever compromised,” The skipper affirmed. She mentally pictured herself pelting his face with cinnamon buns, with no such luck. His face continued to stare at her with a cheeky grin.

This was, of course, beyond unnecessary. Why would they risk civilian life to assure absolute success of a mission? For one thing seahorses go out of their way to do things in their own. Another is that one of the last times civilians were involved in operations, they died in a panic to friendly fire. Another was that either Sofia or Espress - or just Espress - could fill Mez’s roll just as easily.  At that point, whatever the reasons doubtless something was aloof with the given circumstances.

Sofia grit her teeth and exhaled. “Understood, captain.”

“That’s good to hear. I’d apologize for the complications that has arisen for this particular mission,” The captain shrugged. “But just as death is death, orders are orders, my dear. There is very little we can do to change it.”

Espress burped and piped in gleefully. “Don't worry, captain. We'll babysit your kids for you!”

“Fabulous! in the meantime, I've secured quarters for you in the ship and a set of wargear should be delivered to you soon,”

“And us, sir?” Mez asked.

“You and Miss Mayfix will be briefed on your individual objectives in about four hours, and after that Lieutenant Sofia will guide you through standard operating procedures. Doesn't that sound fun?”

The obvious answer was no, but the captain wasn't known for caring what others though either way.

“Aye. I shall do my best, Captain.” Mez replied calmly.

“I know you will,” the skipper bit onto his pipe, fueled by the opiates abundant aboard the vessel. “Now go get results!”

The Seahorse division is a task force employed by the Royal Navy to conduct covert operations within international waters, where maritime law is enforced by the Pegasus Dominion. It seemed complacent to give power to a single entity over more than two thirds the surface of the world, but to the nations of Equestria, it was a fitting title for the ponies who have prevented tsunamis, super-typhoons and whale strandings for a thousand years.

Which might explain the near absent regulation of recreational drugs aboard the Tide. There are laws against it yes, but given that the Tide works within international waters, these were maritime laws and are therefore not enforced strictly. This perhaps would make seahorse operations far easier to conduct especially on isolated targets such as, for example, their target freighter - far from hailing nearby ships or the prying eyes of the international community.

This unfortunately has also resulted in an a steady increase on the instances of piracy and military vessels committing mutiny in the vastness of the ocean.

Despite this, the Pegasus Dominion retains a presence within the the nationless territory in the form of cloud fortresses raised and maintained at above the ocean, which keep guard of the most valuable trade routes

The walk from the Captain's mess to their quarters for the day was exactly the same as the one beforehoof, albeit with less unwanted run-ins with renegade ventilation pipes and more awkward encounters of sailors getting hot and heavy in the less traversed sections of the corridors.

The captain, ever the benevolent headmaster of the vessel, granted the seahorses station in the officers dorms. They traditionally have more space and privacy than the rest of the sleeping quarters in the ship, which were admittedly too cramped the crew most likely went away with cots and used each other as beds instead to gain as much legroom as possible.

“Here we are, ma'am. There is still quite some time before we depart. As such, you are encouraged to make use of the ship's facilities, including the armoreeeaah-”

The pegasus failed to replicate his quick reflexes from his first display as he felt the grip of an expertly trained seahorse push him into the room and pull him back against the metal door.

“Talk, now,” The lieutenant had the pegasus facing the wall and a hoof pressed sharply at the joints connecting his wings in such a way that he could not flap properly. She glared at him with her same, furrowed expression, although this time with a hint of contempt to it.

“T-talk...w-what?”

Sofia loosened her hoof on the back of his neck, but kept her weight against him. “You didn't sign up for this mission, that much is obvious. Why are you being sent in with us?”

“Ma'am, dare I say, I shall have no intentions of being harassed by you,”

“Not me. Very well. Espress,”

“I’m going to shove this muffin down your throat!”

“It’s insurance!”

Sofia raised a brow. “For what?”

“Insurance, of sorts. I am to make sure Miss Mayfix remains alive for the duration of the mission.”

“We strive to make every mission a successful one. doesn’t mean we'll go about expending civilians as body shields.” Sofia spoke chillingly.

“Speak for yourself,” Espress grinned.

“It's nothing like that…” Mez wiggled free from Sofia's grasp, while she made no effort to subdue him further.

“Miss Mayfix is…how must I say... valuable to him...”

Espress munched on the muffin intended for interrogation purposes, speaking in a muffled voice, “Sending his beloved to a near suicidal mission. Now that's sweet.”

“That's all I know, or at least what I can infer from. That they were together before the captain joined the Navy.”

“And I would have thought he merely bought into the Navy.”

“I am sure you have perceptively deduced that the skipper does not strike anypony as a stallion bred from a line of borne leaders or ponies of military wit and grit,” Mez said.

"It isn't hard to tell,” Sofia replied.

“Arkansas was a Canterlot noble, a respected founder of an architectural firm in Germaneigh. I assume that's where him and Mayfix met, since I have seen her speak Germane before. He sailed yachts there as well, which may have contributed to his desire to enlist in the Navy. The exact reasons for that are unknown to me, and he may not have the bearing of a captain, but he sure impressed the faculty of Fort Catalina, but not for the reasons you assumed earlier. He did not buy his way through the rank or anything like that.”

Of course, Sofia did not take his word for it.

“He was, after all, an accomplished sailor prior to officer training. Immediately after graduating, he was given command of the largest ship in the world.”

“That is all I know, we are both on the same page concerning information from the captain. He trusts me, hence why I am coming. I'd rather not, but I assure you I am as capable as any pony of the Navy.”

“That still does not explain the reason as to why we cannot just destroy the prototypes instead of risking lives for the alternative.”

“I’d be a seahorse by now if I had the means of knowing, but alas. Perhaps you should ask Mayfix yourself,”

Sofia breathed out. That seemed like the only course of action if she wanted information about the underlying agendas in the mission.

Mez shut the door as he hurriedly left the room. The air inside their quarters was cooler, filtered from the stuffy sweat and euphoric smoke that polluted the rest of the ship. With the atmosphere an improvement, Sofia could think much more clearly and set to work ensuring the mission’s success, although with two interlopers on tow this time around the number of worst case scenarios she had to account for have effectively doubled.

“Espress, take armory check responsibilities,” Sofia ordered.

“But we just got here!”

“We have little time for whatever you have in mind. Not with the extra baggage we will have to carry around.”

“Hah! Baggage. That's an accurate term,” Espress smirked. “You're right. Let's start with the basic steps of preparing for a mission.”

“Step one is for you to get some rest. You look like you'd just come from a boiler room rather than a mess hall.  Don't worry, though. I doubt they'll reassign us for another protest management job, so plenty of time to get ready.”

The was some truth in there, but it was out of Sofia's purview. Regardless, before she could reply, Espress had gone. Such was her nature of delaying things, but managing to pull through at the last minute.

They had been through several ops together, all with varying degrees of success, but all within acceptable results. Their next operation has them keeping not just themselves but others alive as well. Unsurprisingly, this would prove to be a very eventful mission.

From The Canterlot Courier, 12th of the Fifth Moon, Twenty-Five past the Second Thousand

PRANCE NO-SHOWS AT EQUESTRIA TALKS

Representatives of the Territory of Prance has failed to appear, for a second time, at another Equestrian Territorial Talks Conference held yesterday 11 Fifth Moon, the third conference held this year to discuss possible boundary partitions focused mostly near the newly revived city-state of The Crystal Empire,

Since the Empire's revival, recent thawing of the northern mountains has revealed numerous deposits of lampfuel and gemstones. The mountains, once unassigned, are now being claimed by Faustria, Furrtugal, Itraly, Yakyakistan, Alpacastan, Germaneigh, Prance, Britame, The Hooviet Republic, and recently The City-State Empire herself.

The third talks have been described as consistent with previous meetings, particularly the second, where the Principal Representative of Svain produced and catapulted an orange pie laced with toothpaste onto the table of Chancellor Kirk of Germaneigh, as contrasted to last moon’s apple juice laced with vinegar incident involving the same parties.

While press are barred from the event proper, during the lunch intermission the the media were able to reach the Secretary of the Senate, responsible for collecting the minutes of the meeting, for comment.

“I can't feel my hooves…” Secretary Bond said.

The meeting promptly end at 2 PM with no agenda resolve. Talks will resume at 10 AM tomorrow, on the 13th of the Fifth Moon.

Article by Sweet Scribbles, Senior Reporter

[1] A shorthand term for the State of Canterlot

[2] An activity for non-pegasus ponies obviously, but an activity that is more common and enjoyable than one might think, actually.

[3] A colloquial term for enchanting and/or disenchanting.